TheCzarsHussar

Theodore Adrard Kurallian Mountains, between Camlorn and Shornhelm Evening The Kurallian Mountains formed the western branch of the mountain chain usually referred to as the Wrothgarians. Whereas the Wrothgarians were towering spires of rock reaching towards the sky, the Kurallians in comparison seemed no more than hills. Still, they were the highest point of the Glenumbra Moors, which stretched from Camlorn to nearly Shornhelm. While on the southern tip of the Breton peninsula, the Moors grew less and less rugged, turning into the flowing Ilessan Hills of Daggerfall. But here, the going was treacherous. Deep crevices and gaping caves marred the landscape, and loose pebbles littered the few mountain trails. The first thing Theodore and Sir Maric did was find a guide. Most of the people who lived in the small mountain villages were either sheep or goat herders, so they all knew the terrain well. At the sight of the coin purse, everyone in the village volunteered, though Theo eventually decided on a young lad who seemed up to the task. The trip was only a day’s hike from the village, but it was a steep and tiresome trek. “What do you know of this man?†Theodore asked, once the village was well behind them. The guide rubbed his chin, which had a layer of fuzz on it. Theo supposed it was the young man’s attempt at a beard. “He helps us out from time to time. Healing mostly. Only ever asks for payment in return.†“How long has he been there? In that valley?†“As long as anyone in the village can remember.†Sir Maric asked, “It doesn’t bother you that you know almost nothing about him?†The shepherd shook his head. “No. He’s never hurt anyone I know of, and only ever helped us. Gives the kids books to learn from and such. He’s the reason we’re literate. He’s real particular about getting his payment though. Won’t work for free.†“Do people visit him often?†Theodore asked. “You two are the first I know of. Though like I said, he’s been around a while. He does take an apprentice every so often, whenever he finds a particularly skilled kid. The family nearly always lets him, since it’s better than herding sheep. He has one now. The one before that one left for Skyrim, I think.†They walked on in silence most of the day, only stopping briefly to eat a lunch of salted beef and hard bread. It was by no means regal food, but Theodore did not want it getting out the king was going off and hiking into mysterious valleys. The less these peasants knew of him, the better. ** Theodore glanced at the fading violet sky. He regretted leaving Elayne so soon after the birth. It was important he find this man, but his family was broken, and they all needed each other in this time. Sighing, he turned his gaze over his shoulder, where Sir Maric followed dutifully. Theo was glad to have him along, though knew the knight likely wanted to be with Madeleine. He couldn’t blame him. The only one who seemed at home was their guide. “How much further, did you say?†Theodore asked the shepherd. “Not far. Up and over the crest then back down into the valley. But my parts over. We know better than to go in there. His orders,†the shepherd said with a shrug, dusting a light layer of snow off a rock and sitting down on it. Even though the shepherd’s pockets jingled with Theodore’s coin, Theo didn’t think paying any more would persuade him to continue. And suddenly revealing his royal identity would only be met with a scoff. Theo knew the rumors of this place, and had already considered its denizen for the job before the birth. After it, though, there seemed no other choice. Theodore needed this man, no matter the cost. But he could find the valley without a guiding shepherd. He and Sir Maric continued on the path for another half-hour, slowly, carefully making their way down the hillside toward a wooded valley. Though the sky was darkening, he could just make out the clearing through the mixed rows of trees. Thick, broad oaks, squat sugar maples, silver and smooth beeches, gray, slender birches, thin and tall spruces, irregular shaped pines, scaly barked firs, all made up the motley valley forest. The closer they got to the bottom, the warmer it became, and strangely, it seemed easier to see as well, as if some artificial light source was dispelling the shadows of the night. Wind rustled the tops of the towering oaks and pines and spruces, ushering in sounds like childlike giggling and fervent whispers told beneath the covers, long after the time for bed had come and gone. Eyes peered from the low shrubbery and fern undergrowth that covered the ground. Foxes, porcupines, badgers, quail, game hen, deer, and ground squirrels peered at the new arrivals, either unafraid or uncaring. Behind them, deeper in the crowd of trees, more fantastic beasts appeared. A unicorn’s snow-white form was just visible in a break between two oak branches. A nymph and spriggan both seemed to watch, melding in and out of trees as they moved parallel to Theo and Sir Maric. A mountain lion prowled, its form low to the ground but making nary a sound as it brushed the grasses and shrubs. A boar, with sow and litter in tow, rooted around a pine, crushing the cones and eating the sweet pine nuts within. Above the heads of all, a red-tailed hawk sat, its keen eyes scrutinizing every movement. An eagle did the same, from its perch higher, up on the cliff face. In the threadbare branches of an ashen pine, a colony of bats hung upside down, mothers and fathers brushing awake the children as the sun finally finished its daylong journey. A giant bat from a separate tree dismounted, did a tight turn to unfurl its leathery wings, which seemed to almost glimmer in this light, then snapped away into the pitch colored sky. Owls hooted, then took to the air, quieter than a shadow. A wolf howled somewhere, the pack echoing it even as the first call still rebounded off the mountain walls that separated this pristine forest from the grotesque outside world. Even with all that weighed on Theodore’s mind, the serene refuge he’d entered left him more at peace than any other time in his life. He glanced over his shoulder, and thought he caught Sir Maric staring, mouth agape. Theodore himself was in awe of this place, and how it could remain so untouched, so perfect in its isolation. Even the path they followed was worn from the tracks of the aforementioned animals, and not from any man or mer. As they reached the pond, they discovered the source of the uncanny light. The surface was so smooth, it was glass, and just beneath it small creatures seemingly composed completely of light darted this way and that. They glowed a pale blue, individually giving off less light than a single ember, but together enough to cast their glow all around the valley. Tendrils of shining steam floated into the air, lit up from the glowing moons above and the fluorescent beings below. In the middle of the pond sat a small island, just large enough to hold the square tower that rested on it like a crown atop a king’s head. It was old stone, pulled from the cliffs and rocks surrounding the picturesque forest. Moss and creeping vine wound their way through cracks in the bricks and mortar. Though it was a tower, complete with crenellations and small slit windows, it was only one story, rendering it useless as a fortification. Theo doubted, however, that it would ever be needed as such. Sir Maric cleared his throat, catching Theodore again locked in a trance, bewitched by the natural beauty. “How should be get out there? We could swim, but…†Neither wanted to disturb the glowing things, nor the pond, however illogical it was. “No,†commanded the man who had suddenly appeared behind them. His voice was soothing and grandfatherly, but with an edge like volcanic obsidian, that would cut to the bone if it was so much as trifled with. Despite themselves, both Theodore and Thomas jumped. This was the man they were looking for, yet didn’t expect to find him outside his home. Knowing the man’s nature, and hearing the voice that was both enticing and harsh, Theo couldn’t help but shiver a little. The man brushed between the knight and king, his dark green robes causing him to blend in with the foliage surrounding them. His staff was twisted and knotted, made of a hard, dark maple, the top branching off to surround a dark ebony sphere before reforming, making a wooden cage around the ball. His beard was trimmed to perfection, not a hair out of place, with the point coming off his chin a short ways, the end held together by a small golden ring. His hair and beard were pure white, like the mane of the unicorn. It was pulled back tight from his sharp widow’s peak, another golden ring keeping the ponytail in place. On his head he wore a thin gold circlet, inlaid with emeralds as dark green as his eyes. His hands were twisted like the staff, crooked and varicose veined. His face was lean, wrinkled and craggy, like the cliff walls that bordered the mountain glade. He tapped the bottom of the staff on the water, and instead of ripples forming, the surface smoothed over, and he took a step on to the water. Tentatively, Theodore followed, with Sir Maric hesitating a little longer before stepping out as well. Once he reached the island, the wizard didn’t wait upon Theodore and Thomas, instead stepping right into the small square tower. The old man stood inside, and then silently led the duo down a spiral staircase into a long, but relatively thin rectangular room. The cavern was below the pond, but clearly had been man made. It looked more like a nobleman’s library than a cave, lacking only windows to complete the illusion. Shelving covered the two long walls. One side was only books, the other various experiments, specimen, mechanical contraptions, and magical instruments. Large stone tables ran along the middle of the room. They seemed to be pulled up from the stone floor itself, just slab shaped outcroppings from the ground. A corpse lay on the nearest table, the skin of its chest pulled back to reveal the organs and bones beneath. At the far end were several cages, though Theo couldn’t make out what was in them. By the staircase they had just descended was a bed, a huge chest, and two large cabinets. A form ambled out from behind a table, but it was only an old dog, which came over to the sorcerer’s side and nudged his head toward his master’s hand. The dog was huge, easily weighing over a hundred pounds, with shaggy white fur. Around its muzzle, there a tinge of gray, almost steel in color. Its back paws, Theodore noticed, had a set of dew claws. He recognized them from his days as a boy, visiting his father’s hunting dogs. Once, one of the new pups had a set, and the kennel master had cut them off, just in case they ever became a hindrance later in life. The mage scratched the dog between the ears, and then said, “Ki, esedah.†The dog sat down immediately, its tongue hanging out of his gaping mouth. Theodore judged by the tone of voice that ‘Ki’ was the dog’s name, with ‘esedah’ being the command to sit. He assumed it was Old Bretic. Turning to Theodore, the wizard looked him up and down, those dark green eyes scrutinizing everything. Suddenly Theo wished he’d dressed more regally, instead of the drab clothing he wore now. “What do you want?†the mage asked. Theodore swallowed, and said, “I need a royal wizard for my court.†“You’re Adrard then. Right. No.†“No? No what?†“I won’t be your mage servant. What can you offer me I don’t have?†Theodore thought for a moment. A cold sweat was forming on his bald head. He needed this man, but hated feeling vulnerable. But Theo knew his vulnerability might be the only way to convince the sorcerer to join him. And sooner or later, he’d have to tell the wizard anyway, especially if he was going to get him to cure it. “I’m sick. I’ve had a cold for a while now, and its lasted months, longer than any cold should. No manner of potion or healing will rid me of it, though they do seem to mask the symptoms. Then my wife gave birth to our children. Twins, but both were horribly distorted, vomiting green bile and pale beyond all reason. And before I took the throne, my father-in-law died with similar symptoms, vomiting bile, his skin cold and white like snow. I think my family is cursed.†The wizard stared off down the rectangular room, his gaze distant and unresponsive. Theo was unsure if he’d even heard, until the sorcerer moved toward Theo faster than the he’d expected. Sir Maric made a move to stop him, but suddenly crumbled to the floor. Theodore’s muscles became rigid, and the thaumaturge pushed the king’s paralyzed body up against the wall. One bony, arthritic hand moved over Theodore’s mouth, the fingers splaying out until the hand covered Theo’s face. The wizard’s other hand moved over the king’s heart, while those dark green eyes closed tight. Theo’s own eyes flicked about, unsure what to make of the situation. He noticed Sir Maric was alive, just lying in a heap on the stone floor. Ki was licking the knight’s forehead, while the twisted maple staff was standing perfectly still where the mage left it. Theodore felt a power surging through him. He wondered if this was how he died. Even with the rumored dangers of coming here, Theo hadn’t expected it to end in his death. Though, given the man’s vampirism, he wondered why he hadn’t sucked him dry yet. Unless he kept his quarry in those cages. Maybe the man on the table was the previous victim, ready to be raised as an undead slave. Theo thought back to the villagers. Were they in on the ploy? Maybe they were vampires as well. Theodore was not usually afraid, but within the last week, he could count the two most fearful times of his life: his children’s birth and subsequent death, and now this. The wizard released him so suddenly Theo almost crashed to the floor. The mage backed away from Theo, muttering to himself. The staff flew back to his hand, and he leaned on it, seeming weary. Sir Maric rose to his feet, his right hand reaching across to his sword hilt, which hung on his left. “What’s the meaning of this? What did you just do to me? And to Sir Maric?†Theodore asked. “Him? A simple alteration. I made his armor weigh several hundred pounds, to keep him from attacking me. You, however, are sick. Worse than I’ve ever seen. Your Daedric affiliations are likely the cause,†the wizard said. “Daedric? What? No-I…†Should I tell him about Mephala and Boethiah? What would happen if someone heard, I’d be disgraced…but I’d rather be disgraced than die. “I-I may pray to Mephala and Boethiah from time to time. But never openly, nor have I ever sought to actually converse with them.†“Mephala you say? Yes, it all makes sense,†the wizard said, speaking to himself again rather than Theodore or Sir Maric. He cupped a hand to the ebony orb in his staff, then peered into it for several moments. Theodore thought it must be a scrying stone of some sort. Snapping away, he said, “You are infected with a curse. Lord Peryite’s. I believe the entirety of High Rock’s ruling family is infected, actually.†My whole family… Theodore did crash to the floor this time, sitting like a child, his arms wrapped around his knees. “Why? What did we do?†“Nothing, in all likelihood. I assume instead of cursing the whole of High Rock, he instead just curses its rulers. But who can say, really? The Princes do as they please. Though, you worshipping a rival of his likely doesn’t help. Now this has been all well and good but I have work to do so if you would leave-†“A rival? What do you mean?†“You seem to have no limit to your questions, do you? I mean that Peryite and Mephala are rivals. Gods know why, they just are. So you worshipping her makes the curse stronger.†“What can I do stop it, or slow it down?†The mage’s hand tightened around the staff. He seemed to be growing more and more agitated. “You fancy yourself a wise king, do you?†Tentatively, Theodore answered, “Yes.†“All rulers do. They’re much too egotistical to see just how stupid they really are. You can consider yourself wise and intelligent, but obviously you don’t have all the answers. And I for one do not feel obliged to answer your unimportant inquiries. As I said before, I do not want to be your royal mage, or what have you. So be gone with you.†Theodore’s face scrunched together. He was unsure what he was hearing. After trekking all this way, and then to be diagnosed, only to be turned away was unforeseeable. He felt like the idiot the wizard clearly thought he was. “This man, and his family, are dying, and you won’t help them? The villagers said you were kind, yet they were evidently mistaken,†Sir Maric said, defiant. “Oh forgive me for not bowing and scraping to the almighty gracious king. You want to know why I won’t help him, and why I help the villagers? Fine, knight, you shall see.†The wizard went over to the cabinet next to the bed, throwing it open to reveal the entire thing was filled with jars of blood. “You see, they help me, so I help them. I’m no more excited about my vampirism than any reasonable person, but it is still the only option I have. Gods know I don’t help them because I enjoy it. You want my assistance, then you will have to compensate me.†If there was one thing Theodore knew, it was negotiating, politicking. He’d heard the vampiric rumors, so wasn’t shocked to see what was in the cabinet. He rose, pushing himself first to a knee then all the way up, being sure to stand tall and proud. He would not show any more weakness before this curmudgeonly, bitter old man. “What is it you want? Money, power, knowledge, all I can give you. Just name your price, mage.†The sorcerer’s lip twitched, and by the loosest definition of the word, it could have been a smile. “Anything, you say? Well then, I first want enough money to fund whatever experiments I conduct. And a private place in which to conduct them. Second, I will not be fighting for you or anyone. If someone usurps you or assassinate you, I will be just as inclined to help them, which is to say, not at all. I am not and will never be your friend. Third, I want books. Several of them, which I lack for various projects. They will not be easy to acquire, as the School of Julianos, tight pricks that they are, refuse to let anyone have them. But I will have them, and you will see it done. That is all I can think of now, but if something else comes to mind, you will be asked to fulfill it, within reason.†Theodore nearly jumped to accept, but Sir Maric proved to be more prudent. “Before his majesty agrees to anything, we need to know who exactly you are. We don’t even know your name, now that I think of it.†The wizard glared at Thomas momentarily, but then began to introduce himself. “I am Dryston Winvale. I trained under Myrddin Ambrosius, long before either of you existed. That was long ago, before even the Septims came. Ambrosius was obsessed with immortality, and it did not take long for me to become so as well. We searched for potions, spells, anything that would grant us eternal life. He died long before any real ground could be gained. I however sought the avenue of Alteration. It proved futile, and as I grew older I had no choice but to become a vampire. I made sure to choose the right strain, the Anthotis strain. It is old, from the Sentinel region, and grants superior intellect. I made sure to get the old blood, so I may walk in the sun like the living. After that I continued my research into Alteration. I learned how to alter the shape of my body through polymorphing, a skill those Wyrd witches stole. The giant bat you saw in the forest was I. I’ve published books on shadow magic, under a pseudonym. My finest achievement, however, was paralysis. Before, it was purely illusion, making someone believe they were paralyzed. I made it physical, so that someone under the affect is not merely tricked, but is truly frozen. Besides that I study the numerous half creatures in High Rock. That,†he pointed at the body on the table, “is a harpy I was dissecting. Now, does that satisfy you? Or do I need to inform you what my favorite wine is?†Theodore said, “That will be all, thank you. Now, how do you cure this curse?†Dryston scoffed, shaking his head. “That is like asking how do you cure having pale skin. You can’t, it is something that is not in you, but is you. Though I suppose if you were no longer king, that could stop it. Maybe.†“That isn’t an option. And neither is vampirism, before you suggest it. I will not have my body be slave to bloodlust. So if you can’t break the curse, then who can?†Theodore asked. Dryston stroked the point of his beard. “I suppose there a number of people who could help you. That number being greater than zero, less than ten. The Psijic Order likely has someone skilled enough. Some Altmer mage too, though I doubt that is an option. The Telvanni are certainly known for their Daedric dealings. A Greybeard? Might they be able to shout it out of you? No, not likely. Maybe some hedge shaman in the Reach, though good luck getting their help. And who knows what may lie in the lizards’ swampland.†Telvanni. Theodore knew someone who could help, or at the very least point him in the right direction. But Master Wizard Drenim was in Cyrodiil, and he couldn’t go back there. With time being very much of the essence, he’d have to find someway to contact the Dunmer. “I know someone who can help. But say he was too far away or unable to actually break the curse himself, but knew how to, could you do it?†Dryston chuckled dryly. “Could I? Of course I can. Following a spell or steps to a ritual is like baking a pie, so long as you have the ingredients, or magicka to do so. And I am clearly powerful enough. The problem is actually figuring out what spell to cast or ritual to perform. Since I don’t consort with Daedra, your friend will have to figure that out.†Theodore smiled. “So that’s it then. Do we need to help you pack your things, or will your assistant be enough help?†This time, Dryston did not contain his laughter. “Elyn? That woman is the laziest apprentice I’ve ever had. Sybille would have been of some help, but she’s long gone. No, I can manage. Though, tell me, where will my quarters in your castle be?†Theodore’s brow scrunched, as he tried to deduce the wizard’s reasoning. Failing, he said, “I suppose the old court mage’s tower. He didn’t stay long, fell from it not long after arrival. Good thing, too, because he had some unsavory opinions about my moral character.†It was Dryston’s turn to be confused, but he quickly understood. “Do not suppose you can push me out of tower windows. Though from what I understand, you may have a penchant for it. I will have my things moved in before you return, but for the sake of not scaring your household, I myself will not arrive until you have returned.†“Your shadow magic. You can teleport places, can’t you?†Sir Maric said. “Your dog may yet be as bright as mine. Yes, in layman’s terms, I can ‘teleport’ places, though it is far more complicated and far more useful than simply teleporting. Now, since it doesn’t seem likely you two will leave here, it being after dark, you may stay in the guest room. I hope Elyn’s snoring doesn’t keep you too awake. Magnus forbid His Majesty is uncomfortable.†With those snide parting remarks, Dryston Winvale and his dog left up the tower steps and out into the woods. Theodore sighed. He was happy he had this man, even if Dryston personally could not cure his family. But the news his entire family was cursed stabbed at his heart like an assassin’s dagger. He would need to keep this a secret, no doubt, but eventually everyone would begin to show signs, as he already was. Those would have to be covered up as well. And then there was the logistics of getting to Endar. He didn’t trust sending a letter to Manis, so he would have to send a person instead. Who, though? Between Elyn’s snoring and the uneasiness he felt, Theodore slept little that night. But when he awoke he did have one question answered. And it meant he had a wedding to attend.

Theodore Adrard Camlorn Noon The king’s flotilla glided across the sapphire waters of Camlorn’s bay. The sun hung high in the sky, like a glittering jewel of its own, casting unreasonably warm winter light upon the walled city. A crowd of people was gathered at the docks, their hushed, anticipative voices barely audible above the crisp breeze and slowly breaking waves of the harbor. Although most of the warriors from the Pretender’s War were home, Theodore’s return would mark the true end of Breton civil war. Internal peace seemed not only attainable, but in hand. Queen Elayne Adrard, Prince Roland Adrard, and Princess Lyenna Adrard stood foremost among the murmuring masses, flanked by brown caped, glistening white armored guards, the Knights of the Bull. They too awaited the return of their commander, though Maric only ever wore his ebony armor. He had traded his usual black cape for a brown one, though it didn’t quite match. Theodore himself stood at the bow, one hand gripping the lapel of his fur lined verdant cloak, the other resting on the carved bull’s head sword pommel. As the boats slid in, the crowd erupted in a raucous cheer of “Pell bevan ar Roue!†which was Old Bretic for “Long live the King.†It was the only phrase or words the common folk knew of the old language, and even the nobility knew little more. Each city did have a handful of scholars still learned in Old Bretic, but there were few uses for knowing it other than the deciphering of old texts, and even that didn’t require speaking it. As it was the language was nearly extinct. Still, Theodore smiled when he heard the cheer. Though the days of Old Bretic were arguably the darkest period of any in High Rock, there seemed to be something about old traditions that warmed the heart and help keep a sense of nationality alive and thriving. The “Roue†stepped off the ship, and strolled up to his wife. They embraced, though due to her baby bump, and his own belly, it was not very tight. Next he hugged his son, a rough, strong hug with both men playfully trying to see who could squeeze whom the tightest. When Theodore conceded defeated and yielded, he moved to Lyenna, and as they touched, he could feel the slightest protuberance of her stomach. It was then he remembered she was also pregnant, though it hardly showed, whereas the queen appeared to have a boulder shoved beneath her ruby dress. “It feels good to be done with this war. How were things here?†he asked Elayne. “Wonderful. No issues, though a few merchants tried to use the war as an excuse to increase prices, no doubt betting on us women being easier to persuade. Mother and I set them straight rather quickly. She’s at the castle, to old to walk up and down the city she says.†Theodore chuckled. “I meant your health. Everything fine with you and the baby?†For a moment, a flash of irritation crossed Elayne’s, but then she smiled. “Perfect. He or she should be due any day now. They were obviously waiting for their father.†Theo noticed the change in attitude, but dismissed it. They’d address it later. “And how was the return trip, son?†“It went as expected. Traven wrote and said they returned safely to Northpoint, Estermont engaged the remaining Orcs and slew many, so the Wrothgarians should be clear. And we made it back without incident. I’ve already paid and disbanded the auxiliaries as well. Lady Birian’s daughter will be coming along soon, once they get things situated there.†“Good. We’re running like well oiled Dwemer machine. And Lyenna, how are you?†“Fine, your majesty.†Theodore smiled a wide grin. “I’m Theodore. We’re family now, so titles go out the window. And what of your brothers in Daggerfall?†Out of the corner of his eye, Theo thought he saw Elayne flinch, but when he looked again she was merely supporting her belly with both hands. No one else seemed to take notice. “They like it very much. Northpoint is so bleak, even in the summer, so Daggerfall was quite an adventure for them. Lady Gaerhart brought them in last week. And I expect they will get along with young Vanessa when she comes, as they are around the same age.†“Quite right. It will be a regular playhouse around the palace with all the youngsters about. Though they better get their tomfoolery out of the way, since Lord Traven will be here soon.†She looked up from her pregnant belly to see Madeleine standing with Sir Maric, both talking excitedly and pointing at the city. She asked, “Who’s that woman, dear?†“Sir Maric’s…well, love interest, I suppose. You recall how he got that ridiculous nickname of his? Well that is the woman he left in Skyrim, the reason he wouldn’t marry. Seems they have a son together, about sixteen years old, and he was in the employ of the High General. A sort of squire, if you will.†“And where is his son?†Roland asked. “He chose to stay. He’s quite fond of Skyrim, it seems, and was even in the Stormcloak army. If they can accept him, not being a Nord, then I garner he must be highly respected. I can see why he wouldn’t leave that behind.†The royals moved through the crowd, with the Knights of the Bull forming protection on either side. Halfway through the city, once the crowd was long gone, Theodore and his family came upon another crowd, numbering two dozen or so men and women, forming a line across the road. “What’s the meaning of this?†Sir Maric shouted, his hand instinctively moving to his longsword. One man out of the street blockage stepped forward. He was old, hunched over a cane, back bent and twisted. His left arm was gone at the shoulder, and someone had taken the sleeve up and sewed it shut there. He addressed Theo, those eyes strangely focused for such an old man. “You go off to war, a foolish war, for nothing. You nobles play at war, play with our lives, and my grandson pays the price. I fought with your father and grandfather in the Great War, marched across the sand of the Alik’r with them. Gave my left arm to stop the golden elves. War is not something to be taken lightly, young man.†Theodore stepped forward. He knew there would be some people upset, but he’d forgotten about them after the warm reception at the docks. “I know. I squired for my father, and though I never saw battle myself, I saw the impacts of war, impacts you still bear. My grandfather died in that conflict, and I’ll never forget that. Tell me, who was your grandson?†Theodore’s kindness didn’t sate the man’s vitriol. “Jerian Aurillie. He carried your banner at Wayrest. Made the whole family proud. Yet now he’s buried across the Iliac on some forgotten field, because some nobles had a petty dispute.†Theo didn’t recognize the name, but it wouldn’t have mattered if he had. Pretending to know the man’s grandson would only add insult to injury. “I wish your boy would have survived. You’re right, the war was petty. I was distraught when Lielle Rolston started it. But there is no place for insurrection, not with the golden elves waiting to sack Cyrodiil at a moments notice. Just now I returned from Skyrim, working out an alliance that will unite all nations of man under one cause, to defeat the Thalmor. That is why your grandson died. Had he and so many others not sacrificed their lives, we would be marred in civil war, unable to join the noble crusade against the Thalmor. Or, worse, under the leadership of a harlot Queen who would keep us out. That was why Lielle Rolston had to be defeated, and why we had to go to war.†The old man’s resolve seemed to break down at that, and several others in the line seemed to be nodding their heads in agreement. “Y-you’re right, my liege. I apologize, its just, his mother’s grief is beyond compare, her boy being gone.†“Say no more. You are free people of Camlorn, of High Rock, and you have a right to demand of your leaders justice and fair treatment. That is why I ended Imperial rule, because some Empress hundreds of miles away cannot hear your voices, shouting for answers. But I can. And when my court opens, I promise answers for all that seek them. Under my family, High Rock will be forged anew, to better serve its citizens, and to protect them. Thank you all for allowing me to share with you my vision of a better High Rock. Now please, go be with your families, as I am going to be with mine.†The members of the now defunct protest bowed or kneeled or simply walked away, while the old man gave a passing nod as the royal procession moved towards the palace. Once there, the guard dispersed, and so did Roland and Lyenna, who went to eat. Elayne and Theo went off to their private living chambers, as Theo knew she had something to say to him. Once the door closed, her hand met his cheek in a stinging blow that surprised him, though given the earlier clues, probably shouldn’t have. “How dare you. How dare you spout off about wanting High Rock to be a better place, how we want freedom and justice, when you are nothing but a cruel monster,†she said. He knew what she was referring to. He’d known ever since the moment it happened. “She had to be killed, Elayne. She was trying to destroy everything we’d hoped to build, and causing insurrection while she did.†“She was my sister, gods dammit. You and my mother may be callous and heartless, but I’m not. We agreed to give her a trial, a clean execution if the vote went that way, not to be…. I can’t stand to even look at you right now.†She turned her back, looking out the window towards the city below. “I did what I did because she was a threat. She threatened our lives and the lives of our children. Do you think there would be any hesitation from her to kill you?†“No, she wouldn’t have hesitated, because she was cruel, and so was her husband, and that’s why we killed him. But we’re supposed to be better than them, not stoop down to their cruelty. We’ve done some things I’m not proud of, robbed them of having kids, killed his brother, framed him for attempting to murder you, but always with a purpose. There was no purpose to what you did. That kind of brutality is senseless and evil, and though we might be conniving and ruthless at times, we are not evil.†“You may not see it, but there is a clear goal. The Silver Brigade would never had agreed to go to the Deep Reach had those three men not died, and I couldn’t justify executing them and then hiring their outfit. I needed a new leader there, someone stupid enough to take them into the Deep Reach and save my men from doing so, and I needed a crime to indict them but not the entire group. And whether you see it or not, Lielle was and always would have been a threat. Your mother saw that, and I hoped you would’ve too.†“My mother has seen nothing but visions of the throne since she was born. You may preach your noble ambitions and justified acts, but she has none. All she wants is her blood, my blood, running through the veins of Breton kings, now and in the future. The only reason she sided with you is because she hated Lielle, and knew Aleron couldn’t hold the throne.†“It was cruel. But Lielle deserved it. It was no less than she would have done to us, no less than she would have done to our children. There is no place in this world for kindness. You have to be rational, and logic dictated threats to our family be silenced. Quickly, quietly, efficiently. Just as we’ve always done.†They stood in silence for several minutes, before Elayne slowly turned back around. Her eyes were red, and a few tears littered her cheeks. Theo hadn’t known she’d been crying, so quiet was the sadness. Or was it anger, fury, hatred? “I just have to know our children won’t be raised by a monster. Roland is fine, perfect, but is it because of you, or in spite of you?†The question hung like a swaying, lynched corpse, gloomy and menacing. Elayne broke the fragile silence once again. “If you have a goal, fine. I understand methods like that when dealing with threats to us. But torturing strangers is not the same as torturing family. What’s done is done, though. We’ve always put on the pretense of happiness and love, so that won’t stop. And I’ll pray to the gods that I can find it in my heart to forgive you. I just hope you pray for your own forgiveness.†She wiped her eyes, straightened her hair, then put on the genial look she always wore and walked out. Theodore thought about what she’d said. Cruel. Was I needlessly cruel? She would’ve been executed in trial, no doubt, but dead either way. Why does it matter if it was by fall or axe? And nothing would have enticed those animals except a pound of flesh for the *******. And if I let them for a moment, why should I feel bad? She would have flayed the skin from my body and rubbed salt on the wounds, given the chance. Theodore left the room in a huff, Sir Maric following close behind. He stopped and knocked on the door of Nireli Seles, the Dunmer who had taught Roland manners and speech and politics, though that was mostly a cursory education, since he had Theodore as the master teacher. She opened, her green gown cut low, hugging the curves of her body. From her ears dangled a pair of emerald earrings, large as grapes. A necklace found a place nestled in the cleave of her breasts, and without looking Theodore knew it to be a spider pendant, with a snake wrapped around. But look he did, his eyes lingering a moment longer than when merely inspecting someone or something. It was her personal symbol for her patrons, Mephala and Boethia. “My lord. What brings you by? I understand you just returned from Skyrim. Looking for some…warmth?†she cooed, eyes scanning his for any sign of acceptance. He didn’t think he’d given anything away, yet one side of her mouth curled in an impish grin. It reminded Theodore of Alef, and he began wondering why he stayed loyal to Elayne when, even in the best of times, there was more admiration and respect than love. But the thought of his child out there, not unlike Sir Maric’s, quickly pushed those thoughts out of mind. It also helped that the sobering presence of Sir Maric hovered behind, and though Theodore knew the man would keep any secret, the king still wished to have his respect, and not just allegiance. And this was the man rumored to be celibate since Madeleine left him, though Theo doubted that had any truth. “No. My cloak keeps me plenty warm. Sir Maric, wait here. I will not be more than a few moments.†Stepping in, Theo scanned the room for the table that held his endgame: two idols, one of a multi-armed woman wearing a shawl and string of skulls, the other a warrior wielding an axe with a serpent wrapped around his leg. Before he began praying, though, he turned to Nireli. She was naturally flirtatious, always attempting to seduce someone, man or woman. Though they notoriously and publicly disliked each other, Theo knew she and Cruttus Mido, Roland’s tactics and swordsmanship tutor, had been lovers for most of their employment here. And with Roland’s bedroom notoriety a fact, Theo couldn’t help but wonder if Nireli had instructed him on other matters as well. That could explain the days when Cruttus was especially rough on the boy. “You shouldn’t do that. To Roland or I or anyone else. We’re married, and any sort of relationship would only end poorly. For you,†he said, more sternly than he’d anticipated. Nireli pretended to pout as she sauntered over to her bed, sitting on the end. “Don’t be such a prude, Your Majesty. Even if you accepted, I wouldn’t let you go through with it. The money is too good. And your boy has only eyes for the Traven girl now.†“Well, I don’t want people getting the wrong impression. So keep your own eyes trained on Cruttus and not me.†Theo then walked over and knelt before the two statues, starting first with Boethia. Give me power to enact my plots, let lies stand firm as truth, and grant me the will to deceive and destroy those who stand against me. He shuffled over to Mephala, and began again. Let those whose plots seek to end me become tangled in their own web, strangled by the threads of their ill-conceived plans. Webspinner, let my own threads stay firm and true, manipulated by the master hands of one worthy to worship you. May you find eternal amusement in my craft, and that it pleases you to allow my own webs to remain spun in perfection. He rose, his mind clear of both the lust and anger he felt earlier. But he did not get far, before a violent fit of coughing sent him staggering to a knee. He pulled out a handkerchief, and wiped away the phlegm from his mustache. He had only one mere moment to wonder why it was so green, before in rushed Sir Maric, surprised, or maybe glad, to see everyone still clothed. “Your majesty, Queen Adrard has sent for you. It appears she’s having the babies,†Sir Maric said, his eyes widening as he came to the realization that ‘babies’ was plural. “You’re having twins, King Adrard.†Theodore pushed himself up, rushing out of the room. All thoughts of the fight and even the prayers were forgotten, his single purpose getting to his wife and unborn children. Roland, Lyenna and Joslin were already there, standing outside the room. “Did someone get the priests? And the healers? And the apothecaries?†he asked, looking mostly to Joslin for answers. “They’re already here. We’ve kept them here the past few weeks in anticipation,†she answered, glancing towards the door as she heard screaming. A head popped out, a priestess by the look of her robes. “Her majesty wants his majesty.†Theodore entered, immediately going to Elayne’s side. She gripped his hand, squeezing it tightly as another contraction hit. “How much longer?†he asked another priestess, who seemed to be in charge. “I’m not sure. We didn’t even know there were twins, and now they seem to be coming much sooner than any birth I’ve ever seen.†Another contraction hit, followed by instructions to push, and out came the first child. The priestess quickly handed it off another, as the next child was already coming as well. Pushing, the next child came, followed by hushed murmuring from the healers and priestesses. “What’s wrong?†Elayne asked, trying to push herself up to see the babies. It was then Theodore realized there was no crying, and he too began worrying. One priestess frantically ran a healing spell over the children, while another tried to administer a potion to the other. This desperate operation continued for several minutes, the parents looking on, powerless and afraid. “Your majesty, I’m afraid…I’m afraid they are not well,†the head clergywoman said. Flanking her were two others, each holding a child. They gave them to mother and father before quickly retreating. The babies were yellow eyed, with dark shading surrounding them. Their skin was translucent and pale, with a sickly green tint. They were puking green bile, more than their body weight in all likelihood. They didn’t make a sound except for their gagging as they puked. It was unnatural, surreal, as if Theodore was in some inescapable realm in which Vaermina’s nightmares mixed with Sheogorath’s lunacy. “Heal them!†Elayne shouted. “Do something!†“We’ve tried. They rejected all the potions we used, and the magic has no effect. I’m sorry, your majesty, there’s nothing to be done.†“Get out. All of you. Tell those outside the children died, but nothing else. Nothing else,†Theodore said, and the women rushed to obey. Elayne was crying her backed wracked with sobs that shook her to the bone. Theodore scooped up a child in each hand, then took them over to the cradle that would have been there bed. Instead, it was to be their coffin. He placed them there, one boy and one girl, looking over their traumatized, bloated faces. He’d never felt such a strong sense of pity before. After a few more moments of choking, both children fell silent. Theodore struggled to hold back the tears, but eventually relented as he moved to Elayne’s side. All thoughts of their previous fight were gone, and they just held each other, wallowing in sadness.

Avitus Agrippa Bruma, Near Skyrim-Cyrdoili Border Evening The cold brisk wind of Bruma chilled the assembled legionaries to the bone. Among a small clearing of dead trees, did the Imperial Soldiers make camp, beside the battered husks of once mighty tree trunks. Snow intertwined with the dead wood, both on the ground, and some in the air, hitting standing trees with vigour and fury. A mighty blizzard had fallen not two hours ago, and it continued all unto the evening, with the large gibbous moon blackened by the falling pure white snow. Wolves howled by the border of the tree line, scattering around the environment, stalking and eying the group, seeing if there was any chance of them getting an easy meal tonight. Compared to quiet Skindgard, Bruma seemed like an entirely different world. A dark, twisted reflection. Large pine tree’s sprouted above, hiding the camp from the eyes of the Stormcloak soldiers guarding the Cyrodili/Stormcloak border. Local imperial legion forces consisted of a few scattered fort garrisons, the bulk of the ninth, and a large concentration of imperial rangers that patrolled the many airpline forests that dotted around Bruma’s countryside. Any surprise Stormcloak advance would be halted by dozens of imperial forged arrows hitting their ranks in volleys. Some would call Bruma lightly manned in comparison to other counties, but most didn’t take into account that the local county guards were veterans of Count Balgruaf’s paramilitary group, The Sons of Whiterun. Any invasion force from Skyrim would face fierce, almost fanatic resistance from the pro-imperial Nord population, The well-trained, and almost legionary disciplined county guard, the imperial forces already stationed in Bruma, and the elite Imperial Hawk Rangers, all specialist-ranked veterans of the now defucent 4th legion. Bruma bred the strongest groups of imperial irregulars, and it’s lack of official imperial legion forces didn’t mean that it couldn’t withstand an invasion by any means, especially since those “official imperial reinforments†could arrive in little over a week, not to mention the ninths presence in the region, soldiers known for their resistance to hardship and the cold. The roaring snow and wind would conquer lesser men, but it would do little to stop the famed “Blue Dragon Legionaries†of the prestigious twenty second cohort. They both served as the rearguard and vanguard of the Imperial army’s second legion. Each legionary was clad head to toe in old-fashioned second era styled imperial plate armour, wearing long, billowing blue capes. For two eras the Dragon Legionaries had served as the second legions elite heavy infantry, an already gifted and , for the quality of their soldiers, famed legion Due to the wintry climate of Bruma, they had swapped there capes with heavy fur coats to stave off the bitter cold at an imperial fort they had passed by several days ago. They made sure to maintain and keep their equipment at perfect condition, partially out of ingrained habit, and partially from the fact the cold had a habit of causing more strain. Three members of the cohort sat beside the roaring fire in the center of the camp, each sharpening their steel-silver imperial longswords. All members of the 22nd cohort carried an imperial gladius, a shortblade, at their side just in-case they were disarmed. Their trademark, however was the massive tower shields they carried, perfect for forming a Tsuedo and crushing enemy combatants The rest of the force sent out by General Martullus were in their tents, sleeping, or on guard duty. One of the three resting soldiers, a Nord let out a grumble. Under his armour he was covered in tatoo’s and warpaint, and had his hair down in long, brown braids. Nestled underneath his mouth and nose was a huge, rather twisted beard. Besides his Gladius and longsword, he had a two-handed steel battle axe which he carried on his back. He spoke in a thick Nordic accent, “What in Shor’s name is the General thinking?! Sending sixteen of the legions most mighty warriors to the middle of nowhere!!! Right beside some milk-drinking Stormcloaks, whom I can’t even smash with my axe!!!†He scooped up a handful of fallen snow from the ground, and threw it into the raging fire. The legionary to the right of him, a smirking Redguard whose cheeks were dotted with light freckles, let out a small chuckle. He had short blonde hair, styled like a bob-cut, and his skin was light enough that someone could mistake him for an imperial. Oddly, he was less armoured then the rest of the group, abandoning the plate shoulder pads, leginings, and gauntlets for leather pauldrons, boots and gloves. Normally, legionaries were required to wear there regiments full uniform on duty, but exceptions were made, especially for an elite outfit like the Blue Dragon Cohort. Across his chest was a leather strap, holding dozens of steel throwing daggers, as well as possessing a wooden hand crossbow, keeping his quiver near his leg. His voice was polite, but underneath, was a hidden sense of mocking, “I thought “Milk-drinker†was a term they used for us, Hroar?†Prefect Hroar Bear-Breath snorted. A veteran of countless conflicts, including the Great War, Hroar had made a name for himself when he killed a grey bear the size of a wagon, which was attacking his village for weeks. Apparently it could break through a wooden palisade in seconds, Hroar strangled it to death using a metal chain belonging to the local blacksmith. By now, his great brown beard was tinged with grey spots, but nobody dared ask his age, knowing he had refused countless promotions because he wanted to stay a non-commissioned officer so he could kill more stuff. He pointed one of his fingers at the redguard, “I’ve killed more men than any of those stinking traitors! What right do they have calling me names reserved for rot-brained…rebels!!!†Hroar pounded his chest with his fist “I could outdrink them all! Outfuck them all, I could plow a dozen bar maids without tiring!!!†The nord let out a huge, hammy laugh. The redguard shook his head, maintaining his self-entertained grin “I don’t know Hoar…I hear quite a few Stormcloak soldiers are legion vets. I’m afraid, in most likely hood, there’s at least a few hundred stronger then you.†Hoar’s face became red with anger, as he got up from his sitting position and angiry reached for the redguard, “A FEW HUNDRED?! RICKET, YOU REDGUARD BASDTARD, Iâ€LL RING YOU’RE SKINNY NICK!!!!†Prefect Ricket Judae lept him his position, nimbly rolling through the snow, and away from Hroar, laughing out loud. Ricket’s favourite past time was annoying and antagonising the nord, and getting him angry. He was one of the youngest members of the cohort, a lad no older than twenty five. His skills in acrobatics, and him being the “Jack of All-Tradesâ€, good at everything excelling at nothing, of the group made him a valuable member of the unit. Still, his child-like attitude left a lot to be desired. “Gentlemen. Please behave yourselves; you’ll wake the others up.†Sighing at his companion’s lack of maturity, Tribune Juib Telerate shook his head, taking a sip from his jug of a nirnroot tea, warming his belly with the hot liquid, and the rest of his body by being close to the raging fire. It was a horrible, bitter taste to all but a select few, with the rare tolerance being “acquired†most of the time. Wearing simple blue robes over his suit of heavy imperial plate armour, the Tribune grey head was completely bald, and the only hair he possessed on his face were his eyebrows, and his black goatee. Although he looked like he was in his mid-thirties, he was over a hundred, and had served in the legion most of his life. He was a member of a well to do merchant family from the great city Blacklight, and was named after the famous dumner saint, Jiub the Eradicator. Unlike the rest of his family, Juib wasn’t anti-imperial. He grew up on the stories of the once mighty Septim dynasty, and Jiub had sworn to do his best in restoring the empire to its glory. Alas, to the Tribune’s dismay, the empire’s situation had only deteriorated. Still, serving as second in command to the second legions most important legate had many perks. Hroar who had corned the Redguard, and looked like he was going to keep his word, angrily responded with, “But sir, this little rat started it!!!†“I don’t care who started it.†At the sound of Legate Avitus Agrippa, there commanding officer, the trio of legionaries straightened their backs, and sharply saluted. At the same time, the three of them muttered, “Sir.†Avitus barked, looking angry. Well, angrier then usual… “At ease.†***** The snow fall slightly dampened the trio of legionaries field of vision, but they could still see the wooden palisade that separated Pale Pass from Cyrodili. The Legate, holding his full-face Steel helmet under his left arm, put his hand up, telling his companions, "There's at least two hundred heavily armed Nords beyond the gate. Most likely drunk, pissed off Nords." Tribune Telerate raised his hand, asking, "Sir, but don't we have a treaty with the Stormcloaks?" Avitus shook his head, "That doesn't matter. Don't expect to find any friends in that camp. Remember, we just get the information we need, and get out." Taking a gulp of air, the Imperial officer approached the wooden gate, making sure his hand was away from his Gladius, Remeber the General's instructions. Be respectful, and dont cause a national incident. Being only a few steps away from the Palisade, Avitus called out as loud as he could, "Greetings!" No answer came immediately, though the sounds of laughter and light chatter could be heard as it was carried in the wind. Those dip-shits are laughing at me-okay. Remember, don’t get angry. Avitus took a deep breath, he shouted even louder, "Hello? Can anyone hear me?!" Some of the laughter subsided then, and a large fur and steel clad man with shaggy red hair came lumbering over, looking confused. Evidently he wasn't aware of their presence, suggesting the laughter earlier wasn't in the Imperial's expense. The confused look faded in place of a smile then, and he said, "....Hello!" "Avtius scratched the back of his head akwardly, "Ummmm...are you the ranking Stormcloak Officer?" "You see this armor, son?" The imperial officer scratched his chin, before saying, " My apologies if I offended. I am Legate Avitus Agrippa, second legion." Avitus studied the man, he seemed personable and friendly enough. Then again, Nords could have pretty eratic mood swings, he said, "Whom am I speaking too?" "Whom?" The Nord started to snicker, which was followed soon by more laughs coming from behind him. Clearing his throat, he said, "You, my good sir, are speaking with he whom is in command of this illustrious bunch of Nordic rabble, my good chum! Can't you tell from my outrageous accent?" "It's not like I couldn't tell you were rabble..." The imperial officer muttered under his breath, before saying, "I have business and questions for you, then. Good sir. If you wouldn't mind opening this gate." "You'll get through this gate when Ulfric Stormcloak shaves his ass and when Summer finds Skyrim! Anything you want to ask, you can ask right from where you are! Unless...." "Unless?" The imperial officer had the urge to strangle the Stormcloak Officer. How dare he show so much disrespect?" "Unless you got some mead on ya, for me and the boys?" the Stormcloak yelled. "Aren't you on duty?" Of course he is. He's a ******* Nord, he needs to be drinking 24-7. "One mead's not gonna throw me under, do I look Cyrodiilic to you? Ha! Show me a little good will, and I'll trust you to come up with me and the lads! That seems fair to me, from where I stand!" Prefect Juda to Avitus's right whispered, "Boss, don't we have a barrel or two of mead back at camp?" Avitus whispered in annoyance, "You can’t seriously think of giving in to their idiotic demands?!" The Reduard nodded his head, "The general specifically ordered us to deal with the Stormcloaks diplomatically, and not to cause any incident. Besides, you weren't planning on letting us drink those anyway...' The Prefect does have a point. Unknown to the Legate, the Prefect was smiling and struggling to hold in a laugh. A thought occured to the Tribune. A horrible thought. He whispered to the Prefect, "That mead belongs to Hroar dosen't it?" The giggling Prefect nodded his head. Before the Tribune could say anything, Avitus yelled Sighing, Avitus cleared his throat, calling out, "We have two barrels of Icefrost mead brewed in Bruma, is that...acceptable?" "Aye!" yelled the Nord from up above. "We'll let you lot in and we can talk over some tankards of free mead!" More yells in celebration came from behind the Necro Nord. "Lets see how you lot handle yer drinks!" Oh brother... Avitus turned to face the Tribune, "Get Hroar over here, and gather up the barrels of mead." The tribune saluted sharpy, before heading back to the camp. He returned carrying a barrel of the beverage, and the nord in tow, whom was carrying two barrels over his shoulders. He looked pissed. Giving an accusing glance aimed towards Juda, the Nord grumbled something under his breath, before turning to face Avitus, "Sir, why do I have to give up my supply, to these flea brain gits?" The legate cleared his throat, "I have no doubt you could drink all of that by yourself Hroar. Alas, you need to share today." Avitus gave a sly grin, " It does without saying, but don't do anything stupid, okay? Your all representing the second on forgein soil. I expect you all to be worthy of that honor. Understood?" The assembled legionaries said in cohesion, "Aye sir." Avitus nodded his head, heading for the wooden gate, and motioning for his troops to follow him. "Were coming in." He shouted, " Do you have the mead?" said a Nord from the other side. "Yes we have the mead." Said Avitus impatiently Suddenly, the gates burst open and a dozen Nords came pouring out, embracing their new comrads and patting their backs. "Heey! Welcome friends, come in come in!" said the redheaded Necro Nord. "Come and eat with us! Go on, go on! Don't worry about those, we got the mead, hehe." Avitus's face betrayed shock, as he couldn't formulate a response properly, instead letting a huge bald nord with a mustache the size of his sword embrace him in a bear hug, What in Oblivion, Ricket the smallest of the group energetically shouted, "Food? Come here comrade." He gave an exaggerated face mired with seriousness, as he patted the back of a Stormcloak regular. Tribune Jiub just gave an awkward smile, while Hroar had a grumpy look. The Nords took care of the mead, while the Commander escorted the Imperial men to a table up top where he was taunting them not too long ago. Four tankards of mead came, all of which was placed by the Captain's side, rather than the guests, who were offered some salted meats and goat cheese. First drink, second, third, and finally the last all went down in big gulps tankard by tankard before the Nord finally spoke, gasping for air in satisfaction and signalling for more. "Whoo! That's the stuff. Tastes much better when it's free. Some elven supply soldier back in Skyrim got the bright idea that we might appreciate spiced wine instead of mead to warm our bones. BAH! I'd offer you some hooch, but like you said, on the job boys. There's cow out back if you lads get thirsty." "Yeer calling me a milk-drinker boy?!" Shouted Hroar as he got up from his chair in anger, slamming his gauntleted hands on the table, "I've been killing, drinking, and ******* before you were sucking your mothers teat." Avitus just started to rub his sculp in annoyance, while Ricket grabbed him by the arm, saying with a sly grin, "Calm down Hroar. I'm sure mister Stormcloak didn't mean to offend." Why did Martullus need to send me... Avitus, taking a page from his CO, said in a cool voice, "Alcohol is a poison. It makes a soldier weak. If the others want, they can have a mug." Ricket asked, in his usual deadpan tone, "If it wouldn't be trouble to ask, may I have a mug good sir?" Hraor added, "And me ya git." The Commander simply smirked and took another drink to hide his snickering. "Bah!" he proclaimed again, burping while pounding on his chest. "Mead puts hair on yer balls and the spirit of old heroes in your 'eart! I bet your lad there knows it. The excitable one. What's your name, kinsman?" "Hroar. Hroar Bear-Breath of Riverwood." The nord said proudly, with his large brown beard sat comfortably on his face, and his long brown hair down in braids. "Ah, Bear-Breath huh? I see why! Riverwood, eh? Long ways from home, aren't ya? Beautiful spot of land, that. Ever miss is?" asked the Red-Headed Commander, still smiling. "Sometimes. Though all my family is long dead, besides my cousin Alvor, a mighty fine blacksmith. Rest eaten by bears." He said with a nod, choosing to ignore his comment about his breath, "I'd take an imperial fortification as my home any day. " He gave him a questioning look, And were ya from you git? Some backwater settlement like Rorkistead I assume?" He said with a grin "Something like that," he said, sharing the grin. "In any case, it's a good thing you're happy here with the Cyrodiilics. Since we own the pass now, it's not very likely you'll be seeing your home any time soon..." The other Nords close by started snickering until the Commander raised his hand. "But, enough with the unpleasantries. I'm in good spirits, so, why don't you tell me why you lot are here, eh? What brings you to my lovely abode?" Before the nordic legionary could retort in anger, Avitus raised his arm, reaching for the leather pack over his shoulder. He took a large musty paper of Bruma from it, and placed it on the table so the Stormcloak commander could see. He placed his gauntleted finger at the northernmost region, and said, "During the very late stages of the Siege of Falkreath, we lost communications and contact with one our furthest and remote forts." Avitus was as blunt and straight to the point as ever, "I want to know if you Stormcloaks had any hand in it." The Nord Commander lost his smirk, apparently thinking about the question, though whether it was genuine consideration or trying to figure how much to tell was unclear. Finally, he said, "I suppose it's possible... But unlikely. If our boys got rid of some imperial controlled fort, I'd have heard about it. Though it's possible. We had war parties out and about, ready to ambush and cause trouble prior to the siege. Though if a small war party took one of your forts alone, they'd never let anyone hear the end of it, heh. And neither would I. Where was this so called fort of yours?" He went beside the nordic commander, and pointed to a specific part of the map. An area close to a very isolates lake, without a single settlement near it, " Dont flatter yourself. It was manned by a skeleton crew. Here." "Ha, you damn Imperials must really not have a clue if you think we somehow took a fort in Cyrodiil then with yer boys all camped on the Pass like a mother hen protecting her young. Nevermind the avalanche," said the Commander. "Surely we weren't your best lead?" "With the mobilizations, training, reequipping, and general reforms were applying to the legion to make it at top efficiency once again, we haven't had the time to check on a small, almost worthless fort at the border of our territory." The legate said sharply, "To be frank with you commander, I think deploying a Decanus of legionaries is a waste of valuable resources." Avitus said with bitterness, "Regardless, I have my orders. And I have treated you with courtesy, dont you agree? If you do , I implore you, do you have the fainest idea of perhaps a Stormcloak raiding party entering into Cyrodili, If I cant bring those boys home, at least let me give the families clarity?" The Commander sighed, his face growing uncharacteristically serious. "Look, I get it. Bullshit assignments are the worst. But I can't help you. It's like I said, if anyone ever pulled off what you're suggesting, all of Tamriel would know about it. Think of all our military feats during the war. All are well documented. If there were any Stormcloaks involved, they never came back to Skyrim." "Never came back...?" Tribune Jiub started to stroke his black goatee, nibbling on a piece of salted pork, "Commander. Do you by any chance keep operational records in any one of the many Akavari forts littering the pass, or some other outpost?" "Aye, I do, and that's why I know you can expect no involvement from us. Certainly not with our knowledge anyway." Leaning forward, he said, "The High General's been having us catalogue and record everything we can find on the Akaviri from the forts. Nothing important, just scholarly shit. Says it'll do us some good and keep the men sharp 'While we sit on ass all day', as he put it. I have to keep up with their activity around here regularly, and it hasn't always been uneventful, with the beasts that lurk this place and sometimes even unnatural things. Either way, I know for a fact we had no knowledge of your fort's fate, and nothing official was done. If it was unofficial, obviously I couldn't comment on it. You wouldn't even be sitting in this place if that were the case." "Well then." Avitus got up from his chair, motioning for his troops to follow him "I thank you for your cooperation in this investigation, commander. I'll make sure to to make a mention of you in my report." He said in an almost robotic tone of voice. Juda finished a large chunch of salted pork by shoving it in his mouth, and speaking with his mouth still full, "Thanks for the food." Jiub went beside Avitus, giving the Stormcloak a quick nod of his head, "And thank you for the mead," said the Nord. "Maybe when the war starts, we can return the favor." Hroar gave a muffled laugh, saying "I expect you lads on the front with us real men." "We'll see," said the Commander. "You seem to have something to prove, kinsman. To yourself or others, I don't know but when we storm on the elves, we just might let you." Smirking again, he stood and said, "Alright be off with ya. I've got to make my own report now." ***** From the entrance of Pale Pass, to the missing fort would take a day and a half of traveling. Bruma seemed like an endless expanse of decrepit forests filled with dead trees, and harrowing tundra’s covered in layer upon layers of think snow. If you starred at the expansive tundra’s for too long, people claimed you could see twisted illusions dancing around in the freshly fallen snow. This was rock bottom. The middle of nowhere, as far and as remote as possible in Cyrodili. No signs of civilisation could be seen, with buildings as scare as people. Regardless, tonight the moon was casting sinister, unwholesome rays of sickly white light across the snowy tundra. The eighteen legionaries marched in grim silence, the only sounds besides the faint wind was metal boots trampling over the ice and snow. Despite the constant, unearthly changes the landscape was experiencing as the soldiers went deeper and deeper into the darkness, Avitus was wracked in thought, If the Stormcloaks weren't involved…then what happened to that fort?

Daric and Maric Falkreath The craggy rocks of the Reach slowly gave way to Falkreath hold's rainy forests. A night's stay underneath the towering timbers left the clothes of both father and son perfumed with rich, earthy sent of the pines. Thomas recalled the days of his youth here, riding atop his stallion, his steel armor shining, with all the naivety and confidence of a young man. He fought bandits with reckless abandon, took women the same way, yet that all changed when he met Madeleine. He was ready to settle down, live here in Skyrim, forsake his homeland. Now he was back, and this time he'd at least leave with his son, if not his soulmate. The hold's namesake city, with its recent stone walls, flashed through the trees, with smoke rising from a thousand chimneys. Guards stood atop the walls, and some armed with spears, others with bows, all keeping a watchful eye trained toward road and wood. Thomas turned to his son, and gave a slight smile. Everyday, it seemed Daric looked more and more like the young man who'd ridden into Falkreath those fifteen years ago. Daric had all of the sense that Thomas now did, and none of cocky arrogance the young Thomas had. "You better let them know who we are," Thomas said. Daric wasn't sure what he was expecting to see, but unfamiliarity certainly wasn't it. He of course recognized the old town, but now with everything that happened, with everywhere he's been... it couldn't look more strange to see... "home" again. No matter how many bad memories he'd associated with the place, no matter how much he'd wanted to leave it all behind, he still couldn't shake that association. It was home. Daric stood ahead of his father, and said, "We're just passing through! We've come from Markarth!" "You, boy?" said one of the men from the walls. "How goes those parts, did we win yet or what?" "More or less, if you can ever truly tame the Reach. And aye, me! I'm the High General's second!" The Stormcloaks were hesitant to let him in with his foreigner friend behind him, even if Daric was a Stormcloak. But after his answer and hearing the weight in his voice, as well as realizing who he was, they finally gave the order to let him pass. That was at least one thing that was different from his memories. Falkreath was never blocked off like this before. Would make it easier leaving it behind again, if he couldn't see much of the town beyond its walls. Thomas dipped his head in respectful greeting at the guards atop the wall, noting how new it appeared to be, though it didn't lack for scars. His stomach twisted when he heard Daric call himself the High General's second, but he ignored it. Daric was his son, and was coming with him. He'd already chosen. "Any idea how the people are doing after the Imperials invaded? I heard the Hi-that you lot burned their farms. Good strategy, with the avalanche in pass. Though can't imagine the farmers liked it too much." Thomas watched a pair of Nordic women whisper to each other as they passed he and his son . The knight wondered if they recognized Daric, or if Daric knew them. He recognized them... one of them made Baldur and Rebec cakes or cookies or something when they'd gotten married. She was always baking things as if she had nothing else to do in this sleepy town. They likely had no idea who he was though, even if they did remember him. Daric was taller now, more physically fit. His hair was long and more shaggy compared to the way it was before. And his uniform likely added on another five years unless someone looked directly at him. "Baldur says some of them are still bitter about the whole thing. They gave up a lot only for Skyrim to have agreed to an alliance with the Empire. Some who bought into the propaganda consider it settling, but don't realize we pretty much won. They also expected more in the ways of reparations for the damages. Ulfric got some from the Empire, but couldn't outright embarrass them, so the farmers for instance still didn't gain back what they lost in potential profits and they likely never will. They only got enough to make Falkreath functional again." "Sacrifices of war. Though Falkreath will likely always bare some resentment for it. People won't forget, because they don't want to. And it better they remember what the Empire forced their leaders to do. In that regard, the people will always be suspicious of Cyrodiil," Thomas said. "I guess the milkdrinkers have to take what victories they can get at this point," said Daric, with no humor in his tone at all. The knight nodded. He was all to aware that only a month before, he was one of those milkdrinkers. Probably still was, in most people's minds. Though he never felt any loyalty to the Empire. They were a foreign entity, with hardly any presence of influence in High Rock, and the legionnaires that were stationed there were only used to man some old forts, and protect a few roads. "Where are we looking?" Thomas asked, his voiced edge with a harshness he rarely had. "Local shithole, I expect." "Actually, it's not too bad," said Daric. "It depends. If mom is keeping up the garden, which she wasn't last time I was here. The garden's on the house's walls outside." Thomas coughed into his gauntleted hand awkwardly. "I...I uh meant that shit stain husband of hers. I figured he'd be getting liquored up regardless of the time, at some tavern. I'm sure the house is nice." Daric laughed despite himself and said, "Oh, right. He can drink anywhere, really. Normally he does so at the house after chopping wood or something. But, lets check the tavern first. Last owner was killed in the war. Catapult. Lets see if Dead Man's Respite's still in the same place or not. I'd rather find him there and take care of things with mother not around." The knight have a solemn nod. He was looking forward to dealing with the man, though he wanted to do it himself. But, he supposed his son had the better claim, having actually met and lived with the man. "Lead the way, son." "Another mead, Grinvuld?" "You know it. Keep 'em comin." "It's not even noon. Maybe you should take it easy." "I said. Keep. Them. Coming." "Alright," said the old man, chubby fingers raised in defense. The barkeep quickly got his friend his favorite mead, Honningbrew, not bothering to pour it for him. He knew the drill and knew Grinvuld would be taking the entire bottle. He sighed in sorrow for him, noticing the new bruises on his knuckles. People assumed it was from defacing that pretty wife of his that they now rarely ever saw outside, but that wasn't the case... "Thank you, Svenvor," said Grinvuld before the mead tip disappeared behind a wall of black hair. He drank greedily, the mead pouring over his black beard from the corners of his mouth. People close enough to see him in the tavern just shook their head at the display. Mostly the non Nords of course. "Drink a little more, why don't you? Wouldn't want to be sober when you're beating your wife!" The bottle suddenly hit the table, though there was nothing left. "Another one, will you Svenvor?" "Of course, Grinvuld," he said. "Did you hear me asshole?" Grinvuld turned slow to his right, eyes resting on a mother of two, Redguard woman with an orange bonnet over her head. "Not today, Jesena," he said. Her husband was glaring at him from where they were sitting as well, he and his kids waiting to be served. The man had a deep cut under his eye, puffed up from what was obviously a very good hit. "Jorin, control your woman. I don't want any shit today in my bar," said Svenvor. "Why do you always stick up for him? This man is an ass and a wife beater! She hasn't come out of that house in weeks!" said the Redguard man. "Not like he's the only one in this town," said someone else in the room. Grinvuld looked around at the hateful eyes on him and listened to the whispers. The Redguard wasn't the only one around the tavern that was embarrassed by him in a tavern tussle. Most didn't care, but he could tell Jesena and her whipped husband had support. "I guess I'm not going to be able to drink in peace today," he said. "Why should you get any peace when your wife doesn't? 'Cept when you're here drinking and getting ready to beat on her again," said Jesena. Grinvuld stood slowly, only because his slowed senses demanded it. But Jorin took that as a sign he was rearing to go. Well so was he, after the beating he got in front of his wife the last time. And his children... As Grinvuld moved to walk out of the tavern, the Redguard moved in front of him, staring him down. To Jorin it looked like he was approaching to fight, and Grinvuld was too buzzed to care to explain otherwise. "Go away, little man. Before I beat you like you think I beat my wife. Again." "Think? We know! We saw!" "I slip up every now and then, I admit it. A man does every now and then under the bottle. But it's not how you think," said Grinvuld. "That why your boy ran away?" said Jorin. "Don't!" said Svenor. "Don't go there, Jorin. Just stay out of my damn business. If you want to settle our little fight from last time, fine, but keep my family out of this." "You didn't keep my family out of it when you beat me like a dog and hit my wife! In front of my children!" "Well maybe next time you won't bring your children to a damn tavern around men! Looks like you learned quick, Redguard. And your wife wouldn't have gotten hit if she stayed out of it! If she's man enough to hit a man, she's man enough to get hit too! And I'll do it again!" "The hell you will!" said Jorin, and this time he made sure to get the first hit off, sending a quick and powerful right hook into Grinvuld's nose. The other people watching gasped simultaneously. The punch forced Grinvuld's head to turn almost all the way around. When his gaze met Jorin's again, it was accompanied with the same bottle he was drinking from, flying straight into his face, glass shattering on impact. *** Outside the tavern, Daric could hear the shouting well before he and Maric even saw the tavern. By the time they reached it, guards were sprinting for the door. Before they got to it, a large man came crashing through the door with two redguards and some Nord on his shoulders, throwing them into the dirt before the guards drew their blades. Thomas rushed forward, his hand automatically going to the hilt of his sword. He stopped just short of drawing it, as he knew the guards wouldn't react well. His instincts told him the big man was Daric's stepfather. He instantly hated the man's drunken brutishness. "That's enough! I've seen all I needed to see. Slap 'em in irons and take him to the special cell!" "Aren't you even gonna let me explain?" said Grinvuld. "The Redguard swung first. Svenvor will vouch for me." "Svenvor always vouches for you. Why, I have no idea, but I don't want to hear it! Y-," "Hold!" said Daric, hand on his blade. "Let him go, I have business with this man." "Who are you?" said the guardsman, looking down at him. Grinvuld looked up too, wondering. Maybe it was because of the mead, or the fact that Daric had grown and changed a lot, but the man did not recognize his son. His voice however was familiar... "...Daric? That you, boy?" said Grinvuld as deadpan as possible. Thomas stepped forward, hand still on his sword. "He's my boy. Daric's no son of yours. Breton to the bone." Stepping forward, and suddenly appearing more sober, Grinvuld looked at the man who spoke almost with amusement in his eyes. "Hnh, so, we finally meet, face to face." Sir Maric's face twisted into a mocking grin, as he looked up at the man. "That we do. See you're just as drunk as my son described." Daric looked at his "father" and said, "Wait, what do you mean by that? You know him?" "I know of him, boy. I knew for some time that you weren't my son. Your mother was a whore, boy." Daric drew his blades instantly at the insult, causing the guards to point theirs at him. "Take it back!" Grinvuld tilted his head and said, "No. Truth is truth. Your mother ran off and slept with this puny bitch, then lied and said it was my child. And like the dumb sap I am, I believed her. She was my woman after all. Why wouldn't I." Thomas chuckled. "I've killed more men than you can imagine, drunkard. If it wasn't for my son, I'd add another to that list. No one calls Madeleine a whore." "And what do you call a woman that does what she did then? Whore's all I've got for her. I'm not a man of many words. Whore's all I've got." Daric threw one of his blades at Grinvuld's feet. Chuckling beneath his beard, he said, "You can't be serious. You think I'm lying then." "We were in love. Like that feeling you get whenever you see a bottle of mead." Thomas gripped his sword hilt just a little tighter. "You're move. Fight the boy, me, or whoever. Just keep her out of this." "She told me she loved me too you know. That was a long time ago..." Grinvuld sighed and said, "What are we fighting about anyway? Maddy? You can have her. I raised the boy. Wiped his ass, fed him. Clothed him. Another man's child for a decade and a half. I've done my duty as her husband." "You've done nothing but make us miserable!" said Daric, voice trembling with anger. What confused him was that all of it wasn't directed towards Grinvuld... What he said was starting to make sense. Why he cared so much that he looked more Breton than Nord. He was realizing that he wasn't his son. Trying to push that out of his head and focus on the bad memories like Baldur taught him, Daric gripped his sword tighter and said, "Pick it up." "This is the thanks I get for raising another man's child? I take it you've met the General if you two are here. Heh, surprised you got him from his 'cold dead hands'. Did he get this treatment too? What about me? Am I not aloud to be angry? Hurt? How would you feel in my shoes, Breton?" "I didn't beat your son! I didn't beat the love of your life! You're a drunk layabout who abuses people, children and women. You can be hurt and angry, but that is no reason to hit and beat others. You don't think her leaving me hurt? I didn't beat others, I dealt with it like a man, learned to live with it and move on. Even if I never stopped loving her." Thomas' blade began sliding from his scabbard as he spoke, but he caught himself and let it slide back down. This was Daric's fight. "Back then, he wasn't your child. He was MINE. The wife was MINE. They ate MY food, lived in MY ******* HOUSE. You have no right to judge me when you left, you worthless deadbeat. I handled it like a man. Better than you." Daric felt his anger leaving him until his father's words rekindled it. And when his father spoke again, he'd heard enough of it. "No more talk, we fight now. Guards, don't interfere. Accept my challenge, 'Blue-Knuckled'." Grinvuld took a look at the guards to see if they'd allow him to. He knew they would. They were hoping the boy would kill him and take him off their hands for good. Looking to Maric, he said, "I will kill him. He's not a boy any longer, that much is clear. I'd rather not kill what I wasted these years raising, but I will. Fair warning. You better talk some sense into your kid if you want him to remain breathing." Thomas glared at the man with an intensity he'd only ever felt in battle. He only broke it to pull Daric aside, and put both hands on the boy's shoulders. "Do you want do this?" "I don't want want to. I HAVE to! He ******* dies!" said Daric. "Now pick up the ******* sword!" "Well alright, then. Boy. What a waste. When I kill your boy, take the whore with you, Breton." "I'll cut out your lying tongue!" yelled Daric, not waiting any longer for his stepfather to grab his blade. The once sluggish Nord showed surprising quickness for a man supposedly under the influence of alcohol before. He was faking, that much was obvious as he kicked up the blade into his hand in time to counter Daric's blow. Daric backed off immediately, knowing that he couldn't match his strength. Memories of the fight he had in Baldur's name still going through his head. Grinvuld didn't fight defensively, refusing to wait for the brat to come and instead pressing the attack. Daric rolled away quickly, so as not to let himself be put on the defense and slashed towards Grinvuld's back. Grinvuld cried out briefly, then turned his glare back on the man that he once knew as a sniveling little bitch. That was the last time he's get a glimpse at him clearly, as Daric took no chances and threw dirt into his eyes. He missed, but it was enough to get close and roll under the much taller man's overswing and slice at his knees. When he fell on one, he was on Daric's eyelevel, which allowed Daric to slash over the man's eyes, blinding him for good. "AAAAAHHH!" Cried Grinvuld, slashing out wildly. Daric easily parried and disarmed him, knocking the blade back into the owner's hand. Fist full of his beard, Daric cut the Nord's Nordhood off, shoving it into his mouth as he screamed. Daric paced back and forth, savoring the moment with eyes that had the fury of Dagon in them. When Grinvuld cleared his mouth and tried catching his breath, he soon felt Daric's cold steel at his neck.... "Do it. Go on! Give me death already! Send me to Sovngarde so I can feast amongst heroes! Send me away from this hell!" Daric frowned at his old father's attempt to sour his enjoyment further, but soon smiled. "I made you a promise, didn't I? If you're going to Sovngarde, I'm sending you there with memories of a very sore throat." Without any more words, Daric sliced Grinvuld's neck open and dropped a blade so that he could shove his hand in his open neckhole. Then he yanked his tongue from his throat and held onto it, watching Grinvuld gurgle for air as he faded away slowly. It wasn't until Daric was sure that Grinvuld's lights were out fully that he cut the tongue away, letting the old man's body drop dead in the dirt. Daric spat on his father's tongue and threw it at his back. "Good riddance!" The crowd murmured amongst themselves. Duels were common, but such brutality was unheard of, even in the most vicious of blood feuds. They all knew Daric, and of course knew that Grinvuld deserved it, but several shuffled off with sickened looks. Thomas wore a look of mild surprise mixed with some admiration. "You fought well son. I'm glad that monster won't hurt anyone any longer. Now let's go find your mother. But first wash your hands off. You look like a butcher." Daric ignored his father, refusing to look at the blood on his hands as he sheathed his blades. Wiping his hands on his tunic, which proved ineffective, he said, "I'll do it later at the house. There's a well." His face was still hard from the murder he'd committed, but it was a labored effort, to remain that way. Grinvuld's words... things were not the way he'd thought they'd been. "Follow me. Madeleine is that way." The words of the slain man seemed to hang over both father in son. In Thomas they produced an itch like feeling, that what he knew of his love was not what it seemed. He couldn't shake it, couldn't scratch it, and a cold sweat formed on his now clammy hands. For the first time this trip, he was nervous to see Madeleine. He only hoped his doubts could be cast aside when he did. The knight followed behind his son, ignoring the apple sized lump in his throat. To Mara, he sent up a silent prayer. When they approached the home, Daric almost didn't recognize it. The bushes, vines, all the berries, flowers and fruits that he remembered surrounding it were all just gone. Nothing was left, not even the rotten remains of what he remembered. It was the only thing his mother had to work on, though with how much rain came to Falkreath, it wasn't that much effort. It used to be such an odd sight for such a gloomy town, famous for its grave. But now it finally matched. "I should have figured. He was always threatening to tear it all down. I bet he did this," said Daric. Thomas simply nodded, slow and meticulous. He just hoped the person they found inside wouldn't be as depressed and dilapidated as the plants. "Right. Seems like something a drunken brute would do." Thomas walked to the door, and after a moments hesitation, knocked quickly and loudly. The noise seemed to hang in the damp Falkreath air, for what seemed likes ages. He heard feet shuffling just behind the door, and two locks being pulled, before it swung open. Before the knight stood a hazel haired goddess. Madeleine initially looked somewhat confused by the two men in her doorway, and once the realization came, so did the tears that formed on the brim of her eyes. Thomas fixed his pale green eyes upon her deep brown ones, which flicked from his face, to Daric's, to Daric's clothes, and back to Thomas' face. His hand slowly, tentatively reached to caress her cheek. It never made it. She flinched her face away, then took a step backward, before running away into the confines of her home. They followed without hesitation. Father and son found her standing over a cooking pot, stirring it as though nothing were amiss. As they entered, the room smelled of nothing, no stew or broth, and bubbling was heard. She was stirring water. The dancing flames cast shadows upon her pale form, making her defined Bretic cheekbones sharp as razors. Her simple woolen dress was drawn tight around her spare waist, which seemed even slimmer from the days of their affair. Gazing at her, watching her hide the tears from those whose presence she seemed unable to comprehend, Thomas forgot entirely about his son's fight, or that his son was even in the same room with him. Their son. "Maddy. It's Thomas." She turned, skittish as a colt, using her apron to wipe away the few tears that found their way through her stalwart defenses. Her expression, a mixture of awe and shock. Her lover was here, her now grown son was here, covered in gore, and they knew each other. No amount of Sheogorathian madness would ever have conjured such a vision as this, not for her. "What're you...Grinvuld wouldn't like you being here. You should leave." It was Thomas' turn to flinch. Those words hurt more than any wound he'd ever received. "He won't hurt you anymore. Our son saw to that." Comprehension of what Thomas' words meant, and of the blood that covered their son, sent her crumbling to her knees. She no longer held back the tears, sobbing into her hands. Thomas asked himself, was it relief, or was it sadness? Was what Grinvuld said true? The thoughts did not impede his moving to her, cradling her and rocking her softly. They sat on the floor like children in a fierce storm, crying and holding each other tight. Even if she felt sadness and sympathy for her abuser, Thomas did and always would love her. Daric watched from the side the whole time, though he had to fight the bleariness that his tears had brought to see them. Tears had never flown so hard from his eyes, not even as a child when witnessing his mother's abuse, or his. He smiled as his face flushed and his eyes shut fiercely. He couldn't help but wonder what things would have been like had this been the way things were from the start. His mother, and true father, together. "Ma? Go get what you can't leave behind, okay? We're leaving this place tomorrow, for good," said Daric, forcing composure upon him finally. Thomas and Madeleine disentangled themselves from each other, and Maddy looked at her son. Thomas reached up and wiped away her tears, yet didn't care to wipe away his own. This time, she didn't flinch. "Thank you, both of you. But I won't be taking anything. Nothing here is worth it." Thomas stood up, and hoisted Madeleine to her get as well. "Maybe someone will buy the house? Sell it, furniture and all." "We burn it," said Daric. As he looked around the place he once knew as his childhood home, Daric saw nothing but the mistake it all was and what he missed out on. He wasn't a child anymore. He'd spent those years all on a lie. Wasted it. "Burn everything." Thomas grabbed a cloak off a hook on the wall and put it around Maddy's shoulder. She gave it all a glance over, eyes lingering on a few momentos, but Daric's courage rubbed off on her, and she left without hesitation. The knight conjured up flame once she'd left, and touched his flaming hand to a wooden wall. "Let's go son. We had better tell the guards, make sure it doesn't spread." "I'll take care of it," said Daric. Smiling at them, he said, "You two meet me by the city gates." ** The piney forests and gloomy hold, behind them, the reunited family found themselves nearing their final destination of Kyne's Watch. The journey was mostly quite and awkward, after Madeleine explained the true nature of her and Grinvuld's relationship, but now they were becoming more and more talkative. Thomas had just explained what he'd been up to in High Rock, so now Maddy asked Daric, "What've you been up to son? You mentioned something about a general back in Rorikstead." "Uhhh..." How to explain the Red-Snows.... "I was Red-Snow's apprentice. You remember him at the town? And the woman he was with? I fought with them," said Daric. He noticed his mother's shivering as they walked and couldn't help but snicker. He was very much used to this by now. "The one with the hair? And the woman...she was gruff, to say the least. Do you know them well?" she asked, running her hands up and down her arms to warm herself up. Thomas removed his cloak and placed it over hers, though he almost instantly regretted it. Daric smiled at her quick synopsis and said, "Yea, that's them alright. I knew them well." Trailing off for a while, Daric finally said, "We won't be seeing them. They're probably busy anyway and we shouldn't keep pa's king waiting." Maddy shook her head, a big smile plastered on her face. "Sir Maric, in the employ of a king. Think about it, we'll be living in a castle, a palace even!" "The king's castle is even nicer than you can imagine," Thomas said, with an equally large grin. He seemed to feel her joy, her sadness, he felt complete around her. It was as if part of his soul was missing, but now he'd found it. "What'll you do there, Daric?" Madeleine asked. Daric didn't say anything for a while, just listened to the moans of the winds. Finally he said, "I have no idea, honestly. I hadn't thought that far..." "Oh," Maddy said, and began wondering just what she would do. Any number of exotic things, she imagined. Thomas jumped in quickly after Maddy. "I think I can find him a job in the guard. Or, he can stick around the castle, get to know the nobles, spar with them some. You needn't do anything if you didn't want to, son." "And just stand around chatting with nobles all day? No thanks pa, I'll get a job." Changing the subject, Daric thought about what they talked about on the way to Kyne's Watch. Madeleine did cheat on Grinvuld, but not for no reason. Grinvuld assaulted her once when he was drunk and promised he'd never get that drunk again. And he kept that promise, until he realized Daric wasn't his. That made it a little more understandable for Daric, as his mother was hurt and shocked... but knowing Grinvuld did keep his promise... all of it just hurt his head to think about. Especially thinking about it and remembering that he ripped the man's tongue out. A man he knew as father... the image hadn't left his mind the entire way here. Sighing, Daric said, "Mother?" But then Daric suddenly thought better of it and decided not to continue. The whistling in the wind blocked his weak attempt at speaking anyway. Thomas and Maddy chatted, mostly about how elegant and stylish the palace was, until they arrived at the docks. It was mindless talk, but Thomas would talk about rocks with her and be happy. Theodore's flotilla bobbed anchored offshore, though the king's own ship was docked at Kyne's Watch. The brown bull's head banner snapped in the wind, and Thomas knew that with the wind blowing from the north like that, it would be easy sailing south and west to Farrun. Once the swung around the Northpoint, it would be even smoother sailing, unless the winds changed. But he looked forward to a brisk ride home. A Breton soldier caught sight of the approaching party, and sent a man below decks to fetch the king. Theodore, once told, threw on a cloak and rushed up top. He smiled, glad to see his guard captain returning, with what appeared to be his entire family. "Sir Maric," he shouted above the wind, "how pleased we are to see you. I fear we've overstayed our welcome. You know how these Nords grow restless in the presence of strangers." "Quite so, your majesty," the knight responded. They soon came to the docks themselves, and Thomas helped Madeliene up to the ship. "King Adrard, may I present the love of my life, Madeliene." Flustered, she bowed awkwardly, somewhat awed at meeting a king. "A pleasure to meet you, King Adrard." Theodore bowed back, and said, "Nonsense. The pleasure is mine. You must be a fine woman indeed to pry Sir Maric away from the duty he holds so dear. I look forward to getting to know you as we journey home. "And Daric, boy, I'm anxious for you to meet my son. Roland is a few years older than yourself, but has so few friends his age. Most people are intimidated by a prince, but if I've judged you right, I don't think you will be." Daric seemed to be wearing a face of uncertainty, but whether it was because of the King's presence or not was unclear. Cracking a smile, he said, "I survived meeting Ulfric Storm-Cloak. I think I'll be okay." "Quite so!" Theodore boomed. "Now, if there is nothing else that needs doing, I would prefer we make way. A king's duty is never done, and I've been away from home far too long for my wife's liking." Thomas looked to Daric, somewhat expecting his son to go see the Red-Snows again. "Anything you need to do, son?" Daric turned behind him to watch the town shrouded in cloudy frost. It wouldn't take long to do what Maric and Daric were both thinking, but... "No," said Daric, glumly. "Lets go. I won't keep the king waiting." "Right. We're off then, your majesty," Thomas said. The sailors began unmooring the vessels, loosing ropes and pulling up gangplanks. Soon, they would be underway. Thomas and Theodore disappeared below decks, intent on discussing Thomas' trip through the Reach, but also Theodore's trip to Windhelm, as well as his return stops at Dawnstar and Solitude. He'd made an entire survey of the coastline, since he had to wait on Sir Maric to return. Maddy stayed topside, gripping the handrail tightly as Skyrim she looked over Skyrim for the last time. She'd never left Falkreath Hold, much less Skyrim, but now she was returning to the province of her parents, and their parents. She could have family there, long lost cousins and uncles and aunts. She looked forward to the new adventure. Daric watched as the ship drifted away, hands on the rails so tight that his knuckles were even whiter than they already where. The wind stung his cheeks as the familiar flakes collected in his hair, and it reminded him of the way Baldur'd watch the coast, waiting for Rebec during the trials. He pictured him doing that now, wishing that he was somewhere watching him leave. He gripped his stomach suddenly, looking at the blue sash in his hands, still stained with the brown of his past father's dried blood. His mother's words kept playing in his mind as the ship began sailing away. "What will I do... live in some fancy castle, talking with nobles. A guardsman?" Daric bit his lip, as his mind went to what he and his father talked about in Markarth. Being a knight for a foreign king. "Foreign," he said aloud, this time. Shocked that this was the term he used. Those soldiers in Markarth actually listened to him. They did see him as their own. He had their respect. And now, he was just throwing it away. "It's too late. I'm not a Stormcloak any longer," he said, removing the blue sash from his chest. After a time, he looked to the town and his sash, then finally forced himself to cast it to sea. He was finally decided. *** They were slow getting underway, so when Thomas came back up top, the ship wasn't far from shore. But his attention was drawn to his son's ever increasing pile of clothing. Maddy was already trying to talk to Daric, but the effort was futile. Thomas went over, his eyes wide with surprise. "Son...you're going back, aren't you?" Daric turned to his father with brows wrinkled as if in anger and his hand resting on his blade's hilt. "I'm sorry, father. I can't abandon my home for a new land and king. Whether I liked it or not, this is my home. I've had three men in my life now that I've known as papas. I just killed one. It's made me realize I'm a man now. You, Grinvuld, Baldur, I can't let you all choose my path. This is my home, and I'm choosing to live and die for it." Thomas looked over his son. He wasn't a boy, he was a man. He had the beginnings of hair on his chest, he had lean, sinewy muscles, he'd killed men in combat and lain with women. And he'd made a decision, in spite of everyone else. He was doing what he wanted, not what others wanted for him. Nothing could've made Thomas respect him more. "Okay. But just know that there's always a place for you in Camlorn. Don't think I'm angry or upset. I did the same thing when I was your age. Maybe someday you'll come back to your mother and I. This armor, our armor, will be waiting for you if so." "One way or another, we'll see each other again. There's the war in Valenwood to look forward to, right?" Daric was laughing, even though he was holding back tears. "Thank you for helping me find myself." Thomas clapped him on the shoulders, then pulled him in close for a quick hug. After they broke apart, he said, "Don't go jumping off ship yet. I have something for you." As the knight disappeared below decks, Maddy grabbed her son as well, pulling him closer and tighter than Thomas had. As tears streamed down her face, and between sniffles, she said, "Just know I love you, son, and I always have. I wish things had been different, that we'd never known that monster. Be safe, and if you ever need anything, write us. I love you so, so much." "You to, ma. I love you too. I'm sorry I left you there. But I came back. And I got you out of there, just like I promised. I promise I'll come back again." Madeleine gave him one more tight squeeze, and let go just in time for Thomas to come back up. As he walked the deck, the boat shifted, swinging back towards the shore. "No sense in you swimming back all the way. You'd freeze before you got there. Plus, you need a way to keep this dry." It was a spell book, with a picture of a flame on the front. "I know you aren't too keen on using magic, but being able to conjure up a flame is one of the more useful spells a man can know. You'll never be cold as long as you have that and some dry wood." Daric's eyes lit up as he took the gift from his father's hands. It was better than a trinket or something like Daric was expecting. This was something that would prove useful anywhere he went. Now more tears fell over his freezing cheeks, but he hid them by quickly hugging his father one last time. "I'll do the family name proud," he said. Looking a bit awkward now, he said, "I guess I should get going now. Before I change my mind again." Thomas looked past his son to the sandy shore, which was as close as they could get without docking. It was foreign to him, even if his own formative years were spent here, yet it was his son's home, his wife's home, and for that he would always love it too. "I know you'll make us proud. I hope to see you on the battlefield someday. Don't be a stranger either, and be sure to write often. Gods know we'll miss you." Smiling, he said, "I will, promise. I was thinking of doing some sailing eventually anyway." Turning away from the two now, having said all that could be said, the young Breton man put his boot on the rail. Then, he turned back to see his mother and father one more time before saying, "See you later, milkdrinkers!" Man overboard, Daric swam the short distance towards the shore, keeping his tome overhead as he shuffled through the water's cruel embrace that claimed many a soldier in the Grim Trials. Luckily he wasn't there as long, and he'd grown to know the sea's cold while helping to drag the bodies of failures from the sea. When he reached the shore, Daric was tempted to curl up and lay there from how impossibly cold he was, but forced himself to flip through the tome and see if he couldn't conjure up flames like he saw his father do numerous times. He remembered the conversations with Baldur about the thu'um as well, which seemed to have paid off, as flames quickly began to dance around his fingers and brought heat to his freezing body. He turned and waved with the flaming hand so his father might see it. As he did, he noticed something washing up ashore as well, and smiled, taking it as a sign of the gods. Finally, Daric made his way back into town, blue sash in one hand, dripping with sea water, flames of Breton magic in the other.

Dilbon the Rat Morning West of Riften, the trees grew thicker, and the hold of always-autumn began to show new signs of the mid-winter. Dying leaves crunched beneath their boots, and the usual reds and oranges Dilbon had grown up with slowly became faded browns and grays. Anise had led them north a good few miles before they even took a step off the main road. She claimed to know the land well enough to turn them west without following the shoreline of Lake Honrich. That way, they could loop north of the bandit forts and watch them from the forest rather than have the bandits spot them first, completely exposed on the beach. It had seemed like a good plan at the time, and unlike Anise, Dilbon seldom left Riften for anything other than the odd guild work in Windhelm, and even that was rare enough these days. But unfortunately for them, the hold's conditions were not what they once were. They whole way north, they did not spot a single guard patrolling the road, and even the Rift watchtower was abandoned. Here and there they passed a wagon, always empty of supplies, but more often than not with dried and crusted blood dotting the road around it. It was only when they passed the fourth one that Anise had decided they should get off the road and start west through the trees. That was when the bandits had revealed themselves. "Bad time for goin' north." the first had said through yellow teeth and a patchy brown beard. He was brandishing a rusty old meat cleaver as though it were a sword. There where three of them in all, each with a different weapon of equally low quality. Dilbon had frozen in his tracks, immediately going for the scroll Etienne had given him. Anise had stopped him with one hand while raising the other. "Do you know a man named Boldir Iron-Brow?" she'd asked, carefully easing in front of Dilbon. "We've been sent to meet with him. We're friends." The three raggedy men had only looked at each other and laughed. "You ain't no friends of mine." said another one. He was bald and scarred, with a chipped Imperial sword. "Especially if you're a friend of one of those lake clans." He spit at their feet. "That's what you'd been thinkin' right? That we're lake clan?" He took a step closer. "It's the damned lake clans that've been stirring up trouble 'round here. Can't grow crops without them stealing 'em." he'd growled. "Can't travel without getting robbed by them." said the first one. "And now you can't even collect tolls on the roads, since they got Maven to let her dog off his leash." The third man added. He was the largest of the bunch. A burly Nord with blonde hair and a pockmarked face half covered in beard. He carried a woodcutter's axe in his left hand. "But we followed you a mile, just to make sure he wasn't in the forest keeping an eye on you." As they'd spoken, Anise had gradually eased right. They were not experienced fighters, that was made obvious enough when she'd drawn her sword and cut down the big one before he could even raise his axe. The bald one followed, he was still so startled by her attack that he couldn't hope to defend against the flash of steel that ended his life. The brown-bearded man was the only one who even had a chance to put up a fight, and he was hopelessly outmatched. Anise swung at his cleaver so hard that it flew from his grip, and she followed up with a swift jab into his belly. "I'd say it's time to move into the woods, now." she'd said between breaths. "Agreed?" Dilbon had been almost too stunned to respond. "...Uhh... Yeah, agreed." That was two hours past, now. And they hadn't seen any life, bandit or otherwise, since. In all that time, they'd shared barely a word for fear of a repeat event with the apparently more dangerous bandits of the lake clans. The further west the pair moved, the closer they came to land controlled almost entirely by them. The unavoidable crunching of dead leaves made the trek feel all the more dangerous, and there were plenty of times when Dilbon was certain that anyone within a mile must be aware of their presence. It's all in your head, Dilbon. It ain't as quiet out here as it seems. Talk to Anise or something. You need t' ease up. "So, Anise... Why do they call you the Harmless? That don't seem like a good description after what you did to those bandits." The breaking of such a long silence startled her for a second, but Anise chuckled. "Oh, they've called me that since I was a girl, out playing with my brother and sister. I was always the good one. Never did anything to get in trouble and never broke any rules. So people took to calling me the harmless one of the three. But like half the other Nord men of his age, Pa was a veteran of the Great War. He taught us all to fight. I never liked it the way my brother did, but I was the best. I admit, it wasn't a name I cared for, but it stuck nonetheless, and I got used to it. What about you, 'Dilbon the Reproved'?" Dilbon grinned and held up his right hand and showed her the finger stumps. "No fairy tales here. I got caught stealin' back when Laila's Pa was still Jarl. They took a few fingers as punishment. So that's that. Dilbon the Reproved. Not that it matters. We're all Rats now. Doesn't sound any prettier, but rats are crafty creatures. Resourceful. Don't often have to deal with being reproved. Not that I've ever cared much about what people called me anyways." They walked a few more minutes in silence, the crunch of the leaves beneath their boots the only sound they made. Dilbon's mind lingered for a while on their two very different names before it began to wander, and then it eventually came back to the job at hand. "So which fort should we go to first?" he asked. "Faldar's Tooth is closer. 'cording to the map." "Treva's Watch will be easier, though." Anise said. "It sits beneath a hill, and we'll be able to figure out more quickly if Aerin's friend is there. And if we're pretty sure he's not, we can move on to Faldar's Tooth, which will probably take a lot longer." "Sounds good." They traveled slowly and uneventfully for the rest of the day and much of the night. Dilbon almost suggested stopping for camp a few times, but ended up holding his tongue. Anise clearly knew what she was doing, and he was surprised to find that he was grateful for her company, even if he was accustomed to working with Arnath. Eventually, at what must've been an hour past midnight, they came upon a steep hill, and he didn't need Anise to tell him that they needed to be especially quiet from here on. The climb wasn't too difficult, but it took the better part of an hour to make it up as silently as they did, and once they'd reached the top, Dilbon was glad that they'd made the effort. Perhaps twenty feet to the south, he could make out torchlight in the darkness, illuminating the shapes of patrolling men on a fortress wall. He and Anise crawled over to some shrubs and hid themselves from view of the fortress. "I'll take first watch." he whispered, sitting up and leaning against a rock. It would be difficult to look out, with so many ways to be approached, but there was no way Dilbon would want them both asleep so close to the fort. Anise nodded graciously and quickly fell into a deep slumber. The first hour or so of watching wasn't too hard, but after a while, Dilbon began to feel his eyelids grow heavy, and then begin to droop. "HEY!" His eyes snapped open and Anise shot up, hand on her hilt. It was dark, but above them stood two men, both in rugged fur armors and wielding iron swords. Dilbon looked guiltily at Anise, who didn't seem to realize that he'd fallen asleep and missed the approaching bandits. "What're you two doing out here? Trying to spy on us are ya? Friends of Hrokvild's, maybe?" The one on the right stepped on Anise's sword and kicked it so that it went tumbling down the hill. "You won't be needing that, woman. Not for where you're going." He turned to Dilbon. "So, my friend asked you a question. What are you doing here?" "We're looking for Boldir Iron-Brow!" Dilbon answered quickly. "We're friends." "Boldir Iron-Brow?" The bandits looked at each other. "Never heard of him." Well, that makes our job easier, then. Dilbon thought. At least, if we survive this. He had every intention of surviving. His fingers wrapped around the paralysis scroll at his belt and he shot up, brandishing it before them. "Stand back! I'll use it if I have to!" Now that it was being waved in the faces of these two armed men, the scrap of parchment didn't look all too threatening. The bandits must've shared this belief, because they only laughed, but the distraction was good enough. Dilbon had no idea how to work the scroll, but he drew his dagger the moment that Anise shot forward, tackling the larger man while he went for the smaller. His blade struck the bandit's chest, but it abruptly stopped on something tough, like iron, and he was quickly shoved to the ground. Anise faired a little better, as her opponent at least ended up on his back. Dilbon heard them scuffle as he regained his feet, but then his heart sank when his ears met a sickening wet sound. The smaller bandit's sword was in Anise's back. He watched in horror as the man wrenched it out and kicked her off of his friend. The bandits turned their attention to Dilbon as she tumbled down the hill. "All right, now the funny one. I'll be having that scroll for myselouugh..." For a wild moment, Dilbon thought it was Anise's sword that burst from the bandit's neck, but the figure he saw behind was smaller and male. The blade disappeared and then plunged itself into the chest of the second bandit as he was rising. Before the man could scream, a pale, bloody hand covered his mouth. "Shh Shhh Shhhhh... There we go. You don't want to wake your friends, do you?" The voice was strange. Masculine, but not quite normal, as if it belonged to an Argonian instead of a man. The owner, who had seemingly appeared from nowhere, was a thin bald man wearing hide armor on all but his bare feet. "Don't be afraid, you slimy little cretin. You're a Nord and you died sword in hand. Father Shor will appreciate that, no doubt. Hehehe." The man didn't even seem to notice Dilbon as he knelt down over his dying foe. Not foe. Prey. "You want me to put you down?" The man let out a half-cackle, and Dilbon worried that other bandits might hear. "Well, since you asked so nicely." He drew what Dilbon now saw to be an Imperial shortsword out of the bandit's torso, drew it deep across his neck. There was a twitch, and then the man died. Dilbon's 'savior' turned to face him, and the moonlight revealed a gaunt face, a patchy grayish beard, and the lightest blue eyes he'd ever seen. His tongue shot out at the corner of his lips as if to wet the one spot, and those pale eyes hungrily undressed Dilbon down to his very soul. "Who- who are-" "Ollus." the man breathed. "I am Ollus. Also a friend of Boldir Iron-Brow." He flicked his sword and knocked the dagger from Dilbon's hand, and before the thief could even react, he was in his face, their eyes inches apart. The man's breath reeked of uncooked meat. "Which is why it is strange that we haven't met." He sniffed Dilbon's shoulder, making him flinch. "You're a man of Riften, I take it. A spy, maybe? Why's a friend of Boldir's all the way out here?" Dilbon gulped, and forced himself to meet the terrifying eyes again. "I could ask you the same." "Hehehe. hehe. haha. Funny and a bold." The stare grew more intense, and Ollus cocked his head. "I asked you a question. You're answer was neat and all, but if I don't like the next one, I'll gut you and decorate my room with your bones." Dilbon liked his bones inside him. "Aerin sent me." he said without hesitation. "We've been working against the Black-Briars in the city for some months now, and he had a message for Boldir." "Aerin's alive, eh?" That seemed to please Ollus enough to get him to back out of Dilbon's face. "Well that's just great! I'd hoped he'd make it. That man was one of the original seven, you know. Those of us that took Goldenglow. Of course, that bastard sellsword ruined that little fellowship right quick." Dilbon didn't understand half of what the strange man was talking about, but the Goldenglow bit had made its rounds in the rumor mill. Any association with Aerin though, was new. He had always just believed it'd been random outlaws. "Can you take me to him?" Dilbon asked. The man seemed insane, and he was a little worried to even ask the most mundane of questions, but this was the best chance he had of getting to Boldir. "Take you to him?" Ollus's eyes shot back to him, and he flicked his tongue again. "Boldir ordered me to come here and scout... but a message for him... I can always come back tomorrow. And you've ruined my camp spot anyway..." The man nodded to himself a few times and grinned. "Yes, yes. I can take you to him. He would want to know his brother lives." Brother? That was news. They pushed back west at a much quicker pace than the one he'd taken toward Treva's Watch. Ollus moved through the woods quickly, and without the caution that Anise had. Dilbon was nimble, but even he had a little trouble keeping up the odd man's lead. "So," Ollus called back to him as he skipped over some tree roots, "What is your name, Messenger?" "Dilbon." he answered, weary to give his name, but ultimately too afraid to lie. "Dilbon the Re- the Rat." "Heheha! You'll fit right in!" After some hours of brisk jogging, the sun cracked over their backs and Dilbon realized that he had never been so exhausted in his life. By the time they arrived on the shore before the walls of Faldar's Tooth, he was in such a daze that he'd almost just kept running right on past it. He'd been thinking about his friend, Arnath, and hoping that whatever the Dunmer was doing, he was fairing better than they had. Poor Anise. She mentioned siblings and a father. Are they still alive in Riften? Did they know what she was doing? The shouting brought him back to the real world. "Ollus here! Open up! ... Open up! Open up! Open up!" Ollus ran his sword along the barred gate as he shouted, and Dilbon heard what had to be a pack of wolves howling from somewhere inside. "ArooOOOO!" The pale Nord shouted back at them. "Good morning to you too, pooches!" The portcullis raised to reveal a trio of Nords waiting near the entrance. The one on the right was unimpressive, just an ordinary enough dark-brown haired Nord with a spear. The one on the left, however, was huge. He had long red hair and a twin-braided beard that reached his chest. Some kind of silvery mail glistened beneath the thick pelts that made up most of his outfit, and a baby troll skull was strapped to his shoulder. Slung over his back was a big ebony warhammer. He smiled lightheartedly, as if Dilbon's arrival was a funny joke to him. As interesting as the man's appearance was, however, it was the right Nord who drew most of Dilbon's attention. He remembered the description Etienne had given him. "He's a big fella himself. Black hair, most likely with some scars. You couldn't miss him." There was, indeed, no chance that Dilbon would have missed the figure before him. The red-headed Nord was an easy head taller than he was, and yet Boldir Iron-Brow stood a couple inches above even him. His dark black hair fell down either side of his face and to his shoulders, and matched the thick beard that hid most of his lower face, and burn marks were just visible to the left of his eye. Boldir wore fur armor mixed with Nordic steel boots and bracers, and rested the butt of a large iron battle axe in the dirt before him. There was nothing notably iron about Boldir's brow, but the same could not be said of his gaze. The man's blue stare was as hard as the substance he was named for. "This man has a message for you, Boss." Ollus said, grinning as he grabbed Dilbon's arm and yanked him toward the procession. "He says it's from Aerin." The red-haired Nord glanced at Boldir questioningly, and Boldir gave him some answer that Dilbon couldn't make out. It seemed to satisfy the man though, as he just chuckled and wandered off to speak with some others in the courtyard. Boldir himself, nodded to them, and his lips twisted into what he must've thought was a smile. "If this is true, then it gladdens me to know that he's alive." he said. "We've gotten little enough good news as of late. What news does my brother have for me?" Dilbon procured the letter from his pouch and handed it over. The old rolled up parchment had gotten a little crumpled during last night's events, and the string that tied it had slid off. Boldir's eyes poured over it for only about three seconds before widening and loosing all of the stoniness they'd displayed moments before. Dilbon watched them read it, and reread it, and then once more before Boldir carefully rolled up the letter and pocketed it himself. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, the iron had returned, and it was focused on him. "Is it true?" Dilbon didn't need to ask what the Nord referred to. "She lives. I saw her meself." This time, Boldir's smile seemed much more genuine. "Thank you, Friend. What is your name?" "Dilbon, Sir. Dilbon the Rat." "You don't seem like a rat to me. Would you not prefer that we call you by a different name here?" Dilbon thought back to Anise, and the way she'd died because of his negligence, and the way he'd been so quick to put it behind him. "No, thank you. It fits just fine." "As you wish. Well, Dilbon the Rat, we have warm food and decent enough bedding. The non-Nords complain that it gets cold at night, but you look tired enough not to care. Enjoy whatever comforts you can find, because tomorrow I'll be sending you back with my reply. Go on, rest easy." *** Boldir Boldir watched the exhausted man in thieves' garb graciously head off toward the tower he'd pointed him to. Runar stood beside him, spear in hand. "Do you trust him?" the boatman asked. "No." Boldir answered without hesitation. "His letter had Aerin's name at the end. It said that my wife lived and that we have friends in the city. That's it. If Aerin was discovered, then faking a letter in his name to throw me off wouldn't be difficult at all." "I can kill him." Ollus offered. "It would be easy, and for all we know, he's here to assassinate you. Though if this were the case, it seems unlikely that he'd have started searching at Treva's Watch. He'd make a mediocre assassin to be sure. Of course, if you give him too much in reply, it could go straight to Black-Briar." Treva's Watch? Boldir had wondered why it was Ollus who had brought their guest in. He'd sent the man to scout out Treva's Watch days ago. The assault would be soon. And he wanted to know if there were any weaknesses to exploit. "There's no need to kill him. And there's no need to potentially give Maven information either. My reply won't be in letter." He motioned toward the door Dilbon had gone through. "Keep an eye on him for me, Ollus. If he's here to harm any of us, he's yours to eat, or whatever it is you do with the people you kill." The odd man smiled and clacked his teeth together. He did a mock bow before heading off. "Looking forward to it, Boss." Boldir turned to Runar. " Ever since Aerin left, you're the closest thing to a friend I've got. And that's to say, you're not a murderous bastard like the rest of this lot. And you're the only person here who I'd trust this next task to." "Gee, well when you put it like that, I feel a little pressured." "Don't. You'll be safer in Riften than Treva's Watch when the attack starts." "I'm going to Riften, Boss?" "Aye. Accompany our rat friend. Find out if he's lying or not. If he is, get back here as quickly as you can. If he is telling the truth though, and we do have friends in the city, I want you to meet up with them. Find Aerin and learn what you can. Help how you can. And most importantly, if you see any opportunity, any to free Mila, or Carlotta if she lives, I want you to take it. I can't command you to do this, but I-" "Say no more." The boatman interrupted. "Everyone in my family before me has died some gruesome and meaningless death. I remember before all of this happened. You're a good man. And your wife and kid are good people. If it comes down to it, I will be proud to spin tales in Sovngarde of how I died for Boldir Iron-Brow's wife, or Boldir Iron-Brow's little girl." Boldir put a hand on his shoulder. "You're a good man, Runar." "Funny how it takes living with a bunch of bandits to realize something like that, eh?" Runar nodded to him. "I'm going to go indoors before lightning strikes me. If I can make it through these next two weeks, I'll be the first of my family to actually have a tale to tell that doesn't involve my parents dying. Maybe I'll make a new name. Start a clan of survivors." Boldir chuckled as they parted ways. He was too skeptical to believe Dilbon's story, but even the off chance of the man being honest gave him some hope. That, coupled with the impending attack on Treva's Watch, brought on a strangely anxious feeling in him. His chest felt tight, and his stomach knotted. Whatever the thief was here for, the end of all this conflict was now in sight. And that meant that very soon, either his family or Maven's own would be gone from this world. It was a strange thought, after all this time and all this fighting, that within just a month's time, this all will be nothing a memory. For better or worse. *** Maul "First Ingun, and now my father, your son! We cannot let this go unpunished!" Maven's new heir proclaimed. Maul's fingers danced on the pommel of Grimsever as he watched, and waited. Maven had summoned him to meet with the remaining Black-Briars in the basement of her manor. With only Sibbi, Lady Maven herself, and the pale corpse of the late Hemming Black-Briar in attendance, the family members numbered few enough. Maven's son was positioned on his back atop a table in the center of the room, where a healer had spent three hours trying in vain to prevent the wounds from killing him. She was now floating in the canal, along with the other employees who had failed to protect Hemming during what should have been a standard business transaction. "-The woman." Sibbi growled, looking back at the two locked doors at the back of the room. Two thick oaken doors, that had together locked away secrets more numerous and sinister than many of the Dark Brotherhood's own black doors. "Boldir's bitch. They think she is dead. Let me make it so! Let me send her back in pieces. Show our enemies that we are serious as well!" "It would serve only to confuse them." Maven finally answered. Her eyes were fixed on Hemming, as they had been for the past ten minutes. They gazed over her dead son, but they showed no sadness, no remorse or regret, only an ever so annoyed sort of thoughtfulness. "It was not the bandits who killed your father. Cynric has confirmed that they have no influence within the city walls. Nor was it anyone who would care if Carlotta lived or died. No doubt this is the work of the same criminals who have been harassing and attacking our employees in the city." For the first time since the meeting began, Maven's eyes left her son, and turned to Maul. "The same ones who killed your brother, if I recall." Beyond the flaring of his nostrils and his working fingers upon his pommel, Maul said nothing. Only waited for Maven to continue. He knew Maven could read him regardless though. Knew that while his face remained like stone, the hairs on his neck stood erect as if electrified. He was excited to see what Maven would do next, and hoped it would get his fingers around the throats of those responsible. "Then we should deal with them for good." Sibbi started. "Let Maul and me gather some men and hunt them down! This is our city! We shouldn't have to fear going outside!" We-" "Stop shouting. This is not a large room." Maven gestured to Hemming's corpse. "Look at him." "I have looked at him." Sibbi muttered, averting his gaze from the dead man. "Look again." It wasn't a suggestion. Maven's own eyes watched Sibbi. The man who now, in the presence of Maven and the corpse of his father, appeared more like the boy Maul had known years ago than the man he was now. Sibbi hesitated, staring at the ceiling with a forced scowl for a before finally bringing his eyes down upon the late Hemming Black-Briar. "There, I see him. He's dead." The scowl grew tighter, and he glanced up. "Are you satisfied?" "My only son is dead. Of course I am not satisfied. But I want you to look at him a little longer and tell me what you see." "I see a dead man." "You see a dead Black-Briar. Heir to the wealthiest family in Skyrim. A man who could have raised armies had he but said the right words. He is dead because he wasn't careful. He did not have the caution or the strength befitting someone of this family, and he was a fool to ever believe he did. Hemming was my son, but he was weak." The young Black-Briar's look of defiance surprised Maul. Sibbi had rarely ever agreed with his father, always appearing to be either on Maven's side or his own. And now, despite his attempts to appear uncaring about the death, he was still Hemming's son, and it was clear that there was a certain loyalty there. "He never feared our enemies. At least my father has left the damned manor this winter! He never let a bunch of angry drunks and sewer rats worry him, and he sure as Oblivion wouldn't have stood passively by after his own child was killed!" Maul had seen the family Matriarch legitimately and visibly furious on only three occasions. For a moment, he was certain that this would be the fourth. But Maven surprised him. Her eyes narrowed, and she stepped forward, Hist beside the table. "For all of your words in defense of Hemming's actions and values, he is dead. So in the end, who's methods proved superior? It is not Hemming who turned the Black-Briar name into an Empire, and it was not Hemming who dealt with a thousand enemies in the process. As it so happens, I have every intention of retaliating for this crime, though not against Iron-Brow. His trespasses were the most dire, and his time will soon come. But it is our enemies within these walls, the traitors and cravens whose whispers of fear are growing defiant, who will first have to be reminded of their place. As far as Riften is concerned, these have been acts of terrorism and rebellion by the law of Skyrim. I shall speak with the Jarl. Things have been too lax, and that will soon change. A lockdown is necessary until this threat can be taken care of. That includes fishing. The people won't like it, but it is the only way to ensure that no one communicates with Iron-Brow and his bandits on the lake." "And what of the bandits?" asked Sibbi. "Cynric says that they are training and clearly preparing for a fight. They're a greater threat the longer we wait. And they already haunt the roads, targeting our shipments. They've been moving about the Rift practically unchecked!" Briefly, Maven's eyes met Maul's. "That is being taken care of." She said. "The last three shipments finished their journeys, and the bandits who tried to prevent that are dead. We shall hire more sellswords in the coming days to make the task of protecting them easier, and to consolidate our more loyal fighters here in the city, where they will be ready in case of attack. I've already sent word to Ivarstead, Shor's Stone, and Heartwood Mill to be on the lookout for men who can help deal with any bandits in the region." She paused. "Now, Sibbi, you will get your 'retaliation'. I will forgive your outburst on account of you having just lost your father. Maybe you are weaker than I thought, to let this loss drag you so low that it affects your loyalty to this family, but you have always proven useful enough that I would still include you in the rest of the plans." "Loyalty?" Sibbi looked lost, as though he wanted to be angry, but was afraid to be. After his last attempt, it was hard to blame him. "I am not weak, and have always been loyal to the family." "You want to see true loyalty?" Maven gestured in Maul's direction. "Look at Maul. His name is not Black-Briar and his wealth pales in comparison to anyone whose is. He bloodies his hands daily for us, and does so unquestionably. Less than a year ago, he lost his brother, but did not cry out for us to right that wrong. He continued to do whatever was best for the family, as he has done since you were a child. You may not be as great a fool as your father was, but you still have a lot to learn. And you can start by watching Maul. Now, would you stay and help with the remainder of my plans? Or shall I have you locked away again?" Maul had never seen Sibbi look so defeated before, but to the young noble's credit, he did maintain eye contact with Maven the entire time she spoke, and continued to do so for the when she was done. "I will help." "Good. Because we will personally deal out these next two blows. And it is you and Maul who I want in charge. You were right when you said that the bandits have been moving throughout the region virtually unchecked. Maul has already set to dealing with those attacking the roads, but the forests of the Rift are large. I want you to pick out our very best men and have them go out for a hunt. They are not to attack the forts, but anyone found outside the walls is to be killed. If someone is found helping the bandits, kill them. If someone dresses like a bandit, kill them." Sibbi's brow went up. "If someone smells like a bandit..." "Kill them. This has grown beyond a feud. It is a war. And whether we like it or not, it seems that we will have to begin treating it as such." She turned to Maul. There was no way Maven could see his eyes beneath his visor in this dark basement, but the way she looked dead into them would've fooled most men. "And Maul, the second task goes to you and whatever men you choose. That will include the city watch. In two days' time, Riften will be in lockdown. It will be up to you to search this city inside and out for these rats that plague us. Catch them alive if you can, so we can use them to send a message, but do not take risks. Some have been seen wearing Thieves Guild clothing, meaning we have traitors in our midst. You should start your search in the Ragged Flagon, and work your way topside from there. If no evidence comes up, speak with the Jarl's Housecarl. He has wanted to cleanse the sewers for years now. The guild has long been useful to is, but if it harbors traitors, then that usefulness is at an end." "It's been a long time coming," said Maul, his voice almost strange to the others after such silence. "Searching the city will be tough, but nothing we haven't had to do before. The people know the drill. A few threats from me personally will go a long way. They know I keep mine. Before it comes to that though, I'll make sure to question the guild first. There's still some amongst their ranks eager to prove themselves loyal. Like good little weasels." "Good. Then take whatever men you must and get it done. You too, Sibbi." Maven turned and made for the stairs and halted at their foot. "This conflict has drawn on for too long, but Cynric has found an upcoming opportunity to free Ingun. Once she is back, we will make our move on Boldir, and finally end this chapter." She began her ascent, before stopping and looking back one last time. "Oh, and Hemming's burial must be today. I will not have his corpse rotting in the basement. It would be wise to bring protection." With that, Maven Black-Briar disappeared up the stairs, leaving Sibbi and Maul alone to deal with her son's corpse. The moment she was gone, Sibbi let out a breath, and his shoulders slumped as he looked over at Maul. "You know, I agreed with her the moment she said he was weak. I agreed, but I didn't want to show it. It seemed... disloyal. He was a lot of things, but he was still my father." Maul's helmet turned slightly to face Sibbi as he spoke, his arms crossed. For a while it seemed like he'd say nothing. For a while, Maul decided he'd say nothing. Then, "Learn from his mistakes. Listen to what Maven told you. But whatever you do, never forget family. Don't show that you are affected by their passing. It is insulting to both yourself and to your father. Be stone faced. So that when our enemies pass you by and think you a statue, they won't expect the wrath you unleash. I will avenge my brother. And when I do, it'll come like a thief in the night and as quick as a lightning strike. If you want the same for your father, follow my example. M'lord." For a moment, Sibbi didn't seem to understand him. His grieving eyes looked at Maul the way a lost deer looks at a hunter. But it was only a brief moment, and then Sibbi's expression hardened, and he became like Maul, and like his own grandmother. "Maven is right." he said. "You are no mere brute. That's for damn sure... Send some men down here to help me with his body. I've got a lot to think about." "Of course," said Maul, heading towards the door with his heavy footsteps. He stopped suddenly and said, "Oh, and for what it's worth, Maven wasn't right. I do question Maven. Daily. I'm just not brave enough to do so out loud. Hnh, or stupid." And with that, Maul let him be.

Dilbon the Rat Riften It wasn't until both his legs had fallen asleep that Dilbon the Reproved finally allowed himself to stand and stretch them out. For a while, he'd been worried that his spying would be noticed by one of the many mercenaries that had flooded from Black-Briar Manor, but it eventually became clear that they were much too busy to pay him any mind. They'd been heading elsewhere, but when Dilbon and his friend Arnath noticed the activity, he'd taken it upon himself to follow them while Arnath kept an eye on their manor. Twenty minutes into the commotion, the Bee and Barb had been emptied of patrons, and the owners been kicked out, replaced by mercenaries dressed as commoners. What the hell are they doing? Dilbon thought, confused as to how this could possibly help them. Shortly after this newest development, Arnath arrived at his side, and leaned on the canal railing that gave a good view of the inn from the west. "Two groups of the sellswords left the manor back-to-back." the Dunmer whispered. "First one had a girl, looked young. No older than thirteen. Second one had Sibbi Black-Briar himself, and he was with a woman. Pretty, but I didn't recognize her. Didn't recognize either of the girls. They went around through some pass ways, and entered the inn at the other side." "What use've the Black-Briars got with little girls?" Dilbon wondered aloud. He turned to his friend. "They were with sellswords? As in, guarded by them?" "Guarded, aye. But to me it looked like the sort of guardin' you get from a jailer. Their eyes were on the girls. Not the city." Dilbon contemplated this as a new group arrived at the scene: Three men in cloaks, with weapons visible beneath them. They were big, and carried themselves like fighting men. A short time passed before another even larger figure, this one fully armored and more familiar, appeared and followed. "Sibbi and Maul?" Arnath frowned, and his red eyes narrowed. "Now if only we could get close enough to burn the place down." "Mara's sake, Arnath! There's a kid in there!" "It was a joke." The Dunmer's stoic expression made it hard to tell if it truly had been. They remained quiet for several minutes more until the three cloaked men exited the building and made for the city gate. Not long after came Maul, who called up a few of the sellswords and went north, towards the market. A few more minutes passed and then a party of five exited the building. Among them, Dilbon and Arnath could see the figures of a woman and young girl. "Shame of it is that the Barb's closed." said Arnath. "We may have to settle for paying Dreth a little visit when we're done with-" "Shush!" Dilbon whispered sharply. He squinted, wishing they'd moved to a spot that didn't put the lowering sun into his eyes. The woman was familiar. She had a pretty face, easy enough to recognize, and this one... Dilbon's jaw dropped a bit. "What in the..." "What?" Arnath asked him after his voice trailed off, and trying in vain to determine for himself what interested his friend so much about this group. "Is it the girls? They're the ones I saw goin' in." Dilbon frowned and briefly glanced at his pointy-eared companion. "And you didn't recognize the woman?" He nodded towards the group, which marched on across a canal bridge in their direction. "She was at the executions. The big ones some months ago. Name was Iron-something or another. I saw her get beheaded right after Garthar." Arnath remembered the executions, and the riots that accompanied them, but he hadn't gotten any better a look at the woman's face there than he could the one approaching them now. "You sure? Her head don't look cut off to me." "Positive." Dilbon could forget a stranger's face as easy as any man, but the hopeless look of fear the doomed woman had worn in her final moments, that stuck with him. "If that ain't her twin at the least, then I've still got all of my fingers." As if it helped prove his point, Dilbon lifted his right hand to show the half-length stumps of his middle three fingers. "If that's true, then the Boss might want to hear about it. That's the execution he was caught at." "Heh, yeah, and he went down swinging too." They went quiet as the the group they spied on hastily made its way across the nearest bridge, headed straight for them. Dilbon and Arnath quickly ducked into an alleyway and disappeared into the confusing maze of buildings and narrow streets. "I'll go to Etienne with this." said Dilbon as they expertly traversed the slums they'd grown up in. "He'll make sure what we saw reaches the boss. You go and find the Lioness. She may be be interested herself." Arnath nodded and stopped at a path that veered off to the left. "Sounds like a plan. Shadow hide you, friend." "And you as well." The two outlaws turned and headed off their separate ways. *** Aerin Midnight, one day later Carlotta is alive. The phrase continued running through Aerin's head, over and over and over. He couldn't grasp it, couldn't touch it, couldn't comprehend it. As he lay propped up in his bed, unmoving, his eyes poured over with salty tears. Bittersweet tears, he realized. The Rats' entire mission was based on his sister being dead. Retribution, vengeance, revenge, those were their motives. Now...now, he was lost. Brand-Shei snored softy in the corner, and thankfully that noise drowned out Aerin's pitiful sobbing. We cannot stop. We will not stop. They still have Carlotta, they still have Mila, and they're after Boldir. He'd want us to continue, to kill as many of them as possible. But who was it they had killed in his sister's place? That part had perplexed him, as she, he, whoever it was, looked exactly like Carlotta. It was obvious, now, though. The face sculptor, who left town soon after the execution. His Rats told him that. And they also told him about Constance leaving town, which he thought convenient. Why the Black-Briars killed her, though, he didn't know. Aerin sighed, wincing as he raised an arm to wipe away the tears. His ribs were purple and yellow, like a garish shirt. His hand shook as he raised it, clumsily smearing the tears around his also bruised face. Aerin's nose was crooked and lumpy, his eyes shadowed by a dark blue, his ears missing pieces, teeth shattered or missing. This was the price paid to get to this point. Thinking back, he'd willingly submit to the guard's brutal punishment again if it meant forming his clandestine hit squad. Nothing brought people to a cause like someone they knew, someone they respected, being nearly killed. If nothing else, it clearly demonstrated just what lengths the corrupt Riften guards were willing to go to silence their opposition. The mission was still to kill the Black-Briars, even if their cause was different. Instead of revenge, it would murder, plain and simple. Righteous murder was still murder, no matter what the Black-Briars did to deserve it. And they deserved it, there was no doubt. Who knew how many lives they had taken, families they had ruined. What would Mjoll think? Would she slam me for stooping to their level? Laud me for continuing the crusade? It doesn't matter, they can't know either way. I can't risk them losing faith in the cause. Boldir will need us, whenever he returns. We need to find him, and soon. He has to know his family is safe, and that we're here. Aerin coughed, grimacing as the pain in his ribs shot through like lightning. "Brand-Shei. Brand-Shei." The Dunmer stirred in his sleep, finally snapping away with a grunt. "Your bandages need changing?" "No. Not yet. I want...wake up Mojald." Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Brand-Shei checked to make sure the guards weren't coming. Seeing them busy at cards beneath a dim lantern, he began wriggling loose the fist sized stone they used to pass messages between the two cells. Mojald was asleep too, it being close to midnight after all. The dark elf tossed the stone at him, waking the Nord up with a jolt. "What is it?" he growled between clenched teeth. Brand-Shei looked expectantly at Aerin, who said, "I need to send a message. Two messages. Now." "Fine," Mojald the Craven said. Tiptoeing on top of his overturned chamberpot, he held up thumb and forefinger near the grated window. Snapping, a small spark of flame briefly flashed. They always had someone watching, day or night. No one expected the Nord could use magic, so he had been put in an unwarded cell. Unfortunately, his magic extended to his ability to make a spark, but even that had it's uses. Within five minutes, barely audible voices could be heard conversing, and soon a slender pen and scroll came through the hole. Scribbling, Aerin quickly wrote out first his message, for Mjoll. Find Boldir. Rumored to be with Bandits. Whoever finds him, give him the other scroll. DO NOT OPEN OTHER SCROLL. On the second, the one meant only for Boldir, he said, Carlotta is alive. Her and Mila unharmed. Maul used armor to pretend to be you. Stormcloaks came to town looking for you. You have friends in the city. -Aerin It was dangerous signing it, he knew that, but he needed Boldir to believe it. If he did, maybe it would encourage him to find help, or go to his friend the High-General. They needed allies of some kind. He was about to hand back the scrolls for delivery, but flipped Mjoll's over and wrote out the next hit target. The biggest one yet. Hemming *** Arnath the Rat Riften Warehouse The morning was supposed to be a quiet one. Supposed to be. After a long previous afternoon of spying on Black-Briars, Arnath and Dilbon had both wanted nothing more than to go to their homes and at least make it through the dawn hours of the next day without being disturbed. Indeed, most of their little assembly was a little miffed over the timing of their unexpected summons, and now they all waited in tired silence for the last person to arrive. Hofgrir Horse-Crusher, with his wide arms and stout build, was beginning to doze off in the corner, his head leaned back against the wall, and Etienne's elbow was planted on a desk, propping up his resting head. Sitting at the foot of the stairs, Dilbon and Arnath quietly argued about the existence of Snow Elves, and nearby, Anise the Harmless leaned on a wall and listened to them in amusement. The last of their currently assembled group a hunter from the Reach named Kolach. He was upstairs on the main floor, keeping an eye on the window so that he could warn them in the event that somebody other than those summoned were to come sniffing. "She's here." called the Reachman from above. "Finally." muttered Etienne, as he sat up and tossed an empty inkwell at a snoring Hofgrir, who woke with a start. "I was just thinking of starting without her." "Just like the Lioness to plan something before the break of dawn and be the only one to show up late." muttered Arnath. "Lay off her." Anise said. "Not all of us grew up sneaking and skulking around." "You took to it quickly enough." the Dunmer retorted with a sly grin. "I don't stand out like Mjoll does." Anise responded with a frown. "She has to take her time and make sure she's not followed." The door opened upstairs, and they all heard the Lioness's heavy iron boots drum their way down into the basement. Mjoll was an attractive woman once, in a strong, Nordic sort of way. But after being beaten by Maul's men, she now sported several poorly healed scars and a slightly crooked nose. Her stripe of blue war paint hid some of it, but not all. She also walked with a heavy limp, and would do so for the rest of her life. Despite all of this, Mjoll still somehow carried herself tall and would fight a saber cat if asked to. When she arrived downstairs, she looked at them all and nodded. "I don't know how many of you know this, but as it turns out, Aerin's sister is still alive." She glanced over at Dilbon and Arnath. "At least if you weren't mistaken." "Unless that were his sister who was at the executions, then I'm not." Dilbon answered confidently. "Though alive doesn't count for much when she's a Black-Briar captive." said Etienne. "Now, Aerin obviously wants her free, so that's something we're going to work on. We're going to have shifts to watch Maven's place from here on, from a distance of course. If that woman, or her daughter, the girl seen with her, leaves that house again, we will make sure they don't go back in." "And that is only our long-term plan for saving her." Mjoll said. "There's another matter as well. I've met Carlotta's husband, Boldir. If nothing else, he cares about his family. That much was obvious. It's been rumored for months that he's gone and become a bandit, and Aerin seems to believe these rumors. He wants us to find him and deliver him this letter." she held up a small letter, rolled up and tied with an old string." "Anise, Dilbon. That is what we need from the two of you." said Etienne, looking at Mjoll then nodding for her to give Etienne the scroll. "Aerin also says that he'd rather you not read it... so don't." Dilbon's brow lowered. "Meanin' no offense to you, Anise, but I work best with Arnath. Always have." "Yeah, well not this time. We need Arnath for something else." "Then I'd rather be a part of that." "No, you wouldn't." It was clear from his stony expression that Etienne did not intend to budge on the matter, so Dilbon turned to Arnath. "Aren't you with me on this, brother?" To his surprise, Arnath shook his head. "Just listen to Etienne, Dilbon, if you want to help, then this'll be the best way for you to do it. This time, we'll be more useful separate." It seemed to Dilbon like Arnath knew something he didn't, but Dilbon wasn't an argumentative man by nature, and he didn't want to make too big a deal over this. He took the scroll and went to stand by Anise, who gave a brief smile to show that she was not offended by his attempts to work with someone else. "Were do we start?" he asked, glancing back at Mjoll. "There are two major clans along the lake." she said. "The closer clan lives at Faldar's Tooth, and the other, Treva's Watch." She pulled out a scroll and unrolled it to reveal a map of the Rift. "Both are marked here. I don't have much else to give you." "So you want us to just go knocking on bandit doors looking for a man who may or may not be there?" Dilbon asked. As this plan was now, he wasn't certain it was worth the risk. What did he care if this Boldir knew his wife lived? "It would be wiser to hide and watch the places for a while. See if there are any familiar faces in them. Boldir is supposedly with a few ex-guildmates. And he's a big fella himself. Black hair, most likely with some scars. You couldn't miss him." Etienne went back to the desk and grabbed a third scroll, this one bigger than the map or note. "This here's a magic scroll. It'll paralyze anyone in front of you. Take it." Dilbon looked at the rolled up parchment, unsure if he was supposed to open it. "So do I throw it at people or...?" "I'll explain to you how to use it on the way." Anise said, gently taking the scroll from his hand. "And we do have a lot of walking ahead of us, so maybe we should get going." "That would be best." Etienne agreed. "Talos guide you both." Mjoll added, as they made their way upstairs. When the two were gone, Arnath turned to Etienne. "You didn't want me to go with Dilbon. Does that mean we're killin' someone?" "What makes you think it would mean that?" asked Etienne, more curiously than anything. "Dilbon's a good thief, but he ain't got the spine for the gritty work that needs doing. And he don't approve of the killing, so you sent him and Anise the Harmless off to do a job that don't require your sword arm." "You're right." Etienne said. "Though Anise is far from harmless. That's why I sent her with him. Dilbon may need the protection if they do get found." "So who are we killing?" Hofgrir asked, scratching his beard. "The biggest target we've had by far." Mjoll said. Of everyone here, she stood out the most. Murder was so far from what anyone would expect of the Lioness that most of them still weren't used to the idea of it. Though, she refused to call it murder, herself. She called it justice, for crimes the city refused to acknowledge. "We're going to kill Hemming Black-Briar." The room was silent for a moment, as everyone grasped what she said. Arnath was the first to recover himself. "Well, it's about damned time." *** The Bee and Barb Two days later "There is a mighty King, The bards do sing, Has axe real sharp and a voice real mean! And forevermore, That voice is a little sore Since King Ulfric shouted down the Emperor's whore!" "Nords." Kolach murmured, sure to keep it under his breath so that Arnath alone could hear him. "Win a war and they treat you like a bloody god, and they can't just let Torygg be dead without insulting him." Arnath half-grunted, half-choked, but it was mostly to stifle his laughter at the uncomfortable Reachman's reaction. The man would've stood out like a sore thumb, if he had been tall enough to be seen over a Nordic child's head. Personally, Arnath liked the song, and thought it funny that Kolach had spoken to him in hopes that he could relate as a non-Nord. The pair pushed their way past the unusually crowded room to the Argonian inn-keep, Keerava. They'd been waiting over a day for the Black-Briars to contact her, and apparently, they finally had. "Keerava!" Arnath grinned as he approached her, though she only returned it with a scowl. At least, he was pretty sure the lizard was scowling. "What do you want, thief?" she asked, her slitted pupils darting from Arnath to Kolach, and back to Arnath again. "I already paid your friend this week." "If he was collecting protection money, he's no friend of ours." said Kolach, ever self-ritcheous. "We didn't come here to take anything from you. We came because a letter was delivered to you today from Black-Briar Manor." The lizard's eyes slanted. "If you are not here to rob me, why does my business concern you?" "It doesn't." Arnath said, "But the family's does. Maven rarely leaves her home anymore. Is it true that her son has been the one coming to you as of late?" "Her son and the men that follow him, yes." Keerava looked at them both suspiciously. "He wrote me this morning, telling me to be ready for today's delivery, and..." she paused. "And I have work to do. So if you two aren't going to buy anything-" "We aren't here to make things difficult for you, Keerava." Kolach said, gently, his eyes full of what may have even been genuine concern. "What we're doing might even help you." "I know what it is you're doing." The Argonian snapped. "If you're not here for the thieves or Black-Briars, then you can only be with that other lot. Those Rats who've been killing people in the streets. Even if it is Maven's men, I won't have any part in that. It's wrong, but it could also get myself or my husband killed. Or our inn taken. They already threw us out a few days ago." Arnath's thick grey brow furrowed. He was getting tired of this lizard thinking she could keep them from what they needed. "I don't know nothin' about anyone doing any killing. But if I did, I sure as Oblivion wouldn't want to be the scaly crone who's turning down the killers. Especially when I don't know nothin' about them. Or their friends." He rested his hands on the table, and allowed a small sliver of steel to poke out from his sleeve. Keerava, The delivery will be late this evening. Closer to 6. Markarth isn't buying right now, so prices are up. 3,000 for the whole shipment. Have ALL of the the money this time, or you won't be seeing a drop of mead for the rest of the month. Hemming "You didn't have to do that." Kolach muttered, breaking the long silence that had been between the two of them as they waited at their position in the marketplace. "Do what?" Arnath asked with a smirk. "Threaten Keerava. What makes us better than them if we're just going to be thugs ourselves?" "We needed to know when he'd be out again. And it's for a good cause. Did you have a better idea?" Silence was his only answer, and Arnath was content with that. His hands thrummed on an old fish barrel as he seemingly smoked his pipe and watched the market throngs. But one eye was always on the mansion, waiting for the regular hired patrols to clear out and allow Hemming Black-Briar through. It was pretty dark now, so he could get away with less subtle peaking than he could've an hour ago. It was ten after six when the doors opened, and a small entourage of sellswords, clad in leather and armed with steel, marched outside. There were six in all. It took a minute for Arnath to make out Hemming's exquisite, dark brown furs in the midst of them. He removed his pipe and whistled. Moments later, another whistle called out in answer from across the canal. Another man met Hemming's group from behind their fence, with a push cart full of crates in front of him. He led the way. They moved quickly, wisely not trusting the streets of Riften at dusk. Arnath and Kolach waited. They were approaching the canal bridge now, almost to the market. Arnath hummed the Stormcloak song from earlier as he removed the lid to the barrel he'd been standing by and very slowly removed a longbow, careful to keep his back between it and his target. He turned and lowered the weapon behind the barrel, then pulled out one of his own hawk-feather arrows. "You good?" Kolach nodded. His face looked pale in this lighting, but maybe it was always like that. The Reachman lifted out his own hunting bow in turn, and kept his back to the approaching group as he began to string it. You couldn't have done that earlier? Arnath's eyes pried the shadows across the canal for Etienne, but found nothing. Either their best man was lost, or, much more likely, he was exactly where he wanted to be. They were on the bridge now, crossing the canal with the wagon of mead leading the way. That was when Arnath saw it: a small flame on the other side. It was small, but grew larger quick, and for a brief moment, he could see the burning arrow whistle through the air. It stuck it's mark, thudding hard into the mead wagon. All the men drew their swords as two more arrows followed, then a third. Eventually, the fire spread, and the wagon was aflame, blinding Hemming and the sellswords to one side of the bridge. Arnath lasted no time now in nocking his own arrow. He took aim and fired, smiling to himself as one of the confused sellswords fell over the railings with a hawk-feather arrow buried in his chest. Another man fell into the fire and rolled around in agony. And a third fell with one of Etienne's flaming arrows embedded in his chest. Arnath prepared a second shot and fired. It struck sellsword number four in the arm. Damn. He'd been aiming for Hemming. Right now, Black-Briar was frightfully shoving through his remaining three men, trying to go back the way they'd come. Arnath saw one of Kolach's arrows strike the noble in the shoulder. He fell. Before he could get back up, Arnath, Kolach, and Ettienne all aimed and fired again. Two of them, one with hawk feathers, struck true. If that didn't kill him, then he ain't gonna be much of a threat afterwards. thought Arnath, who tapped Kolach and made a bee-line for the other side of town. They could hear guards calming out and approaching, but most of Riften's houses were built in haphazard patterns, and disappearing amongst the ditches and alleyways was easy for two light-footed men such as themselves. The guards saw them, but so what? Both wore cloaks and cowls, and the shadows cast by dim evening light would've hidden anything else. Arnath grinned as a pang of excitement washed over him. They'd killed a Black-Briar!! Now, all that remained was to meet back up at the warehouse and discuss what comes next. Dilbon may not have liked this sort of thing, but Arnath sincerely hoped that his friend would be back in time for celebration.

The Horn-Hands and Friends The Rift The air in the Rift was quite a bit warmer than in Eastmarch, but as heart of winter came, the temperature dropped even there. Roggi wasn't too worried, but he could feel the nip on the tips of his ears and nose. The sight of thatched roofs flashed in between barren tree branches. They were almost to Shor's Stone, then. He was about to comment on the groups ability to finally get inside, when he spotted a bush full of blue flowers. It was hidden slightly behind a rock, which seemed to block it from both sight and the wind. Roggi left the path and gathered up as many as would fit in his hands. "Mivanu, I found some more ingredients," he called out to the front of the group. "Hmm?" Mivanu had been talking to Jurik. It took her a moment to realize what Roggi was talking about. "Right, I'll take a look." "You sure you're not giving one her too? You two seem pretty friendly," Cidius winked to Jurik, who just rolled his eyes. "Keep your head on straight," the Horn-Hand said back. "That way I wouldn't have to put it in its place with my hammer." "Ah, Nords. Puts a new meaning to the phrase 'warhammer diplomat'." "Hey! I like my hammer," Jurik winked back. "They're blue. Those make..." Roggi wracked his brain, trying to recall just what potions Mivanu said she used the blue mountain flowers for. He'd taken some interest in her alchemy, since he liked seeing these flowers and plants he'd seen his entire life be made into conpletley new things. "Health potions? I think that's what it is." "Yes. Useful for healing. Sometimes poison. But mostly healing," Mivanu smiled and drew her dagger. It would only take a few moments to collect what she could use. "So, what do you remember about the other mountain flowers?" Roggi said, with some confidence, "Purple restores stamina, and red restores magicka. Oh, wait, it's the other way around." Mivanu smiled. "No, it is the other-other way around. Purple for stamina, red for magicka. And the yellow ones?" "Had it right the first time. Damn. Yellow...yellow is rare. It's useful for resisting poison!" Roggi said. "Aye. Not much of an antidote though. Some people don't know the difference. Easiest recipe for something to treat wounds?" "Blue mountain flowers and wheat. Though you'd miss out and a good loaf of bread that way," Roggi said. "Good, you're a quick study. Now if I could only get you to actually try mixing something," she stuck her tongue out at him as she placed the flowers in a small pocket in her satchel. "So, poisons? Any ideas?" Roggi frowned, shaking his head. "Sorry, poisons are cowards work. A true Nord relies on the strength of his arm, no something smeared on his blade. I've been sticking to the potions, really." "You sound like my man. Jurik's a bit more openminded, luckily. Mercs don't need to be ******* with their own chances of living, is my opinion. Besides, poison is much better in drinks than on blades." "Jurik uses poisons? News to this one," H'Reni seemed to appear out of nowhere besides Mivanu and Roggi. "Not really a warhammer thing. But he doesn't have a problem with it. I think." "Bah, you start poisoning drinks, and soon you'll find yourself turning into a Breton. No thanks, not for this Nord," Roggi said. "And this one thought it was the Nords who betrayed the Bretons to side with Tiber Septim." "They were no true Nords," Roggi said, though it was more in jest than him being serious. "H'Reni does not mind. If his enemies in this land will be the sort to overlook the cunning ways of dealing with a problem, he will not lose." "And what would you do with people like Jurik and I?" Mivanu smiled at him. "What this one does now, of course. Make you his friends." "Oh, we better catch up, the other ones didn't wait for us," Roggi said, looking out at the now empty road. "Bloody hell," Gjoring frowned at the Khajiit. "How do you do that?" "Do what?" H'Reni teased when they caught up to the others. "Keep this one's fur so clean? I can show you." "Nono! Ugh, cats..." Gjoring let out a groan. "No, how do you disappear like that? I just... stop noticing you one moment, then you're gone." "H'Reni is not sure what the hairless mo- the Nord is talking about. Have the mead addled his brain?" Gjoring rolled his eyes and grumbled to himself. Jurik and Cidius smiled. "You do have a knack for slipping off. How'd you get to be so sneaky?" Roggi asked. "H'Reni has no idea," the cat winked at him. "Between the moonsugar and the lovemaking, no one knew where I got the time to practice. Of course, H'Reni would say he learned to be so sneaky because he had to evade his mentor when he wanted to do his sugar and bed-exercises. That's good training." "Sounds like quite the, uh, interesting life you led," Roggi said with a chuckle. "One always meets interesting characters when one is a murderer for hire. Once I was asked to... deal with a witness. He had seen someone... hang around the graveyard, to put it delicately," H'Reni pulled out a dagger and started to toss it from hand to hand, switching which part of the blade he griped from toss to toss, ever fastening the pace. The Horn-Hands, Mivanu and Cidius gave him some space, not wanting to be on the receiving end of a misfire. H'Reni seemed to be doing it absentmindedly. "This one hopes to never see that contractor again. The witness gave too many details for H'Reni's liking." Roggi stepped back too, keeping a wary eye on the blade, while his lips twisted in disgust at the story of graveyard escapades. "I can't imagine that was pleasant. Graveyards are spooky enough without strange people prowling around." "H'Reni has also had more pleasant contracts. Like this lovely Suthay who pleaded for this one to spare its life rather aptly. Shame for her that H'Reni is a professional." "That story sounds kinda familiar," Jurik winked to Gjoring and nodded to Mivanu, who puffed up her cheeks and shook her head. "Except Mivanu wasn't as much of a professional." "Watch out!" Gjoring pulled Mivanu and Jurik behind him when it looked like H'Reni lost control over the dagger. He would've helped Roggi too, but he only had so many arms. "What?" H'Reni said with some strain, grinning to the best of his ability. He had caught the dagger with his teeth and now he had some fun looking at the reaction of the others. Roggi nearly jumped out of his fur pants, and he knew H'Reni had made a fool out of him. Judging by the looks of the others, he made a fool out of everyone. "Damn fur ball!" "Forgive this one, H'Reni must find ways to amuse himself." "Halt!" up the road a man in the colors of the Riften Guard shouted at them. "Who goes there? And what's your business in Shor's Stone?" "I am Jurik horn-Hand," the Horn-Hand brother stepped forward, pointing to his companions as he mentioned them. "This is my brother, and our friends; H'Reni, Mivanu, Cidius and Roggi Knot-Beard. We're passing through on our way to Riften. And we hoped you had some spare beds and mead." He delivered the last line with a smile. "And what's your business in the Hold capital?" "We're mercenaries. We heard word that they'd be glad for more fighting men there," Gjoring took the word, surveying their surroundings. He could count three guards, including the one speaking to them. "Mercenaries, eh? You better speak with Filnjar, our blacksmith." "What for?" Mivanu asked. "Just speak with Filnjar. He'll get you what you want." "I wonder what that's all about," Roggi said to the group once they were clear of the guards. Jurik shrugged. Gjoring didn't seem to have noticed Roggi said something, while Mivanu was busy trying to sneak up on H'Reni. When she was about to grab him, he stepped to the side and grinned at her. She let out a frustrated groan. Cidius followed her attempt with mild interest before he turned to Jurik. "What's Riften like?" "Hmm?" Jurik had been looking into the distance when Cidius spoke, so it took him a moment to return to the present. "Oh, eh, I dunno. The Rift is beautiful, but the city itself? Never did like the place. It just feels like I've stepped into a sewer." "You did step into their sewer," Gjoring corrected with a chuckle. Not a fond memory, but they made it out alright. Mostly. Better than the coward who fled. "Yeah?" Jurik got all up in Gjoring's face. "Well, your scar is ugly!" he said and stuck out his tongue at him. "Hey!" Gjoring grabbed Jurik's arm. "I like my sca-ouch!" he retracted his hand almost immediately; his brother had given him a small shock. Jurik smirked at him and Gjoring just shook his head in response. Roggi smiled as well. He was glad to be part of such a fun group, particularly one who was becoming more family like all the time. It was better than being cooped up in a mine for the rest of his life. He was living like a real Nord now. Jurik gave Cidius a quick wink, before he went on to lead them into the settlement proper. That was what their little exchange had been about. It was easy to make out who Filnjar was, being the only one hammering. There was precious few others out, but this was nothing new. Shor's Stone was a mining town. "Filnjar?" he raised his voice in hope of drowning out the constant hammerblows, but it didn't seem to be working. Or maybe his ears stopped working because of all the noise. Instead of wasting his voice, he went up and put a hand on the man's shoulder. "What!? Oh, visitors!" Filnjar was elderly, balding and bearded. His hair was grey and belly fat. He wore a thick apron. "Wish I could offer some welcome, but we're all of edge here. And the Jarl won't send more men. I suppose there is no chance you and your friends happen to be sellswords, is there?" "Heh, that's exactly what we are. The guards told us to see you," Roggi said with a friendly smile. "Oh, good," Filnjar seemed relieved. He even put his hammer down. "Come on inside. I'll tell you over a mug of mead." Roggi licked his lips expectantly. He was more than happy to get indoors, and to get a mug in his hands. He and the rest of the group followed the old smith inside, who went over to a bed and kicked a sleeping young man. "Get out and tend the forge," Filnjar said to the apprentice. The young man left in a hurry, before running back in, grabbing his apron, and leaving again. The group took places around a rickety old table that obviously saw little use. Once they got a few sips of mead in their bellies, they looked to Filnjar. "Well," the old man began, drawing a long breath. Hopefully he could afford these people. "We've got some bandits giving us some trouble. Sometimes I wonder if it is worth staying here. First the spiders and now the lowliest of human scum." "Bandits?" Jurik smiled and looked to Gjoring, who nodded in return. "I think we might be able to help. Where are they?" "H'Reni thought we'd be discussing payment first," the cat commented. Jurik gave him a look that told him to shut it for now. "Don't mind, friend," Jurik returned his attention to Filnjar. "We'll take care of them. We can talk payment later." Roggi drank from his mug, deep and long, and let out a satisfied "Ahhh." "Payment will come once we do the job," Roggi simply said. "That's mighty kind of you." "Well, what can you do?" Mivanu shrugged. "Civil war, the Dominion and dragons. Some should try to help." "We'll get it done, then discuss payment. Give you some time to pull coin together anyhow," Roggi said.

Gracchus Imperial Palace Morning As if the Elder Council didn't make a lifetime soldier like Gracchus nervous enough, this meeting seemed to multiply the High General's anxiousness. With such a large decision looming, he found himself thrust neck deep in the political intrigue he'd always hoped to avoid. A week had passed since Cyrodiil learned of the news, and this meeting had waited until then for the entire thirty members of the council to make their way to the capital city. Within that week, Gracchus found him beset on all sides by those hoping to either bring him over to their side, or shame him for holding a contrary opinion. Now he was about to willingly go into the same room as all those who wished him well or ill, and he knew that no good could come of it, no matter the decision. The Elder Council's main chambers only had sitting room for thirty, and no other room in the palace would hold that many, so they moved in another table for those wishing to watch the proceedings. Most of the councilors were there already, including two Gracchus immediately recognized. Quintil Wirich, a Breton, who supported no Imperial retribution against his home province. Surrounding him were the other four Bretons on the council, who all seemed to be in good spirits. Whether because they thought they would win today’s vote, or because it was a show, Gracchus couldn’t say. Nearly across the room from them, Serivus Marillan, a Colovian who earlier had berated Gracchus for his “cowardly and docile stance." Several other Imperials conversed with him, but most of them were Colovians as well. The members made their way to the circular table, were the High Chancellor and many other Nibenese councilors already sat. Ample amounts of sunlight streamed through the tall, skinny windows in between each of the room’s support pillars, which highlighted the extravagant dress of the Breton party, and the rather less eccentric clothes most others wore. In front of each pillar stood a guard, and though he didn’t expect any violence to occur, Gracchus had made sure there were as many of his battlemages as there were Oculatus soldiers. The door to the chamber opened, and in walked Manis Adrard, cousin to the Breton king and ambassador to Cyrodiil. He got smiles from his brethren, and scowls from Serivus’ allies, but most said nothing to him, besides the curious glance. Evidently, he didn’t want to sit next to Gracchus, so he took a seat a few chairs down from the High General. Much to Gracchus’ surprise, the next person to come in was General Floyd Renoit. His hair seemed to be on fire in this light, and he sat down next to Gracchus and said “Sir. Surprised to see you here.†Gracchus responded “I must see to it the best course of action is chosen, and I cannot do that from my office.†“And what is the best course of action?†the Breton general asked. “Patience. Prudence. We don’t need a war right now, yet some wish it to be so only because of their injured pride.†“Yes, I had heard that’s what your view was, but I wanted to be sure for myself.†“You’re older brother is a Duke in High Rock, is he not?†Gracchus asked. “Baron. It’s why I joined the legion. I wouldn’t ever become more than a knight there, so I came here.†Gracchus just nodded. The Breton seemed to have lost some of the fierceness in his personality with the news of his province’s secession. No doubt he recieved some pressure to return home, and some people from both sides had probably called him a traitor. Gracchus didn’t envy his position in the least. The High Chancellor, a thick, burly man wearing a gold circlet, which held back his curly black hair, rose, and said, “Take your seats. We need to begin.†The councilors who’d been milling around found their way to the table, and soon everyone was seated. “You all know what we’re here to discuss,†Doron continued once everyone was seated. “and there will likely be differing opinions. So, I will start. “The end of the Empire has been a long time coming. The days of total control of Tamriel are a thing of the past. We must stop living in that past, and accept this future. Our goal is now to survive the coming invasion, not build up an empire,†he planted a thick finger on the table, and jabbed it up and down with each word to emphasize his point. “The Empire is dead. Accept that, and gear up for the next Great War.†Chancellor Zethus sat down, crossing his arms over his chest as he waited for the inevitable landslide of voices. He got it, as the Bretons clapped and cried, “Hear hear†while Serivus’ group yelled out their backlash, with such angry words as “Coward,†and “Traitor!†A Dumner went up, unlike everyone else in the room whom were clad in fine clothing, he was wearing traditional Dark Elf Bonemold armor, minus the helmet. Going by the insignia he bore, and the design of his armor, he was a member of House Hlaalu. This was Council Nerosh Hlaalu, one of the few well-to do members of the now infamous house. Councilor Nerosh was one of the legion's biggest supporters on the council as well as, automatically, Gracchus'. He spoke in a deep, raspy voice, showing that he was actually born in Morrowind. "Silence your tongue, filth." Serivus stood up, his shaggy white hair swaying back and forth as he shook his head. “What is left, if there is no Empire? We must continue on, for our pride demands it! Not only is this a matter of losing our identity, but we cannot stand by and let people walk all over us, especially the Bretons.†“And what does that mean?†Synette Perrick asked. Her brother was a baron in High Rock, much like General Renoit’s. “You had best remember that a Breton sits on our throne right now. I suggest you follow Councilor Nerosh’s advice and silence your tongue.†"I think both sides should silence their tongues. Make no mistake, I don’t approve of you and your little gang, intent on sucking Theodore's fat ****." Nerosh had served in the legion for seventy years before getting a seat on the council, and he still had the attitude and mannerism of a sergeant. Extremely outspoken, however, the other councilors tolerated it because he was the oldest member of the council, and had served the longest. "Saying the Empire is no more is traitorous at best, but we should acknowledge the gravity of the situation." He sat back down, and motioned to Gracchus. "I would like to hear the High General's opinion on the matter," Nerosh said firmly. "This is highly irregular-" Serivus started, but a look from High Chancellor Zethus cut him short. The chancellor knew where Ceno stood, and so hoped such a high ranking voice would supplement his own position. Gracchus, however, hadn't expected to be called to question, but managed to rein in his surprise. Standing, he said, "I have talked extensively with Legate Montrose, who commanded our forces in High Rock. I believe each of you received a copy of his report, yes? Right, well, after reviewing the events, and going over what options we have, I believe it is in Cyrodiil's best interest to do nothing." A few voices started up, but Gracchus raised a hand, indicating he wasn't yet done. "Furthermore, it would be disadvantageous to exact retribution. The Thalmor have spies, possibly some in this very room. I do not need to remind you I was nearly killed after one of your own and one of my own conspired to help the Thalmor. So they will know if we send a force to High Rock, and they will seize that chance to attack. And with as much support as King Adrard has, it is unlikely we could retake the province unless we use considerable effort. Given the Bretons' penchant for castles and walled cities, we would be forced to play a waiting game. Retaking the province would take months, even years. Not to mention the very likely opposition from Hammerfell and Skyrim.†Finished, Gracchus sat down. No one moved to immediately talk, so Serivus again stood, not at all phased by the High General's opposition. "Well, not exactly the reaction one would expect from a general of the legion. If we accept your report as fact, that only means we cannot take it by force. Why not subterfuge? The Bretons," Serivus cast a sideways glance at Quintil, "think themselves superior to us in that regard, yet I think we of all people know how to conduct clandestine actions. An Oculatus team, perhaps, or a flotilla disguised as pirates, used to disrupt their trading." A small, quiet laugh nonetheless echoed throughout the chamber, and all eyes eventually found its source. The High Rock ambassador covered his mouth to stifle the chuckle, but it was too late. He had everyone's attention, but took some time to adjust his ponytail, as his brown hair was evidently falling out. This garnered several disdainful looks, and Gracchus noticed the Chancellor Zethus was among them, his being particularly unpleasant. "You obviously do not know my cousin. I do not deign to threaten the council, but I do have a word of warning: do not underestimate Theodore Adrard. You did that once already, and look where you are." Nerosh gave a cold smile, saying in a rather scary tone of voice, "Did we give you permission to speak N'wah? Remain silent, or I swear by Boethia, I'll have your skin torn from your body, pickled, and fed to my household dogs, and the rest sent to your cousin." Nerosh with his glowing red eyes, and heavy armor didn't look a councilor, more like a warlord. A terrifying one. Manis simply shrugged, though Gracchus was sitting close enough to him that he could see sweat forming on the ambassador’s brow. His pompous confidence was an act, then, though Gracchus would not dismiss what the man had said. King Adrard had already proved himself dangerous, and was not to be taken lightly. A fat Imperial with a bob cut coughed awkwardly, raising his hands, "The merchant guild would be up in arms if the council authorized something like disrupting trade routes." Councilor Fross calmly continued, "Maybe something more subtle? I hear there's many Orc war bands waiting for the chance to attack the nation. Perhaps we should consider...supplying them?" "I would like to voice my opinion on this," said a slightly elderly Nord by the name of Bjor, coming from a wealthy and prominent family in Bruma. His hair and beard were so evenly cut that it made his head look a like ball. "What the traitor king in High Rock did demands a prize of blood to be paid. May Talos himself smite him for this unlawful deceit. But right now he is sitting half a province away while we're threatened by the Dominion. So I fear nothing short of the gods themselves would be required to bring this Adrard to justice." A Nibenese councilor, wearing a dark purple set of mage robes, and who proudly displayed her cultural tattoos across her cheek and neck, said, “What’s to keep these Orcs from raiding the trading caravans? With the Oculatus, at least we could control them. Though I agree with Bjor, we cannot do much. Let the gods decide.†“Oh, how pious of you, Javolia. And I’m sure that when the Dominion comes calling, we will find you in the chapel, hm? I think not. To defend ourselves, from both physical harm and harm to our national conscious, we must rely on the strength of our sword arms,†Councilor Maximus said, to which Serivus said, “Aye! Too bad we have cowards leading the legion, the council, and sitting the throne. Perhaps Admiral Meridius will be keen to help.†Gracchus squirmed in his seat, his lips twisted in a deep frown. He was not a violent man, nor quick to anger, but Councilor Marillan was pushing his luck. General Renoit seemed primed to release his trademark fiery temper, but Gracchus stopped him, knowing it would bring no good. As he put his arm across the Breton’s chest to hold him back, it was then he noticed Lord Snow-Strider leaning on a pillar, hidden in its shadow. Evidently no one else did, to which Gracchus suspected some magic must have been involved. Nerosh got out of his seat, pointing his index finger at the man, "And have you fought in any wars, experienced the frontlines firsthand? How dare you call the leader of our legion a coward. The only thing you've ever done is sucked the milk out of your nannies ***, and been spoon fed your entire life. If you’re so keen on violence, maybe you can lead the first wave personally?" "If you people are just going to throw insults around, we might as well end this meeting right here and settle it as inconclusive,†said one of the two Redguards in the council. "Ahem," said a woman, Pelena Tridus, now holder of her father's seat since he had decided to retire soon after his other daughter's death. "I think we almost might as well end it here and call it inconclusive. The army won't be able to intervene and assassins would have to be sent in private regardless. So I suggest we look to any non-violent action we can take against High Rock." She said in a calm voice. Then she turned her gaze quickly to Lilly who was seated to her right and looking rather tense and then to Lilly's mother, Aveline Quentas, that was seated to Lilly's right with a stone face. Pella gave Lilly a quick smile as if hoping to lighten up her mood before returning her gaze to the others. "Like what? Trade restrictions? Then we might as well send a raiding party disguised as pirates," said a burly Nord almost before Pella had finished her sentence. "As long as money flows, I have no comment on this matter,†said Aveline, her voice being barely above a whisper, and emotionless. Physically, she looked like Lilly greatly, but had the same lustrous golden hair her wayward sister, Milly had. Oddly, she looked only a few years older then her daughter; the countess was rumored to be a powerful mage. She wore a beautiful and frilly green dress. Lilly, who was fidgeting uncomfortably, said, "An extended Oculatus operation would be unfavorable. Like my mother, I abstain and my stance is neutral. I will abide by the council's will." High Chancellor Zethus rose, and said, "I don't suppose either Serivus or Quntil have any more outbursts? No? Thank the gods. I too am willing to declare this inconclusive. The future may hold some message from King Adrard, or he may be foolish enough to take some antagonistic action. Until then, we'll stand pat." Practically glaring at the council, Doron said, "Any objections?" "I object," Serivus said, rising. "I object to serving on a council with traitors. It is fairly obvious our Breton members have no loyalty to Cyrodiil. I move we disbar them from the Elder Council!" "Seconded!" Maximus said quickly. "What? You can't do this. You have no proof we've done anything wrong!" Quintil said. "Not that we, or at least I know of. Though your smugness isn't helping. If something smells foul it usually means something rotten is nearby." said a longhaired and long bearded Nord. "And yet you Nords weren't persecuted after your war with the Empire. What makes us so different? Why should we bear the brunt of your anger towards High Rock?" Councilor Synnette asked. Gracchus was ready for the debate to end, so when the notion of disbarring the Bretons came up, he sighed, and shook his head in defeat. Looks like he’d be stuck here while they debated whether or not to ban the members. He knew Councilor Serivus was out for blood, and he couldn’t blame him, but his fellow councilors hadn’t done anything wrong. He was looking for a fall guy in place of Adrard, but unless he found some proof, kicking them off the council was unlikely. Nerosh got out of his chair, saying rather calmly, "Treason is dangerous business. You can’t accuse someone without proof." "You're right." said Skjari as he stepped forward to many people's surprise. Behind him was someone in dark, full steel plate armor who remained by the pillar. "Simply being a Breton isn't a crime. My beautiful love is a Breton." Skjari now began walk in along the backs of the council chairs. One councilor tried to begin to speak but soon found that no audible words came out of his mouth. "And as long as no one here has a loyalty outside our borders, you should have nothing to fear. And I dare say that while we have lost High Rock, Cyrodiil still stands as the largest and wealthiest province in Tamriel. Our harvests are the largest, our trade fleet may have diminished over the years but still have stand as a dominant force of the seas and our legions may have suffered defeats but still stand unbroken and unwavering to defend our borders. But there is one problem. Apparently a book, a book containing almost all Oculatus agents and contacts throughout the provinces, has been stolen. Imagine what would happen if someone with no good will for the Empire got hands on that book. Now there was a bird sent from this palace carrying a letter detailing the current holder of the book is willing to sell that book to the current ruler of High Rock, putting us under the thumb of the traitor that just deceived us." Skjari stopped behind Quintil who looked about as confused as the rest, but now also became a little tense. "The price was a duchy and a big heap of money. Luckily that bird was caught and eaten by a bigger bird that then coughed up the letter to me." Skjari added before suddenly summoning and driving an ice spike into the Breton noble's shoulder, to which no audible cry of pain came, and using it as a handle to force the man down onto the table in front of him. Skjari also pulled out of his pocket a small half folded letter with the red seal attached to one end, showing that letter had been opened and held it up for all to see. "This letter was sealed with the sigil of Wirich family. Written in Quintil's handwriting. And I just had all this confirmed as the book was found hidden behind a painting in his office," he then threw the letter to the councilor to his left. It was Councilor Synette Perrick who caught the letter. She read it over, then looked up, a hand covering her mouth. "It's his handwriting. And his family's spider sigil." Quintil rolled his head, so he could talk. His face was a twisted grimace of pain, his breathing heavy. "He's lying! It's a forgery, he's trying to use me as a scapegoat!" Serivus rose, slamming his hand on the table. "I told you he was a traitor. The rest probably are too! We should place them under arrest and monitor their letters!" An old Bosmer said, “You cannot do that! They’ve done no wrong!†A blue spectral blade materialized in Nerosh's hand, as he shouted, "Guards, arrest that traitor, and throw him into the deepest darkest dungeon." He pointed at the Ambassador, "Throw that N'wah in as well. Leave the others alone." He motioned towards the other Bretons in the room. Gracchus rose and held up a hand. "Wait. Councilor Quintil is to be arrested, but the ambassador will not be touched. He has done nothing wrong, as his allegiance has always been with High Rock. And Councilor Nerosh, might I remind you, it is not your place to command these guards." Captain Imperius, who had a squad of imperial palace guards on station coughed awkwardly, "Security of the Imperial Palace falls under the Oculatus, with all due respect sir. Meaning Colonel Quentas has higher jurisdiction." He gave Gracchus an apologetic look. Like his brother Marius, the captain was by the books. Gracchus said, with a respectful nod to Lilly, "I apologize, Colonel Quentas, it would seem Captain Imperius is right. You are in charge of the Oculatus agents, but I count half of the guards stationed here that are my battlemages. And so long as they are here, only those who have been proven to be traitors will be arrested." The High Chancellor had risen from his seat. He the wasn't saddened in the least by Quintil being arrested, as the man was leader of the Breton bloc, but there was no reason for the whole lot to be detained. After all, they could prove valuable allies, and they would be much more likely to follow his lead than Serivus’. "The High General is right. We can't arrest people just because Serivus accuses them of treason. If we did, I imagine everyone would be in jail. Take Quintil away, but leave the rest." "Agreed," said Lilly. "However I insist on an inspection of his mansion and private belonging…for all we know he’s guilty of spying." "I'm staying at the Tiber Septim Hotel. Third floor, room 8. Here is the key, if you wish," Manis Adrard said, tossing it over to Captain Imperius. "Oh, and please do be careful. I am only renting it, after all." Gracchus ignored the ambassador’s smugness, and added, "Same with the other Bretons. We cannot be to careful after Councilor Quintil." The imperial caught the keys, saying, "It shall be done." "Get up." said Skjari as he lifted Quintil up from the table and then up from the chair. Quintil groaned and whimpered a bit as the ice spike still forced him to move. Some Oculatus and Skjari's apprentice approached and the wizard handed Quintil to the apprentice instead, who grabbed the ice spike and forced Quintil out of the room surrounded by half a dozen Oculatus agents in tow. Skjari then turned back to the council. "Now I don't think he was working alone. He didn't have access to where the book was kept. Lilly, go and gather all members of the Oculatus that are in the city and get them accounted for. I'd wager someone is about to make a run for it with a big sack of gold." "More work..." She yawned lazily, her mother placed a hand on her shoulder, whispering something into her ear. Lilly adopted a scowl, before adding, "Anyone who confesses to spying right now, and detail it, will be given a much lighter sentence then they would have gotten if we find something in there house." She smirked, "My Grey Wolves will sniff anything out that you’re hiding. You might as well take this offer." No one moved, for fear that any sudden movement would display their guilt. After a prolonged silence, Chancellor Zethus said, "Right. Doesn't look like you're getting any confessions. Better get to sniffing, Colonel Quentas." "With pleasure, my lord." Getting out of her seat, she approached the Breton Bloc, drawing her longsword. The blade's hilt was decorated with silver vines, showing her allegiance to the county of Chorrol. A ceremonial blade, nothing more. Half a dozen Oculatus agents, two of which were part of Grey Wolf, followed behind her, drawing their weapons. Smirking she said, "Alright spectres, I want a detail on him 24-7. If does any form of resistance, throw him into The Oubliette " Her face becoming sadistic at the mention of the dreaded "forgotten chamber". She turned to face the High Chancellor, "Shall I handle the investigations immediately?" "Yes, I suppose you should get to work now," Doron said with a dismissive hand wave. "Though first we should vote as to whether to do anything. Those in favor of action raise your hand, and those against action do nothing.†One grumpy looking Nord and a few Imperials raised their hands, among them Serivus, Maximus, and Councilor Fross, but they were in the minority. Some members gave the High Rock ambassador disapproving looks instead as if to show their displeasure with his presence and smugness. "The vote is in favor of taking no hostile actions against High Rock for the time being. Then it's settled. I hereby declare meeting as over," Doron said and rose from his chair, to which all others did the same in unison. The ambassador quickly hurried off before anyone else could leave, to report the council’s decision to his king. As the councilors followed suit, Gracchus couldn’t help but feel grateful that the council agreed with him. Not only that, but no hostile actions would be taken, and this feud was unlikely to escalate, while Skjari uncovered an attempt at spying within their midst. All in all, a good day. He’d have to keep his eyes and ears open for any action taken in secret, especially from the Oculatus, and the High Admiral was always a wild card, but at least his troops would be kept out of it, in the mean time.

Akamon Hammerfell Night The night was cold. Freezing cold; just like it was when Akamon was undertaking his Walk-About. This cold though was different, he felt alone. Very alone. Looking around, Akamon tried to find Lashana or Cyrus, but no one was there. He realized he wasn't in the Hall, but somewhere completely different. Where though? Thinking about it Akamon looked up and saw the stars. They shone brightly tonight; brighter than he's ever seen them before. So if Akamon was outside, then where? He started walking aimlessly, constantly scanning his surroundings, but all he saw was pitch darkness. After what seemed like hours, Akamon decided to give up. There was no point in looking anymore, the more he tried to find anything or someone, the more he felt alone and frightened. Seeing the situation as useless he drooped to his knees. His body trembling from the cold, but also from the memories of seeing his village, Divad's Calling, in charred ruins and seeing his parents amidst the corpses. Upon recalling the memory the weight of melancholy and guilt weighed down on Akamon so much that he dropped to hands. "Is this my punishment for not saving my village? Will I have live with this guilt for the rest of my days?" **************** Quickly packing his bags Akamon smiled with excitement, today he was going to leave with the Sword Saint Lashana! He couldn't believe it. This was going to be his chance of becoming a great warrior. An Ansei! Finally throwing the last of his clothes into the knapsack, he reached under his bed and pulled out his iron longsword. Strapping it to his belt, Akamon was about to throw the knapsack over his shoulder when a knock came at his door. Setting the knapsack down on the bed, Akamon turned to open the door but before he could reach it, the door flew open hitting the wall with a soft thud. Standing in the doorway was a beautiful Altmer teenage girl. Her golden hair hung loosely on her shoulders, and her deep golden eyes shone with such fire. Though it was the look of surprise, shock, and anger on the Altmer's face that took Akamon by surprise. Nervously looking from her to his knapsack and back to her Akamon hesitantly started to say,"Hey, Qwin. I was just finishing packing--" "You're going through with this?! Why?!!" Akamon was not ready for this reaction from Elqwinwe. When he told her that Lashana offered take Akamon along in her Walk-About, she seemed somewhat ok with it, but he never remembered her being angry with him. Taken by surprise, Akamon tried to see if he could somehow reason with her. Walking closer to the doorway where Elqwinwe stood, Akamon stood only couple feet away from her and said,"Yes I'm going through with this. Qwin, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity. I may never get this chance again. I would become a great warri--" He didn't expect nor did he see the hand that smacked his face. Holding his numbed cheek, Akamon stood quiet looking at Elqwinwe. Tears were rolling down her cheeks. He tried reaching out to her but she smacked his hand away. Lifting her head and looking at him, Akamon could see the sadness and anger in her face. Trying to soothe her, Akamon began saying,"I know how you must feel about me leaving, but I don't want to be stuck in this village for the rest of my life. Father always said,'farming comes before swordplay'. That's not the life I want to live." ************ I can't believe him. After all I done for him, he's just going to leave like it's no big deal. He doesn't understand the village looks up to him; I look up to him. Who's going to defend the village from wild animals? Who's going to put Wayn in his place? Fine if he wants to leave let him. "Akamon! Hurry up! Lashana is waiting for you at the edge of the village! Don't make her wait, she might leave you behind!" Elqwinwe heard Akamon's father, and with that Akamon quickly ran to his bed, threw the knapsack over his shoulders, and ran past the doorway Elqwinwe was standing in. "Qwin!" Elqwinwe turned around to Akamon's voice. He was looking her straight in the eye. Tightening his grip on his longsword, Akamon said to her,"Goodbye, Qwin. I'll miss you", with that he was gone. Gone forever. No longer would she wait on him to get done with helping his father. No longer would she sit against the juniper tree, watching him spar with the other Redguards in the village, admire his swiftness, the way he held the blade, his fighting style almost seemed like he was dancing. She missed him already. After what seemed like a few minutes standing there, in the doorway of the only person she could call friend, she dusted her self off, and wiped her dress, she turned around to walk out the door of his parents house before looking back into his room and whispering,"I love you." ************ "Qwin!" Breathing heavily, Akamon sat up in his bed. Looking down, Akamon realized he was in the Hall of the Virtues of War, in his own room. Still breathing heavily Akamon was holding his scimitar defensively as if waiting for an enemy to strike. Letting go of the blade, Akamon brought his hands to his face and thought, What is happening to me? For the past two years I've been having these dreams on and off. I don't have them every night, but when I do have them, they're so vivid and real. This one though, I swear I was looking through her eyes and did she say 'I love you'? Impossible how can I have a dream through the eyes of a dead person, but if I did then that would mean that she is.... Akamon hesitated for a minute. Everything that Akamon went through told him that his entire village was killed, slaughtered like animals by the Dominion. He knew, he buried their bodies. Then at the same time, he couldn't specifically recall if he buried Elqwinwe's body or not. Throwing the sheets of his body, Akamon got out off bed and stretched. Right next to his bed on the left was a water basin. Bending over and splashing his face with the cold liquid, Akamon felt awake and somewhat refreshed. Though standing there and looking at his reflection in the water, Akamon sighed. Lashana would think I'm going mad if I told her, but I have to. She's the only one who would listen to me. Drying of his face, Akamon dressed in a simple tunic over white clothe pants and slipped his feet into a pair of kagouti leather sandals, and left the room.

Lorgar Grim-Maw Night Dream? The wind howled and blew a bitter chill past the dying trees; it danced with the leaves and dragged them away unwillingly from the autumn ground. The floor was damp and stagnant with the odor of decomposing wood, diamonds pierced the black sheet held up above and looked down with vengeance. The twisted forest seemed to never end; tall silhouettes shadowing the ground, ravens circling overhead, and screams echoing through the wind. Beady eyes hidden within the bramble scanned the area, oblivious that they were prey to this Forest. A paranormal presence lurked in the essence of the devils grasp, shadowing the single living organism with dire precision. Dark whispers echoed everywhere, whispers of...people who were tragically familiar to Lorgar. “Please spare me…†“You dont have to do this…†“I have a wife and child…†The damnable whispers continued to haunt the nord, who was sheepishly glancing up into the nights sky. His right crimson eye gazing at the blood red moon, which shone dark red rays of light upon the earth. Something felt...wrong. The more Lorgar looked at his surroundings, the more they would almost contort, and disappear in a cloud of darkness. This must be a dream... "THOU ARTH IN DOUBT...OR MAYBE YOUR DISBELIEF IS WELL FOUNDED? MAYBE YOU'RE ASLEEP, BESIDE YOUR DEAR MILLY, HUDDLED IN BED WITH A FUR BLANKET WRAPPED AROUND YOUR INTERLOCKED BODIES? BY SACRED CHANCE PERHAPS IN A TENT, READYING YOUR TROOPS FOR THE FINAL MARCH ON WINDHELM, AND DESTRUCTION OF THE STORMCLOAK RESISTANCE? OR MAYBE ABOUT THE DAY BEFORE THE EXECUTION OF THE REBEL COMMANDER, BALDUR RED-SNOW? A shrill, hateful, demonic, as if it was the emotion of rage made manifest in speech, suddenly entered into the Nord's hearing from behind. Seeing that he was clad in old Wolf-Pack armor, Lorgar reached for his greatsword from behind, drawing it and turning around to face whatever was speaking to him. When he caught sight of what awaited him, he almost felt regret. Huge in size a black wolf smiled devilishly like a Hyena at the Nord, it's soulless eyes sparkling with what appeared to be red lightning. It's jaw was disgusting narrow, but nonetheless in comparison with everything else, massive, it's mouth filled with hundreds of razor sharp fangs that looked like they could tear apart plate-mail like parchment paper. It walked on all fours, and it's paws ended in large claws colored like the void. The way it moved was unnatural, smoothly gliding across the dead grass like a weasel. Lorgar’s betrayed an emotion he hadn't felt for a long time Fear. Lorgar pointed his sword at the Eldritch monster, slowly backing away. Shadows danced around it, appearing in clouds leaving and then reforming around it, The creature continued to grin revealing even more ranks of sharp teeth, a hideous mockery of a wolf’s smile. Lorgar barely managed to form a coherent sentence, "What-...what in the All-Makers name are you?" The creature let out a ear piercing scream...that appeared to be it laughing mockingly at the nord. It advanced against the nord, which caused it's dark paws to emit black smoke. Every breath it took sprayed black mist across the dead grass, causing the decrepit land to further decay and die. Speaking once again, it said, greatly entertained, "YOU KNOW WHO I AM..." Lorgar shook his head, "No...no, I don't..." The wolf continued to grin, but his voice changed, going as low as a whisper, but at the same time, as thunderous as a mammoth coming from the depths of Lorgar soul, as well as from its gaping jaw. The creature's evil eyes glanced down into that Pitt, as it leaped towards Lorgar, leaving behind a trail of dark Miasma. It's body seemed to flicker, once second being as physically as a breathing human, to see-through, and mist-like. Lorgar wasted no time jumping away, pointing his sword at the monster, " I AM THE DARK SHADOW THAT CHILLS THE HEARTS OF MAN AS YOU WALK PAST . I AM YOUR HATRED, YOUR DESPAIR, YOUR FURY, YOUR VENGEANCE. THE MELANCHOLIC WHISPER THAT CARESSES YOU IN YOUR DARKEST HOURS. I AM THE BEAST OF THE MIASMA….!" It laughed maniacally Lorgar's face contorted with anger, as he screamed, "Shut up!!!" The creature, who refered itself as the “Wolf of Miasma†pounced on the Nord, causing him to fall over onto the evil earth. The wolf's wolf-like grin faded, replaced with cool fury. It's long, slimy, black, sinister tongue extended, licking Lorgar's cheek, causing nausea and disgust to well up inside the nord. The demon laughed in his face, telling him, "I’M ALREADY INSIDE YOU, AND YOUR WEAKNESS, IS MY STRENGTH." The nord screamed, “I don't know you!!!†the wolf cacled once again, showing it’s razor sharp fangs to the nord, â€In the end you and I will become one. “The wolf grinned, spitting dark slime across Lorgar’s face, “Once all your friends lay in the earth, bodies torn and ripped, I will consume you.†Lorgar shook his head in desperation, “No, NO!!! The Wolf went in, howling in laughter as it’s gaping maw went in, spreading at an impossible angle for the very reason of devouring the nords head in a single gulp, “I will consume you…†********************************************** Lorgar awoke with a scream, his face covered in cold sweat. Placing his arm to his head, he started to breath heavily. Glancing around him, he let out a sigh of relief. He was in his Quarters at Fort Bylderfang. Was that a dream...it...must have been, ************************************************ Later that day The clangor of the swords had died away, the shouting of the slaughter was hushed; silence lay on the red-stained leaves. The pale bleak sun that glittered so blindingly from the -fields of vegetation and the overgrown tendrils of vines struck sheens of silver from rent corselet and broken blade, where the dead lay in heaps. The nerveless hand yet gripped the broken hilt: helmeted heads, back-drawn in the death throes, The battle was won, the enemy had lost. Soon, the dominion army would be here, and would destroy the Rebel Stronghold. The Bloodwolves were only instructed in eliminating the outer defenses, patrols, and draw out as many Elven archers as possible rip for the picking. Black hooded commando's prowled around on the desolate battlefield, slitting the throats of any enemy combatant still drawing breath. Mounds of dead bodies littered the killing grounds, an eternal monument of flesh The battle was a complete massacre, like every one before it. Lorgar himself was drenched in Blood, under his black leather longcoat and leaf camouflage no one could see them, but the festering black burn marks on his skin were covered in thick linen bandages. Combined with his supernatural regeneration, as well as the help of some magic he could call up from Wraith and the other magics in the company, Lorgar would be able to restore parts of his old appearance. Glancing at his blood-soaked hands, the nord suddenly felt he was being watched. He dismissed the feeling, turning around as quickly as he could and went to regroup with his men. If he had lingered for no more then an extra second, he would have saw a pair of eyes that emanated red lightning. Wolf-like in appearance, the spectre danced around a mound of dead bodies, grinning and showing off it's terrible fangs. As soon as the creature appeared, it disappeared in a cloud of black miasma

Stalks-Deep-Waters Valenwood Noon Stalks hated going on patrols. It went against the freedom he had sought as a mercenary. They were seven in the patrol, including Stalks, walking around on the outskirts of an area where some rebels apparently were causing trouble. Their job was to contain them to that area Stalks had been told. The patrol itself consisted of six wood elves and Stalks. Their job was walk around on the outskirts of an area where some rebels were apparently causing trouble and that they were to keep them contained to that area. That was at least what Stalks had been told. Stalks himself made sure to keep a little distance between him and the others, as they sometimes gave him the look like they were going to stab and eat him. The elves' equipment was mostly bows and arrows along with daggers made from bones. Only two had blades long enough that they could be classified as short swords instead of daggers. Stalks had also seen them practice a bit; they were generally about as good as he had heard the Bosmer to be with bow and arrow, but in melee combat they were savage to a point they were more likely to hurt themselves than the opponent. In one sparring fight Stalks had gotten into as a part of a bet; the Bosmer swung the sword so hard that when Stalks sidestepped it, the blade continued till it instead hit the elf himself in the leg. That was some of the easiest coins Stalks had ever made. The patrol dragged on and Stalks tried to keep himself from loosing focus as the patrol continued to bore him. It was simply walking along a road, with no real destination in mind but to later turn around and go back to their camp. He tried to keep an eye out for dangerous animals and possible rebel ambushes but as nothing came, his mind began to wander. He wondered about the moustached snake and the odd troll. He hadn't seen either since he had signed that contract. Stalks felt relief at the prospect and hoped that the crazy would now be behind him. Stalks thoughts were interrupted as the group came to a halt and as Stalks stretched out his legs, so much he began to lose a little balance, to peek over the heads of the Bosmer to properly see why they were stopping. What he saw was a group of little less than a dozen other Bosmer, almost all of them unarmed and unarmored. The leader of Stalks' group and the one who appeared to be leading the others began to exchange words. It began with questions over who the others were and what they were doing, which the answer was that they were refugees fleeing the fighting in the nearby area. Soon the questions turned into demands more fit to have come from bandits. Stalks was at first a little surprised but it had also been something he half expected from this group of thugs he had been walking around with. The situation began to heat up and Stalks began to wonder if it would come to blows. And his suspicion would soon be realized. One of the refugees began to slowly move his hand behind his back and one of the thugs in his group yelled: "Hey!" and quickly stepped forth and gutted the refugee. He didn't even get to make an excuse for why he had done so before all pretence that the situation wasn't going spiral out into all out violence went down the lake. Both groups clashed and some of the refugees tried to flee while the others took their chances by fighting. Stalks quickly drew his spear but hesitated about joining in. It didn't matter though as the refugees were quickly cut down and those that tried to flee were shot by arrows. The chaos subsided as quickly as it had broken out. Though they weren't without casualties themselves, one lied dead with a dagger stuck in the head through the left eye and a second one was bleeding from a big wound in the stomach so much that he was soon to join the first one. When the surprise and slight shock Stalks felt over what had happened subsided, Stalks sheathed his spear on his back as he quickly walked to the corpses. While he had missed the fighting, he didn't intend to miss out on the looting. The others seemed to have completely forgotten about what hey had done as they joined in on trifling through the leather sacks and few pockets of the now dead. Stalks went straight for what looked like the best bet, a corpse of some woman with what could be described as somewhat fancy clothes. She had a delicate golden ring with a small emerald on the finger. It had some kind of sign or motif on it that he didn't recognize. But it didn't matter as it was sure to be valuable. "Hey lizard! I killed that one!" one of the thugs yelled as Stalks had just gotten the ring of the finger. Stalks looked to his side to see the man who had started the fighting. The elf had his dagger in hand, still dripping with blood. "So?" was all Stalks said. "It means it's my loot. And that mean it's my ring you're holding." the elf pointed at the ring Stalks held. "How do I know you're not lying?" Stalks said as he rose up while also slipping the ring into one of his pockets. "Give that ring to me. Now." the elf said in a stern and threatening voice. The others were still occupied with looting but turned their heads to watch a little anyway. "No." Stalks said calmly. He didn't trust the elf and he wasn't going to easily let go of such a possibly valuable item. "Filthy lizard." was all the elf said before ramming the dagger into Stalks gut as he had done with the refugee. Stalks at first grunted at the force as the blade hit him with, but the crude blade was far from enough to penetrate the bronze scaled armor he was wearing. Stalks quickly grabbed the wrist of the hand holding the dagger and quickly drew his own. But as he was about to stab the throat of the elf, hisopponent also quickly grabbed the wrist of Stalks' hand and they were left in a deadlock. They both began to struggle back and forth and while Stalks proved somewhat stronger, the elf began to use kicks which Stalks had to deflect. When the elf landed a hard kick on his knee Stalks had gotten enough. He opened his mouth and revealed the sharp needles that were his teeth and the last thing he saw of the elf's face was a mixture of surprise and fear before Stalks sank his teeth into it and tore the face off. The elf quickly stopped struggling and fell down screaming, allowing Stalks to quickly end it by cutting the throat right open with his dagger. Then the taste and smell hit him and he quickly spat out the skin, flesh and blood of the dead elf's face. He felt disgusted and as he also felt that some had gotten stuck between the teeth, it made him feel like he was about to puke. He continued to spit and used the claw on his index finger to pick between the teeth. The others were still looking on in silence. None of them seemed to care that much that Stalks killed that man. Most likely because it left one less person to share the spoils with. Though they still seemed disgruntled by the fact that Stalks had just killed one of their group, even if it was in self defence. But as none said anything about it, Stalks was sure he wouldn't hear about now or later, at least not untill they got back to camp. Once Stalks were done with picking the leftovers of the elf's face from his teeth and take a gulp from his water pouch to rinse and spit out the taste, he continued to loot the dead woman in fancy clothes. She had some coin in a leather pouch at her belt and that was all. The others were done looting the rest by then and they hadn't turned up with much else either. Then they headed back to camp with what they could, Stalks had to carry the two sacks that had been the refugees provisions of meat while the other three helped carry the most of meaty corpse of the refugees. Back at camp the corpse they brought was quickly turned into dinner for the Bosmer and leader of Stalks patrol went to the commander of the camp to give a report. Stalks was from there on, to some of his relief, reassigned from the patrol group to scouting. The following days was a sweet freedom in comparison to the patrols as he could almost go wherever he wanted. Then he began receiving assignments about scouting more and more dangerous areas. One of which was a hoarvor nest (hoarvors were like giant bloated beetles) to see if their population was growing and expanding. Stalks enjoyed a little danger to keep himself from growing bored and keep his senses sharp, but he got a feeling that his superior either wanted him dead or simply didn't care if he lived. One day he sat on one of the lower branches on a tree near a river. He scouted out the area he had been assigned to and he could spend the rest of the day how he liked. His superior might want him to head back immediately with the information but as long as there was nothing urgent to tell, he figured that he could afford himself some free time. And he was technically still scouting. He sat there for some time and relaxed to the sounds of the forest. Later when he got bored of sitting around he got up and headed back to the tree trunk to climb down. There he noticed something odd, at first he thought it was a simple deformation of the tree next to the branch that was covered in some vines. But as he looked a little closer he saw that the deformation was a narrow staircase, grown directly out of the wood of the tree. Stalks' curiosity drove him to investigate and he began to rip and kick away the vines covering the stairs. It ascended slowly in a spiral around the tree till it reached a large round hole. Stalks peeked inside to see a simple room grown into the middle of the tree. It was round as the tree trunk and had three windows, one on the other side of the doorway and two opposite of each other to the left and right. There was a table and two chairs grown out of the tree as well near the window on the left and something that looked like a bed in similar fashion in the faraway right corner. A few shelves were also grown into the room of the wall on the right side. Only thing that wasn't part of the tree was a large fur rug covering the middle of the floor, it was old and some of the fur had begun to fall off. Even with the rug the room looked completely abandoned. The shelves were as empty as the void and there was nothing else but a couple of old leaves covering the floor and the bed. Stalks walked in a felt slightly disappointed at the room being so abandoned and, above all, empty. "What a borrring place." a familiar voice suddenly said from behind Stalks. "Whua?" shouted Stalks as he more jumped than turned around in surprise and fright. When he realized who the voice belonged to and he saw the big moustached snake slither in through the doorway, he gathered his composure. "What are you doing here?" "Same as you. Looking arrround." the snake said and stuck out it's tongue to smell the air for a second. "Well there isn't much to look at here." Stalks replied sarcastically, and slightly bitterly because of his own disappointment over the room. "Oh rrrreally? Even borrring places can have secrrets waiting to found." the snake said, sounding slightly amused. Then it slithered across the floor, past Stalks's feet and in under the rug. "Interrresting." he heard the snake say. "What did you find?" Stalks asked as he lifted the rug. And under it he saw what the snake had a found. A large squire stone block, about three feet broad, in a perfectly matching hole in the ground. The stone and the floor was so evenly and tightly placed that as he ran his finger along the stones edge he barely felt gap at all. The rock itself lacked any kind of handle and only had what looked like a large keyhole in the middle of it. There was no way for him to lift the stone short of actually cutting up the floor. "Interrresting." the snake said again in a now smug tone. "How did you know?" asked Stalks. "I didn't. But I thought it was odd that whoeverrr left this place didn't botherr to take the rrrrug." "Well do you mind finding the key to this thing as well?" The snake turned the head around and looked behind the chairs and the table before returning to Stalks, also bringing up the tail to twirl moustache. "No key here." Stalks couldn't help but to feel like the snake was mocking him. "Really?" he said with his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Rrrrreally." the snake simply replied. "Well good luck. And good bye." the snake said as it did something akin to a bow. Then it slithered to and out a window. "Bye." Stalks muttered as he barely paid heed to the odd snake leaving. He stared at the stone block for a minute more before he put the rug back over it and then left. He descended the staircase to the branch he had found it on. Oddly enough he found that the staircase didn't continue to the ground, which also explained to why he hadn't seen anything on his way up to the branch. While wondering how the previous resident of that little house had lived the daily life without the stairs going all the way down, Stalks simply had to climb down the way he had gotten up: by burrowing his claws of hands and feet into the thick bark of the tree. Once down on the ground he made his way back to the nearby road. And on the way back he kept thinking on the stone block in the floor of that little tree house. Which made him think of the snake and wondered how it had known about what had been hiding under the rug. He also began wondering more about the snake this time and if it was real. Those thoughts lead to wondering if the stone block in the tree was real or even if the room had been real. Those thoughts kept gnawing at him so much that when he reached the road he turned around went straight back to the tree. He climbed up the branch, found the stairs and went up them a second time into the little house and lifted the rug to see that the stone block was still there, perfectly seated into the floor and the large keyhole in the middle. Stalks drew a slight sigh of relief that he had at least not imagined those parts. This time he left the tree and went straight back to camp. Hoping to put that place behind him. The curiosity over what lied beneath that floor however lingered in the back of his mind. Once back at camp he ate his food (which he had hunted himself as he didn't trust the Bosmer to not serve him elf or human flesh) and then went to bed. He tried to forget about the room, the stone block and the snake by instead thinking of the next day. As that was when he and some others in the unit would get leave to head to the nearby town for some fun. With the thoughts of having a proper drink and maybe finding a little extra work that he could do out in the jungle, he slowly slipped from the waking world.

Gracchus, Dales, Tacitus, Skjari, Lilly The Imperial Palace Morning Gracchus' office was as neat and tidy as ever. Ever book, organized by author's name. Every stack of paper, sorted, with the most important at the top of the stacks. His quills lay down beside the inkbottles, ready to sign orders and pen letters. Beneath it all, a map of Tamriel, with Skyrim in blue, High Rock and Cyrodiil red, and the Dominion in yellow. It was a fragmented Empire, but an Empire nonetheless. That was, if the rumors weren't true. News had slowly leaked that something big had gone down in High Rock, but what exactly no one could say. Some thought the king died, others his army was routed, while still some others suspected his army sacked and burned Evermor. Gracchus was slightly ashamed when he somewhat selfishly thought the rumors of secession were the worst. The knock that came was his worst fears realized. Gracchus' assistant, a young Imperial who showed great organizational skills, opened the door and admitted the sweaty legate. Gracchus stood, leaning forward on his desk, for his legs were shaking enough he didn't want to risk relying on them alone. The air in the room was still; the only sound the heavy breathing of Legate Montrose. "Please, legate, have a seat," Gracchus said, speaking slowly, with more confidence than he felt. Montrose did as he was bid, and lowered into one of the cushioned chairs, all the while keeping his eyes on Gracchus, as if he expected to be attacked at any moment. "I think I know why you're here," Gracchus said, taking a seat himself. He gave a sigh, and leaned forward on the desk, folding his hands together. His head was bowed slightly, and he caught the sight of the map, with High Rock in Imperial crimson. It would need changing, he supposed. "You had best start from the beginning," he said, voiced resigned. Legate Montrose took a deep breath, and then nodded. "As you know, all of us stationed at High Rock were commanded to assist King Theodore in putting down a rebellion. I thought it was a good idea. My men needed the experience, and I figured Legionnaires fighting alongside Breton forces would be good for our relations... If you know why I'm here, Sir, then you know what happened. The campaign was hugely successful, and the "loyalist" armies split and pushed across High Rock, winning consistent victories. Our own men fought well. After we took Evermor..." The Legate looked apologetically at Gracchus, "the King told us to go home. He revealed an... inappropriate letter from the Empress, claiming that she insulted him, and then declared High Rock an independent nation." Gracchus raised his eyes to the man, feeling nothing but pity. The legate was disheveled, his beard wild, hair long, and heavy, dark bags under his eyes. The High General gave a small smile, and said, "Legate, thank you. I know it must have been hard, but don't blame yourself. King Adrard deceived us all, and you were in the unfortunate position to bear the brunt of that trickery." Gracchus paused as his assistant sat down a tray of food and drink on the desk corner, and waited until the man left before continuing. "Help yourself, Legate. If I may ask, did you get to see that letter? Was it authentic? And what exactly made it so damning it was evidence for secession?" "I do not know." the Legate confessed. "I am not familiar with our Empress's handwriting, and the seal was already broken. I... I believe it was real. The letter was a rejection. Theodore's son had been set to marry the Empress, and she rejected him. Forgive me if I do not recall it all correctly, but after that came the inappropriate part. She went on to request, er, maids should she ever visit. The implication was sexual, but obviously a joke. I think Kin- Theodore's intent with this was strictly humiliation. The letter wasn't his only incrimination, though. He claimed that the Empress directly insulted his son to his face. I don't know much about that." Gracchus nodded. It was as he feared. After so many rumors pertaining to Dales' sexuality, and then to have them proven false after that garden incident, to have it brought up again was an unforeseen blow. Unfortunately, Gracchus knew the letter to be true as well, as he'd seen it himself when Theodore accompanied him to Sentinel. "Was there any dissent among the nobles? From what I gather almost all of them were in attendance. It could be possible King Adrard's view was the minority..." Gracchus said, though his voiced lacked any semblance of hope. The look Montrose gave him would've been answer enough. "None that I could see. He spent the entirety of the war bestowing titles and making friends. The people love him." "Right. Well. We had best go tell the Empress." Gracchus rose from behind his desk, removing his cape from a hook on the wall and attaching it at his shoulders. A silly thing to do, after such a dramatic turn, but Gracchus knew that tradition was all they had left, now that the Empire was well and truly dead. The walk to the Empress' office was quiet, with neither general nor legate saying anything. Hanging over both of them was this distressing news, yet Gracchus did his best to keep his chin held high. He knew Dales would need strong people around her in such an uncertain time. He knocked upon her office door, and said, "Your majesty, it's High General Ceno. I have urgent news." "Enter." Dales was sitting in her usual spot, behind the large oak desk. Her office was relatively clean, but books were scattered everywhere. She looked a good deal more cheerful then usual, she no longer had those large bags under her eyes, as well as her complexion much more healthy. One of her handmaidens, the same girl, Helen, Gracchus had meet at Colonel Quentas's party stood beside the desk, carrying a large pile of books. She shyly asked, "Were do you want this pile Your Majesty?" The young Empress motioned for the bookshelf to the right, "There, please Helen." She gave the two men a curious look, "Urgent News you say?" Gracchus glanced at Helen, saluted, then said, "Empress, I think we should have this conversation in a more private manner. No offense to miss Helen, but I do not think this should be heard by more than the necessary people, at least for now." Dales eyed him oddly, before nodding her head, "Helen dear, can you please go to the kitchen, and get me a pot of tea?" The young teenager, bowed her head to all three of them, before taking her leave of the room. Gracchus bowed his head slightly to Helen, then turned to the Empress. He hoped his face didn't betray the worry he felt. Motioning to Montrose, he said, "This is Legate Reyderic Montrosd. You might recall he was the head of the Legion troops in High Rock. He has now returned because King Adrard seceded." "What?" she suddenly shouted. "He cited you insulting his son, as well as your rescission of your promise to marry his son. He also presented a letter in which you expressed...a desire for female companions should you visit High Rock," Gracchus said, keeping his composure. "That was a joke I made, I thought he appreciated humor..." Her eyes filled with shock, as she stared at her hands, not bothering to glance up. Finally she said, "Are...you sure?" Gracchus cleared his throat. "I asked the legate if there was any chance King Adrard's opinion was in the minority, but it seems he made enough friends that there is little chance for resistance from the nobility." Still stunned, the Empress stuttered out, "What...what should our course of action be..." "We should inform the other members of the leadership. I will send for High Admiral Meridius, Lord Snow-Strider, and Colonel Quentas. As far as our plan for High Rock, it's possible Theodore will make some sort of demand. I suggest patience and caution. Until we know more of his plans, we do not want to make any hasty or desperate actions." As he finished speaking, Gracchus ducked his head into the hallway and asked a guard to find the aforementioned lieutenants. She starred at the wall blanky, before barely muttering, "General...Legate...Please leave. And close the door behind you." Gracchus started to object, but decided she needed some time to think before the others arrived. He simply saluted again, then turned on his heel and left. He and Montrose stood some distance down the hallway, patiently waiting for the others to arrive, and for Dales to halt her introspection. Suddenly, a crash could be heard, furniture being violently thrown onto the ground. Mingled, was also the sound of curtains being ripped from there spots, and glass being shattered. Legate Montrose shot Gracchus a concerned look. "I... uhh... I didn't expect her to be so... young. Should we help her, or...?" his voice trailed off. Obviously the Legate had not anticipated such a reaction from the most powerful woman in Cyrodiil. Gracchus shook his head, and frowned. "No, we had best let her express herself. Even if she destroys her office. I don't need to tell you how big a deal this is, and her being so young doesn't help either. But we must support her and not let her blame herself. Cyrodiil may be more fragile than ever after this." Montrose nodded and looked ahead. "I had been in High Rock for years, and most of my men had as well." He glanced at Gracchus. "I swear Sir, we had no way of seeing this coming." "I travelled with King Adrard, overland to Anvil then by sea to Sentinel. The man stayed under the same roof as I for the entirety of his visit to Cyrodiil. I had dinners with him, shared bottles of drink with him, and I never saw it coming either. I didn't think he was capable of such treachery. To be quite honest, I thought him a drunk, and somewhat oafish," Gracchus said. "What was your impression of the man?†The Legate's brow raised. "A drunken oaf? I never got that from him. Or first meeting came shortly after King Rolston was killed and Theodore replaced him. He-" There was a loud 'thud' behind them, and then what sounded like books falling. "He, uh," Montrose cleared his throat, clearly still uneasy. "-he seemed like a strong man. Born to lead. Throughout the campaign, he oozed of charisma, turning his enemies of yesterday into allies by morning, but he cracked down on his strongest foes with an iron fist." The Legate's brow lowered, and he frowned. "So no, drunken oaf doesn't describe the man I thought I knew at all." He had us well and truly duped then." Gracchus shook his head. He wished to say more, but the High Admiral arrived, with a pronounced frown. Tacitus ran a hand down his gray and gold beard, then frowned some more. "Why the **** are we here. What's that noise? The Legate answered first. "It's the Empress. We've just informed her of recent events in High Rock." He glanced at Gracchus, then turned back to the High Admiral. "The province is lost to the Empire. I am Legate Montrose. I was stationed there when their king declared secession." "What the hell happened? I though we were helping their king?" Tacitus asked. Gracchus answered, "We were. He tricked us. Now we need to discuss our plan, once Lord Snow-Strider and Colonel Quentas arrive." "Right. And what do you think we should do, mister legate? You were there, so you have the most knowledge of the situation, I suppose," Tacitus said. "The war in High Rock was quick." Montrose answered. "For all I know, Theodore captured and turned more enemies than he killed. I suspect the whole thing had been planned in advance, and their casualties were few enough that they remain a powerful force. I'm no general. I have been gone for years and have no idea how our military looks here in Cyrodiil. But I suspect we'd lose as many men retaking High Rock as we'd gain in taking it back. And that's assuming assault by land and sea, and that Skyrim or Hammerfell would let us cross their borders." "I doubt neither Hammerfell, who has a good relationship with High Rock, nor Skyrim, who is likely opposed to Imperial expansion, will allow us to retake it. The prospects don't look likely," Gracchus said. He felt the same way as Montrose, that attacking High Rock was a fool's idea. "We could raid, or blockade them. Force them to relent. That'll teach those dandies what happens to secessionists," Tacitus said with a smile. "We'll see what the others think," Gracchus said. He didn't doubt High Admiral Meridius would support any plan to retake High Rock, if only so he could get back to sea. It was no secret he was displeased with the council stopping his raiding. A few seconds later Snow-Strider came walking down the corridor towards them, with the Spymaster in tow. "I hope this is important. We were talking with a few representatives from the schools of magic about the security in the mage tourney. And I don't really trust them to wait for us nor take the matter as seriously as they should." "Much more important than the tournament," Gracchus said. "High Rock seceded. This is Legate Montrose, who commanded the Legion forces there. We have just informed the Empress who-" "Threw a bitch fit by the sound of it," Tacitus said. "Lovely." Skjari replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I say we should send some over there to give the fat slob a "shave"," Lilly said, angrily. I was right to think an attack was a fool's idea, Gracchus thought. He didn't say anything, though, figuring the time for debate would come. "A more tempered response would be much more prudent, ma em." Said a cold voice. Major Infernus joined the group. Lillie's eyes raised in suspicion, he was clad in full combat gear, including wearing his skull balaclava "Major Infernus. I was unaware you were summoned." The major shook his head, straightening out his grey longcoat, "I wasn't. One of my men told me about the news; I simply went to check to check on the Empress. I am head of her security after all." He said, giving a slight smile. He turned to face the General, "I was made aware of this meeting from one of the servant girls. May I be so bold to suggest, we send a member of the Oculatus to monitor the situation in High Rock only. No...rash actions to be taken unless expressed consent from upper Imperial Command, of course." "We could insert an Oculatus agent into the guard detail of an ambassador, but that would be the extent of it. Otherwise we could be seen as provocateurs," Gracchus said. "Maybe they need a little provoking. Scare the Bretons back into place," Tacitus said. "General Ceno, sir. Not to be rude, but this is pure provocation right here. They use our men in there war, and throw them away seconds after there no longer needed, ..." He gave Lord Snow-Strider, a look. It was impossible to see under his mask what expression his face held, but going by his voice, it was critical, “Also, if I may add, this wouldn't have happened, if Lord Snow-Strider "and" her majesty," His cool melancholic voice betrayed no emotion, but his voice lingered with a small trace of amusement, "Did not cancel her betrothal to the King Adrard's son Responsibility doesn't solely lay on the Empress for this deception." Skjari kept eyeing the new arrival from top to toe for another few seconds, "Why are you wearing a mask? And I thought the Oculatus was the head of security." "Fear, sir. Intimidation." Lilly snickered, "This is Major Infernus. He is part of the Oculatus, his unit of soldiers are the Empress's personal bodyguards." Lilly crossed her arms, "No doubt Theodore went asskissing to Ulfric, begging for his protection. A straight up Naval or military conflict is out of the question, if we want to stay in Skyrim's good graces." “That still doesn't answer the question why he is bearing a mask." "My unit was born in Valenwood, assisting cells of Elven Rebels. We all traditionally wear Bosmer leather balaclavas to this day. The officers are required to paint skull faces." He said, continuing, "The good colonel is quite right. That doesn't leave us much options." "Well you're not in Valenwood now. So please remove that silly mask," Skjari said. "It doesn't matter what I wear, court mage. You have no authority over me, you are not emperor yet. Remember that. I serve Dales, not you" He said, icily. He turned around, "I'm going to check on her majesty." He gave Lilly a slight nod, which she returned. As he left, Skjari rolled his eyes and muttered something incomprehensible before refocusing on the matter at hand. Gracchus ignored the talk about the major's theatrical mask, and said, "Legate, would you relate to the others what you told me of our ability to retake High Rock?" Frowning, Montrose nodded, and once again started from the beginning, telling the assembly all that he had Gracchus, and notably putting emphasis on the fact that the Bretons were not so war-weary as they might hope, and that they remain a powerful force. "The King booted us out with little other option." said the Legate. "And as I told the General, the nobles and leaders loved him. He had their support before and after his declaration." Gracchus crossed his arms. "My mind is firmly made up; I will not risk legion troops to regain a province that, historically, has given us little than money from taxes. They have always been so politically divided that responding with patience could yield a new ruler within a year. But with their fortified cities, their location, and their alliance with the other provinces, they will not be retaken by force." Tacitus scowled, his eyes narrowed in aggression aimed at the High General. "Coward. As if the Thalmor and the rest of Tamriel didn't view us as weak already, now we let the Bretons leave, without so much as raising a finger? Just like the Elder Council, scared of a little fight. Who took your balls, eh?" Lilly nodded in agreement. "We still can’t let this go unpunished. If Theodore can walk all over us without retaliation, that might send messages to the other provinces they can do the same." "Big problems are that we have no direct border with High Rock and the others wouldn't like for us to retake High Rock. Though I doubt most would blame us if we wanted some blood as payment for this betrayal. So the question would be how to collect that payment without creating too much bad blood." Skjari added. "Raiding. Just a small force, enough to harass them and make their satin sheets stained yellow," Tacitus said, grinning, his teeth crooked and slightly yellowed. Gracchus shook his head, and tossed his hands up, in exasperation. "Why? Why should we seek blood? Yes our soldiers died there, but Theodore sent back gold to go to the dead troop's families. More than we would pay the widows. And we lost only a hundred troops. No more than bandits kill every year. Why risk open war, when our pride is the only injury?" "Because betrayal usually should be punished. Though I agree that right now that would be a bad idea." Skjari said. "And not only that, but he has likely planned for any retribution. He got Skyrim and Hammerfell to drop trade contracts with us, he made friends by visiting Kyne's Watch and trading with them, innocent acts at the time. He was in a war, after all. But now it shows just how far ahead he planned. He even fooled us here, by pretending to be a drunk. No major noble family opposes him, and he has likely joined in an alliance with the other provinces. Given the Thalmor at our borders, the lack of border with High Rock, his own foresight, and the resistance likely faced from Skyrim and assuredly from Hammerfell, I am adamant in refusing to divert troops. The Thalmor are still the main enemy we face, not the Bretons. Our pride might take a hit, but we should be smarter than to make that force us into a fight," Gracchus said. "Hmmmm." Lilly scratched her chin, "Maybe we should wait for the Elder Council's view on the matter as well as the rest of the general's, before making any rash decisions." Tacitus looked ready to fight, but relented, instead tightening the fist on his hand while grimacing. "This isn't over. We shouldn't abide secessionists and cowards who rely on politics and tricks. We'll see what the Elder Council thinks." "Vengeance can wait.' Lilly added, "You'll get your pound of flesh, Tacitus. Just not now.†Tacitus nodded, then cast a vengeful look at Gracchus before heading back to his office, mumbling something under his breath that vaguely sounded liked 'craven'. Gracchus scoffed, then said, "Montrose, I would like for you to give me a full report back in my office. It may be helpful to learn things about their cities, their nobles, and their troop composition. And I suppose I need to learn more about King Adrard." "Yes sir." answered the Legate. "With your leave, I would go and compile what information I have." "I'll accompany you back. Assuming we're done here?" Gracchus asked, glancing between Skjari and Lilly. "For now." Skjari turned to Lilly, "We should get back to the representatives." "Aye,†the Spymaster responded. Gracchus left the group, with Legate Montrose alongside. Once they were a good distance down the hall, the general asked, "How'd you like your first taste of the palace?" Montrose let out an exasperated sigh, and then shook his head. "It's uh... it's not exactly what I expected." "Master Ceno!!!" cried a shy voice from behind. "Master Ceno!!!" Again, Lilly's niece, Helen rushed towards the duo, "Something terrible has-" Helen suddenly tripped, yelping as she fell forward straight into the two men. "You don't have to work w-" Gracchus started, but stopped once he heard Helen yelling. He caught her as she tripped, then stood her back up and asked, "What's going on?" "Her majesty locked herself in her room," she yelled desperately, her eyes tinged with some tears. "She won't come out...when I tried to get her to let me in she told me to go away...I...think she's hurt." Gracchus' eyebrows scrunched together. "And Major Infernus? Would she not let him in either?" "No. He told me to find you. Your the only one she listens too." "Do you want me to wait outside your office, sir?" Legate Montrose asked. "You can go, Legate. My assistant will get you started on the report," Gracchus said. He then said to Helen, "Lead the way, ma'am." The young girl took the general's hand, and led him to the Empress’ office. Major Infernus was banging on the wooden door, "Open up the door, your majesty." The major turned to face the general, stepping aside for him, "Thank Arkay. She won’t open the door, General Ceno." Gracchus put his hand on the major's shoulder, and pulled him from the door. He leaned close to the heavy oak and said, "Dales, are you okay?" "Gracchus..." said the Empress from the other side of the door, melancholy. "Leave me." "Now is not the time to mope. We need you, Dales," Gracchus said. He hoped she would listen. She needed to be strong, for herself more than anyone. "What's there to be strong about...The Empire is dead...What's an Empress without an Empire? I...I failed...I failed everyone..." The sound of broken glass being tampered with could be heard from beyond the door, as she muttered, "Maybe...it would be better for everyone if I disappear." Gracchus didn't hesitate, backing up a step just as a fireball formed in his hand. It was one of the few times he wished he knew an unlocking spell. The flames did their job, and the lock exploded away with such force the door flew open as well. Helen practically screeched, "YOUR MAJESTY!" Just a little beyond, Dales lay on the floor surrounded by shards of glass, her eyes appearing as if they were soulless. She blankly starred at the trio, covered in blood. Bits and shards of glass were impeded in her body, mostly her arms and legs. Dry tears littered her face, as her head was cast downward, her long blonde hair messy and uneven. She was clutching the shard of glass with an iron grip. Her injuries didn't look self-inflicted, despite the shard in hand biting down on her palm, causing blood to pool up on her hand. At the sight of trio, Dales panicked, her face being filled with worry, she placed the shard of glass to her throat, as she shouted in desperation, “Stay back, don’t come any closer!!!" Gracchus held his hands up in the air, showing he hand no weapon or magic. He took a tentative step forward, and said, "Dales, put that shard down. You've done nothing wrong. Theodore tricked all of us. And you know as well as I that your decision to not marry his was...not your own. Be strong, like you were when you killed your father, when Elan died, and when you were Red-Snow's hostage. Remember? How strong you were?" "I'm not strong...I'M NOT STRONG!!!" She screamed, her voice becoming frantic, and her eyes spilling tears. Months of pressure and stress that were building up were about to explode in a splendid display of crimson, "There all dead because of me...Elan...Miku...Tulluis...all those legionaries..." Major Infernus readied a throwing knife under the sleeve of his long coat. He whispered, the events not dampening his emotionless voice, "My knife is coated in the venom of Bullshock Scorpion from Hammerfell. It delivers a non-lethal toxin to the bloodstream, paralyzing the victim in a handful of milliseconds." He solemnly said, "Keep her talking, and let me line up a shot." "No," Gracchus whispered back. "She must regain her confidence. Otherwise she'll never be the same, she'll be nothing but a weakling. She must be strong." To Dales, he said, "Do you know how many men I sent to their graves? Not just legion soldiers, but Stormcloaks, and even Dominion men. I've killed countless, through both the fire of my magic and the orders I gave out. But I haven't saved many. Unlike you. Think of how many of my men, our men you saved at Falkreath. You stopped the pointless bloodshed. You are strong. You've survived assassins, your abusive father and brothers, and more emotional abuse than I will ever know. Do not let this fat, egotistical, power hungry puppeteer send you over this edge. He's not worth dying over." "Nobody would miss me..." she said, the blade inches away from her skin. "That's not true." Helen Quentas said bluntly, her voice becoming hard edged and completely different then before. She had wiped her tears away, she needed to be strong. Strong for her Empress. Making sure she wouldn't cry, Helen readied herself, taking off her silver pair of glasses, and standing tall. She took a step forward, putting her hand on Gracchus shoulder. She whispered, "Let me try getting through to her." Gracchus nodded, then stepped back to let Helen have Dales' undivided attention. Nonetheless, as he placed his hands behind his back, the tips of his fingers glowed green, ready to snatch away the shard at a moments notice, though he hoped he wouldn't need it. The young girl stepped forward, slowly approaching the hysterical monarch. Dales put her back to the wall, bringing the shard even closer to her neck, "I'll do it. I swear by the Nine, I'll kill myself right here!!!" Helen gave her a sad smile, saying "Then why haven't you?" Dales tear stained eyes filled with surprise, as Helen continued to draw the distance between the two of them. Dales tried to formulate a response, "Because...because-" The young maid cut her off, "You could have slit your throat when we were trying to bust open the door. You could have done when I was trying to get you out. Why, didn't you if you’re so dead set on it?" Helen's face suddenly became uncharacteristically cold, when she was only a few steps away from reaching the Empress. She muttered, "Suicide is a weaklings way out. A cowards excuse." Dales stuttered, as she blurted out, "You-think...I’m-a coward, Helen?" For some odd reason, hearing those words from the teenager stung the most. Helen's right...a weak, spineless puppet like me deserves this fate I- Dale's many dark thoughts were silenced in an instant, as warm arms wrapped themselves around the Empress, Helen had reached her. The young girl placed her hand to her back softly, saying gently, "No. Gods...no." The young girl intertwined her fingers with Dales, there hands touching. Helen let the shard bite into her soft hands drawing blood, as she took the piece of glass from Dales, who offered no resistance. The warmth coming from Dales body dampened the growing pain. Helen began to rub the Empress's back, telling her, "I think you’re strong, Dales." Helen never called the Empress by her first name. "So strong." Dales, her eyes now filled with tears, asked, "How do you know?†Helen smiled, "Everyday, you’re up early in the morning, trying to make everyone's lives better. You feel so much pain when you hear news about something bad happening to your people, but you never show it, you put on a tough act for the people around you so they don't have to worry about you. You always visit the guards, the servants, the soldiers, asking them how there day was, bringing them tea, showering everyone with little acts of kindness that brightens up there day." She paused, wiping the tears off the Empress's face with a handkerchief. Helen continued, placing her hand to Dale's cheek. "I don't care what anyone say's. Fat egotistical Breton king. Slimy politicians. Nordic Warrior-Monarch. Strength isn't just about how hard you can swing a sword, how many people you can kill, or the amounts of time you can lie and manipulate to get what you want. Strength is about principle." She said, grabbing the Empress's hand, "Doing the right thing no matter how hard it is. Living for your people. Showing endless amounts of kindness." Helen herself wanted to cry, but she didn't. Even if she was a weak, useless person, Helen needed to be strong, this one time. For her Majesty. "You’re not weak." The young girl said, cradling Dales in her arms, who was now sobbing uncontrollably in the teenagers lap, "You’re strong." ** Gracchus needed a drink, although he wasn’t sure that he needed the three subsequent ones. It was late, and he’d just finished reading over the legate’s report. He hoped, prayed, that it wouldn’t come to blows with High Rock, but in case it did, he needed to know all that he could. Even so, he couldn’t quite seem to focus. His mind kept drifting back to the event with Dales, when he hadn’t been able to talk her down. Why couldn’t I get through to her? Helen evidently thought I could, as did Infernus, and I’ve always been like a father to her, but she wouldn’t listen. Thank the Nine Helen was there, otherwise… He took another drink of the Colovian Brandy, remembering his first adventure with the stout liquid. It’d been in the first Great War, just after the city was retaken from the Dominion. The day fighting ended, that the last pockets of resistance were swept from the sewers and the tunnels beneath the arena, he and the other battlemages celebrated. He’d never been much of a drinker prior to that, always focusing on his studies at the Arcane University, and then during the Great War, finding drinks was difficult, though that’s when they were needed. But even he enjoyed that night, as he and the survivors joked and jested amidst the ruins of the city. It was the first time in a long time they were able to relax, and they took advantage. Not much was remembered from that night, but Gracchus easily recalled his headache from the morning after, and at the rate he was going tonight, he’d be experiencing a similar one tomorrow. His glass was empty, as was the bottle, so he cast out the self-doubt he felt about not convincing Dales and focused on the report. After all, this was his job, not babysitting the Empress, and Helen could do that much better than he could, apparently. With his focus on the events of High Rock’s war, he almost didn’t notice the pit in his stomach that said that somehow, he’d failed Dales, and more importantly, the Empire. Whether that was in regards to High Rock seceding or the Empress’ near suicide, he couldn’t tell.

Daric, Maric Markarth Night "Ah!" "Hnh!" "Uhkk!" Those were the last words... or rather gurgles, gasps and sounds of many a man. Daric was half right. The Forsworn were indeed waiting for Magnus' gaze to fall before their attack. However, that didn't stop them from trading arrows with their men all throughout the godsdamned day. Daric was still behind the large rock he and his father were sitting on. His ass had fallen to sleep at least seven times hiding, and somehow he managed to attract ants in his crack lollygagging around while the savages above enjoyed their game. At least they helped break up the boredom a bit... "Where the **** is Brund already?" Daric said. "We should have sent a team up there or something, not just sit around here letting them pick at us!" More and more Sir Thomas Maric was doubting the ability of this General Brund. His son was right, the archers needed dealing with, yet nothing was done to try and stop them from raining down death from above. Still crouched, the knight shifted his weight from one foot to the other. They needed to move, to loosen up, to be ready to the inevitable attack, not sitting his cowering like babes under a blanket. "The Witchmen could have people lying in wait for an attack on the archers, but gods damn it, I'd rather be caught in a trap and fighting than sitting here. Could you gather some men to deal with the archers?" the knight asked. Daric's brow raised. "Me? I... I don't know. I don't know if they'll listen to me." Thomas gave a soft smile. "You're one of them, Daric. Someone's got to do something and by the nine it's going to have to be us. People respect men of action, and I know there are many just as anxious to get out from behind these rocks." Daric looked around quickly, judging the mood of the others from their faces. They mostly seemed just about as faithless in Brund now as he did. Brund gave the order for everyone to stay put, but if he could only find a score of good men... a dozen even. Looking back to his father, the look of determination on his face apparent, he said, "Alright, I'll do it. Give me... five minutes. Ten at the most." The knight nodded. "That's my boy. Let's get this done." *** "Is it time yet?" "Patience, general. The moons aren't out yet." "I don't care about your blasted moons and your weird shit." "Your men will, though. If you want them to fight with the spirit of the gods, you'll listen." Brund's nostrils flared as he wiped the sweat from his brow. The tent of the man before him was small and compact, crowded with various animal furs and strange little trinkets made from chicken feet and other weird shit. Brund cared for none of it. It reminded him too much of the fucks out there sending arrows down on them. Brund watched as the man went through his rituals, praying to his god and mumbling as he painted his body in blood made into ink, running a trail over his missing left eye and circling around his good one. The man they simply referred to as Priest looked more Sheo- touched than any khajiit, which Brund attested to the moon sugar that he snorted up his nose before running some sort of mud mixture through his hair to make it stand up almost like horns. It was a sight to behold, and a sight he never quite did get used to seeing in his years of service as a Stormcloak. Brund stared at the man now with a disgusted look as he held a skull in his hands, making kissing noises like calling over a dog before snorting more moonsugar from within. "Want some, child?" "No. Not this time. It won't do anything for me." Grinning, the priest tightened the straps of his armor, covering his shoulder with the head of a relatively freshly killed goat. "Yes, you used to love the stuff. But now that you mimic him, the moon sugar will not effect you in that way. But the others will assume it has." "That's what I want," said Brund. "Yes, that will cover the truth. You are like the Lord when he first found his heart. Reunited, but still not at full strength. Remember that, Brund. Being Shor-Like is where the Briars truly draw their strength from, whether they know it or not. But that is also their greatest weakness, and yours." "No shit, 'Jhunal'. I've got it covered up." "...Heh, good," said the priest, with his rattling voice as if bees were caught in his throat. "The volunteers should be well under the influence of my mixture by now. They should be ready to depart when you're ready. I'll lead them this time." "Wanting to get your dick wet this time, I see. Good, good. It'll be like old times." "Old times, yes, old times. It's been a while since I've met my captors. Time to reunite." "Brund!" called a voice from outside of their tent. Only person ballsy enough to yell at him was Galmar. Sure enough, the old grizzled bear stuck his head between the animal skin slit, grimacing immediately from the smells inside. "Ugh, you smell just like those savages out there. Are you done chatting in here? We need to go now! That boy and his father are gone, and they took fifteen of our boys with them." "What? Why?" asked Brund. "Why do you think? They got impatient, that's why." "Stupid boy, they'll walk right into an ambush and be slaughtered. I've been preparing for this, though. No matter. Ready Priest?" "Aye, Hammer-Fang, he he he he," said the priest. His laugh was dry and lifeless, as if his throat needed water. Galmar shook his head, then got the **** out of the tent. He had no patience for people with addled minds. "I remember when Nords needed nothing but courage in their heart and steel in their hands. Those were the good old days," said Galmar, watching the men sitting near the tent. He had to admit though, what he saw was more than courage in their eyes. What he saw was madness. They were lacking on Grim Ones, so these men would be the next best thing. ** The Forsworn ambushed them, as expected, and soon the party led by Sir Maric and his son was surrounded. Seventeen good men, beset on all sides by the Daedra worshipping Witchmen who'd set the trap. It was as predictable as snow in winter, or sea water being salty. The Reachmen were masterful guerrilla warriors, so they would obviously make use of those skills. All this presented the perfect opportunity for Thomas and Daric. The archers couldn't fire, for risk of hitting their own, and the Nords and two Bretons were able to form up into a square formation. They hid behind their shields, fighting the Forsworn one on one. They didn't have to worry about their backs, and could easily dispatch the brutal, yet untrained natives. Sir Maric parried the blow of a rusted and chipped iron sword, then bashed the woman's nose in before sliding his blade through her unprotected midsection, the fur armor providing protection from only the cold. He was shocked to hear a slight clang on his armor, and looked down to see an arrow lying at his feet. Apparently, not all the archers were so concerned with their brethren they didn't fire. But the animal bone arrowhead didn't so much as scratch the Ebony armor, and the knight couldn't help but chuckle even as he took on another opponent. Daric wasn't as easy going about it all like his father was, not yet having the confidence to laugh at death in the face. Only thing he saw was an arrow striking his pa, which caused his hands to react in place of his mind. Upper cutting an old man across the face, Daric weeded through some of the savages, taking a wood axe from one of their belts and chucking it at the one who shot at Sir Maric. The axe buried itself with a thunk in the man's shoulder, putting him down, though not killing him. Still, he wouldn't be shooting anymore arrows. One of the Forsworn tried grabbing him from behind and soon found his second blade going through their jaw and brain before they got too far. "Father!" Called Daric, as two more ambushers came rushing for the young warrior. Sir Maric admired his son's axe throw, and despite the situation, mentally noted Daric should take it up. The thoughts were soon dispelled when the boy's cry reached the knight's ears. Thomas rushed forward, using his shield to plow through the Forsworn. He continued barreling until he tackled one of the Witchmen attacking his son. They wrestled on the ground, until the knight found himself atop the Reach native. Thomas' armored fists pummeled the man's face until brain oozed from where his eyes has been. He dismounted the dead foe and turned to see the other Forsworn approaching him. This proved to be a mistake, as his wood and bone weapon would never pierce the knight's armor. But, he wouldn't even make it far enough to find that out, as suddenly the berserk cries of half a score drugged Nords echoed off the hills. They poured forth like Sheogorath's chosen, flailing about with their weapons, biting off ears and tongues and throats, hissing and howling, while never so much as flinching when taking a blow. Many showed mortal wounds that would knock other men off their feet, yet these crazed soldiers fought on as if nothing had touched them. One had an arrow protruding where his left eye should have been, but he ripped it out and used the broken shaft to stab a man a dozen times, before slumping over on top of him as he finally died. As far as distractions went, it was the pinnacle. Sir Maric, with his son alongside, rallied their group and charged the awe stricken archers. The ones that didn't die fled, and the ones that did flee left the stank of their urine behind. Sir Maric personally took up the bow of an archer he killed, and commenced firing at the fleeing, while some of the insane Nords chased them down. The Breton did not doubt those Nords would follow the retreaters until they died of exhaustion. Daric was exhausted trying to keep up with his father, and only barely managed to get the **** out of the way with the rest of the men when the crazed Stormcloaks came rushing in like things possessed. He almost lost the meager amounts of food he had as is from seeing some of the injuries they had. But that was to be expected from so few men charging in like animals. Only now did Daric notice Brund was among them when a man went flying off their feet. And then, some freaky looking man picked the woman up by her neck an tore her cheek off before hacking off her head. As the general approached them, Daric couldn't help but wear a look of disgust. It was obvious those men were drugged. Likely so he wouldn't have to risk more men. "Good work," said Brund. "You disobeyed my orders... but good work. It all worked out for the best anyway." Thomas removed his helm and nodded at Daric. "He deserves the praise. If he didn't command the respect he did, this wouldn't have been possible." "The job would have gotten done with or without you. I am not thanking you. I'm merely congratulating you for not screwing things up." "At least our way didn't require as many drugged up soldiers to throw away their lives!" Yelled Daric, fierce eyed. When he did, the strange haired Nord walked up from behind Brund with one of the dead Stormcloak's heads in his hand. Running a finger through his lips before working the jaw as if to speak, the Priest said, "You misunderstand, lad. These were sacrifices, yes, but they were willing! They did not possess the will of the Nord. They were embarrassments to their land and King. So I instilled the spirit of the moons within them so that they could please our lord and die with honor." "They were pathetic wastes of space!" said Brund. "They were lucky to be offered such an important task. They came in as milkdrinkers and slouches, slackers that could not get over their conscription, and they died as berserkers. Like REAL men." Sir Maric took one look at the new arrival, spat, and said, "You're both as fucked up as the Forsworn. Drugging your own men is as low as a commander can get. Inspire your men, don't force them to take drugs. Or set them to guard duty, reserves, hell, let them dig latrine ditches." The two Nords looked to one another, eventually sharing a laugh. "There will be no especially assigned latrine diggers. Everyone fights, or everyone dies! If they fought bravely like their kinsmen, they would have no need for this. Now. Go take up positions where the archers were. There's boulders on the cliffside, and the enemy should be attacking the actual city very soon." The Breton knight gave one last scowl before moving off. Once Daric left Brund and the strange Nord, Thomas said, "You have any wounds need healing? Every noble in High Rock has a cursory knowledge of magic, and being a knight I found it useful to learn restoration. Though now I wish I knew how to conjure up a bow." He kicked around the Forsworn archers, finding only their short wooden and bone bows. Good against fur and leather, but not much else. Luckily that's all the Forsworn would be wearing. Still, they weren't like to do a lot of damage. "I'm fine," said Daric, still shaken by what he saw not too long ago. How could Baldur let such a monster in command, he'd never know. It was a betrayal, as far as Daric was concerned. These were crimes. Daric was obviously exhausted physically and mentally, even if he wouldn't admit it. Something he'd grown accustomed to doing. He also felt a pit in his stomach at hearing his father knew magic for some reason, and didn't wish to see it. "So when we launch the boulders..." Lets get the **** out of here. Was what Daric wanted to say, but the Stormcloaks at his back and watching, waiting for his word of all people... "When we launch these boulders! We'll come down this mountainside and attack from behind before we reunite with the rest of our guys by Markarth! Understand?" "Aye!" was all the response Daric got, no snickering, no wise cracks. Somehow Daric found what he was looking for all this time, and didn't even realize he had it. Respect. Smiling, he said, "Then good! Get ready, I can hear them coming!" Sir Maric couldn't help but be proud of his son. He'd only known him for a short period of time, and yet it was evident that he commanded respect, even at a young age. He also noticed some apprehension, which he may have only caught because Daric had earlier mentioned his dislike of fighting. Thomas was a warrior, he fought because he enjoyed it, loved the thrill of pitting his skill against others. His son, and even some of the veteran knights he knew, were soldiers, who fought because they had to. It didn't make them any less skilled, but the ghosts of those they killed seemed to haunt the soldiers more than the warriors. It didn't much matter either way, yet he wouldn't be surprised if dreams of the dead kept Daric awake at night. And yet he was good at leading men. His son was smart, moral, a good fighter, the best of his father's qualities without the worst. Thomas wouldn't question superiors, not in High Rock. Everyone had an agenda, and secrecy was key. Already he discovered King Adrard was a conniving man, and who knows what else he might discover. The time for reflection suddenly came to a screeching halt, as the war cries of the Forsworn grew ever louder. Thomas, crouching behind his boulder, looked to Daric for the cue. They got it, and a dozen boulders came rolling down the hill. Some of the Reachmen tried to warn the others, but many couldn't get out of the way. Those that did soon found themselves fighting, as the Nords and two Bretons came running down right after the rocks. The sounds of the boulders almost blocked out the screams of the soldiers. Almost. There were arrows aflame, flying through the night air from the charging forsworn, and calls to hold the line from the Stormcloak defenders over the painful cries of the dying. Formation was given up rather quickly as the sounds of men's bones being crushed under the weight of the boulders joined the orchestra of war. A few of these boulders bounced from off their paths, flying towards the wall that they were meant to help defend. Brund was unfortunate enough to find himself in the way of one of them, but even a boulder could not stop the mighty general. A swing from his Alfr Vega was enough to crumble half of it, sending the rest flying over his head into a nearby peasant home's front door. "Reaaaaahhh!! Kill!!!" Cried Brund, practically electrifying all that saw the deed as they met the savages that attacked with new life. Sir Maric parried a blow from a stone axe, knocking a large chunk from the blade. What the Forsworn had in numbers, they lacked in equipment. He's seen only a handful of them with steel weapons, and even fewer clad in more than fur. But, he knew that amongst the common rabble were Hagravens and Briarhearts, and they were not to be taken lightly. The Breton chevalier sought them out, eager to test his mettle. First, he must deal with this mage, a young, cocky man who laughed manically with each spell flung. He seemed to be sticking to flame spells, since the Nords he normally fought were resistant to cold, and very few were mages. The ebony helmet Sir Maric wore had a 'Y' shaped opening, yet unless the mage had a keen eye, he likely wouldn't know Thomas was a Breton. Sure, he dressed differently, and was shorter than the average Nord, but in the midst of battle, with men screaming and dying, and given the man's young age, Sir Maric knew he would be assumed to be a Nord. He hid behind his shield as a fireball slammed into it. The flames licked at his face, but his magical resistance meant he barely felt the heat. He dodged the next blast, moving closer as he did, and after the next again his shield and didn't stop him, the laughter stopped. The mage hadn't anticipated an opponent living this long, and his next spell failed in his hands. Sir Maric bashed him with his iron covered oaken shield, and as the man lay on the ground, plunged his sword through the man's fur tunic. Around him, many men died, but he knew today he would not be one of them. Now to find his son. Daric wasn't so at home in his current position. Actually, Daric didn't even know what his current position was, as the soldiers were so disorganized that he often saw men on both sides being stabbed in the back, thanks to the Forsworn's lack of discipline. Daric figured Baldur might say it was smart, as the Forsworn would never stand a chance in a frontal attack otherwise, but while he was fighting for his life, he had a hard time admiring the tact... if one could call a coincidental success tact. All around him was chaos, made all the more so due to his height, or lack there of. He slashed at anything that wasn't blue, one man two, duck, run, slash, move away, slash again... He fought his way closer and closer towards the Markarth walls. A large man saw him coming and brandished his stone axes in a challenge, but Daric acted quickly, sheathing one of his blades while holding the right one with both hands above his head. As the man charged, Daric threw his blade straight through his gut. The man did not immediately fall, and attempted to free the boy's Nordic Carved blade from his belly like a sword from a great stone. Daric helped with that, placing his boot on his stomach as he yanked the blade out, along with all it made contact with before taking the top of the savage's head with one backhanded movement. He was almost there.. almost to the safety of the shield wall of his allies... when suddenly the boy's entire world lit up as if Magnus just suddenly woke from his slumber. He dropped his blade to the ground, shaking, a pain shooting up his mouth... blood... My tongue... I bit my tongue... Before he realized what happened, Daric dropped to the ground, blank. Footsteps were approaching, slow. A charge surged in the air... the assailant looking to finish the job and kill this silly little Nordic lad playing war. Except now that she was close, she wasn't so sure he was a N- Too late. Daric had inherited the blood of his people, and like his father could shrug off magic that could put down grown men... almost. Daric got up and immediately dropped to one knee, not taking the spell as well as he thought he did. The woman laughed and raised her hand again, but before any spell could be launched, Daric's blade found its way in her gut next. Angered from the pain of her magic, Daric finally found enjoyment in death. Watching her die, watching the light fade from her eyes, it sent tingles up his spine and in his groin, like sex. Just as his lips started to curve upwards into a smile... just as a warrior's birth had finally come, the most ungodly noise drowned out all other sounds on the battlefield. A warrior's birth had been accompanied with the sounds of cries, and they weren't the woman's. When Daric saw what it was, the young man dropped his sword a second time and fell to his knees. Tears blinded him like rainwater on stained glass, and left him completely exposed to the Forsworn running at his back to take the boy's head. Daric's name caught in Thomas' throat, as he frantically pushed through the Forsworn for his son. He was attacking with little more organization then they were, just slashing and hitting and kicking, whatever he thought would get him through. He cursed this heavy armor he wore, wishing he could move faster. A woman tried getting in his way, but she went down without a scalp after one brutal slash cut her head in half. A man, wielding a greatsword, swung hard to kill the knight, bug he ducked behind his shield and plowed over him, not even turning back to finish him off. He was so close, he was almost there, when the thundering sound came again. He didn't pay much attention to it the first time, as his focus was on his son, but it was so much closer this time, and was that the ground shaking? The helmet he wore still limited his vision, but no as much as a full helm would. Still, he had to turn nearly around to see the mammoth barreling toward him, toward his son. There was no time for thinking. Sir Maric closed the distance between he and Daric more quickly than he'd ever moved before, dropping his sword and shield to free his hands. He grabbed his son and chunked him sideways, with no time to stop the Forsworn's sword. This one was smart, and as soon as he saw his new victim was armored, slashed the blade at the axis of neck and shoulder. The chainmail coif helped soften the blow, but Sir Maric could feel his blood pooling beneath him as he lay on the flat of his back, the earth moving beneath him. Fumbling with his gauntlet, he got it off and grasped the wound, his hand glowing orange with healing magic. The Reachman must've run off with the mammoth coming, taking the knight for dead. He didn't have time to stand up and run, so he rolled sideways. He could feel the mammoths massive legs crunch down next to him as be nearly became flattened, and he only stopped rolling when he hit a rock. The knight's chest moved up and down rapidly, and the rolling had broken the magical wound sealing, so blood was pouring out again. He used a stronger spell this time, and once that was done, hoarsely called out his son's name. Daric hadn't a clue what just happened, but the sight of a mammoth gone mad was hard not to notice, even in his shock. The sounds of its horn-like cry snapped him out of his pitiful state, though he lost his food all at once when he came to. These people... will do anything for just the slightest advantage... Stormcloak, Forsworn... "I'm fine," he said finally, his voice sounding harsh and strange to even himself. Sir Maric sat up, propping himself against the rock, and massaged his neck. "Good." Looking towards the mammoth, who was taking a few Stormcloak arrows, he added. "I hope they can stop that thing." *** "Brund... you were correct. The matrons are here, just like you said they'd be." "Of course I'm ******* correct." "Heehee... of course, brother." "Don't call me that. You're not my ******* brother." "But we are kin! Moreso than anyone else! You bear the heart, as do I... Only I can understand you." "Just get me a ******* light already so we can get this over with. You creepy looking son of a bitch." The Priest conjured up a light in his hand, illuminating his gleeful expression, as if to confirm Brund's words. "So, general. What's the plan?" "You're like me, right? You should know the plan." "I am not entirely like you. I killed my matron. And even when she was alive? I could not do what you seem to be capable of. You, are blessed. Or cursed. I'm not sure, yet." "Doesn't really matter, does it? It's useful. The plan is stick to me and do what I say. Do that, and you can continue unliving. Fail, and I'll rip yours out and use it for a spare. They're near. I feel her..... yess...." *** "Will they be ready?" "They will. The city is locked down for a reason, Ezmeralda. Once we emerge within the Jarl's home, and his lifeless body lays at our talons, the people will rally around us and strike down all Nords. Markarth will be ours, this time for good. This time, we'll have all Reachmen on our side." "How much further through this damn ruin?" "Not much further..." said the the hag matron. "I don't like these dwarven ruins anymore than you do, but tonight, they are a blessing. So many corridors and passages... all you need is to know the way..." The sounds of five talons clawing and scraping in the dark filled the ancient stone halls, water dripping in the dank blackness. The smell was only made more foul by the presence of these things that were best left in the dark. Even the rats fancied not to get too close. One failed to avoid their path, however, and met its end with the claws of Ezmeralda's foot running it through. "Dinner!" She cried gleefully, seizing the creature in her hand, if you could call it that. She crunched down on the thing's head as it squeaked and shrieked, baring its two fangs in pointless defiance. The sounds of its skull crunching in her maw was more audible than anything else, and it would lead to her downfall.... "Now!" Something flew out from the darkness into Ezmeralda's back... a huge pendulum, already stained with blood in the wood and at the dark blade. Flames suddenly illuminated the passage where the women stood, as their balding disformed heads turned all around to find their assailant. "Show yourself!" She cried. "Why have you done this?" "Because she was being an annoying c/unt with all that damn crunching. Should have chewed with her mouth closed, hahahahaha!" The voice came from all around them without giving a source for the sound. "Who are you?" "You know who I am... I don't see her among you... but I feel her. Where is she? My matron?" The four things all looked to one another in recognition. "You know... her, do you? We had a little... bonding time for our rituals to Hircine before we left. Perhaps you still smell your love on us?" The women all cackled at once at the memories. Somewhere, Brund was gagging as the memories of what they said flooded his mind. "I'll find him!" said a shorter hag with bright white skin. Her hands glowed with pink energy, illuminating her eyes with the same magics flowing from her grasp. "I.. I can't.... see him." Another laugh came from nowhere in particular, but in the midst of it, the large weapon suddenly flew from Ezmeralda's shriveled spine into the dark, and a warcry the likes of which they've never heard surrounded their every being before Brund came charging through the one that cast the spell with Alfr Vega. The woman was carried along with him in the powerful momentum, until Brund swung her lifeless body at the other to his right, knocking her against the wall. He could feel heat surging at his back, and he immediately turned to bat away the fireball the hagraven prepared for him, causing it to explode on impact and send the flames to her face. But the Bull was merciful, and he took her flaming head off quickly with one stroke. When Brund turned his attention back to the other, two stood where there should have only been one. Ezmeralda cackled again, grabbing Brund's shoulders and gripping him as hard as she could while the other hag charged her lightning magics. Just as she was about to turn this oddity of a man into ash, her magics suddenly left her, and Ezmeralda crumbled into ash. The last thing she saw was a nord man in the corner of her eye with a familiar face... hands glowing bright green... and then her world turned upside down, as her head left her shoulders. "It's DONE!!" Cried the Priest. "All these years I sought revenge, and they're DEAD!" "Yes, your magics are very handy, Priest. But we're not done yet. Come, lets rejoin the battle." "Are you going to hunt down your matron after all this, brother?" "....No," said Brund. "Not yet. I know things now... that I didn't before. Something about meeting them... Nevermind." "Brother, let me ask you a question. When I approached you as per your request, and you asked me about my... condition. I never imagined that you could pull off.. this. When I was a boy in those prisons, sitting at the altar of Hircine adorned with deer heads and entrails, the matrons always told me that I would die for this unlife. And when I did, I felt bound, always. Never in my dreams did I imagine that what you can do was possible! Perhaps because my matron influenced them?" "Get to the point already!" said Brund. "Of course, heh. Why do you fight, General Brund? What drives you? What enables a man to have the fortitude of mind that you possess? What makes you special?" "What makes me special?" Brund spat at the stone and shook his head. "Not a damn thing. Why do I fight? Because I LIKE it! Do I need another reason? Do I need some sob story? Ha, **** all that. I just want to hurt things and **** someone up. It makes me feel truly alive. Give me someone to kill and brutalize, and that's a day worth living. That enough of an answer for you?" The Priest nodded and smiled at this and said, "As good an answer as any." "Good, brother. Now move your ass. There's still more killing to do." As Brund and the Priest burst forth from the bowels of the Dwarven corridors, the sounds of swords drawing as they made their way into the main halls of the keep was enough to even give Brund pause. What greeted him was the sight of a team of Nordic soldiers, covered in silver and black bear furs. "General? What the, how did you get in here? Why aren't..." The sight of several heads tied to his belt silenced the Guard Captain's words immediately. Smiling, Brund said, "I had a little inside information. I used it to catch their leaders by surprise. Where's the Jarl?" "In his quarters, as per our recommendation. The citizens are in an uproar with the attack. Things can go south at any moment now that the Reachmen in the city have allies." "HAD. Allies," said the priest, fondling one of the heads on Brund's belt. "When their people see these at General Brund Hammer-Fang's belt, all of them will bow to his authority. For a time at least." "How do you know that?" said another Grim One, unimpressed at the notion. "Like I said. Inside information," said Brund. "Now listen here. You may be Baldur's men, but right now, I'M the acting General, and you'll obey MY commands. You will follow me as my entourage through the city. Any man, woman or child that looks like they're causing trouble is to be cut down. This chaos ends now. I'm putting it down, and I'm putting it down HARD. IS THAT ******* CLEAR?" The men's reaction to his swagger and boastfulness was what he expected, but all the wrinkled brows and flaring nostrils in the world wouldn't change the fact that they would obey. "Good," said Brund, with a smirk as he and the Priest took the lead. The other original Markarth city guards were out in the streets, weapons drawn, arresting random citizens if too many bunched up in a group, or if someone got too loud. Fights broke out between Nords, Bretons and guardsmen, but all of that ceased when the sight of the General and the Grim Ones all together greeted their eyes. Mostly from shock as they thought the General was out fighting with the Stormcloaks. Brund took in their looks of fear and drank it in. His head rolled back and his breathing shuttered. "Ahhhhh. Yes. I am alive." "The Forsworn are coming! They're coming!" came a soldier's cry from the gates. "It's a bloody mammoth!" "A mammoth? I thought your men would've had that killed by now," said the Priest. "******* c/unts. Got to do everything myself. No matter. MEN! GET TO THE GATES. WHEN YOU GET THE SIGNAL, CHARGE THROUGH AND TAKE POINT!" "What's the signal?" said the guard captain. "You'll know it when you hear it. Now, get to the gate!" **** "It's coming! Get out the way, we can't stop the charge!" The Stormcloaks were as brave a group of soldiers as any in Tamriel, but no man had the stones to face such a creature when it broke into a charge. As the Stormcloaks broke formation, some trampled over eachother to get out of the way, as even the Forsworn were doing this, being stomped and crushed by their own creature. Some of the soldiers weren't fortunate enough to be near the front and couldn't escape with the rest before the creature began its heavy footed advancement. All they could do was hold up shields and say their last prayers. A blood curdling scream broke those prayers, however. Right above their heads, all they could hear was the sound of a man gone mad, as if Shor fell from the sky to do battle in their behalf. Some even believed it after what they saw next. "I AM ALIIIIVE!!!" Cried the mighty Brund, Alfr Vega high above his head as he came hurtling towards the giant creature from Markarth's walls. Brund's pendulum landed square at the center of the mammoth's skull, with Brund at the handle, stopping it literally dead in its tracks. "Fall before BRUND!" He yelled before laughing gleefully. This is what he was talking about. That thrill, that joy. Even being dead could not prevent killing from making him feel life. The mammoth came crashing down, splattering a dozen screaming Forsworn men and women in a thunderous quake. And when Markarth's gates flew open with the sounds of two score of well armed Necro Nord men charging, it was clear that they got their signal.

Black Horse Courier ** Monster Attacks Elven Garden District By Nael A terribly sad and unfortunate tragedy struck the Imperial City, when a horrendous beast was somehow let loose in the Elven Garden District. One witness described it as having numerous legs, and said it was made out of the bodies of humans. A Legion official, who asked to remain anonymous, said that they believe it to be a corrupted form of flesh golem, but are unsure where exactly it came from, and who could have conjured it. Sadly, the death toll is high, with as many as a dozen people dying to the creature before two valiant generals help kill it. General Grommash Hell-Cry of the 7th legion and General Martullus Fury-Blade of the 2nd legion, along with Lord Snow-Strider, all helped dispatch the monstrosity. Some heroics accompanied this sad event, as several city guardsmen will receive the Empress’ highest commendation, though many will receive it postmortem. Also, an Altmer woman is said to have charged the monster to save a child, grabbing the kid moments before the beast would have killed it. Needless to say, several bystanders praised all those who helped kill the monster, though some wondered what could be the cause. As of today, there is little rumor or news as to who or what caused this monster to attack, and the Imperial Palace was mum on the subject. Until we learn, it is best to take all speculation as just that, and be careful upon whom the blame is placed. We will update as we learn more of this horrible tragedy. ** Sunbird Decimates Imperial Flotilla By Shelur gra-Borbug High Admiral Tacitus Meridius barely escaped with his life when his raiding group fell into a Thalmor trap, supposedly set by the Altmer General Corio Adorin. The raiding party sought to attack and destroy an arms shipment heading for the Valenwood coast, when a ship made of light appeared. According to the sailors, the ship began using mirrors to focus magical beams of sunlight at the ships, destroying seven out of the eight Imperial vessels. The Imperial ships were able to damage a Thalmor vessel, but all attacks against the Sunbird proved futile. The vessel also made what one sailor described as a “jump,†disappearing and reappearing a few miles away, cutting off two fleeing ships. The Sunbird’s power was limited, however, as it made no such jump when the High Admiral’s ship fled. The High Admiral and General Adorin have a feud, according to one sailor, who said it was the General who severed the High Admiral’s arm when he disappeared earlier in the year. Some members of the Elder Council berated Admiral Meridius for falling prey to such a trap, and questioned whether or not he was fit to lead. Of course, this could be due to some members’ resentment that one of their own is not High Admiral. Others praised his overall effort in slowing down the Dominion’s shipping. However, the Elder Council voted to suspend raiding against the Dominion, citing the increased risk now that they have shown the willingness to deploy Sunbirds. The White-Gold tower appears it will also move to suspend the raiding. When reached for comment on the suspension and Sunbird attack, High Admiral Meridius had this to say, “[censored] them, they can all go [censored] themselves. In fact, why don’t they pull their [censored] out of each others’ [censored] and let the real men work. [censored] [censored] politicians.†** High General Ceno Escapes Assassination By Izara Nasser Contrary to previous reports, the fire started in the Waterfront District a week ago was not an accident. It appears Thalmor operatives started the fire, when they sought to trap the High General in an abandoned shack. High General Ceno was lead to believe that the shack held a person of interest in a case of his falsified records, as he traced back the source to the shack, whereupon he was ambushed. He managed to fight off the assassins, and kill them both, while sustaining relatively minor wounds in return. During the vetting process, it was discovered someone had planted false information in High General Ceno’s records, but it was brushed off as a clerical error. However, the High General looked into it, and traced it back to Baron Paur Dielle, of the Elder Council, who was found tied to a chair in his own study. However, that too was a trap, and the Baron was killed along with two guards. But a note was found on the body, and the High General traced it to the Waterfront District. There, the shack he entered was set aflame, and upon exiting he was confronted by two Thalmor Justicars. At that point, details are sketchy, and the High General would confirm nor deny anything, but a bystander reported hearing a large explosion, and our sources say the bodies of the Justicars were found seared to the bone. The High General was injured in the left shoulder. Continuing his investigation, High General Ceno found that Legate Platorius, a skooma addict from the 6th legion, was also serving as a Thalmor spy, after Thalmor dossiers were found in his tent, along with several bottles of the drug. Platorius’ trial recently resulted in the Legate receiving life imprisonment, although our sources in the Imperial Prison say the man has yet to confess. Upon being asked why he didn’t advocate for execution, Ceno said, “[the legate] may help us, when he chooses to tell us what he knows.†** Nordic Forces Clash with Forsworn By Stentus Urgelian Over the past few months, Nordic forces have been attempting to root out the Daedra worshipping Forsworn. Long have the Reachmen been a problem, even back before Skyrim’s independence. No doubt it was a priority for High King Ulfric that the Forsworn be rooted out, as he famously took back the city of Markarth from them in the aftermath of the Great War. However, he did not send his High General, Baldur Red-Snow, to deal with the Reachmen, but instead left the task to General Brund Hammer-Fang. As you may recall, Red-Snow was the man behind the Legion’s Camp Romulus defeat, as well as allying with High General Ceno at Falkreath. Back to the Reach, where the Nords have been slowly and methodically ousting the Forsworn. But, reports suggest that High King Stormcloak, for unknown reasons, may have sent General Galmar Stone-Fist to assist General Hammer-Fang. This could be a sign of potential distrust between Ulfric and his general, or simply a case of two heads being better than one. Another note from Skyrim suggests that the new Nordic city of Kyne’s Watch is now frequently trading with the Breton cities of Farrun and Jehanna. No doubt that, with the earlier report of King Adrard being in Skyrim, the Bretons and Nords will continue to build stronger relationship. This reinforces the previous rumor that the Bretons convinced Hammerfell and Skyrim to drop trading contracts with Cyrodiil in favor of High Rock. ** Several Arrests Made in Case of Murdered Noblewoman By Albecias Plebo The investigation into the murder of Maressa Tridus gained new life recently, as the questioning of skooma addict and party crasher Zedrick Horatius revealed that previous suspect, jewelry store owner Caius, was supplying the partygoers with skooma. Spymaster Lilly Quentas arrested him, and nobleman Maro Salvius as well, whom she says helped fund his drug ring. Unfortunately, a servant serving as Colonel Quentas’ informant was killed by a hired thug, who was silencing her for Adrian Ador, who is a suspect in the murder of Tridus. Ador, who is a well-known rival of Salvius, tried to escape, hiding onboard a ship in the harbor. Thankfully, Colonel Quentas found him before the ship could leave port, and arrested him as well. While many arrests were made, no one has of yet been charged with Maressa Tridus’ murder, though all the principle suspects will likely see significant time in jail regardless of who actually committed the murder. Maressa’s father, Elder Councilman Martheon Tridus, called the news “wonderful,†and profusely thanked Colonel Quentas for her thorough investigation. ** Baldur Red-Snow’s Book of Poems, Reviewed By Gilyn Thalor Much to the shock of many, Skyrim’s High General recently released a book of poetry. And no, these are not rugged poems praising the untamed wilds of the Nordic frontier, but love poems, soft and romantic, with ideas of love at their center. While some fall a little flat, most others paint the reader a wonderful picture of his love, Skyrim’s High Admiral, while also showing how deep their love goes. While the book features dozens of the General’s poems, I’ve chosen a selection that I think accurately represents the types of poems you’ll find inside the book. “What is True Beauty†is probably the weakest of the ones selected, and shows an area Baldur the Bard can improve. While his love is ever present in the words, the descriptions and word choice lack the same style and elegance of other poems. By no means is it awful, but when compared to the rest, it falls a little flat. Thankfully, very few poems reflect this, and I was hard pressed to find many that I would describe as average. “Writing in Ecstasy, with Thee†represents the lewd side of Red-Snow’s writing, and he does little to disguise it. Yes he calls his member a pen, and his wife’s parts a book, it does not take long for all manner of subtly to disappear. The opening line ironically expresses that, in that he “lost all sense of subtly.†Yet, the thinly veiled metaphor is apt, and plays on words and ideas associated with writing and penmanship excellently. I found myself smiling when, at the end, he lost all pretense of analogy and declared “By the gods, that ass.†This poem, while showing his penchant for lewdness, also displays the fun in which he can have, and it shows. “Wayward Sun†and “Wide Eyed Slumber†are equally representative of Red-Snow’s ability to seamlessly transition his love into well-formed metaphors, when he so chooses, and shows us that the lack of refinement in “Ecstasy†is him having fun, not him lacking the ability to veil his meaning. And while neither “Sun†nor “Slumber†is especially complex, they both do well to not outright say the meanings. But, because the book is one of love poems, the deeper message is easily understood. Finally, “Eye of Kyne’s Storm†and “Mundane is Your World†wrap up the poetry of Baldur Red-Snow. While not overly complex, they craft with both broad and elegant strokes just how deep and cemented the Red-Snow’s love is, while using language that evokes the sense of untamable liveliness so synonymous with Skryim. So there you have it. Baldur Red-Snow, while new to the published scene, is obviously an experienced poet, and it shows. While some of the poems fall flat, even in those his rhyme scheme is excellent, and there is no doubt that he truly loves his wife, who he is presumably writing about. For those that enjoy poetry, the book is a must read. ** News in Brief By Eyja the Wordsmith -A minor prison break in Skingrad resulted in half a dozen inmates escaping, including two scheduled for execution. Three have already been rounded up, but so far searches for the others have come up empty. -Large groups of Orcs have begun moving through Cyrodiil, heading for their new refuge of the Valus Mountains, away from the usually hostile Bretons and Redguards. Their route has been line with numerous Dunmer, however, who are protesting the move as they feel it will result in raiding on the still weakened Morrowind. -Rumors continue to surface that Governor Jeleen of Sentinel killed a Forebear Chieftain in a duel. Details are scarce, but several said the Governor used his immense belly to knock the Chieftain to the ground before killing him. The Governor was instrumental in Hammerfell’s alliance with both Skyrim and Cyrodiil, and this could be a precursor to a united Hammerfell. ** Note: There will be no interview for this edition, as High Admiral Meridius vehemently refused the repeated requests made by Albecias Plebo. The next edition will feature the High Chancellor of the Elder Council, Doron Zethus.

When they arrived back at the Bastion, Lilly found to her surprise someone who claimed to be a lawyer sent there on the account of the Ador family regarding Adrian. Adrian had woken up by then and the first thing he did was to go on about how he had been unjustly accused and arrested and how he had received a dagger in his shoulder from Lilly. It became a drawn out and heated debate about evidence, legal formalities and technicalities. When the news of a monster ravaging the city they were so tied up in their dispute that barely any attention was diverted to it. Lilly quickly asked if they moving in to deal with the threat and if the thing was coming their. Once she got the answer that they were trying to move in and deal with it and it wasn't heading their way, she dismissed the guard and continued the dispute. In the end it came down to whether Adrian was going to sit in the prison or instead get house arrest with a guard watching his house. Lilly won, but not completely. Adrian was thrown in prison but he was going to get a cell on the upper floors. So while Adrian wasn't having the comfort of home in his arrest, he wouldn't have suffer the filth and staleness that was underground. It frustrated Lilly greatly but the lawyer was steadfast and vigilant. Which only annoyed Lilly even more. **************** Later when she had found out the crisis had subsided she sat in her office in the imperial palace, with a cigar in her mouth and a glass of fine Cyrodilic brand in her hand. The day had been long and she couldn't wait to relax. Her long platinum hair was still messy, as well as caked in dry blood. On her wooden desk was Lilly's ebony short blade. Albecias Plebo huffed as he climbed the stairs, finally bending over as he reached Lilly's office's level. Why anyone ever decided to build a palace based around towers, he would never know. Taking a few moments to compose himself, he then knocked on the office door. "Who is it?" Lilly's voice came from beyond the door. "Albecias Plebo." the writer said. "Enter." The writer did, and quickly took a seat across from Lilly. He didn't want his legs to collapse from that infernal staircase climb. "Any updates on your case, Spymaster?" Noticing his discomfort Lilly's eyebrows raised, "Some major developments. Are you alright?" "The stairs. I'm not on the best of shape." Taking out a pen and piece of parchment, he leaned onto the desk to write. "Care elaborate?" "You need some exercise. May I suggest joining the legion for a drill?" Lilly was in excellent shape herself, she used magic to enhance her strength and stamina, as well as keeping her body youthful and attractive. Lilly then relied the events of the day to the author, very careful to leave out the extreme forms of interrogation she engaged in, as well as her almost sadistic joy she carried them out with. "The bastard wasn't very clever. He should have laid low for awhile, instead of idiotically hopping onto the first available transport ship." Albecias carefully took note, and when he finally finished looked up from the paper. "Yes, it seems he was quite foolish." He put his things away, and seemed primed to leave, but stopped short of getting up. "Colonel, what do you know of our soon to be Emperor? I'm preparing for an interview with he and the Empress, but am having trouble digging up much about him." "I know he comes from a very well to do, but little known family in Bruma. Apparently, he can trace his roots back to one of Skyrim's long defunct royalty." She said, rather plainly. "Ah, I see. Thank you. I wasn't quite sure where his royal lineage lay." Albecias finally rose and, with a sigh, began the long walk down the White-Gold tower's steps. Some time later the door opened without as much as a knock and Skjari walked into the room. He looked a bit weary and the clothes were a bit of a mess. "You done with your murder case?" he asked as he closed the door and then sat down in the chair opposite of Lilly. "Nope." She offered him a smoke, as she placed her feet on her desk, with her hands at the back of her head, " You look beat." Skjari raised his hand in a gesture that he turned down the smoke. "What do you expect from a day like this." "Eh, some big scary monster gets loose." She shrugged, "Martullus, you, and Grommash put it down. It's not like it's coming back." "And now what's left of it is getting burnt to make sure it doesn't. And how can you be so calm about it all?" "No use getting worked up. I've seen worst abominations in my time in my coven." "Do I even want to ask?" Lilly's eyes narrowed down, as her face went dark, "You don't." "Well... Do you mind putting together a list of known necromancers here in Cyrodiil?" She choked on her cigar, "Bahhh...what? You do know that would be massive!" "Really? I thought necromancers kept themselves secret. Or do you know something I don't? Anyway, then try to limit it to necromancers and groups of necromancers that might have had the capability to create today's... spectacle." "I can do better. I've seen similar flesh magic before." "Yes and no. I've seen it in one of our dark Sabbaths, but the practitioners were from Skyrim, not my coven." She scratched her chin inquisitively, "If I recall, they were based in Falkreath." "Well chances are someone might have 'borrowed' that knowledge then. Known necromancers would be the place to start." "Hmmm. Your coven was based in Skyrim. Have you seen anything like this before?" She asked, curiously. "No. My coven was not into flesh magic. It was more into a... spiritual form of magic." "Explain." "What have I said about my coven?" "That you didn't want to talk about it." Lilly paused for a second, "Lady Grey was spreading a rumor among the family that you kidnapped children and sacrificed them on altars." "I hope she's just being silly. Anyway, can you put together this list?" "She just wants attention. I'll get it to you by the end of the week." "Good. Anything else?" "No. Go to the royal chambers. I got a little paperwork to finish up. Then I'll join you." she said with a little mischievous, yet also a little tired smile. Skjari lingered in the chair for a couple of seconds before reluctantly getting up from the comfortable seated position. "Sure." he said and then silently departed from the room.

The interrogation chamber was a little dark with only some light coming in through the small barred window at the top of the wall and the rest coming from a couple of candles on a small wooden table. Maro was seated on a simple wooden chair with arms in cross and a annoyed look on his face. Amidius had excused himself, suspecting what Lilly might do, and instead waited outside. A thick oak door was the only way in or out of the room and prevented almost all sound from escaping it. Lilly gave the sergeant a cold smile, "Sarge. Make sure no one enters after me." "Yes, sir." he said unenthusiastically as the wooden door closed, effectively sealing the room. "Now its just the two of us." "Aheh." was all Maro responded with. Lilly took a small knife out,"Your going to tell me everything." "About what?" "The skooma you drank at the party." "I did not take any skooma at any party." She smiled sadistically, "I'm a doctor you know. I can easily take apart a body just as well as I can put it back together." "I have still not taken any skooma, ever." Then Lilly stabbed the small blade into his leg to which Maro gave up a loud cry of pain. "Is skooma all you care about when you're supposed to catch a murderer?" "Skooma clouds the mind. I've already found one person who was drinking it." "Well I haven't taken any. And you can't do this. Do you even any kind of evidence?" "A hunch. At the least, I know you were involved in some way." She traced the edge of the knife across his chest. Maro held his hands over the wound in the leg in an attempt to stop the bleeding. "Involved in what?" "The skooma dealings that went on at that party." She cut into the flesh. Maro let out another cry of pain. "I had nothing to do with that." She dug it even deeper, "Now be a good boy and tell me." "Aaagh! No, I... I..." Maro yelled. "Tell me!" She screamed with force. "I know that Caius sold some drugs at the party. That's all, I swear." "How do you know that?" "I noticed it in a quiet back room." She eyed him with suspicion, "Tell me everything. Every little detail." "I saw him giving them a funny looking bottle and they gave him some gold. Now please heal these wounds." "I need more if you want me too do that." "What more do you want?" "Is there any detail you've missed?" "I didn't stay and watch. I didn't want to get mixed up with that." "What was the real reason why you wanted to see him in prison?" "Who? Caius?" "Yes." "I told you: I invested money into his store and I want to make sure I still get a return on my investment." "And coincidentally, right after he's been arrested for selling skooma?" Her facial expression radiated disbelief. "It's still true." "I think your hiding something." She flourished her knife. "It's true. I swear." he said almost pleadingly. "Hmmm. How much did you invest into his business?" "Quite a bit of money." "And you knew nothing about his illegal activities?" "Not really." Maro looked at the blade in Lilly's hand, seemingly afraid that the answer might not be what she wanted. "What do you mean not really?" "Well I told you about what I saw at the party. Though I don't know or care much about how he handles his business as long as I get my share." "So your telling me you would have accepted his money even if it wade off drug sales?" "Maybe, maybe not. I can't know for certain exactly where the money I get comes from. And I'm certain any money he makes of drugs would go into his own pocket." "And yours apparently..." "Impossible for me to tell. That you will need to ask him about." "Psst." Karsh said into Lilly's ear. "You do remember that Adrian is on the run, right?" "Your friend Adrian is running from the law you should know." "Doesn't surprise me." Maro replied. "And why would that be? He murdered my informant. A young servant girl. Meaning I'm in a very... very foul mood." She flexed the small blade. "I always figured he would be that kind of stupid asshole that would get himself into big trouble one day." "Okay here how this is going to work. When I prosecute the bastard, you're going to be a key witness. Tell the court how much of an asshole he is. In return, I'll ignore your little... drug money deal you had with the merchant. And if you tell them what I did..." She gave a smile, "I'll take you to the merchant's cell and show you what happened to him." "Testify? With me still bleeding like this? And don't you need to catch him before you can prosecute him?" "Oh, but I do. I need to make him know what he did was very wrong." She knelt on the ground, placing her hand on his knee and conjuring a healing spell. She opened the interrogation chamber door and called out, "Guardsman, take him to the merchant." "Weren't you supposed to ask him where Adrian might have fled?" Karsh said. "I'm trying to build up atmosphere and dread." She whispered. "Whatever you will. Though Adrian is getting one step further and further away for each moment." Karsh replied as two guards passed by Lilly into the cell to pick Maro up. "One more thing." She asked, "As much as you hate the man, you know him best. Were would he run too?" At first Maro just looked at Lilly, like if he was debating with himself whether to tell her or not. "He sometimes said something about family down in the green fields of the Niben." "So the bastard is most likely going by land or going to the dock to get a ship." "How astute of you. Unless he's gotten wings, those are the only paths he can take." Karsh said sarcastically. She called for an additional guard, "Send a some men to the docks and make sure to inspect anyone who leaves through the main gate thoroughly." "Yes, sir. But... uhm... who or what are we looking for?" "Just make sure no one boards any ships. A nobleman by the name of Adrian." She whispered to Karsh, "Once were outside, fly to the waterfront district and look for the shrewd bastard." "Yeah, yeah. And where are you going?" Karsh said. "Right, and what does he look like?" said the guardsman as well almost at the same time Karsh spoke. "Imperial, short brown hair, clean shaven and sharp features." She added, "Be as rough as possible with him if you catch the man." "Yes, sir." the guard saluted her and hurried off. The two guards that held Maro then walked off with him towards the part of the dungeon where the merchant was being held. When they had passed out of sight around a corner, Lilly could see that the sergeant gave her a quick weary look. It was clear from his expression that he did not like this at all. But he did not voice his concern and returned his gaze towards the floor. A moment passed and then the guards before the guards returned with Maro. The nobleman looked more stern than before. "You gods damned monster." he muttered to Lilly. A psychotic grinned appeared on Lilly's face, "The thing is, my dear Maro. Is that I like hurting scum bags, a lot. Like your merchant friend." She took a vial out of her pocket and placed it near his face, "Shall I give you a sample of the same medicine?" Maro recoiled from the vial, the guards let him get away from it but still held him in place so he could not run. "Just stay away from me." Maro said. "You're not going to talk about any of this when you testify against Adrian? Or I'll make sure you suffer dearly." She edged the vial closer to his lips. "Just get that thing away from me!" "You need to promise." She slowly turned it over. Maro turned his face away. "Alright, I promise. Just get that vile concoction away from me." "Maybe you need a little taste." "Sir, he said he promised." Amidius interrupted. "Hmmmm. Fine." She put the vial back in her pocket, "Remember, Maro. As countess and Spymaster. I have very... interesting ways of making people disappear." "Will you let me go now?" Maro asked. "Escort him out of the building guards." Maro looked quite relieved as the two guards led him away. A moment after the footsteps had faded away, Amidius walked up to Lilly. "So what now?" "We know were Adrian has most likely ran off to. I've already deployed two groups to secure the entrance out of the city by the main gate, and sent men to the docks to look for him." "Yeah, but what shall we do?" asked the sergeant. "You do know he was here and could hear when you gave the orders?" Karsh whispered. She ignored the raven, "You go to the gate. Look for him with the men there. I'll cover the docks." "Yes, sir." Amidius said and saluted before heading out. He too seemed to be relieved to leave. "Well Karsh, do you too disapprove of my methods." "Personally I think there wasn't enough eye gouging. Boss might disapprove though if you make too many unnecessary enemies." "Maro is a petty noble. He's a bug compared to the Quentas family." "If you say so. Though even bugs can be a pain if they get under the feathers." "Don't you magpies eat bugs?" "I'm a raven! But yes, I sometimes do." "When I was a young girl and travelled through the great forests of Chorrol, I snacked on the occasional grub. Not that bad." "You're weird." "Very." She turned around, drawing one of her long knives from her belt. Placing her left hand on the blade, she channeled a spell, making the edge of the blade glow deep Lapis Lazuli blue before then sheathing it. She made her way to the prison entrance and whispered to the raven, "If you find him, report back to me." "Shouldn't we get anywhere close to the docks first?" "You scout ahead. But before that... You ever hunted a criminal before Karsh?" Her usual playful deadpan tone was replaced with a cold monotone voice, as she started to run fast. "That depends on... Aagh! Not so fast while I'm still here!" Lilly slowed down, "What do you mean depends?" "Depends on what you consider a criminal." "Shoot then." "Shoot who?" "It's a human term for telling me something regardless of the validity of what your about to say. Tell me about these 'criminals'?" "Well there's the cats in Leyawiin. Though I'm not sure if they are to be considered criminals or simple enemies." "The Khajiit criminal ring? What role did you play in there... arrests?" "Lookout and scout. And eye-pecker a couple of times." "Not a bad resume. Did anything special for your family when you were a normal raven?" "No. I was on my own after I left the nest." "So what. You just flew around looking for food? Kinda like what you do now?" "I don't do it always now. No need to when food comes to me." ****** Lilly and Karsh reached the Waterfront district, she gently tapped Karsh on the wing, "Go. Look for him. If you spot him, come back to me and report." "Yeah, yeah. Though I bet he's hiding inside one of the boats." Karsh said before he flew off. Lilly went as fast as she could to the nearest docks and asked the man in charge, "Has anyone hired any ships for transport recently?" The man looked at her with a confused look. "I think you need to be a bit more precise. Most of these ships are hired to transport goods. And some of them work on a contract by contract basis." "Let me rephrase that. What ships have left since morning?" "Three that I know of so far. Some may be a little late to get reported in, so I wont know for sure till the end of the day." "Any scheduled to leave soon?" "I think two others are leaving a bit later today. I'm sorry, but I don't have any exact information outside of the official ships." "Hmmmm, which ones?" "Well the Sea Rose is docked near the center, and the Wind-something is at the third or fourth pier. I also think the small Argonian trading ship docked at the far end might also be leaving soon. Can never tell with those lizards though." "Any of the captains shady?" She asked, her eyebrows raised. "Well the lizards are always shady. I've heard the captain of the Sea Rose is a little creepy. And I know nothing of the other captain." "What do you mean by, 'A little creepy'?" Lilly hated racial profiling, but, she had to admit, Argonians tended to be involved in criminal activity. "Apparently he thinks himself more suave than he actually is." She took a small notebook, along with a quill and a tiny ink container which was covered. "Can you write down the locations of the three ships please?" "Ehm, sure." he took the quill and tried his best to write at the unstable paper, repeating what he had said a little earlier. "The Argonian ship will be easy to spot. It's ship design... well it's a bit unique in these parts. The Sea Rose is painted in a dark red color so I guess you shouldn't have trouble finding it either. The last ship looks like most ships and you'll have to ask those nearby for it's exact location." "Thanks. By the way, have you seen a squad of guardsmen around recently?" "More than the occasional patrol? No. Though the docks are big. I can have missed them by chance." "Alright. Thanks for your time." She glanced up to the sky in a futile attempt to find Karsh. There were some birds in the sky, but all were seagulls. "****." Lilly looked at her surroundings. Filth and Squalor, along with the smell of decaying and rotten fish lingered around the dockyard. glancing at her notepad, and headed to the first ship. As suspected, the captain, a Breton in his early fifties seemed like a nice enough man, and after a thorough inspection of his ship, Lilly had no reason to suspect him for harbouring the nobleman. Next on her notebook was the Red Rose. It didn't take her too long to find. Approaching one member of the crew, who was very dirty and ragged looking, Lilly asked, "Crewman. Where's your captain?" The man didn't reply but just pointed at the door at upper rear of the ship. Nodding her head in response, she went over to the door and knocked on it. "What is it?" she heard a man shouting from the other side. "Colonel Lillin Quentas of the Pentiulas Oculatus. I need a moment of your time." "Just a minute!" the man yelled again. It took a moment before the man quickly came out through the door and shut it almost before he was out. He looked to be a man in his late thirties, an imperial with short brown hair and muttonchops. His clothes were one the fancy side and he was busy fixing the sleeve to even look at Lilly. "Captain, are you all right?" She said with a questioning look. "Yes, why wouldn't I be?" he said and went on to fixing the other sleeve. "You seem a little...distracted." "It's just that these sleeves are hard to keep properly folded." he said as he straightened his shirt and then gave Lilly a bow. "Captain Amiel at your service." "Lets get straight to business. Are you providing transport for anyone today?" "Well this is a transport ship. We got a few rooms reserved for passengers." "I need your personnel manifest immediately." "A what?" he said and gave Lilly a blank stare of confusion. "A... list of people who have registered for transportation on your ship." "Yeah, we don't have that." Hmmmmm... She slowly began to channel a calm spell, the green glow hidden by her black leather gloves. Lilly, unlike her sister, always excelled at illusion magic, she made the necessary adjustments to make sure he didn't notice that she was controlling the situation with magic. She gave him a smile and described the fugitive she was hunting, asking him if she had him on his ship. The captain shrugged. "I don't know." "You don't know... if someone hired you to transport them?" She said, with plain disbelief. "If someone wants to tag along to the next harbor and got enough money and doesn't look like they just crawled out of the gutter, they will get shown to a room and that'll be the end of that. And I don't even handle the passengers." "What kinda of incompetence is that? So who would know?" "Our quartermaster is the one who handles the passengers and tradegoods. Though he's off picking up some goods we've been hired to transport." "Show me to those rooms, right now." "This way then." He said walked down a couple of stairs and then turned right to a small hallway with four small door on the right side. "Here they are." Lilly cast a detect life spell, glancing into each of the rooms for her target. Three of the rooms lit up with one person in each. Two seemed to be lying on a bed while the third was sitting on it. The door flung open and inside was an elderly Redguard sitting in the bed, leaning against the wall. He was holding a book which he stopped reading to look up at the intrusion with a shocked and confused look. "Can you calm the shit down? I'm trying to take a nap." Lilly heard a familiar voice yell from the corridor. Lilly slowly drew her knife, backing away back into the hallway. She went to the room were the voice had been coming from and slammed the door open with her foot. "What the..." was all Adrian managed to say before he froze in place as he saw Lilly. "Hello Adrian." A disturbing smile appeared on her lips, grinning like a bob cat. She slowly approached the man, readying a shock spell. Adrian tried to get out of the bed but Lilly let her knife fly into the man's shoulder, cutting through the side of the shoulder hooking him to the wall with the clothes. Bringing up her left hand, which was glowing with electricity, she conjured a weak spark of lightning at the man, just enough to cause him great pain, but not enough power to damage him. And Adrian began to shriek in pain as he tried to cover up the wound his other hand. "You actually think you could escape me." She went over gave a kick into his gut. "You bloody palace whore." Adrian said as he now held his hand over the wound, trying desperately to stop the bleeding. "You really thought after killing my informat, I would let you leave alive?" Lilly retrieved the dagger and grabbed him by the neck, channelling a strength spell through her limbs to lift him by the throat and slammed him on the wall on the other side of the room. "Kill... who?" he stammered. "Abigail. You killed her. You bastard, she had children to support!" Her hand began to squeeze. "I don't know who that is." Adrian almost stuttered out wearily. "The servant girl! You hired that man to kill her." "What man?" She twisted her knife deeper, "Don't play dumb with me." She slammed her fist into his face with enough force to knock the man unconscious. Adrain gave up a whimper that was cut short as the hit made his body slumped together like a sack of potatoes when he fell from consciousness. Lilly closed the wound on the shoulder and went to the very frightened captain, "Cap'n can you please fetch me a squad of imperial watch guardsmen?" "Uhm..." was all the captain mumbled as he was unsure of what was even going on. "Look for a group of armored imperial watch soldiers. Tell them that colonel Quentas needs them, and lead them to your ship." She said deadpanly. The captain looked like he was to begin the to protest when the elderly Redguard spoke up: "I'll do it." he said quickly and ran off and up the stairs. Lilly waited there patiently, fixing a little with her messy hair. Hmmmm, I'll need to take a bath when I get home. "Would you at least get off my ship now that you're done?" the captain finally managed to say. She jokingly glared at him, her striking Lapis Lazuli eyes potraying hostility, "Of course." She slumped the unconscious man over her shoulder, heading to the wooden dock. Half a minute later the Redguard came with two guards in tow. She nodded to them "Alight lads, I need you to deliver this scum bag to the dungeon." The two guards first looked on with a little confused look as if waiting for an explanation. But then they just followed the orders and picked up the unconscious nobleman.

Some time passed before Karsh got bored. "Well this is eventful." he said in a deadpan tone. "Some investigations have lasted over a century." Lilly said equally deadpanly. "Who did they arrest then? Mr Skel Eton?" "No one. Some cases are never solved." "Then why continue for a hundred years?" "It was on and off. Wasn't really much of a case, more like book keeping." "Well that sounds pointless. Either you solve or you don't." She waited a moment, "So how did lord snow-strider find you?" "I was eating an eyeball when he caught me with some magic spell." "...you serious?" "That's what I remember of it, but yeah; he caught me while I was eating." "What happened next?" She asked with her eye brows raised. "I woke up later. He gave me some food and I felt oddly calm." "And that's it? You could speak just like that?" "Nah. That came much later. Till then it was mostly me hanging around while he tried to communicate with me." "That must have been...awkward. So he essentially taught you to speak, and the magic simply made you more intelligent?" "I think the magic also helped teach me how to understand and speak your strange tongue. It was a weird time for me." "How long did it take?" "I don't know exactly. A long time. Less than a year." "And you were fine with it?" "I got cooked food, for the most part. Can't really complain too much." "Better then raw eyeballs, eh?" "Eyeballs are usually quite good. And the heart, though it's rare I can get to it before the rot does." Karsh paused for a second. "Anyway, I don't think I need to ask how you met boss." "I meet him at my mansion." "I know. I even took a peek through a window. Not exactly the most subtle first meeting." "Pervert." "Hardly. I was there to deliver some information. Once I saw that he was busy, I flew off. Do you actually think I like watching you smooth-skins go at it?" "Yeah, I bet you like watching us." "Why would I? You got no talons, no beaks and no plumage. And seeing your meat bags wobble is actually making me a little disgusted." "How are plumages attractive? So if a female human got dressed up in a chicken suit, you would find that hot?" "That would just look wrong. And why in Oblivion would I find a human attractive?" "I don't know." She started to flail her arms about, "Arkay damn it. How long does it take to arrest someone? They should already be in a cell." "Aah! Don't!" Karsh said as he wrapped his wings around Lilly's head in an attempt to stay on her shoulder. She stopped, before starting to tap her feet, "What do you remember when you were a simple raven?" "Ah." Karsh said in relief after he had regained his balance and let go of Lilly's head. "Well, biggest difference was that I had to keep a constant eye out for food. And I hope you don't mean that by simple that ravens are simple birds." "Birds are birds. It's not like you're special or anything." "Ravens are more clever. We also have a sense of humor." "But how can you when you can't talk?" "Can't talk? Just because the rest of my kind can't speak your tongue doesn't mean we can't communicate." "Yeah, you squawk knock knock jokes right?" She grinned, amused at herself. "Only about woodpeckers." Karsh replied with a slight smug tone. He then paused for a second. "So, why are you so keen on being boss' first mistress?" "I don't like to share." "Love at first sight?" Karsh asked sarcastically. "More like lust at first sight." "Nothing else?" "Nope. He has a position of power, we both want sex. That's it." "So you're in bed with one of the, if not the most powerful man in Cyrodiil, and all you want out of that is sex?" She shrugged, "I could have easily just exploited the fact Dales loves women, she would be much easier to hold sway over. Look at me, I'm a countess, and the spymaster of the Empire. I have a seat on the Elder council. Does it look like I need more power?" "I still don't think it explains why you're not so keen on any 'competition'." "I said I don't like sharing." "Why is that? It's not like you can marry him." "Just a simple mattter of principle. And the fact I don't want to catch anything." "Catch anything?" "Eh, I take it you've never had sex before?" "I'll never have it in the sense you humans have it. And we do it mainly for creating offspring." "Yeah yeah. Now shut up. I need to think on the case." She lowered her head, deep in thought. "How rude." was all Karsh uttered but he stayed quiet. Time passed on as they waited and nothing really eventful happened. A few times Lilly heard Karsh begin to hum on a small melody for a few seconds before he suddenly stopped and became quiet again. Some time later a couple of guards came into view, leading the merchant Caius between them. "Wakie, wakie. The shinies merchant is here." Karsh almost whispered into Lilly's ear. "Pffftt, you sure?" "Why don't you look up? They're taking him to the prison right now." She looked up and saw that the merchant was there, being escorted by a couple of guards. She grinned, "Shall we roughen him up first?" "Well that's up to you. Or have you decided to let the clever and handsome raven take over the investigation?" She whispered to the raven, "Keep your eyes sharp." "Yeah, yeah. Like if I don't always keep an eye out." "Serious. Look at the subtle movements of his face, and relay the information to me." "Eh, what? I don't know what all you human's subtle facial expressions mean." "Fine." She approached the guards and asked him, "Where are you taking the merchant?" The guard was about to say something but was interrupted by Caius, the merchant: "What does it look like? To the dungeons. I've been arrested on your orders." he said in a tone that showed that he was more annoyed and irritated than angry at the situation. "We found a small box of skooma in the back of his store. We searched the house, but one door on the second floor was locked and the merchant here claims that his assistant has the key. And we couldn't find the assistant." "It wasn't the only thing you managed to 'find'." said Caius. "I saw one of you knick a gold ring." Ignoring the merchant, Lilly told the guardsmen: "Just find a battle mage, and blow the door open." "Yeah, do that." Caius spat out. Though the guards ignored him. "Yes, sir. Though we could also find a locksmith." "Just open the door. I want to know what's inside it." "Yes, sir." the guard replied. "You better go get a powerful mage. That door wont budge easily." said the merchant. "If you don't shut up I'll cut off your lips and feed them to you." she made a motion with her hand, as if to say "Get him out of here." The guards obeyed and gave Caius a light push before he started walking with them into the prison. And Lilly followed from behind. The guards led the merchant down a couple of stairs to a slightly damp corridor. The only light coming from the small barred windows at the top of the cells and the few candle holders at the walls. A guard sat in a chair as they next to the stairs. After a quick chat about who the new prisoner was and if there was any empty cells. The rattling of a key ring was heard as prison guard got up from the chair and led them a bit further down the corridor to an empty cell. After a moment of waiting for the guard to find the right key he managed to open the door. Caius walked in on his own as soon as the door was opened. The prison guard then handed the key to the cell to Lilly before she dismissed them. The guards left, leaving Lilly practically alone with the merchant. Lilly stood outside the cell and took at her small, curved short sword, and started to play with the tip, "Well my dear Caius. There's two ways this can go." "Well why don't you start by telling me which way you're heading? What do you want from me?" "You were selling Skooma at the party." "I don't sell skooma. That box that was found is for private use." "Not what I've heard. I talked to one of your clients." "Then that person is lying." Lilly slowly walked into the cell before conjuring a fear spell, "I really don't think he is." "Whether you believe it or not, doesn't make it true." he replied, seemingly unaffected by the fear spell. She slammed her fist in the merchant's face, knocking him to the ground. She channelled a strength spell using her left hand, and used her right to grab him by the collar and slammed him to the wall. She could also feel Karsh begin to loose balance and then jump off her shoulder before falling off. "I'm not going to ask again!" Lilly yelled. "And why are you so interested in skooma?" he squeezed out. "We both know it's physically and mental affects. Someone under the influence would do stuff they wouldn't normally do." "Like who? Who are you talking about?" "You imbecile. The murderer. The person who murdered that girl could have been under the effect of your skooma!" "And what makes you think that?" She punched him again, this time channelling an even more powerful fear spell, "Just tell me, who did you sell to that night?" She could see that the spell now had some effect, but not much. "Dealing with skooma can be a death sentence." "That's your own fault isn't it?" "Well why should I admit to dealing with it then?" "Because I'll make a deal. Just a really long prison sentence." She channelled a calm spell. "No sentence for dealing. Only possession for private use." "Take the long sentence for dealing, and I won't confiscate you and your families wealth and shop. That's the deal, take it or leave it." "I don't have a family. At least not in this city. And by the time I'll be out my store will have been cleaned empty by thieves." "Fine then." She conjured another fear spell, "I'll simply have the confession tortured out of you. Afterwords it off to the chopping block." "You can try. No one else has ever got one. Neither will you." She thrust the blade into his left shoulder and delivered another punch. Caius grunted. "No deal. No information." She threw him to the ground of the cell and slammed her steel foot guard into his stomach as hard as she could. Caius wheezed for a bit as he tried to regain his breath. "Torture me all you want. There's no point for me in telling you if I'm to lose everything I got." She whispered, "I'll make you loose more." this time she sent a shock of lightning into his body from his chest. "Ghhmmm! No, you can't." he said, breathing heavily. Lilly then heard a light squawk and as Caius was regaining his senses from the shock, Lilly leaned down and she heard Karsh lightly hop forth towards her head. "Psst." Karsh said into Lilly's ear. "Unless you got something spectacular, I doubt he'll budge much." "Something special. It's my coven's specialty." She took out a glass vial from her jacket pocket, opened it, and forced the man to swallow the contents of the potion. At first the merchant began to lightly twitch and shake his limbs as if trying to throw something off of him. Then he simply looked at the floor and then Lilly in fear and disgust. "Begone foul harlot!" he shouted. Lilly laughed, "Who are you calling harlot?" "Filth. I'll not tell filth like you a thing." he said while crawling backwards away from Lilly till he bumped into the wall. Lilly grabbed him, lifted him up and brought him close to her face, "Want a kiss?" Caius looked like he was about to puke and began to try to wrestle out of Lilly's grasp. He was rather strong for a regular merchant. Lilly was stronger though and she planted a kiss on his lips. Afterwords she threw him to the ground and started to kick him, mostly aiming for his stomach and crotch. To which Caius reacted by emptying the contents of his stomach onto the floor. "I have plenty of time. There's so much I can do to you." "Well bring it." the merchant's voice was wavering and he tried maintain his balance while down on all four, so to not fall into puke covering beneath him. Lilly grabbed him by the hair and forced his face into the puke, "I think it's lunch time." Caius struggled at first but his hands just slipped off the puke covered stones on the floor. Then he managed to turn his head so that Lilly instead pressed his the puke into his ear. "Okay, okay. I'll tell you on one simple condition." "What is that?" "You make sure no thief touches my shop. And that my assistant will be able to continue with the regular business." "I'll agree to the second request. The city watch can deal with the other." "Fine. Just don't touch anything else in my shop." "Now tell me everything. I want to know who you sold it too, your suppliers, every little detail." "At the party I sold it to Adrian, Cidius, Zedrick, Lucan, Ariela, Eliana, and Reman. I even managed to get the hostess, Rosentia, to try a little." "Adrian!" Her face snarled, and to the drugged man, only the most twisted mind could imagine what he saw as her face, "Who was supplying you?" "A khajiit by the docks. I don't know his name but he hangs out the southernmost pier at noon." "Where is your skooma supply? Where do you hide it?" "My current supply was that box you found. I was waiting for a new shipment." Lilly leaned down to where Karsh had spoken a moment earlier and whispered so only the raven could hear, "Do you think he has anything else to say?" "I don't think so." the bird replied. She then returned to the merchant and looked at him straight in the eye, "You aren't lying to me, are you?" "No." the merchant said bitterly. "Are you sure?" She waved the shortblade closer to his face. "Yes. Though only way to confirm that is for you to get a confession from the people I gave you. Not that they will want to admit to anything." She gave him a mocking grin, "Thank you for your cooperation." "Pfft." he spat out before he crawled to a corner and sat down, staring down into the floor. "I would be careful if I were you. That...mental illness that you've developed is going to last you the entire week. Don't look at a single location for long." "Just leave me." She turned left the cell and locked the door behind her. She could feel that Karsh had managed to make it out of cell before she locked to door as the bird now poked at her leg again. She picked him once more and she began to leave. Once she was a good distance away, she whispered to Karsh, "That went pretty well?" "If you say so. Though can you not have such violent methods. It's annoying having to jump off or fall off." "Oh hush." She said to the bird, "Unfortunately due to our next victims status, we can't nearly be as brutal." "Do you always refer to your suspects as victims?" "They are though." She said with a sly grin. Karsh did not respond to that and just waited for a moment. "Well lets get on with the investigation then." "Just give me a moment." She took another vial out of her pack, and smelled it's content, before putting it back in her jacket. "Hmmmm." She cleaned her curved shortblade, and put it in her sheaf. "Gotta ready my fists." "Right. Now can we get out in the open air? I don't like being underground." "Why? Being underground feels safer to me. Corridors can easily be blocked and many hiding spots in the dungeons." "Why? Are you really asking why a winged creature prefers the open sky?" "You should get used to different environments. You can help your master better that way." "I ain't gonna spend too much time in a place smaller than my wingspan. Last thing I want is to get caught when I can't even use my wings." "You could learn to travel by foot?" she said entertained. "I know how to walk. I just don't like to do it for too long." "I'm going to get Helen to put you on a diet and daily exercise routine. It'll be good for you." "Diet? I don't need a diet. And what do you mean by exercise?" "Your master and Helen spoil you way to much. You're getting fat. You need to loose some weight." She poked his stomach. "I'm not getting fat. It's just my feathers being a little fluffier than usual." "Were do you think that entire leg of goat went last night?" "Gone. Because of... eeh... Magic!" "Listen, I'm a doctor. What we call you is a glutton. You're fat and overweight. You barely exercise. All you do at home is sleep in Helens pillow, waiting for her to come back home and stuff you with treats. It's not healthy." "I'm a magical raven. Your argument is invalid." "I'm a magical witch spymaster whose studied medicine and the human body. Your argument is invalid." "Though have you ever studied a magical raven's body?" "You're living, aren't you? Your stomach has been inflated of late. It means you have a weight problem." "I do not have a weight problem. As long as I can fly I do no need to go on a diet." "Keep telling yourself that." "And I will. Thank you very much." Lilly took out a cigar from her jacket pocket, using magic to lit it. She then walked down the corridor and turned a corner towards the stairs. She then decided to wait there, as the guards would have to pass by there when they brought Adrian in. After a little while a guard came down into the dungeon and walked up to Lilly. "Colonel. There's a man up in the yard wanting to speak with the merchant." "Who is it?" she extended her leather gloved hand, offering him a smoke. The guard raised his hand to gesture that he turned the offer down. "Some nobleman. Didn't catch the name. He's having a discussion with the sarge right now." "What did he look like?" "Like any other imperial nobleman. Short brown hair and clean shave, fancy clothes." Lilly let out a sigh, "Follow me then guardsman." "Yes, sir." the guard said and complied. She began to make her way to the courtyard, only stopping to return salutes. "Keep moving. You can salute while walking. Come on, I want to see a proper sky." said Karsh impatiently. "Proper protocol." She whispered, "Not like you would know it." "No, I do not see the point to stop only to return weird hand gestures." "You ravens don't have any sign of respect for ravens beyond their own station?" "Ravens beyond their own station? We don't really such a hierarchy. Though we show 'respect' by not getting in the way of a stronger raven." "So the bigger ravens bully the small ones?" She couldn't believe she was talking about bird society. "Both yes and no. Bigger ravens of course got more weight if it comes to fighting. But we usually just try to steal if there's something we want." "Hmmmmm. Any Political backstabbing?" "We don't really have politics. And backstabbing doesn't really go further than: 'Hey look!' and then taking their food and flying off while they look away." "Sounds refreshingly simple." "It usually is. Though the plan for diverting that attention can sometimes be rather complex." "Be ready. If Adrian makes a run for it, go after him. I'll use one of my daggers to incapacitate his running ability." "Yeah, sure. Just follow the croaking raven." Pushing the door open, she left the prison. Lilly found Amidius in the yard with the nobleman, just as the guard had told her. The nobleman she saw proved to be Maro. She could hear that he was insisting on meeting the merchant and that Amidius kept repeating that he would simply have to wait. "What is the problem Maro?" She said as she approached the two men. "He wants to speak with merchant you apparently arrested." Amidius said before Maro could answer. Maro gave the sergeant a quick look that showed that he did not like to be interrupted. "I have invested money in his jewellery shop. I want to make sure I will still get my share." "That wont be possible. We don't allow prison visits to be people who have been arrested not hours ago." She approached him, giving Maro a sly grin, "Is it jewellery your really worried about?" "Yes. Or at least the money it brings in. What are you suggesting at?" "Skooma." "What?" Maro said, confused. If he was not truly ignorant, then he did a good job faking it. "Don't play dumb with me." "I honestly don't know what you mean by 'skooma'." She approached him, eyeing him sharply, "The merchant told us everything." "I don't know what your talking about. I'm just here to ensure I get a return on my investment." She turned to the sergeant, "Arrest this man." "On what grounds?" Maro protested. "On the grounds of using an illegal substance." She yelled: "Guards! Escort him to his cell." Two guards came, grabbed Maro by his arms and forcefully led him to the dungeon. "You got no evidence! You got nothing on me!" Maro yelled back. "Sergeant. Report on the the other one I ordered arrested." "What? Oh, right." the sergeant seemed a little confused and distracted by the arrest of Maro. "The guards you sent came back and said that he was gone. The servant apparently said he had packed and left late this morning." "Shit." She started to scratch her chin, "Did he say where?" "Nope. We can probably ask the neighbours. One of which you just arrested." "Prepare the interrogation chamber sarge." "You really think that is necessary? I mean they have no love for each other." "Maro is going to be uncooperative now that he know we know he's been dealing and consuming skooma." "How do you know that?" "A very... suspicious hunch." "That wont hold if it comes to trial." "Just prepare the interogation chamber. I have my own methods of interrogation." "Yes, sir." Amidius said a little reluctantly as he saluted Lilly before heading off towards the dungeon. "Good soldiers follow orders, without questioning them." She said coldly to the raven. "Though he's a guard and not a soldier." Karsh pointed out. "Practically the same thing." "From what I figure, guards are not that drilled in discipline." "Hmmmm." Lilly shook her head and walked towards the dungeons.

Lilly Quentas, Karsh The torture chamber, Imperial City prison Late Morning "Aaargh!" The man screamed. Lilly raised her hand, "Enough." She went closer and said in a rather polite voice: "Now. I'll ask again. Did you kill her?" The man too her left was wearing middle class clothing, and was wearing bloodied leather gloves. He had dark greyish brown hair, and has a scar going down his face. In his right hand was a small knife, "I can take his eye out, if you want Colonel." "No!" screamed the man. He was imperial in his late twenties with short dark brown hair and rough facial features, sitting chained to the wall behind him with his hands held wide above his head. "I was only passing by when I saw the body. I only went forth to check if she was still alive." he whimpered. "I'll take his tongue." Said the torturer, moving closer to the victims face. The man looked at first surprised at what they would target next but then began to thrash in an attempt to make sure the man wouldn't be able to grab his face. "Now now don't be difficult." He gave a laugh and said deadpanly: "Your dealing with the competent part of the Oculatus" Lilly snarled "And what's that supposed to mean major Infernus?" she glanced at the prisoner once again "You better confess while you have the chance. And the ability to speak." "But you wont be able to get anything if you cut out my tongue, now will you?" the man said, his voice hinting at an attempt of defiance but mostly just trembling with fear. The major slashed at his chest lightly with his knife. "Erghhnnn!" the man whimpered. "What do you want to know?" "Who hired you?!" Lilly grabbed his head and sent a small shock through his body. "Some fancy fella. His name was A - something." "I want a ******* name!" she increased the shock. Lilly was a physician by trade, so she knew how much damage she could inflict. If she needed to she could simply heal him up. "Aaaaaaa - something! Something ending with ias or ian. He lives on Ruby Street." "His family name was Adour or Ador!" She contained to shock him, "Give me a name." "His family name was Adour or Ador!" "It's ever one or the other!" she said increasing the shock. "I don't remember how it was properly pronounced!" the man cried. "You better know how to pronounce it." She increased it to almost lethal levels. "Adur!" he shouted briefly before passing out. Infernus gave a disapproving sigh, "You could have used a truth potion." Lilly laughed "Were would the fun be?" "You make me sick." Infernus replied. "Dismissed major." she sad without another word. The Oculatus officer let out a sigh, putting on his grey overcoat as he left the interrogation room and closing the door behind him. Karsh, who had been sitting by the bars and looking in, glided down onto Lilly's shoulder. "You think you can guess the person he was talking about?" "It's that shit head Adrian. We were right!" Lilly said almost triumphant. "Guess so. Still going to question that drugged drunkard?" "Come now. We need to be professional." "And does that mean we're going to follow every lead or go torture Adrian?" "What's your opinion?" "Well what I would want is for you to cut out the eye on the unconscious fella here and give it to me, I'm feeling peckish. Though if you want to be thorough about the case, then you should go and see what Zedrick has to say." "I'll have Helen feed you extra. If she actually comes home tonight. She's spending an awful lot of time at the imperial palace over her work hours." "Brrllp." it sounded like when Karsh put out his tongue in an attempt to make a farting sound. "So much for a snack. Lets go see Zedrick then." "Helen spoils you stop complaining." she said as she left the room "You'll get fat." "I'll never get fat. Just... cuddly." "You' won't be able to fly." "I will. Anyway, are you going to let the guards see me?" She castes an invisibility spell, "Your just a bloody raven. It's not like they can hear you." "No one but you can hear me. That's why I didn't ask for a muffle spell." "No, but I don't think's it necessary for you to remain invisible most of the time." "Boss prefer it this way though." "Whatever." She paused before asking, "You think he could do it?" "Who do what? Adrian murdering Maressa?" "Yeah." "I think I've said my opinion on it: probably. Though if he did indeed hire the thug, then it's even more likely. Big question is how and if he knew that Abigail had pointed him out as a suspect." "Could have been a dirty watchman." "Maybe. But lets see what Zedrick has to say first." "Good guard or bad guard routine?" "Start by explaining the situation and then go bad guard if he doesn't understand." "I hate drug users..." she said with an angry voice. "They taste a bit strange too." "You've eaten them before?" "Found a couple of dead ones in Bravil. Lying on the ground in some backstreet with at least one empty skooma bottle next to each of them." "What do humans taste like?" She asked curiously. "Like... meat, I guess. I find that most meat taste pretty much the same when it's raw and has begun to rot." "That's anticlimatic." She said, walking along the dreary corridors of the dungeon. "Is your master busy?" she asked. "He's up in the palace. So not that busy, I think. Why are you wondering?" "I want to have some fun with him later." "I'm sure that as long as nothing big crisis happens up, you'll get what you want." She smirked, "Servant girls are so easy to have: all you do is flirt, remind them who you are, and they end up on bed with you. Lord snow Strider is a different beast." "Right." said Karsh with an indifferent tone. "Not that I really understand you and your human mating habits." "How do you ravens approach mates?" "You show off that your capable. Skilled flyer, hunter, thief, that you're cunning and such to show that you can take care of yourself and any offspring." "So no seduction?" "Not really. We're not like those twittering, twattering, stupid, little songbirds. We show that we can actually get something done." "That's... really boring. Any same gender relationships among ravens?" She was referring to the stigma. Though it was far less of an issue here in Cyrodiil then High Rock. A serious relationship was frowned upon greatly in the nobility. "I guess they exist. Never met such a pair though." "*** ravens." "What?" said Karsh in a confused tone. "Never mind." she said with a smirk. It took awhile to reach the entrance of the prison where a guardsman sat at a desk with a big open book, a record over the inmates. Lilly approached a guardsman. "Were has Zedrick been transferred?" The guard made a quick salute, "The drugged drunk? He's in one of the high class cells on the third floor." "How has he been treated?" "We've had to tell him to shut up when he shouted gibberish. But other than that: nothing." "No interrogations?" "No. We thought you wanted to do it yourself." "Hmmm, do you know where the sergeant who brought him in is?" "I think he's in the Talos Plaza district doing an inspection. Want to send someone to get him?" "If you don't mind." "Yes, sir." said the guard, got out of the chair and gave another quick salute before heading out the door to yell after the nearest guard. Lilly began to make her to the third floor. "Mark my words magpie. I'll make Abigail's killer pay tenfold." "Well you've already given him quite a shock." said Karsh. "And it's not magpie, it's raven." "Your both annoying black birds?" "Ravens are completely black. Unlike magpies that are also white. And smaller. And weaker. And dumber." "Then they most be real stupid, if there dumber then you." "I'm not dumb. If I'm dumb then your dumber." "No you're dumb." Lilly replied slightly annoyed. "No you're dumb." Karsh also responded with. "Your the dumbest person in Tamriel." "Then you're an idiot." "I'm the spymaster. You're a glorified messenger bird." "I'm not. And if you keep going I'm telling boss." "Aww, is the little bird's feelings hurt?" "You'll see, I'll tell on you." "By the way." She took something out of her pocket, a small piece of paper, and help it up to the raven, "I heard from Major Infernus that some girls at school were giving little Helen some trouble. Since if I acted, I would probably end up breaking there noses. I want you to find and torment them when you the time." "Why should I do this for you? And what is this paper for?" "You're doing it for Helen, since she feeds you all day. And this is a list of the names of those girls." "Though you're the one asking for it. Right after calling me an 'over-glorified messenger bird'." "Fine. Go back to eating carcasses. I'll throw you out, it's my food your eating anyway." "I want an apology." "Then go back to eating fourth rate fat, instead of the four times a day, go back to one." "Boss fed me before and will do so again. You'll just make Helen more lonely by kicking me out and her bullies will go unpunished." "I could of course, just tell your master you're being highly incontinent. He doesn't care about Helen at all, but he certainly cares about getting into my pants." "Is an apology that hard?" "Your an animal." "I'm still a sentient and thinking person. More than can be said of some humans." "I'm not apologizing." She turned around, before saying, "Back to work." She started tapping her feet impatiently, "Were the hell is the sergeant." "On the other side of the city. If what that guard said is correct. And given how slow you humans are; I doubt he'll be here for a while." They reached the third floor. "I'll try to be polite. Though we should have just thrown him into the deepest, darkest, dampest, cell in the dungeon." Lilly said. "It's not my fault they allow people to pay for not being underground." She approached his cell before telling the raven, "Go fly around for a little. I need concentration to break this scum bag." "In here?" asked Karsh in disbelief. "Can't I just sit on the floor?" "Just promise not to talk to me." "Like if I can to when sitting on the floor. I'll be in the corner of the cell, so don't trample me." Lilly opened the cell and as she did she felt the weight disappear from her shoulder as Karsh jumped down and silently landed on the floor. The room wasn't much, quite small and it only had a simple wooden bed with a used, but clean mattress and pillow on it along with a simple wooden chair and tiny round table next to the barred window. Zedrick was laying in the bed locking up at the roof. He wore simple commoners clothing and only gave Lilly a quick glance before looking back up at the roof. "Alright listen here scum bag. Civil liberties disappeared when you entered into this building." "That's a bit harsh for only being in possession of a little skooma." he said in a plain tone, still looking up at the roof. "Drugging a prostitute, resisting law enforcement and the possible murder of a noble seems pretty serious to me." "She took it herself. And I haven't killed anyone." "You were at a party that you weren't invited too recently, weren't you?" "True. But I still didn't kill anyone. And if I had, I was making too much of a show of myself for it to have gone unnoticed." "We both know the effects of Skooma." She channelled a fear spell into him, as she slammed her fist near his face, "Tell me or I'll personally torture you myself." His eyes opened wide as he face turned to that of a slight mix of shock and fear. "I did not kill anyone. I crashed the party to have a little fun, that's all." "Who supplied you the skooma?: She asked, slightly interested. "What has that to do with the murder?" "An elder councilers daughter was murdered at that party you attended. You were intoxicated." "A bit, yes. But I did not kill her." "That's not what I heard." She increased the power of the fear spell, "I heard you were completely out of your mind." She adapted a sinister smile. "I was just being a bit loud. I'm sure the other guests can testify that I didn't kill anyone." he almost squeaked in a low voice. "I dont know. I don't think anyone would be sad if you mysteriously vanished anyway." then she leaned down and whispered into his ear, "Tell me. Who sold you the skooma." "W - What does that have to do with the murder?" She whispered, "If you killed someone under the effect, the dealer would partially be the cause of it as well." "But I did not kill her. And I wasn't that intoxicated. I didn't even start a fight." "Or." she softly said, in an almost kind voice. She was now casting a weak calm spell, just enough to make him comfortable to speak, "Maybe you didn't. But maybe the person who did was like you. Under the influence." "What makes you think that?" "It's a possibility." She started to channel the fear spell again, "Now, I'll ask one last time before I bring Oculatus interrogation experts in here. Who sold you the skooma?" "A man named Caius." "What did he look like?" "He has a big brown moustache and I think he is also bald, or has very little hair." "Are you sure?" "I'm pretty sure." She grinned, she increased the power of the fear spell, "Your not lying to me are you?" "N-N-No." "Are you sure?" she whispered softly but also a bit sinisterly. "Y-Yes." Lilly smiled, "Good. Behave now boy." she left the cell and closed the door. She heard a light squawk behind her. "I knew that damn merchant was shady I knew it." Karsh simply squawked again. He was still invisible and the only thing showing Lilly where he was was his beak poking at Lilly's leg. Lilly gently picked him up and placed the bird on her shoulder. "So how did you know it?" said Karsh into her ear. "He looked a bit too smug. Turns out the bastard is a skooma dealer." "I heard that part. So what now?" "We wait for the sergeant." "What about Caius and Adrian? Not going to do anything till the sarge shows up?" "Adrian seemed so sure of himself. Like he wasn't going to flee and thought he had all of his bases covered. The merchant on the other hand, a I said, an odd man. Maybe we should send some watchmen to apprehend them?" "Well it's your call. We'll probably get done sooner if you do." She went to a guardsmen who was standing at the edge of the corridor, looking to be half asleep from just standing at the same spot, and told him the order. Lilly also stating to be extra rough if they didn't comply with the order. She went back to the entrance of the prison and went out side where she had a good view over most of the courtyard. She leaned against the wall next to the prison entrance door and waited.

The Brothers Horn-Hand, Kynesgrove Late Evening "How are you feeling?" Mivanu smiled at Gjoring. He was in bed and had been asleep for the last couple of hours. She had watched him, looking for signs of complications. He seemed fine, all things considered, but her heart rate increased every time he made a move. How quickly he had fallen into the bed when they arrived said much about how far he had gone to hide his injury to his brother. Or maybe it was because of Knot-Beard and Cidius. She had seen him put his hand over his wound every time he thought no one were looking. "Fine, how are you?" Gjoring gave her a wink and a smile. "Don't 'fine' me, you bastard!" her voice rose uncontrollably and she had to put away the desire to hit him in the chest. "You're wounded, you n'wah! And you keep pretending it is not serious!" "But it is not," Gjoring just continued to smile. "I'm still mostly alive and neither you or Jurik got hurt. I call that as good an outcome as any." "You're infuriating..." ** "What do you think they're talking about?" Cidius raised an eyebrow as the others heard that Mivanu shouted. It was hard to say exactly what she had said, over the other patrons in the bar. Jurik shrugged. "I dunno. My brother is probably driving her mad with his eternal optimism. Wouldn't be the first time." "How'd they end up together anyway?" the Colovian scratched his head. "What? A Nord and a Dark Elf can't have a thing?" it was Jurik's turn to raise his brow. It was, admittedly, not the first time he had encountered that question, but he refused to acknowledge that there was anything to question about it. "Nono, I didn't mean it like that!" Cidius backpedaled. "I just... it just didn't strike me as the most... common... never mind..." "I think what Cidius means is their personalities fight more than a pair of sabrecats," Roggi interjected. He took a swig of his mead, and wiped the excess from his beard with the back of his hand. Jurik just shrugged again. "Hell, I dunno. Never understood that part." He rubbed the ridge of his nose and got to his feet. "I'm calling it for tonight. Yell if something happens." "So..." Cidius hesitated as he looked to Roggi, while Jurik made his way to his room. He hoped he wouldn't get another lecture about loss. "Know any good stories from around here? Never spent much time in Skyrim." "If there's a story to be told about Skyrim, I know it," Roggi said, as he moved over to a chair by the hearth. "What kind do you want? Scary, funny, love, I know them all." "Anything to take my mind off Gjoring and father..." Cidius mumbled. Instead of waiting for Roggi to ask what he had said, he raised his voice again and continued. "What about a story of Ysgramor? Might as well start at the beginning, with war, magic and blood. Seems fitting." Roggi stretched out, popping the fingers on his hands before shifting his attention to the story. He closed his eyes momentarily, as he looked for a place to start. "Every Nord has heard the tale of the Nigh of Tears, when Snow Elves sacked, murdered and mutilated the city of Saarthal. Ysgramor and his two sons, Ylgar and Yngol, barely escaped with their lives. Surely you have heard of this, yes?" "Not any more fleshed out than that," Cidius shook his head. "We were never big on Skyrim's history in my family. And, I have to admit, I wasn't thought many nice things about your people. Barbarians and savages, only worth anything to society as Imperial Legionnaires. I was very nervous when I heard we were going to Skyrim, and then I realized how full of shit my parents had been. Sorry, I'm rambling." "Ah, so you won't know the story of Yngol. Good. Yngol was the greatest Atamoran blacksmith, crafting Wuuthrad, Ysgramor's axe, from the ebony tears Ysgramor wept. So cunning a commander was Yngol, that he defeated enemies before they could even take the field of battle. He was part of the Five Hundred Companions, but never made it back from Atamora. A fierce storm took the Five Hundred, and shook them and tossed them, their boats nothing but play things to the gods. But first light beheld that vengeful fleet intact, save for Yngol's longship. Most stories never say what happened to Yngol's ship in the Sea of Ghosts, for lack of any survivors. But my father told a tale, that his father told him, that his father told him, that his father told him, that our ancestors survived Yngol's fearful ride in the ghostly sea. Ysgramor found Yngol's ship, washed ashore, his son dead. The story my father told says that my ancestor, from old Atamora, was among Yngol's crew, but his body was never found. In truth, it was because he survived, but was washed ashore elsewhere, and so the Companions never found him." Clearing his throat, and taking another drink of mead, Roggi shifted his weight around on the chair. He wanted to be comfortable for the rest of the tale. "Some people claim the Nords and Imperials both come from Atmora, that Skyrim is the 'fatherland' of men," Cidius mumbled. He wasn't entirely sure if that was true or not, he was no historian. Was as plausible as anything to his mind, it was so long ago it didn't really matter anymore. "Right. Now, with this is where the real story starts. Yngol's ship was swept away, and when the rain and fog and waves calmed and disappeared, they found a strange island before them. It appeared on no maps, and no one had ever heard of an island nearby. Some suggested for was Solstheim, but that was dismissed when they realized that no land was in sight, such is the case on Solstheim. Others suggested it was Sovngarde, until they grew closer. The mountain was a hellscape, molten lava and poisonous gas leaking on to the surface. Half the expedition sent on land was killed by that, while the other half barely escaped the monstrous creatures that assailed them from the shadows. The survivors bore poisonous claw marks and peeling, blistered skin. Yet no one ever saw the beasts, just the screams of the hurt and dying. At that point, there were barely enough sailors to man the ship, and they set off. But they had barely made it out of sight of the island when a fog beset them, this time so thick that they nearly bashed against mountain sized icebergs, men thrown overboard as the glanced off the floating death traps, yet Yngol and his men labored on. I can see from your face you're skeptical, yet what I tell you is fact. Whether they actually saw these things, or rather the ghosts made them see visions and throw themselves into the ocean, that we'll never know. But as the fog cleared, so it goes, they found themselves back at the island. Somehow they'd gone in a circle. Yngol, being the clever man he was, decided to try again, but this time as the fog enveloped them, he turned around and failed back towards where they'd come. Via some strange magic, or devilry, it worked, and they sailed free. It made no difference, however, as soon they were all thrown overboard by a whirlpool, but they escaped the island. The boat washed ashore, with Yngol still at the helm, though his head twisted around from the force of the water. Never has a captain manned the tiller longer than the son of Ysgramor. After discovering his dead son, Ysgramor slew a hundred beasts, and sacrificed them for his son. So ends the tale of what really happened to Yngol." "Well, Nord stories are often good, but just as often lies. Well, exaggerations, really. This was what? 4 thousand years ago? Whose to say what really happened?" Cidius smiled at Roggi, not wanting there to be any hostility over this. He didn't mention it, not wishing a debate, but he felt much the same way about the stories of the slave rebellion. Gods granting, not one, but several mortals power to free themselves? He guessed it wasn't impossible, but it always struck him as far more likely that it was a long and bloody rebellion, with cunning and ruthless leaders who knew to seize on mythbuilding. Roggi shrugged and gave a smirk. "Well, my father never said he believed it, but it makes a good drinking tale. And even better one to tell around a campfire. I can do this howling trick with my voice, and that really sets the spine to tingling." "Yeah, that it does. You Nords sure have a lot of them. Come on, give me another one, Storyteller." "Greedy today, aren't we?" Roggi said with a chuckle. He seemed to stare off, thumbing the knot in his beard as he racked his brain for another tale. "Well, here's one I think you'll like. Do you know why only giants herd mammoths?" "For their amazing cheese?" Cidius said sarcastically. Someone had offered him a bit once, back in Cyrodiil. Imported it. Tasted like... well, it didn't belong in his stomach, that was for sure. The Nord smirked. "What, you don't like mammoth cheese? Mores the pity, because it's delicious. "Now, back to the story. Giants are Nordic cousins, we both came from Atmora, but we got smaller while they got bigger. When we arrived, we both steered clear of the mammoths, for they are temperamental beasts, and dangerous. Their thick hides protect them from arrows, and should you get close enough to use a sword, you best watch out for their tusks. I've heard tales of them taking down a dozen men." "No wonder, huge as they are. How'd the Giants become mammoth herders then?" "Well, first they grew giant because of the Sleeping Tree sap. Some'll say that the tree didn't come until later, but they don't know anything. It was here all along, and drinking it made the giants giant. Then they decided they needed mounts. That was why they tamed them, to ride. When everything is smaller than you, it's no fun to mess with, so the giants decided to hop on the back of the mammoths and take em for a ride. Eventually, the hairy beast for used to the giants, and now they're stuck with big, smelly cheese makers." "I've seen some of that stuff on sale in the Imperial City. Heard its nasty stuff. Tree sap... sounds more Bosmer to me than Giant," Cidius rubbed the ridge of his nose. Then he chuckled. "Well, thanks for the story. I'm going to bed now." As the Imperial got to his feet, Mivanu got out of her and Gjoring's room. She looked around for Jurik for a moment, but when she didn't see him, she headed in Roggi's direction instead. On her way she passed by Cidius, who gave her a polite nod, which she returned. "Hey, anything fun going on out here?" the dunmer took Cidius' empty street, calling for a bottle of mead of her own. She had developed a taste for the stuff in her travels with the Horn-Hands. Roggi finished off his own bottle of mead, and motioned for another as well. "Just telling stories. And it's a good thing Cidius left too. I was running out, after the ones I told on the trip." "I thought you Nords never ran out of stories," Mivanu protested, with a wink and a smile. "So, who do you think told the truth about our last job? Me or Gjoring?" Roggi smirked back. "Honestly, neither of you. Unless you guys were just holding back at the last place. I didn't see any invisibility options, and while Jurik and Gjoring were good, they weren't that good." "Good, 'cause it was all bullshit," Mivanu laughed. "We came upon a small bandit camp in the courtyard of an old fort. They were dead before they even could react much to us, since they had been sleeping and their lookout was drunk. Usually Jurik tells the true tale at the end of the night, but, yeah, didn't end up that way." "I can see why he didn't. Killing men that are asleep isn't exactly the most exciting tale. Boring, really." "Yeah. Good pay though. Some merchant wanted them dead. Caused him some trouble. We like to tell more than one version of what happened, as people get drunker. And so people remember different stories. Ah, fun times." "Any idea what's next? I'd like to stick with you guys, if you don't mind." "H'Reni says we should go to the Rift, after we return to the contractor," the catman seemed to appear out of nowhere. When Mivanu raised an eyebrow at his suggestion, he continued. "Lots of bandits in the Rift these days, my friends told me. We surely would find someone wishing them gone. This one is sure of it." "Hunting bandits? Beats hunting necromancers," Mivanu mumbled. "This one agrees." "I'm with you two. Plus, Black-Briar meadery is in Riften, and they have the best mead in all of Skyrim. Needless to say, it's worth looking forward too," Roggi said with a smile. "I'll go ask Jurik what he thinks. Gjoring is asleep," Mivanu added the last line as H'Reni was about to open his mouth. ** The creature was small and ugly, standing only a few feet tall. Its legs were hairy, but the rest was naked. Claws and fangs, pointed ears. Vicious little eyes, glaring up at him, as if it wanted to attack him. The scamp didn't do anything though, other than breathe heavily and sniff the air. Knock. Knock. The Horn-Hand brother let the creature fade away, back to Oblivion, before he hastily reached for a book on the nightstand. Knock. Knock. "Come in!" he raised his voice. "Hey," Mivanu said, looking confused around the room. "Did you hear something just now? Sounded like a big rodent or something." "Nah," Jurik shrugged. "So, what did you want?" "H'Reni..." Mivanu began, but she was cut off by Jurik. "You want the catman? My brother ain't exotic enough for you?" the Nord chuckled. Mivanu just rolled her eyes. "H'Reni suggested we'd go to the Rift when we've talked to our contractor. Said there'd be a lot of bandits we could hunt. What are you reading anyway?" "Oh, this?" Jurik held up the book. "The Wolf Queen. All the parts in one. Found it in the drawer. Maybe I'm just a cynic, but it strikes me as strange to say Potema was wholly evil, as some have. From this book, at least, she doesn't seem to be any more evil than any other ambitious noble. Which is to say quite evil, but you know. History is written by the victor and all of that. Sure, going the the Rift could be a good idea. Better than going to the Reach, anyway." ** "So..." H'Reni couldn't seem to find the right words to get a conversation going with Roggi. "You're an adventurer too, huh? Like the Horn-Hands?" Roggi asked. He had a lot of practice at small talk, and didn't mind striking up a conversation with a stranger. "Of course not, this one is an assassin," H'Reni smirked. "This one was sent to deal with the necromancer leader. Then this one got unlucky and tied up, waiting to become undead." "How did they catch you?" Roggi asked. "You look like you can handle yourself pretty well, after all." "H'Reni got unlucky. Some of the bastards caught this one when skulking in the shadows. Not a lot of room to move." "So you'll be sticking with us then? Even though you seem more of a lone wolf, er, tiger kind of guy?" "Of course. You people saved H'Reni's life. I'll protect yours in turn. And I have friends who knows things. Like that there will be a lot of work for skilled mercs in the Rift soon." "Sounds like we'll have plenty to keep us busy. And good thing too, or Gjoring might challenge me to a drinking contest every night until he beats me. I get the sense they don't do too much sitting around." "H'Reni thinks the wounded Nord was wounded enough in his pride too," H'Reni chuckled. ** "You don't think Potema was evil?" Mivanu had sat down on the side of the bed. Jurik closed the book and threw it over to the pillow. "But she nearly tore the Empire apart with her ambition." "Well, sure, but isn't that kinda what royals do? Fight over the throne, I mean. And then uses that fight to **** everyone below them. So, yeah, **** Potema, **** the Septims, **** the Medes, blah, blah, blah. Rulers are all the same, too high and mighty to look at what the mere commoners will lose for their ambition." "You think Ulfric shouldn't have rebelled then? Let Skyrim remain an Imperial Privince?" Mivanu looked skeptically at him. He knew her family had been staunchly anti-Imperial since before the Septims died out. Some of their upbringing must have stuck, despite everything else. "No," Jurik sighed and shook his head. "At least now I'm free to honor whatever god I want. Gold nugget in a pitcher of shit, I guess. And all that shit is soaked in the blood of Skyrim's people." "You have... strange metaphors." "It's the only honest way to put it all." "Eh, you're right about that," Mivanu laughed. "A world full of people with blood soaked shit in pitchers are running the show. And some of them put golden nuggets in them. What a fine way to see the world. Do they have them on shelves?" "Nah, in their special trophy rooms. Must show it off to the rest of the world. Some pitchers even have fancy names, like "High King", and are adorned with a crown." *** Windhelm Noon "So, let me get this straight..." a Nibenese man, with a mixture of brown and grey hair loosely hanging around his head, frowned from Gjoring to Cidius. "You found necromancers in the ruin, but couldn't find a single of their artifacts to support your word, or for me to take of your hands?" "Um... Yes, that looks like the case," Gjoring scratched the back of his head. "So you didn't fulfill your end of the contract. Why are you bothering me about it then?" "This one would want a word," H'Reni stuck his hand into his pocket and drew out a crystalline gem. It looked a lot like some of the soul gems Jurik had seen, except it was jet black. Somehow he got an ominous feel from it. "I took this off the necromancer leader." "Is that..." their contractor reached out to take the gem, but the Khajiit pulled his hand away. "A Black Soul Gem, yes," the catman nodded with a grin. "If you want it, we want compensation for the man lost." "Out of the question! I will not be-" "Can H'Reni get a word in private, before something is said that will be regretted?" As the cat and the Imperial walked out of earshot, Jurik scratched his head. Where did that come from? He was sure he hadn't seen any gem on H'Reni, but that he could've overlooked. Who were this cats "friends"? That question nagged at the back of his mind. It seemed too coincidental that he'd try to get them to go to the Rift for work because of his "friends" and now thought he could settle this little dispute in private. H'Reni had been open enough about being an assassin. Dark Brotherhood, maybe? No, he didn't believe that. Or, maybe it could be if he just vanished one day soon, but unless that happened, Jurik couldn't think of a good reason for a brotherhood assassin to accompany them. He looked to Gjoring, who just shrugged. Mivanu scowled, while Cidius didn't look like he cared much for any of this. He looked quite bored, in fact. No, docile was the word. Like he was holding himself back. "Roggi?" Jurik said in the direction of their Kynesgrove man. Roggi shrugged as well. "Hey, so long as he gets us paid, I don't care if he takes the mage back to his bedroom. Maybe he knows something about the necromancers, too. He was their captive after all." "I guess," Jurik nodded slowly. Not what he had been wondering about, but if none of the others had anything to say, he had to admit that their very own pet drunk was unlikely to offer good insight. He sighed. That wasn't deserving of the man, to be thought of as such. Drunkard, yes, but brave. "Alright, this one has secured good pay for us all," H'Reni rejoined the others. Their contractor seemed to have lost some of his color. What in Oblivion had the cat told him?

Avitus Agrippa, Imperial City Outskirts, Late Afternnon, Avitus grumpily knocked on his commanding officer’s door. Avitus was busy looking into the missing legion resources, when word reached him of an attack on the Elven garden district, some kind of flesh monstrosity, a Daedra, or so the imperial legate was told. Even more troubling, he heard that the general was seriously injured during the rampage. Avitus may have had his…personal disagreements with General Martullus on several occasions, but he still considered him a close friend, a brother even. Clearing his throat, he spoke in a clear, polite, and precise tone of voice, trying his best to remain calm. “General Martullus, sir.†No response. He impatiently knocked even harder, saying once again, this time in a louder, more aggressive voice, “General!†Avitus, letting out a grunt of annoyance, tried opening the door by turning the doorknob, and to his surprise, succeeded. The heavy oak door opened with a slight creaking noise. As expected, the general wasn’t in his office. Glancing around, Avitus simply said “Meh.†Entering into the office, the legate examined the state the room was in. Surprisingly enough, General Martullus’s office was tidy and well-organised, with a certain cleanness lingering on the walls. The second legions headquarters, Fort Bael, had actually been constructed quitey recent, so there were no visible signs of structural decay. The thing that caught Avitus’s attention immediately was the sealed envelope neatly sitting on the General’s desk. Since the general had turned him into his glorified mall sorter as of late, Avitus felt little guilt grabbing the letter, and tearing the official imperial legion wax seal off to reveal the content’s of the document. The letter was in fact written by the General evident by the familiar hand writing and, was addressed to Avitus; it read, Legate Avitus Cornelius Agrippa, Second Legion, Forgive me for telling you this on such short notice my friend, and not in person. As you are most likely not well aware of, the entire imperial city is about to go to oblivion. Not only has a giant flesh atronarch attacked the elven garden district, I have received word from one of my friends in the Occultus that High Rock has officially seceded from the Empire ( PS: Some thing about the Empress corrupting and make Lorgar and Tulluis crazy (LULZ), some really insulting letter from the Empress (Which you find a dozen sent to me every day, right), some thing about her not treating him properly (We don’t get too much respect right?), just a whole lot of something. That fat pig had some serious…beef with us…get it?) Avitus rolled his eyes, and continued reading, The official word is going to reach High-General Ceno soon enough, ever by messenger or the Legate formerly in charge of the imperial forces in High Rock , but regardless, I somehow doubt people are going to take it well. Along with the fact that a monster just ate a bunch of citizens, the people are going to be in a state of shock. An emergency meeting of the elder council will be called; leading to Arkay’s knows what. In any case, I’ve left for Fort Solomon to meet with General Retrius (Don’t worry. Were not plotting to overthrow the Empress or something diabolically evil, just readying ourselves for the worse), and put Legate Aurelia in charge in my absence of the Second Legion with standing orders to deploy into the city to assist Imperial Watch forces in restoring order the moment riots break out (Which I know they will) . STOP!!! Before you get angry at me, for not leaving my second in charge (AKA you), I have my reasons. Mainly you’ll be in Bruma (Road trip!!!) Fort Winterfang (Funny name right?) one of our most distant outposts, has gone dark for several months. No reports, no letters sent, zip. I would have sent men to investigate sooner, but with all this shit happening, haven’t had much time as of late. Can’t delay this anymore. As far as I’m aware, the eighth is to be busy with drills for an investigation, and the fort is manned by second legion personnel, so this is going to be strictly an in-house matter. Do not inform any other imperial officials about your mission. (feeling shady yet?) The soldiers could have deserted. Been eaten alive by the frost trolls, or slaughtered by some over zealous nords. The area around the fort is pretty…wild, the most north-eastern part of the province, \ near the Skyrim-Cyrodili border. Which opens the possibility of Stormcloak involvement. Avitus’s knuckle’s dug into the piece of paper, and anger filled his being at the mention of the Nords armed force So remember, we don’t want a national incident. If it is Stormcloaks, which I highly doubt, I expect you to handle the situation with a cool and clear head. If it isn’t, feel free to go in with sword and shield blazing. I have every confidence of your ability to complete this assignment with flying colors. Regarding the missing imperial funds you told me about early, I’ll personally investigate the matter once I get back, and inform you of my findings, when your back, that is. Take two Contubernium’s with you, nothing more. -Sincerely, You’re Friend, General Flarion Martullus, Second Legion. Avitus scanned the piece of paper once more, rereading it a second time. Pratically seething with rage, Avitus’s face contorted, as he shouted, “******* hell…†********* Later that day "Do you really have to go Daddy?" Adela Agrippa hugged her fathers leg tightly with her tiny hands, digging her small face into his leg. Avitus placed his broad arms around the little imperial girl, hugging her , “I’m sorry honey. But daddy needs to, it’s his job.†The girl’s dark brown eyes shined with sadness, as she looked up, “But daddy, I wont have anyone to play with!. Or read me stories, or tuck me in.†Avitus glanced at the heavily armoured soldier beside him, Prefect Wulf Steel-shatter. Normally, Avitus wouldn’t trust the well-being of his daughter to a nord, but the Prefect had proven time after again that he was one of Avitus’s best soldiers. Avitus tussled her hair, kissing her on the brow, "I'll miss you, Adela. Be a good girl now." He paused, before saying, "For me? I'll be able to focus on my work." Adela warmly smiled, hugging him with more vigor then before, "Dont worry daddy, i'll be good." Avitus returned it, "I know you will." As, the legion officer drew away, suddenly the girl grip became tighter. Her face became withdrawn, as she asked in a shy voice, "Daddy...you'll return, right? You'll come back, unlike Mommy?" Avitus face went blank, as he patted her on the head, "I'll be back. I promise."

Falkreath "Nordic Carved or iron, I can still kill game. They can't take that from me, can you, Fire-Hand? Red-Snow?" No answer came to Aki Thunderblade except the crackle of his campfire. The fat rabbit he chucked a woodcutting axe at turned out to only be fat in the amount of fur it had. The rest was lean muscle, which was not what Aki needed in his time of depression. The braids in his hair had long since unraveled in favor of the shaggy appearance it now took. Wild like the untamable Reach he now resided in. Mouth filled with roasted game, Aki's eyes were blind to the beauty of Skyrim's dazzling skies, it's purple ribbons flowing like enchanted rivers. To Aki, it could all be piss and shit, and he'd feel just about the same. Speaking of piss and shit, Aki was about to do just that until he heard what sounded like thunder coming from somewhere North, but when he looked up, paying attention to the skies finally, he saw no clouds. He was in the woods, but in the Reach's rocky terrain, the trees were sparse, allowing him to see clearly a few leagues away. His time in the Stormcloaks told him that wasn't thunder after all, making the seasoned soldier quickly kill his fire and stow away what was left of the rabbit in his small pack before the smoke drew too much attention from whoever was coming. Luckily, it was rather dark despite the stars out, so it was unlikely anyone noticed the smoke from where they were in relation to Aki, but he took no chances traveling out here during a war. He knew the danger of coming out here, but that's exactly why he came. The High General may have kicked him out of the Stormcloaks, but a Nord never stopped being a soldier, and Stormcloaks never truly stopped being Stormcloaks. He crept his way forward until he got to the roads, then rolled around in the mud of a riverbank before crawling his way up the hill a few yards from the stone pavement near some bushes to watch who passed by. *** "****," said Daric, watching the roads from a trail up a rocky hill. Below him, he could make out almost a dozen score of Forsworn boldly marching their way on the open road, something he was sure they'd have been either too smart or cowardly to attempt. Yet here they were. He made himself not think about Baldur for the majority of the trip, though repeatedly telling yourself not to think about something wasn't exactly accomplishing the goal. But he couldn't help but wish that he was here now, with this crowd of ruffians scurrying about. Turning to the man he still struggled to think of as father, he said, "We're going to have to wait for them to get further ahead of us. These mountains and hills restrict our path. We'll have to try sneaking." Daric eyed the armor his father wore... the same armor he was quick to make fun of now seemed so impressive. But it wouldn't help them here if the noise revealed their location. At least it was almost impossible to see in the shroud of night. Sir Maric started to nod, but thought better of any extraneous movements. Looking down at the Reachmen, he was surprised at just how many there were. He'd fought Forsworn before, during his first time in Skyrim. But even a someone who'd never visited could tell this was unnatural. "Right. Or we could wait them out. We don't risk drawing any attention that way." Daric didn't say anything for a while, evidently choosing the latter. "They just keep coming. They've gotta stop coming sometime though... this is something the Stormcloaks will want to know about. If only we had a horse, or maybe a means to distract them... Slow them down. Hey, who's that?" Daric stretched his arm out, pointing down by the road. "Am I seeing things, or can you see him there too?" Thomas' green-grey eyes followed Daric's arm. Sure enough, a man, or someone, was hunkered down beneath a bush. He was smart, that much was sure. He'd covered himself in mud and was covered by that bush, but anyone scanning the mountainside from above could make him out. From below, however, the Forsworn would never see him. "Well, we could use him. Or could just wait. Even with them being natives, two move faster than twenty," Sir Maric said, though he wasn't altogether sure they could outpace the Reachmen. "You know, I'd hate to give the man up, but there's a chance that we end up stuck here if we wait as well... It's dark. If we chuck rocks maybe, get someone's attention and make them look in his direction..." "Poor bastard. He never did anything. Wrong place and time, I suppose. But more good men will die if we don't." The knight picked up a fist sized rock, gripped it tight, and threw it. It arched over the heads of the unsuspecting Forsworn, and landed with a thud a foot from the hidden man. Talos keep me. Aki's leg was cramping, a twig rested uncomfortably against his ballsack, and his hand was resting firmly on an ant's nest, but despite the excruciating pain, the Nord managed to stay still. What choice did he have? The pain was comforting in a way, or so he tried to say, comforting himself with bullshit. But it did give him something else to focus on besides how dangerously close he was to the swarm of Forsworn making their way deeper into the Reach. Fuuuck!! Quiting with the bullshit, Aki quickly rolled his hand around in the dirt and mud beneath him to try and get rid of the ants. No one seemed to notice the movement but at one point, Aki saw a woman crouch near his bush to piss, exposing hers. But luckily, someone shoved her out of the way and commanded her to keep moving. His luck ended there however, when the aforementioned stone came hurtling its way towards his leg. He didn't feel the pain due to his leg being asleep, but that didn't stop some of the Forsworn from turning their heads at the noise. Aki froze, even more than he already had if that was possible. Holding his breath, Aki closed his eyes, gripping his woodaxe tight and cursing whatever loose stone tumbled down from the hills above. And then another stone fell, this time on the hand once covered in ants. He yelped in surprise and this time, someone did notice the movement. "Hey, stop! Somethin's over 'ere!" Called a young girl, likely no older than fifteen. She wouldn't get much older than that, as Aki's axehead soon found the soft braintissue beneath her thick curly blonde hair. The two men closest to him had the neck flesh torn from them before they could react, and suddenly there was chaos as the ex Necro Nord crawled his way through the mass of Forsworn in the night, tripping several times, but managing to make most of the way through the crowd due to the muck on him and the darkness. He almost managed to get out of there unscathed, but soon found a primitive bone spiked weapon ripping at his rags into his arm. By now, the swarm of Forsworn were closing on him all around. Ripping out the spike weapon and taking it in his off hand, Aki hacked at the face and throat of whoever got too close, not stopping to see if he killed who he struck at, being too busy with running and dodging ice spikes amongst the trees as the Forsworn pursued him with cries of "Spy!" and "Bastard enemy scout! Shove a stick up his ass!" "Let's go," Thomas said, making his way slowly along the ridge. He shuffled in a crouch, praying the screams of the dying hid his clanky armor. If they were discovered, he'd be more than thankful for the armor, but until then it was more a curse than a blessing. Thankfully, it was as black as the night, which made up for some of the noise. If anyone looked over, he could freeze, and they may not see him. Or so he prayed. Daric didn't wait too long after the killing started to leave. The man did much better than he expected, which was odd considering that even covered in mud and in the dark, he could tell the man was in what appeared to be farmer's clothes. He knew Nords liked to pretend that all of their citizens were seasoned fighters, but that was bullshit. Still, he didn't know how to explain what he saw. He was likely dead now though, no matter how lucky he started off. Thanks to him. He could feel guilty about it later. Right now, Daric was more concerned with not flipping over as he slid down the rocky hill, ignoring that someone might have heard his descent. There wasn't much time to play it safe, as the Forsworn could swarm the place very soon once they disposed of the farmer. He didn't and couldn't stop to see if his father was following him, only kee- "Oof!" "Hey, watch where you... Hey, who the hell are y-," Daric bumped directly into someone that Daric only guessed was a Forsworn before he rose up from the ground with a slice to the man's throat. If anyone was nearby, they might've heard the steel cutting through his bone and neckflesh, and the sounds of him choking on his own blood, but it was better than him alerting everyone to their presence. "Father? Father!" said Daric in harsh whisper. He'd lost sight of both the main road and the armor clad man in this darkness, and the sounds of approaching Forsworn was growing. Dammit, Daric. Sir Maric watched his son slit the man's throat, surprised how at ease he seemed with it. The boy wasn't averse to killing, so if push came to shove they may not be doomed. One Forsworn seemed to hear the man dying, and was beginning to move towards Daric. Thomas moved slowly, creeping around so he could get behind the Reachmen. Drawing his longsword would make too much noise, so he went with his hands. The knight sprung the chokehold just as the man spotted Daric. He struggled for a moment, but slowly slipped into unconsciousness as Sir Maric's arms clamped tight around his throat. All without too much noise, thank the gods. "Let's go," Thomas said, voice low, pushing his son towards the road, off to their left. "Yea," he said simply, heart still racing. He was glad that the man was a competent warrior. And something else. Proud. *** It was a little past dawn now, and although he was advised to rest by day, Daric felt an urgency to tell any body of Stormcloaks they could find what they saw. That and he wouldn't dare take the risk of the Forsworn catching up, especially with one of their own dead and another alive who saw them. The city of Markarth was visible now in the horizon as they crossed a bridge stretching over a mighty waterfall. Its rushing waters deafening their ears enough that he couldn't even make out the clink clank of his pa's armor. But even with the sight of Markarth's dominating presence, Daric couldn't help but keep looking at the strange man's face in his company. "It's kind of strange that we haven't encountered any Stormcloaks on the road yet. What the hell are they doing, sleeping?" Thomas didn't want to say it, but he was decidedly more worried about the lack of Stormcloaks. Especially given the ease at which the Forsworn walked the roads. His face showed the signs of his apprehension, although he didn't speak it. "We need to keep moving," he said, looking from the city to his son. He forced a smile. "It's probably nothing though. Maybe they just moved back to the city." Or forced back, or driven out, or killed. Daric looked to him again and said, "You say anything else beyond the obvious? 'Let's keep moving.' 'We should get going.' Do you... have a favorite food?" This time the smile was real, and Thomas shook his head playfully. "Sometimes the obvious isn't so obvious. You'd be surprised. But yes, I do have a favorite food. Pie. Meat pie, fruit pie, any kind of pie. High Rock has the best baker's in Tamriel. It's a wonder I don't grow fat. And you? Your favorite food?" "Mm... shrimp. And bear steak. And meatpie," said Daric grinning. "I just realized I'm hungry." "If we had time, we could get us a goat or a rabbit. Too bad, because I can make a mean rabbit stew." Sir Maric licked his lips savoring the fantasy. Changing the subject, he asked, "Where'd you learn to fight like that?" Daric's smile sank a bit. "You first." "My father. He was a knight, his father was a knight, going back generations. And now I'm the king's guard captain. Who knows, maybe you'll become a knight in your own right. The king's son is around your age. Twenty, I think, but already married. High Rock isn't big on love. I hurt more than a few feelings when I wouldn't marry," Sir Maric said. He regretted asking the question now, expecting that the general taught Daric. The fewer times he was brought up, the better. "You say you're a knight. What exactly does that mean? Would I have uphold some code or something?" Daric shook his head at the thought of that. "I don't know, heh. That's... not really me. As for where I learned to fight, I learned on the battlefield. That's the only place one really can learn. I've only really been in one real battle though." "An oath to protect the king, and his family, and the city of Camlorn. Knights in High Rock are the acting guards. City guards, nobles personal guards, things like that. You have to act with honor, integrity, character, of course. Though most knights see that as more of a suggestion than actual rules," Sir Maric said with a chuckle. "Surely even you could manage that." Daric smirked and said, "I guess. So long as it's merely a suggestion... Sounds like the Stormcloak oath more or less. Which, I guess is why I'm even bothering to report what we saw. It would be faster to take a path through the hills to Rorikstead, but..." "I understand. Duty bound to report it. It's why I haven't suggested we just leave. Every good soldier would want to report it," Thomas said with a smile of his own. "And anyway, we need some supplies. We kind of left in a hurry," added Daric. "Looks like we've made it," Daric said, pointing to a smoke stack. "Listen, we may run into a man here... huge guy by the name of General Brund. If we do, don't mention anything about Baldur or who you are. You're just an adviser of the Breton King, and I'm escorting you through the Reach to survey the Forsworn problem. To see if it still holds significant threat to your borders." Sir Maric nodded, though looked a little confused. "Supplies, a warm bed, and a roof will be nice. I'll let you take the lead, that way if we run into this other general you can do the talking." The warm bed and roof would not come as father and son soon saw. As they made their way further up the path, they heard the shouting of soldiers, and soon saw them stationed all around the front gate of the grand ancient city. All guard posts and towers were occupied, catapults were on standby, and tents dotted the area, as well as archers aiming at the top of the walls. Daric wondered where the war had gone, and evidently, it had once again come to the heart of the Reach. Markarth. Daric stood frozen, mouth agape and eyes wide. "What's going on? The Forsworn couldn't have taken the city, could they? How?" Scowling, the knight said, "They did it once. I'm sure they could have done it again. Hurry, we need to find this general and let him know the Forsworn are coming. Otherwise, he could easily be pinned between them and the walls." Daric took a glance around, then said, "Shouldn't be too hard." Pointing a finger off to a large tent, Daric marked out a large figure, silver plate shining in the Skyrim sun. On top of that, he could hear his angry shouting. Same old Brund. "That's him. I reckon that's Galmar he's talking with." As Daric and his father got closer, they could make out Brund's exchange. "A little longer, old man. They can hold on a little more." "What is the point? This is beginning to become an embarrassment, Brund! We can have those gates knocked down in an instant if..." "No! We handle this ourselves! I told you, this is exactly what I want!" Galmar gave him a cross look and said, "Now you're not making any sense again. What is going on in that head of yours, son?" "I'm not your son, old man. I can't tell you, but you need to listen to what I'm saying. I have a plan. The siege stays. I know we can get those gates down. We can do that right now if I wanted to. But we won't." Sir Maric wanted to slap the man, and no doubt this Galmar character would join him. This general wasn't making any sense. Why prolong a siege? Why waste the lives of those inside and out? But Thomas kept quiet, standing beside his son, as he looked over Brund. With his mohawk, scarred face, and angry disposition, he looked more like a Reachman than a Nord, even if he was a good deal taller than any Forsworn. He had the same ferocity though, and unrelenting bullheadedness, and that anyone could tell from his conversation. "What's going on, general?" asked Daric. Brund turned quickly, eyes wide. "Hmm? what do you want, runt? This is big boy talk and none of your business! Get... hey wait, you're Baldur's runt aren't you? What the hell are you doing here?" Daric's eyes narrowed. "I'm here to see how much you've been screwing up. And also to escort this Breton around the Reach to see how bad it's gotten. Their King wants to know if the Forsworn problem will get out of hand at their borders or not." Brund looked like he wanted to step on Daric. "I'm not screwing up, this is a part of my plan. Baldur knows about this foreigner? And he sent him here to gain information about our lands? Has he lost it?" Daric pointed a finger his way and said, "You're the one prolonging a siege apparently when you can end it now, general! What is that about?" Galmar stepped in, seeing Brund about to lose his patience. "Boy, watch who you're addressing before I put you in your place. You being Baldur's second does not mean you can address us as you please, got it?" It took every ounce of restraint, but Thomas managed not to respond to either general berating his son. But, he stepped in on behalf of his king. "No, the boy has no right to question either of you. But High General Red-Snow does, and he," Thomas pointed at Daric, before replacing his hands behind his back, "is here for the general. And I'm here for King Adrard. I'm Sir Thomas Maric." "You drawing this war out affects us, and needless to say, my king is concerned for our borders. You should know, General Brund, that I've been in these lands before. This boy," it pained Thomas to refer to his son like that, but he needed to keep the disguise up, "was a mere curtesy. I traveled here in my youth, and know the roads well enough." Brund spat towards Maric's feet. "Piss on your king! This is none of your concern, glorified babysitter. Bugger off while I have word with the boy." "Huh, and I was beginning to think Nords weren't uncivilized after all. Why don't you take that axe of yours and cut your tongue off, it'll serve you and your country better. You can grunt out orders, like a beast," Thomas said, and spat back. Brund gave a whistle, alerting a group of nearby soldiers, then said, "Are you going to leave, or am I going to have to make you leave, shortcake? I'd do it myself... but then, with all that armor on, you might be foolish enough to think you could take me. And then I'd have to kill you." "There will be no killing from either of you. I'll see to that myself," added Galmar, hand on his hammer pommel." Daric turned to his father, giving him a nod. Brund could be a big baby, but honestly, he didn't want his father to hear whatever it was they had to say either. The knight left, though several remarks about Brund needing the soldiers' help to dispatch him crossed his mind. They went unsaid, so he meandered back away from the Stormcloaks, standing with his arms crossed and face scowled. "Boy, they make you lot bolder and bolder, don't they shrimp? A little time in Skyrim and you Bretons start fancien those seeds between your legs to be Nord balls. What's the meaning of this? Is Baldur reall that stupid that he'd send foreigners in here freely? Information about this siege is dangerous." Daric's face was wrinkled in anger. "Well you're the only one to blame for that, general. And it's about to get worse. More Forsworn are coming this way as we speak. A lot more. I could only make out several hundred in the dark, but I'm sure there's more. They must be coming to take you while you're close to these walls." Galmar's wrinkled brows turned to Brund whose face remained unchanged. "I know." Galmar said, "What do you mean you know?" "I just do. I was expecting this. I asked for this. That's why I prolonged the siege. It's not really a siege, as much as it is a lockdown..." Daric's eyes widened. "What? Why?" "Because," said Galmar. "The Forsworn have been in these walls from the very beginning. Things got out of hand. Murders, lynches, assassination attempts on the Jarl... We're not letting anyone in or out of this city until all such activities cease. This isn't a real siege. We control the city, more or less. We've allowed them to gain control of it a bit only to more easily root them out later. We can't be sure currently what citizens are or aren't on our side." Brund cut in and said, "This siege has been kept as quiet as we could manage. Citizens that get too close are turned away, but it won't last. Word will get out. But the lockdown part... that can't be allowed to be known, so be careful what you say to Mr. Not so tall dark and handsome over there, got it? I assume that if Baldur sent you, then he's okay with you knowing. But there's no way in hell he'd be okay with him knowing. So why don't you tell me what's up with that?" "Baldur actually knew about this?" asked Daric. "Yes. Thanks to Galmar...." said Brund, eyes hateful. "Like I said, I have my reasons. If the enemy is on their way, then that means they've taken the bait. Why go running around in the muck when I can make our enemy come to us? They think we're weak now. They'll come in strength. Now, the Breton, Breton." "Right..." Daric's feet shuffled uncomfortably under Brund's watchful eye. "Baldur... told me to stay away from Markarth and just stick to the rest of the Reach, mainly to the border. I didn't see anything wrong with visiting the city a while, and fa- Sir Maric wanted to see it." "Idiot boy..." said Brund. "Well, can't be helped now. Tell him to come here." Daric did just that, and Sir Maric rejoined the group. He stood with his arms crossed, and eyed Brund, but didn't address him. He knew how men like him worked. Arrogant, proud, to a fault. So, he turned his attention to Galmar. "Since it seems we cannot enter the city, I hope you can give us a few supplies for the return. I think we'll swing around through Rorikstead, to avoid the army marching this way. Any horses you can spare would be appreciated. I have gold for recompense." "What's in Rorikstead?" asked Galmar, eyes narrowed. "I thought you were here for the Reach?" Laughing, Sir Maric shook his head. "Nothing, from what I can remember. But as I said, an army is marching south on the main road. The only other road I know of swings through Rorikstead. And I'd rather not risk leaving the main roads. Though, things may have changed since I was here. Is there another route we can take I'm unaware of?" Ignoring the question, Galmar said, "If you're so concerned with the big bad Forsworn, then perhaps you should put that sword arm to use and help us put down a few savages. That way they'll never reach your precious kingdom, or your Manmer King." Thomas was slightly surprised, but regained his composure. "I never considered you'd want the help of a Breton, but I'd be happy to. It's been a while since I fought purely from foot; it will be good practice, I think." Galmar shared a glance with Brund. "The old man didn't exactly expect you to say yes..." Daric's look meant that he didn't expect him to say yes either. Stepping towards him now, towering over him like Snow Throat, Brund said, "And you, boy? Feel up to getting your sword wet for your kingdom?" Daric's eyes narrowed. "I never have an objection to showing up Nords. But your plan..." "Will work," Brund said abruptly. "You can bet your left nut on that, boy. Come, spill blood with me. Show me what you've learned since last I saw you fight. I want to see what Baldur's been teaching you all this time." Daric felt a pit in his stomach as his hands automatically grasped his blade hilts. Only the one blade tasted blood so far. And with everything Baldur gave him, the least he could do was spill the blood of their foes before departing. "Fine," Daric finally said. "We should show the people of High Rock how we deal with curs in our land." "Addaboy," said Galmar, smirking. "You are Baldur's second indeed." "And I think you three need a lesson in just how damn wrong you are about us Bretons," Sir Maric said, pleased he could surprise them by joining in the fight. "Hmph, we'll see," said Brund, unconvinced. "My scouts will come when the enemy is close. Why don't you two go prepare yourselves while we wait to see my work." Sir Maric moved out of earshot of the generals, stopping to sit down on a large rock. He took care to tighten the straps of his armor and adjust a few plates, making sure everything was in order. He pulled a barbute helmet from his pack, and checked it, before putting it on as well. He didn't have his shield, but didn't figure he'd need it. Although, he would like to see what the Nord's reactions would be to his family's porcupine sigil. To Daric, he said, "I hope he has a reserve force. Otherwise, they'll just escape off into the hills again. And before you ask, no, I wasn't listening in. But he was must have some plan or another, so as to not be destroyed. My bet is the siege is a fake, and upon the arrival of the Forsworn, we'll retreat inside and another force will come and take them from behind." Daric wished very much that this much was true. Galmar tried to make it seem as though the siege was all staged. That they had everything under control. But he knew that this has never been the case with the Forsworn in Skyrim. Things must be very bad in the city if they locked it down completely. He also noticed that he didn't see Jarl Silver-Blood out here either... Looking around, he said, "Up there. In the mountains. See that shimmer?" The knight looked but didn't see it, and even his squinted eyes couldn't make it out. Finally, he leaned sideways towards Daric, realizing a bush had blocked him from the shimmer. "Now I do. What is it?" "My guess? That's where Brund has his scouts. I bet they can see people coming this way easily from up there. I also bet that's where the reinforcements are coming from. That shimmer's probably someone's weapon. If you see another, then that's it for sure," said Daric. "If so, this should be a rather straightforward fight. Unless the Forsworn have some tricks we don't know about." "I wouldn't be surprised to find the Reachmen have people of their own in the hills. They know them better than anyone. Just keep your eye on your surroundings, last thing we want is to get flanked," Thomas said. "And you can bet on tricks. Every army has some sort of trick." "Yea. You're probably right. I saw a hagraven amongst the force we saw last night. I've never seen one before, never heard of them being out in the open like that before either. Who knows what magic they'll have. I guess they're getting desperate. Which, I guess is a good sign." Plopping down beside him, Daric stayed quiet for a while, kicking his feet back and forth on the rock. "Did you really love my mother? Do you still? Even knowing she's been the wife of another man for more than a decade?" Thomas toyed with a dagger, taking off his gauntlet and using his thumb to check the edge. It was sharp, so he plunged it back into it's sheath. He looked up from his bleeding thumb, sucking on it some before he put his gauntlet back on. Thomas sighed, and looked off at the mountains, before turning to Daric. "I know what the other man is like. I know she's too scared to leave. But I'd be a liar if I said there aren't days when I don't hate her for staying. I would've made her happy, you happy. And yet I still love her. I can't help myself." Daric listened to the answer dubiously. Shaking his head, he said, "I don't know what you saw in her. I love my mother, but I'd understand if you hated her. I'm trying very hard not to." "Either way, we can't leave her. Not with him. Maybe once he's gone, she'll stop being scared, and be the Madeleine I remember. Either way, she'll be far away from him," Thomas said. "Yea I get that. But have you considered the possibility that she might refuse again? I don't know what's wrong with her, but she might. She never even mentioned your name to me. So what will you do if that happens?" The knight's eyes sunk, and his head noticeably hung. "I hadn't really considered...it's ultimately her choice. Unless we don't give her a choice. She can't stay with a dead man." "Now you're getting it," said Daric simply. "If it comes to that, he's mine. Understand? Even if it doesn't, I'll probably kill him anyway." "You plan to make it a fair fight?" Thomas asked, turning to his son. Daric caught his eye, though if it were up to him, he'd have avoided it. Sighing, he said, "I can promise that his death will be relatively quick. More than he deserves. The rest is irrelevant." "I can abide by that. Cowards like him don't deserve much else besides a quick death." Thinking it best they change the subject, he next said, "You've been with the Nords a while, so they make a man out of you yet?" At first, a deep reaching smile entrenched itself over the young man's face, soon accompanied with red. But the smile faded just as soon as it came. Remembering his fantasies of visiting the light tower, fantasies that'd never be realized now. He felt an odd sensation within. Almost like the lighthouse was calling to him, with the sweet voice of the blonde woman sailing in the waves of the Northern Winds seductively into his welcoming ears. "Made a man of me, right. You can check that milestone off." Sir Maric patted his son on the back. Chucking a little. "Good, good. What other things...ah, yes. How well do you ride horses?" "We... still talking about women, or..." "No, boy, we're talking about riding horses. I'm trying to see what I'm going to need to teach you when we get home." "Right, sorry," said Daric, smirking. "In my defense, that could have easily been a euphemism if it came out of a Nord's mouth. I've never ridden a horse before." Thomas frowned. "That'll have to be fixed. Nobles' children learn at an early age, but you'll pick it up quickly. What fighting style fits you best? Looking at Daric's two swords, he added, "Dual wielding, then." "Maybe I should write you my autobiography or something, Thomas." Daric smiled and said, "I play tough, but I admit, I haven't seen that much fighting. But I'm quick on my feet. I'm more of a scout than a soldier. To be honest, fighting doesn't really appeal to me much. It's not at all what I thought it'd be like. I don't understand how anyone could enjoy it. But I do like the purpose behind it. That's what keeps me interested in it I suppose." Looking off again at the shimmers from the mountain, then to the sky, Daric said, "I don't think they're coming yet. If I were them, I'd wait for nightfall." The knight shrugged. "It's just something you have to do. Fighting is life in Tamriel. Even in the more sophisticated parts." His eyes looked out beyond at the road they had just traveled on. The same road the Forsworn marched on now. "So would I. I'm sure your generals expect that, though." "Yea, I suppose. Look, one of our men. I bet he's coming to say they're waiting now," said Daric. A man came galloping in from the main road, kicking up dust in the distance. As he came closer, something about him seemed off somehow. The way he laid so close to the horse's head. When the horse finally made it to camp and the man fell on his face with an arrow protruding from his back, it became rather clear what was wrong with him. A whizzing sound went past Darric's head, then another, this time accompanied by the cries of a dying man. Darric jumped off the rock and dived behind it, looking for the source of the arrows. He heard yelling and screming nearby, and realized that it was coming from where he'd seen the glimmer up above. Suddenly a storm of arrows was raining down on them, followed by the familiar rumble of distant feet stomping with purpose. That purpose being blood. They did not wait for nightfall after all. Even in the daylight, the forsworn managed to draw first blood and keep the element of surprise.

Lorgar (Saladin), Valenwood Afternoon, Lorgar grabbed his sword, and began to sharpen it with a whetstone, a very old and worn looking one. It was a gift from his first commanding officer, Legate Varnus. Along with the greatblade itself. It was an amazing coincidence the sword was from Solsthshiem, and from what Lorgar researched, was forged by the Bloodskaal tribe, a mysterious offshoot of the Skaal tribe. Or was the Skaal an offshoot of the Bloodskaal? Storn could only shed little light on the tribe, only that they "hadn’t walked the path of the All-Maker". Lorgar was considering asking Wulf Wild-Blood, the first hunter, if he had seen anything similar in his many travels around the island of Solthsiem, but he and Lorgar had…many differences in opinion, and Wulf was one of the many tribesmen who resented Storn’s decision to allow Lorgar back into the tribe. Lorgar and Wulf’s falling out rather saddened him, as he was one of Lorgar’s closest friends when they were growing up. Lorgar’s father, Ulvin Grahl-Reaper, was the previous first-hunter, and Wulf idolised him when he was a child, before Ulvin was felled by the creature in his sur-name, along with Lorgar’s mother, Visha Snow-Fall. Storn was kind enough to take Lorgar in, and generally treated him like his own son, if a bit disciplinary. The colonel made a mental note to learn more about the Bloodskaal when he was back in Solthstiem, if he had the time that is. He was told by an expert that the runes on the blade were ancient Draconic, a dead and forgotten language. Skaalish, was in fact a distant dialect of it. The expert had said, that the blade most likely dated during, or before the fabled Dragon War. Making it thousands of years old. Lorgar didn't know how Varnus had acquired it; he never had the chance to ask. Lorgar was given the sword during the legate's final moments. If Lorgar's chieftain, Skaf the Giant, had taught him how to fight, and Telydrn Sero taught him technique, Varnus had taught Lorgar how to lead and strategize. Runeblades were very strange weapons. Forged under moonlight, and tempered with the blood of their creator, they had almost a legendary quality. Extremely rare, only a master blacksmith could make them. Lorgar, had in fact only saw one other than Azidnok, belonging to a Stormcloak Captain, whose name eluded him. Regardless, Azdinok was a worthy weapon, and he was getting off topic to the matter at hand. Sitting on the chair in his office, the nord was glancing over maps of the region; looking for the most likely location that bastard Dremora had run off to recuperate from him and Lorgar's fight. Mezzrat was a huge danger to everyone living in the area. If Lorgar could cut through an entire company of poorly trained, yet still decently equipped, Valenwood rebels like a scythe hacking wheat , Mezzrat could slaughter a poorly defended Bosmer village filled with civilians like cattle. He didn't even think a decently defended town could stop Dagon's champion easily. Lorgar would have no other choice but mobilize units and hunt him down before he could cause any collateral damage. The colonel would personally lead the investigation, regardless of his condition. Interrupting the nord's work, a knock could be heard on the door. Lorgar sighed, before saying, "Enter." A masked commando, wearing the standard dark green camouflaged leather armor of his unit, along with their trademark leather Bosmer Balaclava. Contrary to the general appearance, the leather equipment they wore was ideally suited for the Valenwood environment. While it was very hot to wear, it provided suitable protected, made little noise, and best of all, prevented bug bites “Forgive me sir. But you instructed me to bring you the man who retrieved you from… that operation.†The soldier hesitated. Getting out of his chair, Saladin muttered, “Very good. Send him in and then leave us.†He saluted, before leaving. The man who entered looked looked…impossibly young. He couldn’t have been older then twenty. Jet black hair, along with dark blue eyes, clean cut hair gave him a very refined appearance. More so was his strange looking armor. It looked like a mix between a longcoat, and a suit of grey armor. Along with his longcoat, he was wearing dark greaves, and gauntlets with jagged endings, like claws. Even more distinct, the armor was extremely well made, apparently being forged from a mixture of ebony and silver from the looks of it. Underneath, he wore chain mail pants, and a leather tunic. The plate chest piece over his tunic was engraved with strange looking lion symbols. His gauntlets, and shin guards had the same markings. Must have cost a small fortune to make. Strapped to his back was a bastard sword. Like his armor, it was of very high quality, but rather plain. Minus a noticeably large inscription, which Lorgar could tell was old Breton. Though he couldn’t read it. The man’s young face, looked smooth, and didn’t have many scars. Only one large one going down his left cheek. Reaching the colonel’s desk, he stopped in his tracts, and gave a crisp and clear salute. He spoke in a rather formal tone that was heavily accented, similar to how Lucienus spoke. It might give the impression of snoopiness, but Lorgar paid it no mind. “Sir. Corporal Nhilin. Fourth company. Call sign, Strife.†An imperial huh. What would a merc be doing with a sword like that? Lorgar returned the salute. Just to make sure, Lorgar checked his left pauldron, which held a Bloodwolf service badge. While standard issue Bloodwolf equipment was certainly well made, he didn’t remember issuing anything as expensive and exotic as the equipment this young man wore infront of him. Lorgar cleared his throat, and said in his usual monotoned voice, “At ease Corporal.†He relaxed slightly, bringing his hands behind his back. His expression was blank, but he had an air of uneasiness around him. I’ve seen legionary recruits more relaxed… Lorgar let out a grunt, “I won’t bite boy.†The young soldiers back stiffened, as Lorgar could notice sweat producing on his forehead, he said, in a shaky tone, “Of course sir.†Lorgar drew his greatsword and started to sharpen it once again. As he did, the metallic screeching sound coming from the whetstone contacting with the serrated steel blade, caused obvious discomfort to the young looking man. Which was very odd. There’s no way that a green recruit could enter into the Bloodwolves, Wraith and him were the only ones who could recruit . Membership in the Bloodwolves was only granted to experienced veterans, usually mercenaries, but Lorgar had a few former legionaries, a Breton hedge knight or two, and maybe an odd former Stormcloak soldier here and there. Lorgar, under Lucienus’s advice, had granted a few serial killers membership, most noticeable Farni, whom he had a…appointment with later on in the day. Make no mistake, Lorgar had an intense dislike for the woman, but she had many uses. One of the best interrogators he had ever encountered. Lorgar told the Breton, giving him a slight smile under his skull balaclava “Just wanted to thank you, lad. You most likely saved my life back there.†The Imperial nodded his head in a flash, “Thank you sir. Just doing my job.†His face filled with what Lorgar could tell was worry under his balaclava, as he put his hands up, “Not that I’m saying it’s just a job for me to be helping you. It was a pleasure.†Lorgar let out a rare chuckle, “No offense taken lad.†*** “JUST ******* SCREAM!!!†Farni shrieked at the top of her lungs as she cut at the Bosmer’s exposed skin. Very unusual for a Bosmer, especially a member of the rebels, was that the Mer’s skin was quite pale. Which made Farni even more excited then she would normally be. Her usual victims were male fighters unlikely enough to be captured or stupid enough to surrender, a female fighter was a rare treat indeed. The rebel didn’t soldier say a word. Farni was wearing her custom leather armor, along with her “smiley face†painted balaclava. She placed her arms to her hip, and said, in a condescending tone, “After all I’ve done for you, not one little cry for help. Plead for death? Beg for Mercy?†Suddenly she grinned and laughed manically, “Oh right…I cut your tongue out already. You can’t scream.†On a chair beside the tortured Bosmer, was her severed tongue, still wet with blood, and beside were three empty vials, formerly filled with health potions the nord had forced the Bosmer to drink. Farni would force feed it to her it in the morning, give her some breakfast. For now, she was in a very generous mood, and for the next few hours, she would be content slicing up her skin. In the span of a second, Farni had lost that feeling of sudden generosity. Getting closer, and breaking the gap between them, Farni reached for a pair of rusty old clippers . Her cold blue eyes filled with sadistic joy, as she whispered into the Bosmer’s ear, “The female body has three holes. I’m going to give you a forth.†She giggled, as the Bosmer could only stare in pure terror as the rusted cutters edged closer to her chest area. The fear radiating off the Bosme only excited the Nord more. The weathered metal objects reached their destination, and Farni- “Enough, Warrant-Officer.†Colonel Fury-Eyed entered the room, radiating a tranquil, but rage-filled presence. The man was clad in his leather longcoat, along with the standard cameo-leather armor the regular commando’s wore in there outfit underneath. Hiding his features was his wolf-skull leather balaclava, along with his black hood, which he wore up. Strapped to his belt was a single jagged combat knife, made from ebony. But Farni knew all too well, he didn’t need that to kill her. Her rusty clippers dropped with a clank, and she got up, saluting crisply, “Sir.†“At ease.†Said the man roughly. Beside him, was a strange looking Bloodwolf soldier, whom she didn't recognize, her eyebrows raised at his odd looking armor, but she paid him no heed. The colonel’s blazing red eye had her locked with his vision, and the more she looked at it, the more it looked…unnatural. She could have sworn it had started to take weird shapes. The burning blood crimson color, made it appear like…the eye belonged to a monstrous dragon from the depths of Oblivion. The shadows around him melted, and appeared as if they were drawn to him. Though Farni would never admit it, the colonel sent shivers down her spine. Speaking in a formal, polite voice, the colonel asked, “So Warrant-Officer, I do sincerely hope that you acquired the information that we need before you cut the Bosmer’s tongue out.†“Of course sir.†She took out a map of the region around Cori Silmor, and pointed to an X which she had drawn, “The Rebels regional war chief is located somewhere around here. The…prisoner says she was only given a general location.†Saladin asked, unconvinced, “You are aware that’s Imga territory? Are you sure she isn't’t lying?†Farni smiled cruelly, pointing her knife inches away from the girls eyesocket, “I’m quite sure. Hon, you would lie to me would you?†The woman shook her head, “See. Good girl.†Farni patted her on the head energetically, ignoring all the dried blood from all the hair she had violently ripped out of her head. Saladin nodded his head, "I'll take your word for it. I'll prep a small team to neutralize them....now about her." The Blood Wolf CO glanced at the bloodied and bruised rebel soldier, his red eye blazing with rage. Farni went behind him, and whispered into his ear, "Angry ? You know as well as I do that she killed two of our commando's. Two of our pack brothers..." The colonel starred at the broken woman, before turning around without saying another word, Farni voice emerged from behind, "May I keep her as a pet? I'll promise to feed her..." She said innocently. Suddenly, in a flash of darkness, the Bosmer let out a guttural death growl, as Saladin's ebony dagger embedded itself into the woman's throat.. spaying crimson liquid on Farni's balaclava clad face, just as Saladins hand reached upward, his hand had fallen back down. "Shall we be off, Corporeal?"

Veleda laid the diagrams out carefully on the war room table, where during the rebellion, battle strategies had been laid out on maps of Skyrim. Her diagrams were building plans, however. The shanty towns outside Windhelm had grown, even with a few people having moved off to the Reach when they took up the Crown's offer of land grants. There were complaints from the local farmers about food stealing, and the outlying areas were troubled by ice wraith and troll attacks. With this in mind, Veleda had commissioned some of the Stormcloak builders to draw up plans for knocking down a portion of the ancient walls, and rebuilding them with a larger footprint, and laying in an improved sewer system. While she hadn't done this secretly, she hadn't shared her thoughts on it with Ulfric yet. First she wanted to have all the ducks in a row. She'd gone to his room the night before, to make sure he was in a good mood that morning, and now waited for him to come down so she could present her ideas. Menel sat off to the side, with instructions to keep his mouth shut. Ulfric eventually shuffled into the warroom, hair and beard slightly damp and obviously recently washed. He noticed the elf, but shared no words with him at first as he glanced in his direction. It was odd, living with an elf. It was like always having a guest in your home, endlessly waiting for them to leave so that you could return to normalcy. A guest that ate all your food, that is. "Overslept," said Ulfric. He often did after a night with Veleda, since such nights didn't come regular. "Did I miss breakfast?" Veleda gestured at the throne room. "Jorleif always makes sure some food is ready for you. When you come back, I've got something to discuss with you." Ulfric sighed, looking in the direction of the food longingly. Unfortunately, 'I've got something to discuss with you' sounded like a whole thing. It always was, and Ulfric never liked eating with that looming over him. "Better just tell me now, then. What have you two been planning?" "It's something good, Ulfric. A positive step forward." Veleda spread out the main diagram and gestured at it, explaining her idea. The diagram showed a larger Windhelm, spreading along the coast and into terraced areas in the mountainside. The current palace would be at the center of it all, instead of perched at its head. When she finished, the queen took a deep breath and a step back. "We have a new Skyrim and the capital needs to grow. What do you say?" Ulfric backed away from the table. "No way." Veleda lifted a brow. "That's it? That's all you're going to say?" "Elf, how long have you two been planning this?" he asked. Menel looked up with a start. "What? I'm just here for... what was the phrase... moral support." "He had nothing to do with this. It's my idea, so address me, please." Veleda was working to keep her voice even. Ulfric smirked a bit, but it soon faded. "Fine, then answer the question, woman." "It's taken several weeks to get the drawings finished. You barely looked at them." She pointed. "This will mean more tax revenue for the city. More protection in case of attack. Why are you simply refusing to consider it?" Crossing his arms, he said, "First of all, the timing of this is... convenient. I'm not stupid. I know how you all tiptoe around me like I'm some child with a temper tantrum. I saw the Red-Snows that day, by the way. Next, I'm still waiting for the tax revenue from the last damn pet project we had to come even. From the town and Necro Nord armor to the soldiers, it's getting too expensive. We'll be broke before we ever even reach Valenwood! Which reminds me, I've gone over it with my second, and I've sent the order to disperse our forces temporarily. We can't afford a large standing army like this, so I'm breaking it down by a third, and putting them in reserve. They'll switch out in seasons." Both Menel and Veleda reacted at that, jaws dropping. The queen spoke first. "Ulfric, we can't do that. The war could happen any minute. Mobilizing scattered troops can't happen overnight. We won't be ready for the next Pale Pass." "There's not going to be another Pale Pass. Our numbers are large enough to fend off an enemy in the event of an attack if we cut it down by a third, leaving two thirds left. Certainly long enough for the remaining third to mobilize. Our pockets however, are not filled enough to sustain our full force. A force of around fifty thousand men and women doing nothing. That's the reality we're in. Besides, where are the Thalmor going to attack us from? The sea? Our Navy will hit them first. Pale Pass? The Empire couldn't side with them now even if they wanted to, and they can't afford to attack us alone at this point anyway. This is the right move. This wall however... the only thing it'll fend off is my coin in its making." "They're not doing nothing. They're keeping the Forsworn and bandits at bay. You should have consulted me first, but I can see you've made up your mind." Menel lifted a finger. "Can I say something?" "NO." Ulfric and Veleda spoke in unison, both pointing a warning hand at the elf. Turning back to his queen, he said, "Perhaps. I'm still getting used to ruling with someone else. But Baldur agrees with my decision. Brund has almost ten thousand of our men in the Reach. If he can't hunt down the vermin with that, then perhaps he's just not cut out for this after all. I won't take away his men. We'll have thirty three thousand active soldiers, twenty three thousand deployed across the rest of Skyrim outside the Reach. More than enough. You're forgetting I had to make do with less." Ulfric turned to walk away, but just before he left for the main throne room, Ulfric said, "And the next time you want to ask me about another one of these projects, don't think you can persuade me with bedside diplomacy. These walls were good enough for the likes of Ysgramor himself. They'll be good enough for us." "Oh believe me. I won't." Veleda's calm had frayed, and she was done being level-headed. She hadn't been given the name Fire Hand just for her scar. Pacing, she glanced over at Menel, who by now was smirking. A guard, who'd stood awkwardly in the doorway for that last part, cleared his throat. "King, Queen, a visitor requests your presence. He styles himself king of High Rock." His scoff told what he thought of a Breton king. Arms crossed, Veleda looked over at the messenger, annoyed at the interruption. "King of High Rock? We don't need a royal jester." Ulfric moved past the guard to his throne-seat, not looking his way as he did. "Back to your post, Grelkjor. Queen, lets see to our guest." Looking none too pleased, Veleda started to walk out, but Menel caught her arm. Reaching up on tippytoes, he moved the corners of her mouth up with two pudgy fingers. "Smile. You needed the distraction." Peeved, the queen pushed him away, but did stop to compose herself before going out to the hall. As she took her seat, her expression was stern, with a hint of crimson at her neck. Theodore and his guard contingent were already making their way down the length of the hall as the King and Queen of Skyrim took their seats. The Breton wore a black cloak, lined with snow wolf fur, and a brown tunic underneath. A ring was on each hand, his wedding on the left, a diamond and ebony ring on the right, which was also enchanted with disease immunity. His cold could make him susceptible to all sorts of foreign diseases here. His five guards trailed him closely behind, each heavily armored and armed. "Your majesties, I am King Theodore Adrard of High Rock," Theo said, bowing his shiny, bald head. Ulfric said, "A king of High Rock finally comes to greet us humble Nords, I see. The couriers there must be slow and out of shape, since I've been looking to contact the Manmer of the west for some time. But, no matter. The past is the past." Standing, Ulfric directed him to the table of the dining hall with his hand. "Sit, if you don't mind. I haven't had time for the morning meal yet and would rather not wait any longer." Theodore obliged happily, taking a seat across from the Nordic couple. His guards stood behind him, but far enough off so not to be standing over the royals as they ate. "I wanted to spread the news myself. As well as the news of High Rock's secession from Cyrodiil," Theo said, giving a sly smile. Veleda remained on the dais as the men took to the breakfast table. She could hear everything, and from there could observe the visitor and his entourage closely. A spell held at ready would be noticed by Manmer, she reflected. I'll keep Zun Hal Viik at the tip of my tongue, then. Ulfric had his own thu'um, of course, but his eyes could not be everywhere. Ulfric paused momentarily in his eating, but soon picked up again. Waiting to swallow what was left of his goat meat, he said, "So, you lot finally wised up did you? Good. Looks like things are falling into place quite nicely. It'll be easier to trust this alliance when everyone is mostly on equal standing." Theodore raised an eyebrow. "Mostly on equal standing...is this in reference to your wish to lead the alliance? General Red-Snow explained as much to me when I stopped in his little town." Having already eaten before he arrived, the Breton king lounged back in his chair, relaxed, almost as if he was at home. "You spoke with my general, did you? I haven't spoken with either of the Red-Snows in a while besides letters of business. But let me make this clear. I don't wish to lead any such alliance. I'd prefer to deal with my own and leave it at that. But I'm sure Baldur's explained why I can't do that, not if we're all going to fight together. Your seceding simply makes it slightly more easy to trust you. Slightly." "And what cause do you have to distrust me? I hope it's not my race that makes me unaccommodating to your trust, as I hoped the slander naming you racist was only just that," Theodore said. "If we were going by generalizations based upon race, well, your queen being a mage would be most strange indeed." Ulfric kept eating, seeming unbothered by the accusations of racism. Whether it was because they weren't true, or because Ulfric just didn't care, he didn't reveal. "You're a king now, Theodore Adrard. Distrust comes with the territory. Or can you say with certainty that you trust me?" Stroking his chin, Theodore responded, "Well, I've not given you any reason to betray me. But no, I do not totally trust you. I do hope High Rock joining the alliance will make it easier to trust each other. No doubt the Thalmor will seek to sow dissent in our ranks." Ulfric took a swig of wine, smacking his lips at the tartness of it, then said, "If we cannot trust each other, then it matters not. What we can trust is that none of us would be stupid enough to try anything right now with all of us on equal footing, more or less. That, and if we did, we'd only be helping the witch elves win. You asked if I was racist. Yet here you are, sitting before me as an equal, talking and questioning me as you eat my food. Why? Because we both have power, power that we need to not become slaves of the elves. So whether or not I am racist; whether or not you can trust me... matters not." Eventually Veleda stood and approached the table. "Trust comes with experience. We've only just met you, only just heard of your new position. I would like to know more about you. Adrard..." She thought a moment. "Camlorn? An old family. How is it that you've now got the upper hand over the other princes?" "Well, I haven't touched the food yet, but yes, I am questioning you. I need to know who and what I'm getting into bed with before I join this alliance," Theodore said. Turning to the queen, Theodore answered, "The other lords, actually. I was next in line for succession when I was forced to execute my brother-in-law, who tried to poison me. Then my sister-in-law, my wife's sister, wanted to avenge her husband, and so I was forced into civil war. But we won, and I am now king." "And the common folk will accept one calling himself king over them?" "Oh, yes, yes they will. The common folk loved Aleron, it's true. His coronation was unlike anything ever seen before. But when that same man was convicted of kinslaying, those same common folk cheered when I took his head off. They are fickle. I aim to give them an enemy to fight, however. My men are currently clearing our Reach, the Orcs are fleeing to Cyrodiil or dying, and soon the Thalmor will be dealt with. They are too preoccupied by our freedom from Cyrodiil, and these ongoing and upcoming wars to give much thought to who sits the throne." "Sounds familiar," said Ulfric smirking. "So, lets hear it. You're probably going to tell me we're not good enough to lead or something, right? Or perhaps on the high of your independence and victory, you think you should instead?" Theodore grabbed a berry, and plopped it in his mouth. It was tart, and juicy, and exploded as he bit into it. "Oh no, on the contrary, your general convinced me you Nords are the perfect choice. High General Red-Snow seems quite the clever man, as well as a skilled warrior. But I have doubts about whoever it is that may succeed your admiral. So in that regard, I think the Redguard admiral, whom I've heard is a seasoned commander, will be my pick." Ulfric seemed a bit surprised at Theodore's answer. "Yes, he's a clever one alright. Be sure not to let him know it. I don't want the man's head getting any bigger. Succeed the admiral, eh? Well, I suppose I should have expected that. Mm." Ulfric's fingers tapped at the table for a time before he continued. "That's the trouble with having two officers intimately involved. But, this isn't the legion. It's a shame though. Her talents are rare. In light of that, I don't have any objections to the desert rats leading at the seas, even if Ysgramor may be flipping over mead halls in Sovngarde over it. I assume the good general said something similar. "I do not recall exactly what he said, but I'm sure he'll be on board if you tell him it's either the Redguards or the Imperials. I've heard good things about their admiral as well. Supposedly, they even sent a sunbird after him," Theodore said shaking his head. "How we'll deal with those is beyond me." Veleda looked up sharply. "One has actually been sighted?" She'd been poring over the documents someone sent to Rebec months earlier, but had made little headway with them and had about decided they were fake. Urag said the notes were clearly amateur translations of ancient Nord. Very amateur, according to the orc. Theodore nodded. "A few sailors in Farrun, who had come from Anvil, said that a fleet of right left for raiding, but only one ship returned. The High Admiral's, they said. The Legion sailors said that the sunbird appeared and began shooting beams of magic." The queen exchanged a glance with Ulfric, for once more concerned about something other than their argument. "I must write to the Imperial Admiral at once then. He must have peeved the elves greatly for them to show their hand." "A wise measure. Hopefully he learned something that can help us combat them. If not, well, it may matter little who is in charge of the navy," Theodore said. He wasn't near as concerned as Veleda, because he expected his mages could protect their ships. He hoped they could. "If not, then we'll simply have to outmaneuver them. No matter how powerful these Sunbirds are, they are but a few ships verses an entire combined armada of four kingdoms. We will make do somehow. I'm sure our navies and mages will come up with something. They'll need to if we're going to attack Valenwood from the shores as well as our borders. If not, then it'll just take a little longer. I hope your soldiers will be ready to fight. We have our own battlemages, but it's well known that Bretons specialize in them. With elven magic, it's likely your men will be deployed often to counter it. At the very least, a single Breton battlemage will need to be assigned to most, if not every squadron in guerrilla forces." "I have a man assigned to training our mages and spellswords. I hope to have around four thousand serviceable mages in a years time. They may not all be true battlemages, but they willed be skilled in various forms of magic." Theodore motioned with his hand towards his guards, who all wore plate armor and longswords. "My knights, however, will be crucial, once the elves are forced into open battle. While a well maintained shield wall can stop them, I doubt the elves are as proficient at them as you Nords. And bodkin arrow points, while able to pierce plate armor, aren't used enough to stop an entire charge. I think my cavalry will prove very helpful, since you and the Imperials are more infantry focused." Ulfric said, "In the open fields, especially in the catlands, perhaps. But you'd do well to keep those knights from the trees. We don't use plate much beyond our elites in the Necro Nords, and our chainmail is of the light variety, but bodkins will still be best used against that sort of protection. I'd expect the woodelves to have a good enough variety to not risk your knights to arrows. Unless you take your shields and pad them with leather under the steel like Baldur's forces do. The armor is also padded with leather under the steel. So even if bodkin points penetrate the armor, the leather padding will stop most if not all the rest of it from then on. Could get warm, but they'll only be deployed in key moments largely. I think this design concept would serve your knights well." "Yes, remember the lesson of The Armorer's Challenge," Veleda said with a rueful smile. "Though I think the benefits of light armor are exaggerated. With enough water, heavy armor will always be better. We'll welcome your mages, but I'm curious how motivated your troops will be. The Thalmor have made no move against your people, not even against the Direnni in some time." Cutting in and a little annoyed, Ulfric said, "Water is something not always readily available. Having to rely heavily on water sources and a supply line to keep soldiers from keeling over is a big weakness, especially when we're the ones who will need to rely on them more, being in foreign land. And taking off and putting the armor on for rest and to cool becomes a problem when ambushed. It's not something I prefer in a conflict like this with thick vegetation. Though I was speaking more of all the extra layers and padding of Necro Nord armor in relation to heat, not weight, or our forces as a whole, which has more to do with cost than anything else. Anyway, I do wonder this myself. High Rock is well tucked away from the conflict with Skyrim, Cyrodiil and Hammerfell surrounding it, king." "I planned on keeping my knights away from the forests of Valenwood. They operate best on flat land, plains and such. Thankfully, because of this, they'll be kept far away from the Bosmer and their arrows. Though they'll have the padding in case they need it, though they may not always wear it." Frowning, Theodore seemed concerned. "I've also thought about my soldiers' moral. Every province besides us has met the Thalmor recently, and as such harbors some grudge. I know what the golden elves are capable of, and so am staunch in my commitment to defeating them. My fellow nobles no doubt see it, but the trouble is making the more common folk see how dangerous the elves are. Once they do, I have no doubt they'll be as zealous as the rest." Ulfric said, "I can name a handful of Nords that'd be willing to throw on some knife ears. If your people need a kick to the gonads." Theodore chuckled and slapped a hand to his belly. "Somehow, I don't believe many people would fall for that. And I'm opposed to tricking my people into action. It will come if the gods will it to be so, or it will not come at all. If not, well, I'm afraid we will not be of much help. But you Nords never have been wanting for help." Theodore added a cheeky smile to that. He liked these Nords well enough, and was glad to see Stormcloak the Serious could share a joke every now and again. Veleda asked, "And where is your wife? Ruling the kingdom while you're traveling?" Theodore said, "My wife is pregnant, and so I did not bring her with me. She is ruling with her mother, whom I trust very dearly. And in fact, I've assembled a council that will assist my ruling upon my return. A Lord Regent to oversee laws and such, a Lord of Spies to listen for plots against the throne, plus people like my admiral and general. I think it'll be useful to keep High Rock stable, and prevent any bickering." "Congratulations." Veleda let the subject of pregnancy drop immediately. "Speaking of spies, it is one area where you might be of help to us, even after your secession... which I assume you've made public to Cyrodiil by now? The Bretons were always better at espionage than Nords, and you must still have some people in place there and beyond. With old lines cut, we need to pool our information. For instance, what can you tell me of this rumor of a new orc enclave in the Valus Mountains? The idea is alarming if it proves true. Those mountains are barren and if the orcs are there in strength, they'll be tempted to turn to raiding. I know this is an area where you Bretons have experience." "The Orcs are creating a new Orsinium in the Valus Mountains, under the protection and support of the Empire. High General Ceno's idea, apparently. No doubt they wish to consolidate their allies and keep them from harms way. The orcs will raid wherever they live, so I for one am glad they no longer choose to live in High Rock," Theodore said. While he didn't despise the green monsters the way Estermont did, he loved them not. Too violent, uncivilized, for his tastes. "Gracchus is their High General now," Veleda said, shaking her head. "I can hardly believe this child empress had the sense, given what else we've heard about her court. Though this was not one of the old man's better ideas." Ulfric said, "Hmph, well, we'll see how much the Dark Elves enjoy that. It's their problem now. We still have our fair share of orcs, but they don't bother us much, so I don't care. Not all of us are of the same mind, however. Well, King Theodore, it's been a fun chat but I've got some training to do. Got to keep in shape in case the war breaks out. Which brings me to what I've been meaning to ask you about. This alliance... I take it now that you've joined the club of disgruntled independent provences no longer of the Empire, that you would like to take part in it? The terms are very simple. We fight together against the witch elves of the South, and if Cyrodiil ever encroaches upon our territory, we all join forces to put an end to it quick. Same goes for the other provinces." Theodore hesitated for a moment, curling his mustache with thumb and forefinger. "I will join your alliance. I don't see how I couldn't, without facing the wrath of men everywhere. But I too want to see the end of the Thalmor, and so High Rock will stand beside you." Ulfric said, "Part of the agreement also is that we will not rejoin them in their Empire. Do you agree to this as well? And promise your swordarms if anyone were to break this agreement? We do not yet have any such declaration or paper to sign. Your word as a man will be good enough for now." "I promise my swords, and I will never join their Empire, though I would not call them an Empire any longer. It's just them and their Orcish pets now," Theodore said. "You must be tired from your journey, King Adrard," Veleda said. "I'll send to prepare guest rooms. We must ask most of your knights to bunk in our garrison, however. I'm sure you understand we can't have an armed force here. Perhaps at dinner we can discuss what we'll do if Cyrodiil is invaded before we're ready. They're no longer an empire, but we dare not leave them alone." "Perfect. I'll keep two of my guards with me, if you don't mind. And I look forward to dinner, and whatever discussion pops up. No offense to the Red-Snows, but their conversation wasn't, what I would say, stimulating," Theodore said, hoping he didn't offend them. Given, Baldur did just lose a 'son,' but Rebec wasn't exactly the accommodating sort. Ulfric's eyebrows raised. "You mean Baldur stayed professional? Good. Normally at dinner, those two are like jesters rather than Admiral and General. Sorry to say, we're not as entertaining as that." "Actually," Theo said, "he was upset, because it came to light that his page, squire, assistant, what have you, Daric, is my guard captain's son. He chose my man over your general, and Red-Snow did not take that well." Ulfric's eyebrows raised for a second time. There were questions running through his head, but he decided to let them sit for now, remembering the incident he caused in the Grey Quarter. "I did not know the boy well, but it's for the best. The boy was a distraction, and whether Baldur will admit it or not, he can't be taking in lost puppies when his wife just had his first child. But thank you for telling me this. It would have been a while before I learned of it otherwise." Theodore nodded respectfully. "I wouldn't share those opinions around your general. As I said, he was very upset. His wife even seemed a little saddened." Veleda said, "Baldur is a trainer. As one myself, I recognize that it's a strength. He finds talent and develops it, and the whole point of that is to send the recruits out. I'm sure he'll come along. Excuse me." She stepped over to Jorleif, who was waiting for her instructions. Thinking a while as she left, he waited and finally said, "That general of mine. Just when I think I finally understand him, I realize I don't get him at all. He's always trying to help lost causes, hnh." Ulfric's mind went on the first time he met Rebec in person. A rowdy unruly sort. The type he'd come to know well in his rebellion, but she seemed like the type to have trouble follow her. And that was before Baldur dropped the news about her ties with Thalmor and Erikur. His instinct said to lock her ass up and throw away the key. Baldur... the fool married her. "Anyway, I also find it amusing that Rebec was saddened. I guess there was more to those three than I thought. I'll be taking my leave now as well. We'll talk more at dinner." "That we will," Theodore said, rising as well. Veleda had just finished talking to the steward, so Theodore motioned for two guards to follow him as they were escorted to their new quarters. Veleda cut short her farewell to the Bretons in order to cut Ulfric off at the door. "We're not finished yet," she said under her breath, so that only he could hear. Her tone was far from gentle, however. Ulfric's brow reached uncharted territory, it was so high. "As you said, Fire-Hand. My mind is made up. I am King, and I will not be second guessed by you, the elf, the Red-Snows or anyone else. The walls will remain. Stand aside." He moved past her without waiting for a reply, rubbing shoulders on his way past the war room towards the upper chambers. Veleda's expression turned from stern to blazing. Menel, tearing himself away from the breakfast table, walked in, took one look at her face, and did an abrupt about-face, mumbling something about "apprentices to train" and hightailing it in the other direction with unusual speed. For a few moments the queen stood in the strategy room, alone apart from the ever-present Ysrarald Thrice-Pierced, who was studying the ceiling stones. As she stared at her maps, a flare of mage fire appeared in her palm. Seeing the flame out of the corner of his eye, the housecarl leaped forward, hands spread out to warn her. "Don't do it, Your Majesty! Fire can't harm this palace, but it makes a terrible mess." Stirring, Veleda looked up at him. She had been so wrapped up in her anger that she'd hardly noticed the spell flaring. For another moment, she was still tempted, but then she doused the fireball and instead grabbed the maps up in her arms and stormed up the stairs. Ulfric's chamber door flew open, papers fluttering in like snow on a strong wind and Veleda right behind them. "Now you listen to me, King. I rule this country, too, and you will listen to me, whether you like it or not. That Breton lets his queen rule in his absence, but you're too pigheaded to think you might be wrong about anything." Ulfric sat on his floor, meditating when the Queen came blowing in, and with the thu'um being on his mind, he was tempted to blow her right back out. Standing, he said, "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not absent! I listened to what you had to say, and I said no. My father would come down from Sovngarde himself and smite us all if I knocked down these walls. And for the Dunmer? Have you lost your mind, woman?" She deposited the maps on his study table and put her hands on her hips. "It's not just for Dunmer. It's for the Nords who are living in shanties outside your walls. Do you even see what's happening in your own city? Your father isn't ruling, you are. We are," she corrected quickly. Ulfric's eyes narrowed, pupils tracing her, as if measuring her out like an opponent. Taking a step towards her, he said... Nothing at first. Just breathing harshly, unsure of what to do with this aggravating woman before him. "Why are you pestering me over this now, woman? I've told you no in the past, but now you decide you want to make a stand?" "Because I'm not always going to just take no for an answer," she replied, leaning towards him. "Or did you think that's how this would work?" Half turning, she gestured at the maps. "This is what has to happen, Ulfric. If not today, then it is something we need to plan for today. This city, and Skyrim, can't always live in the past. That's what people think our rebellion was about but it's not. We need to move the country forward." "Don't think to tell me what my rebellion was about, Veleda," said Ulfric, noticeably ignoring her points. He looked to the maps, sighing in exasperation, then looked back to her, hand on his head. "Leave me." "No." Ulfric took another step towards her. Hand locked around her arm, he said whilst practically bellowing, "Tread carefully, woman! Do I have to make you leave?" The hand on the queen's captive arm reached up to clench Ulfric's forearm. "I'd like to see you try," she said, her tone low. A moment later there was the smell of singing hair as her hand heated up. She couldn't see it, but the hairs on his neck were beginning to rise. Clenching her arm tighter, he pulled her close and said in mimicking tone, "I could blast you through that door with three words if I wanted to. What say you to that?" "How about these three words: I've got wards, asshole." It was four words, but no matter. Her face was so close to his that she could feel the heat from its reddened skin- due to his anger and not a spell this time. "You can't solve every problem with your thu'um, Stormcloak. I want these building plans put into the long-term budget plan. And since I'm the only one who's made one of those, I guess you're not going to stop me." "Stop talking already," he commanded, suddenly seizing her mouth with his in mid speech. He surprised himself as much as he must have surprised her. Unsure of what just happened, but face still angered, he said, "If you weren't so damn stubborn, you would have realized I was ready to concede when I looked to your damn maps." Veleda made to flinch back but stopped at his words. Their arms were still locked. She was silent a moment, then said angrily, "You were?! Then why did you make me..." Once more she halted, and realized that though her heart was beating fast from the adrenaline, it was making her think of something else. No, that's ridiculous. Her mind hadn't finished the thought when her mouth pressed against his again, along with the rest of her. And that was that. Still mad, but submitting to his urge, Ulfric let her push herself on him, squeezing her close as their lips pressed violently. Hands on her ass, he gripped at her hips with a hand, grinding up against her through their clothes. It was stopped abruptly as Ulfric lifted her, wrapping her legs around him before dropping her on his bed beneath him. Pawing at her clothes, Ulfric wrestled off her tunic before throwing his across the room and dropping his pants around his ankles. He could still feel the sting from the slight burn on his arm that she left, feeding whatever this was that he was feeling. Excitement, frustration, maybe even a little admiration. Not that he wasted much time thinking about it as he began fighting her trousers off. She squirmed to help him get them off. There was a ripping sound. By the time they had wrestled her naked, she was kneeling on the bed, and pushed him back so that she was the one on top. Maybe it was a not-so-subtle message, but the urge to climb astride him was motivation of its own. Her own surprise at herself didn't stop her, either. Their arms were still locked together, her hands on his forearms, and this time she didn't mind that Ulfric moved her forcefully into place and drove her hips down on him. She was slick but the fit was tight, so it took several movements before he pushed past her inner folds to prod her more deeply. At that sensation, Veleda expelled a breath and began to rock her hips with more urgency. Reaching up, she loosed her hair from its clip so that it fell free. The feel of her weight on him and the friction on his middle felt so good that it threatened to make him spill over right then and there. The tingles filled his pelvis and spread up his spine so powerfully... every instinct in him said to submit and watch the hypnotic movements of her swaying breasts. But as always, Ulfric never submitted. He threw her off suddenly, flipping her to her stomach before putting a leg over his shoulders as his mouth found what his **** temporarily neglected. His hand on the round of her ass, gripping it to spread her open as he tasted his Queen's ripe fruit for the first time. He didn't let her get to complacent with the feel of his tongue wet and wriggling in her, and his other head soon found its place in her again, her arms pinned behind her back as his legs parted hers. The King grunted and gasped happily, working out his frustration from losing their argument as her round pale cheeks slapped at his groin. When thrown off him, Veleda made a growl of protest and fought him, but her resistance stopped at the singular sensation of his tongue sliding along her skin. Her eyes widened and her head came up, though Ulfric pinned her. It was not just her first experience of it with him, but with any man. She groaned, conscious mind wheeling away as if she floated at the vaulted ceiling. Groaning again when he stopped, this time in frustration, she clutched at the bedclothes so that they ripped, too. Angry at his intrusion, for a moment Veleda was determined to withhold her arousal as she had done with men in the past. Bastard could have his fun, but she wouldn't give him anything of herself. This plan began to fail after a few thrusts. She hadn't been as aroused with those other men as she was now. Each time he took her, his tip butted a spot that sent shards of lightning she felt from her hair down to the tip of her curling toes. Gods. So this is what all the fuss is about. When he pushed in deep, his sack rubbed at the spot where his tongue had lately been. Veleda gasped aloud and sat up on her elbows, turning her head to look back. When he caught her glance, he smiled back, though for him, it was more like a contented smirk. Why, he wasn't sure. Giving into her body felt like weakness, but at the moment he no longer cared. He rubbed at her back as he slid over it, skin against skin before resting on his knees with his legs wrapped around her hips. His breath was hot at the back of her neck as he continued his strokes, prodding her deep with her legs squeezed together between his so that she'd truly feel all of him. Finally, the damp friction proved too much and Ulfric could feel himself slipping, giving into the pressure building at his head as he released himself deep between her legs. Though a deep shudder went through her, the muscles rippling over Ulfric's skin, Veleda didn't know if it was a release or not and didn't care. The end didn't matter much when the beginning was that strange and the middle so extraordinary. Her senses coming back to her, she felt his hot breath in her ear and the hand that held her possessively, but this time she didn't mind, because even though she was underneath him, it felt like she who owned him. Smiling at that, she reached around, brought a hand behind his neck and pulled his mouth to hers. With a start she realized that the taste in his mouth was from her, but after a hesitation, she decided it was almost as erotic as his tongue on her had been. Ulfric didn't much care about who owned who at that point, though he did take the opportunity to slap at the ass he was still happily resting against. He didn't linger long, however. Now that he got the aggression out of his system. He kissed her once on her lips, then on her back, then on the slightly reddened cheek he laid on not too long ago before pulling his trousers up without a word. Veleda sat back on her elbows watching him dress, before she too swung her legs over the edge of the bed and began pulling on the torn trousers. "Bretons for dinner," she reminded him. "We should press for more of what they know about Cyrodiil." "Blasted Bretons..." he said, evidently forgetting about the king in his palace. Facing the door while throwing on his tunic again, he said, "About the wall. I'm still not decided. I'll look over the maps some more. Perhaps with the money I won't be spending on a third of our forces, we can put work into it. I work best at nights however. So if you want this to get done, you'd do well to make your way to my room to sleep from now on. My Queen." Veleda was pulling her tunic over her head, and when it came down she had a sly grin on her face. "Back to being a Night Watchman. With less murder." She glanced over at him and gave him a single nod, acknowledging his signal to compromise. "Good. Remember, I'm not promising anything. See you at dinner. And tonight." When Ulfric stepped out of the room, he had a smirk of his own that he was suppressing. Not bad, Ulfric.

Gracchus Ceno Imperial City Morning A pot of water boiled in the hearth, and Gracchus carefully lifted it and poured the steaming, simmering liquid into a cup, straining it through tea leaves first. Tea was vastly underrated, he thought, with so many people preferring wine or mead. Nothing better than a hot cup to start off a day. Especially when said tea would be virtually unobtainable when the war began. Then it would be water, wine, and watered down wine. Water was all he ever drank as a child, so once he had the ability to drink other things, he hardly ever drank water more than once or twice a day. It reminded him too much of his childhood, of his horrible father and loving, but scared mother, that very same mother who hardly woke now. It pained him when he would return home, only to see her withering away like a dying fruit on a vine. But she was old, and such was life. Her sad state made him hope for a quick death, either on the battlefield or in his sleep with Catia nearby. He never doubted she would outlive him, especially given his job. High Generals were a short-lived breed, these days. He sipped the tea as he read over the reports. One from a legate in High Rock spoke of an assured victory in their civil war, or as it was being named, The Pretender's War. Gracchus cared little and less for their infighting, and was just glad to see that his soldiers were holding their own. He'd need trained, seasoned men in this next war, and this civil war served that purpose well. Noticing the report was dated quite some time ago, he wondered why he hadn't received another, but brushed it off as nothing. At the worst, the legate was dead and his replacement hadn't found time to write. Next was a report about Orcs fleeing the fighting in High Rock, as well as many beginning to make their way across Cyrodiil. Some were pledging to join the Ruby Ranks once they settled their families, which would be a nice bolster, though they were too few to make a deal of difference. Still, they were seasoned and hardy, and would serve as a much needed backbone so many of the draftees lacked. On that note, he had a letter from General Hlofgar Fork-Beard, saying the new trainees were coming along well. And Valvius Hateria, the 6th legions' chief engineer, wrote saying that his experiments with catapult design and wheel variants were coming along well. Both would be needed in the sand of Eslweyr, and the mud of Valenwood. The letter also spoke of a few catapults that could be taken a part, and moved as pieces, thus allowing them to avoid getting stuck. That would prove invaluable, if it worked. Gracchus smiled to himself, leaning back in his chair. Drinking in the tea, and breathing it in, he rotated his left arm, feeling the soreness work itself out. It was healing nicely, though still ached whenever he awoke. And it likely would for the remainder of his life. But for now, things seemed to be falling perfectly into place, and for that he was glad. Suddenly, interrupting the High General's tea, the door to his office slammed open. Standing there, bloodied, battered, and drenched in blood, was General Martullus Flarion of the second legion. His deep blue robe was torn up, and the heavy imperial armor he wore underneath dented. In his chest area, the metal plating was pulled backwards, revealing his chest. A massive burn mark was visible, going across his tanned skin, as if it was a makeshift stitch. His leather gloves were blackened with ash, his boots, damaged beyond repair. Using his right arm, he was covering his side, as if he had been injured. Despite his haggard appearance, his face hadn't lost its usual calm, indifferent look, General's Ceno's aide rushed up to him, "Sir-" He attempted to go to his side, but the General pushed him back with his free hand, "I'm fine." Gracchus rose, setting his tea more calmly on the desk than he felt. He hand glowed his orange restoration magic, which he used to heal a few of the smaller wounds. "What happened, general?" "Attack on the elven garden district..." He fell onto one knee, "Gods, now that the adrenaline has stopped, I think i'm more hurt then I thought I was..." Gracchus continued the magic, running it over the major wounds now. He gripped the general and hauled him into a chair. He mouthed for his assistant to get a healer, and the man scurried off. "What kind of attack, Martullus?" The general coughed, saying a simple phrase , "Some kind of corrupted Flesh Attonach." He took off his charred leather gloves, "I think it was made from body parts." "Where at? And who made it?" Gracchud asked, still bewildered. A flesh atronach was strange enough, but one that was attacking people was even stranger still. "It was covered head to toe with stitched together, presumbly, human arms, legs, hands...." He hesitated for a second, before taking in a huge breath of air..."Heads...." General Martullus paused, biting his tongue, "of..." The healer had arrived, so Gracchus let him work before continuing. He brewed another pot of water, and poured over more tea leaves. He mixed in a health potion as well. Handing it to Martullus, he said, "I need you to explain everything." The imperial took a sip calming himself down, "...Severed heads attached to the body. Grommash cut a few of them off. A few of them...belonged to children." He stopped, glancing at his hands, "My pyromancy only did so much to it. It killed so many people..." His carefree personality switched back into place as he started to scratch his chin, "It looked uglier then my ex." "Where was it? Is it dead?" Gracchus asked shuddering as his mind conjured images of severed baby heads. He pushed the thoughts away, assisting the healer with the wound. Martullus practically glowed in the orange healing magic. "Me, Grommash, and the guardsmen who didn't run away injured it pretty badly. Lord Snow-Strider finished the abomination off." He tried getting out of the chair, "I sent Grommash to report to her majest Moitre, while I told you." "Sit." It wasn't a question. "You're in no position to move. Where did it happen?" he asked for the third time, though he couldn't fault the general for not answering. He was obviously shaken, regardless of the calm mask he wore. He scratched his head, "I believe it was near an inn called "The Ruddered Muddle". Or at least that's we're me and Grommash fought the beast." "The Elven Gardens District. Any idea where it came from?" Gracchus asked. The healer had finished, and so he left, leaving the two generals and the assistant alone. "No. It was artificially made, that I know for certain. It was very well crafted, extremely fast and durable." "So likely a powerful conjurer. But why just release it like that? What's the aim, besides to kill?" Gracchus wondered. None of this made any sense. There goes the peace. "I think I heard Lord Snow-Strider scream something about the dominion. Flesh Atronarchs, if my studies back when I was novice were to be believed, are usually servants of the Mad god Sheogorth, though I'm no major in the subject. Maybe some radical cult?" "Maybe," Gracchud said. "But why would they unleash it like that? What purpose would it serve?" He turned to the assistant, "Leave us." The man did as told, leaving Martullus and Gracchus alone. Gracchus sat back down at his desk. "I don't think it was a daedric cult or the dominion." He got up with very much surprising strength, closing the window blinds an glancing around nervously, "Then who was it?" Gracchus asked. His brow wrinkled as he watched the general's nervous movements. What was he so afraid of? "I saw high elven body parts among the rest." He started to summon small sparks of flame, "I talked to the Guardsman in charge after the battle. There's been a high number of disappearances in the Elven garden district. Mostly homeless humans, but a few mer, including High Elves as well. Think we found them." He said grimly, "Dominion operatives try not to kill there own if they have the choice. There was plenty of humans they could have used instead of the elves, but they did anyway." "You believe it wasn't the Dominion then. If not them, who?" Gracchus massaged his temple. Just when things were trending up, a flesh monster of unknown origin starts slaughtering people. Just what the Empire needed. "I mentioned Lord-Strider appearing just at the nick of time? Quite convenient don't you think?" He let out a sigh, "Gaius and Lorgar told me quite a bit about him." "Like what, exactly?" Gracchus didn't know if Fury-Blade was fishing, or truly knew, so it was best to play it safe. "Some would say it was convenient you and Grommash were there. Coincidence doesn't mean he caused it, necessarily." But Gracchus had his doubts. He remembered the beast Skjari summoned at Falkreath, and the powerful magics he possessed. His appointment to Court Mage was with good reason. "I know that Gaius"s betrayal was a ruse. Lorgar came to with...very disturbing information about his...relationship with her majesty. I also know he wrote you a letter, implicating me as being disloyal. It's my job to know these things Gracchus, if someone wants information, they go to me." Gracchus shook his head. "All Lorgar said was Retrius and Lithin were disgruntled with the leadership. You were never mentioned. Regardless, there's nothing we can do, not yet, maybe not ever. War with the Dominion is inevitable, and we are sworn to defend the Empire. Who sits on the Ruby Throne matters little and less to me, so long as I do my job. As far as I'm concerned, until Snow-Strider antagonizes someone or doesn't physical detriment to the Empire, he is fine. After the war, the situation obviously needs to be dealt with. But we aren't in a position to do anything now, sad as it is." "Is that is your decision sir, the we shall all respect it." The imperial general straightened his back, "But, as the face of the imperial legion, and a war hero, your very popular among the people. If you wanted to declare martial law, and wrestle control over the empire from Lord-Snowstrider." He didn't mention the Empress "Then, not one of the General's would make a move to oppose you. You would also be protecting her majesty in a way." He quietly added, "The Elven garden district will no doubt be blamed on the Thalmor, by Lord Snow-strider regardless if he had any involvement in the matter, and be hailed as hero. However, the human population will take its anger out on the elven residence. I fear mass rioting is going start soon." "Damn it, Martullus." Gracchus slammed his fist on the desk. "Now is not the time for insurrection, just as I told Retrius. We cannot afford to weaken the Empire any further, and if anyone were to try and wrest power away from Skjari, who knows what would happen. Already Cheydinhal has attempted rebellion, and given the opportunity he would do so again." Sighing, he continued, "What could Snow-Strider gain from blaming the Thalmor? All that would accomplish is killing Elven citizens." "I've heard the man...particulary dislikes Elves. Besides any of his personal feelings, it would rouse up the crowd. Give them a reason to be afraid and angry. Make the war be about protecting there very existence and way of life." He continued, "As you know, Lord snow strider isn't the most popular man around. Him saving many Peoples live and felling the monster, will no doubt boost his popularity be a great deal." "Really? I was given to understand he was more popular after his dealing with Bravil, Leyawiin, and Cheydinhal. And I didn't know he misliked elves." Gracchus looked at the back of Martullus, who was looking between the curtains of the window. "I just haven't ever seen any anti-Elven behavior, general, and I don't believe he would just kill off our citizens." "By the commoners no doubt, many on the elder council despise the man." He put his hands behind his back and gave a somewhat mocking smile, "Well what do I know. I'm nothing more then a simple soldier. Choose to ignore my warning about Lord Snow-Strider at your own peril." He glanced around, "None of this changes the fact that there will be rioting. I advise we deplo the legion, and set curfews up." "We cannot deploy soldiers and issue a curfew with not even a hint of rioting," Gracchus said, exasperated. "Until such time as either the Oculatus hears of rioting, or there is actual rioting, I will not move my troops into the city." "The entire imperial watch Garrison stationed there is in shambles. Half of them fled, while the majority that stayed were eviscerated by the monsters claws . If we don't step in and restore order, there will be rioting." The general said, cooly, but with fire in his eyes. "I'll move in enough troops to replace the ones wounded and killed, but no more. If we institute a curfew, that could cause rioting, and I will not have that. Half of the troops will be battlemages, to help quell any rioting or kill another monster should one appear," Gracchus said. He rose, and walked over to Martullus, clasping him on the arm. "You need the visit the healer the next few days to ensure you don't have any internal injuries. Now get some rest, you look awful." "If I can survive sealing my wounds by burning myself to bind them, I can handle some internal bleeding." He said waving his arms, returning with a clasp he said, "I dont like this one bit sir. Not at all. Nothing good is going to come of it." "Get the wounds checked, General. We don't need any more death, not in our leadership. I hope you're wrong about this, but I will ready my troops in case there is rioting. Should there be any, they can move in at a moments notice," Gracchus said, smiling slightly. Gracchus returned the salute, and moved back to his desk. There goes the peaceful morning, he thought. And his tea was cold, to top it all off.

Rebec, Baldur Kyne's Watch (Part 3) Rebec walked back to the longhouse, pausing to check the coast as she always did. At any moment she expected to see Dominion vessels on the horizon. There were none, so she and Ragna started home. The baby had given up feeding since she was being jostled too much. If she could have sighed in exasperation at her mother interrupting her, she would have. Baldur was at the house by now already, armor and boots in a corner, now replaced with his more comfortable leather and bear fur tunic. Toralf handed him a basket of peanuts while he was home from the Breton merchant, which Baldur was now boiling in a pot by the fire as he got to working on the rest of his newest novel. He didn't bother asking if Toralf paid for the food or not. By the time Toralf left the home, Rebec was already approaching the door but he didn't say a peep as she passed. Rebec just nodded at the passing Toralf and went inside. She glanced at Baldur but retrieved a burping cloth and set about that task. As she patted Ragna's back, she said, "So what was that all about? And I don't mean the dodgy Breton king." Baldur kept writing a while, leaving nothing but the sound of his scribbling in the hut. After he finished a page, blowing on it to dry the ink, he said, "You can put the Breton in Skyrim, but you can't put Skyrim in the Breton. Don't know what to tell you. He chose the milkdrinkers." "Aw, Baldur. Don't be so hard on him. You know how it is not to have a pa who cares for you. He thinks he has a shot at that now. Maybe he's wrong, and it's likely to go pear shaped, but he's got to find out for himself." "I cared for him." "But you aren't his pa. Blood counts for something." Rebec came over and sat down next to him. Ragna let out a big burp and as her mother brought her around, the baby yawned mightily. He stopped writing, but didn't look at her still. His brows were wrinkled and eyes glaring at the wall as he asked, "And Jala? You think she'd say the same thing? What about Mila? Does blood always come first?" He didn't sound angry, more curious. Non rhetorical. "I killed my father. Blood means little to me." "You didn't really think of Daric as a son, did you? I know you're fond of him, but I guess I didn't realize how much." Baldur scoffed at the thought. "It seems so stupid when you say it out loud now. What would I know of a son. But still. When I saw the man hugging him... He wanted to fight like me, look like me, sing like me, though he was terrible at it. He'd listen to my stupid ramblings of the gods with full attention well into the night, never seeming bored to hear them. But now all that's gone. Whatever. It's done. Like you said, I'm not his father." Baldur stood to avoid her seeing the tears in his eyes. Grabbing a handful of hot peanuts from the boiling cauldron and two bottles of mead, Baldur sank into the furs of the bed. Rebec turned to watch him. She knew he was getting emotional, even if he tried to hide it. It was in his voice and she knew him better than that. "I may not understand how things can run so deep with you, but it's not stupid. You're just saying that to try to fend off the hurt. Boldir's staying away, too. Is that part of it?" Baldur was glad to have something else to talk about. He tore into one of the salty soft shells, then said, "Not for much longer. I sent a Captain and two Stormcloaks to Riften with a carriage. They should be here soon, hopefully." "Kidnapping him?" Rebec grinned a little and stood, bringing Ragna over to her longship and settling her into the warm furs. She eyed the peanuts suspiciously and didn't take any, but stretched out sideways on the bed, using Baldur's knees as a pillow. "My bard," she said, patting his leg affectionately. "You feel things deep. It's one reason I love you, even if it scared me at first." Baldur seemed amused at that. He was calmer now, looking at her with weary eyes tired of crying lately and refusing to any longer. He popped one of the boiled peanuts from within a shell past her lips, running his rough finger over her them and her ruddy cheeks. "It scared you, huh? Why?" She chewed the peanut reluctantly, and soon was reaching up to filch another. "Because fires that flare up fast tend to burn out just as fast. I thought it might be the same with you. I see you don't take bonds lightly, though. Men like Toralf hold to you because they know you'll do the same for them. Daric'll carry that with him, whether he knows it now or not." Baldur looked at her cockeyed as if to contemplate what she said. After a pause, he finally broke the silence. "This is all oddly profound of you," he joked. "I'm also a bit surprised you didn't tell him good riddance. Has Rebec Red-Eye grown wise in motherhood?" "I was always wise, fool," she answered, grinning. "And why should I say good riddance? I liked Daric. He's got a mouth on him, but I'd have it no other way. It was him who was prickly sometimes, his pride getting up. I guess that was because his pa- the man who he knew as pa, that is- was always on him about something." "I guess so," he answered, looking away from her. His mind went back to that moment when Daric confronted him. Where he made his decision to push him away once more rather than speak of his weakness. If only Daric asked sooner and not around Theodore and the others... Except he did, fool. Blinking again, Baldur forced a smile and rubbed at her side. "Come here." Rebec climbed up the furs to nestle against his shoulder. "We'll have our own boy, you'll see. As soon as I get over the idea of having my nethers torn out starting from the inside." "It won't be as hard next time," he said, resting his head against hers. He moved to his side then, tucking her under his chin so that her breath was warm at his neck. And to sneak a grab at her backside. "Boy or girl, that doesn't matter much either. Except we'll need a boy to help watch Ragna when she starts liking boys. Then I might need an army of boys." "With your reputation, you'll only need another like yourself to watch your back," Rebec said, grinning. More seriously, she said, "Speaking of that, don't wait around to get another second because you're sad about Daric. Now, what do you make of that Breton? Not Daric's pa, the king." Baldur didn't like that idea much. He picked Daric because he knew they had a lot in common upon first seeing him. He didn't think it likely he'd feel comfortable replacing Daric. Not now anyway. "Theodore... He's one to watch out for. Sharp. He almost caught me in my lie just by me using a nickname, but I was lucky. Between him and the Witch, I might need to watch my back, especially if he gets too curious about the Mage. Other than that, I like him. His disdain for the Empire is reassuring. Who knows, if he figures things out, he may not care that the soon to be emperor is a Stormcloak. Or was. Heh, if we can even call him an Emperor now. An Emperor with no empire. Fitting." "Like you said, that wizard is no Stormcloak. He used us for a time, that's all. As for Bretons, I don't have any use for them, just for their coin. They haven't proved their worth to us yet like the redguard did. Until they do, it's all piss and wind to me." She smiled slyly and kissed his neck. "You did spin a good yarn, though." Baldur smiled as well, thinking back to the butterflies he got during his tale. It was a rush, thinking on the spot like that. Like spinning one of his bard songs. "Liked that did you? Wasn't sure what I'd tell him. Didn't know what I'd say until I met him. High Rock seceding definitely changed things. I likely would have enjoyed our talk more, if...nevermind." Baldur felt a pit in his stomach again at the thought of Daric. He put it out of his mind as best he could. He looked behind him quickly, then brought his head back to his woman. "Baby's asleep." "Is that a hint?" She smiled, and clasped Baldur's hand, lacing her fingers with his. "We haven't... not since the baby. I haven't really felt myself." He kissed her on her head and smiled slyly, running his fingers up her shirt, tickling at her side. "I know. You're as beautiful as always though. I'll go easy on you." If he was honest, he wasn't feeling like himself lately either. The baby took more out of him than he thought it would. But he could use a distraction this day, out of all the days. "Nothing fancy," she agreed. Rebec kept her eyes locked with him most of the time as she slipped out of her clothes. Strangely, this was both the most calming and the most exciting thing. They had seen each other countless times, after all, and it was the connection between them that mattered. She had forgotten that in the months before the baby was born, but was determined not to do it again. When she was bare, he settled close to her, letting her warmth and taste of her lips build him up. He wasn't in a hurry to begin, as it was the enjoyent of nearness that he sought the most. He took his time, playfully kissing at her lips and neck, his **** soon hard and resting at the warm soft rise of her stomach. It had grown some from pregnancy, but he didn't mind. Neither had Underking. What made him nervous was the memory fresh on his mind of their child's difficult birth. But he didn't show it, making sure to hold her gaze so she'd focus on his face, rather than worry over what was going on down there. That was papa's turf. He rubbed at her with his head gently, alternating between it and a finger to test the waters before finally moving within her slowly. Her breasts were sore and chapped, and Rebec too had fresh memories of the injuries in her nether region, but she kept those at bay. Running her fingers along Baldur's arm and chest, she instead called up images of how he looked when he fought. He had to know she didn't always watch his sparring just to learn new axe techniques. The feeling of his tip sliding inside her made her nervous. It always had some element of threat to it, even if she wanted it. Rebec reached her arms around his shoulders and waited to hear his groans of pleasure. That was something she missed. She didn't have to wait very long, as it turned out. Even going slow, long periods without her touch did a lot of good for his enjoyment. He hitched her leg up until she wrapped them around him, completely locked in the grasp of her long legs like a spider. It amazed Baldur that the same place that their child came out of could still fit firmly around him. But then, this was a Rebec the Red girl. Having a child did little to stop her from returning to normalcy, which she demonstrated in typical Rebec fashion at the tavern when Ragna needed feeding. The thought made him grin proudly at her. He didn't think she'd be as into this as before, but he didn't hold it against her. As he grew closer, his tempo increased, but he didn't get carried away. He did smile mischeviously as he stole a taste at her breast, gently wetting her poor chapped nip before kissing and sucking at the round of her soft bosom. He was closer then, the warmth of his breath creeping up her chest and to her neck, which his mouth siezed as his hand siezed her breast, folding easily between the grasp of his fingers while the other moved with his final strokes against his chest. Rebec's eyes were closed, and at first she had simply let him have his way. It was comforting to be in Baldur's embrace again, hear his ragged breaths in her ear, with the familiar rock of the bed beneath them. As he lifted her legs, however, his penetration deepened and suddenly she felt a tingle up her back that made her first gasp, and then squirm to get it again. The arousal made her less aware of the emotions and more aware of the erotic, the sensation of her breasts swaying against his chest, and the wet sounds as he moved in her. She forgot to be self-conscious and gasped again when he licked and sucked at her nipple. It was a relief to feel desire again, and to see his lust, despite the changes. She was close now, and writhed her hips under him, intensifying the friction. He was glad to see the signs of her desire rising, something he missed to feel as well as hear. He let her rock beneath him as he slowed so she could catch up, but that didn't last long as he felt her growing tighter around him in crescendo. Mercifully, he could feel her go over and heard her signature moans of delight, and after some last good satisfying strokes, he caught up with her, casting his bounty within. He stayed atop her, enjoying the lingering shudders up his spine as they kissed before finally disembarking. He leaned over her still, watching his seed fall from her as he pulled away, then looking down into her eyes as his hair draped down towards her with his childish grin. Settling close again, he said, "Best part of Winter here. The long nights." "Not that we wait around for nightfall, necessarily." She smiled and let her breath catch, still holding his eyes. Their ordeal was still fresh in her mind, but the pain was gone now, as if she couldn't remember what all the fuss had been about. Settling against him again, Rebec let them both settle down, then said, "I hardly remember what I told you when I thought I might die, but if it sounded good, then you remember that. It's why I say, don't wait around to get another second. I need you more than ever." "How could I forget," he said. It was true. It was one of the scariest, yet beautiful things he ever heard someone say. Bitter sweet had never been so bitter, or sweet. "My baby's mother." His hand found her face, rubbing at her cheek as he smiled proudly. "For you, I'll be on the lookout for any poor bastard who wants to polish my weapons and listen to my ramblings." "Somebody who can lift a sword, anyway. Now sleep, love. It won't be long before the little Nord is practicing her war cry." "That'll be easy, now. You made a mistake letting me have my way. I'm gonna sleep like a sload," he said, grinning. He was genuinely happy then, successfully managing to sleep with neither dreams nor thoughts of the lad he once fancied a son, or otherwise. *** ROW...row. ROW...row. ROW...row. ROW...row. Down the hatch and 'cross the void. ROW...row. The cold dead planes, we avoid. ROW...row. Dragon headed house of sea. ROW...row. Fly on high, don't let it, take, me. ROW...row. ROW...row. ROW...row. ROW...row. Row, row, row that ship, down the serp-ent's way. Row, row, row it now, till the end of days. Row, row, row some more, row until she screams, fight her waves until they cave, stay out the land of dreams. Her winds are cold, her winds are strong, but we're Nords and our arms, stronger, She blows, we row, she whines, we crow, and we can row on longer! Row, row, row all night, break waves till they cream, me boat's a-float, sore is her throat, rowin beats Wind it seems. ROW...row. ROW...row. Rowin through the streams of time in this Nordic life, the sands are slowly fading like the sharp edge of me knife, I may rust and I may grow dull, yet I'll still run you through, The winds like whips upon me ship, still ploughin through the blue. The Doom Drums rollin, roll for me, Kyne's thun-der-ous melo-dy, Keep rollin, lads, now here we go, she paints the seas with alleg-ro, Our ances-tors, they want a show, but all they'll see is how we row, Row it to, and row it fro! Row like you ****, don't stop now, no! ROW...row. ROW...row. ROW...row. ROW...row.... Baldur was in high spirits, clearly, as even with the cold waters soaking him, salt in his hair, the news of the ship they sent to Riften apporaching put a divine spark in him that wouldn't let go. He even decided to meet them half way, despite the storm that came in. All the more reason to go sailing, he figured. Just in case. "Who's that?" "I don't know, Bolsh. Check your spyglass and keep watching until you get a good view," said Jjgmir. "Aye aye." Bolsh kept watching as he was told, but with it already being somewhat dark, and the rains getting in the way, he couldn't see much of anything but the outline of another longboat coming directly for them. That was until a series of lightning flashes lit up the sky, revealing a yellow headed man in white furs at the ship's bow. "Uh, Captain?" "Yes?" answered both Jjgmir and the captain of the longboat. The bald sea-fairing Nord gave Jjgmir the stink eye. Ignoring him, Jjgmir said, "What is it?" "The general decided to come greet us." "Great. That explains the storm, then." *** "Now, tell me EXACTLY what they said," demanded Baldur. To say that he was disappointed at seeing the ship with no Iron-Brow was an understatement. He made the three come aboard his ship, rowing at a much faster tempo than his song laid out before. Their arms felt as stiff as the paddles they used, but they soon wished that they were back at it. Baldur made them take ten laps around the town as fast as they could, weighed down with salt water. At least before, they were sitting down. "Speak up!" said Baldur. The men were on their hands and knees panting at the snowy forest floor. "They, they said. That they wanted to stay. They said, that they liked it there. Being closer to Carlotta's family. Said it was good for little Mila. The girl gave boss a hug, and it seemed like she wasn't totally on board with it, but that's what they said they wanted. And also, that you should remain here, with your family." Bolsh watched Baldur's expression melt like the snow beneath his sweating reddened hands. They could tell the news hit him hard, and for a moment, they thought that the general might shed tears in front of them. Before that thought could go further, his face began to slowly turn red, and the heat from his head caused steam to rise in the cold air like theirs did from their exertion. Nearby, a patrol jumped as they heard what sounded like thunder from the storm, followed by an explosion in the distance that they thought was a lightning strike. It was immediately accompanied by a flock of crows kawing and fleeing a falling old barren tree. Baldur stepped over the burning remains of the tree that fell in front of him, grabbing Bjorn and Bolsh by their collars with Jjgmir still on his knees in the middle. "Stand up, all of you! Captain, what's your name?" "Captain Jjgmir Willcrush-Me." "Willcrush-You?" "No, General, Willcrush-Me." "That's right, I will," said Baldur. "All three of you for failing your mission and wasting time. I held the Grim Trials off for a day for this because I was expecting company. Now, you're going to make the whole group pay tomorrow to make up for lost time." "Wait, we're not-" "Shut up, Bolsh!" "All of you shut up!" yelled Baldur, smoke from the tree rising behind him. "Your asses belong to me for the next month! Starting tomorrow morning. Be at the beach, or I'll run you till you puke your mother's milk! Go on, get out of my sight!" Baldur watched the men gladly scurry off back to the town, all quiet and not saying a word. As they left, he noticed that the skies were clearing up a bit now, and when he turned to look at the town, Magnus' glare was pompously blinding him in the horizon, which he thanked with the middle of his finger. The people in town were staring at them as they returned, knowing that Baldur must've chewed them out something fierce for some reason. When they reached the fort and found a table with some mead, Bolsh finally broke the silence as always. "What in the hell just happened there?" Jjgmir took a swig from his tankard and said, "You two have just been drafted, that's what. Welcome to the Grim-Trials." Bjorn said, "But those maniacs are suicidal! He may as well have signed our death warrants. We can't keep with those people, Jjgmir.." "They don't call it grim for nothing now, do they? Now suck it up. You'll be fine, just stick with me and do as I say." Looking to Bolsh, he said, "Hmph, at least the mead is good. Right Bolsh?" Bolsh looked down into his tankard, then back up to Jjgmir and said, "Yea. I guess. It has Juniper berries in it." Jjgmir smirked and said, "Yea. That it does, Bolsh. That it does."