TheCzarsHussar

Stalks-Deep-Waters Morning Stalks slowly but steadily began to open his eyes. Everything was a little foggy at first but as his eyes adjusted he was shocked by what he saw: the head of a big snake staring at him only a couple of feet away. The snake had a dark green color but what was most odd was the big, brown, twirling mustache it had on the nose. It's not over? Stalks wondered as he just kept staring at the snake who just stared back at him. They just kept staring for another minute and as Stalks began glancing on his surroundings he noticed that he was still sitting behind the statue he had used to hide from the legionaries. The snake had the main part of it's body upon the pedestal and was now stretching it's neck over and then down to Stalks. "Hello frrriend." the snake said in soft and melodic voice. "Pleasant drrreams?" the snake continued. Stalks then began to remember the cave, the talking troll, the door with three riddles and the underground mansion. Stalks again just stared back the snake with wide open eyes. "Who - what - how?" Stalks stuttered as he tried to form a coherent question. "Those are verry interrresting questions." the snake solemnly replied. Then the snake's tail came down from the pedestal to twirl it's big mustache. "So, will you answer them?" Stalks asked while wonder if he should try to stab the snake with his dagger that he still held. "No." the snake replied calmly while still twirling it's mustache. "Then you wouldn't mind if go?" Stalks then began to slowly creep to the side along the pedestal. "No I wouldn't mind at all. Crrawl along." Stalks just followed the snake with his eyes and as soon as he had gotten a few feet away from it he darted up from the ground and ran into the forest, not even bothering to look back to see if the snake was still there or if it was following him. He ran till he was sure the snake or whatever it had been was far behind. Then he turned to walking at a brisk pace instead. So he continued till he found a small stream in which he quickly cleaned off the blood and the little pieces of flesh that had gotten stuck in the barbs on the dagger. After having sheathed the dagger and had a decent meal (a piece or dried meat and a few berries) he set out once again for the Green Road. However the murder he had committed made him wary of traveling on one of the main roads; which was assured to be patrolled by guards and legionaries. His best hope was that he would travel faster than the word of his deed, or more precisely: the description of the murderer. He came across one patrol of legionaries as he came nearer to Bravil. Stalks just acted as he usually did and tried to pay the soldiers no mind as he went about his own business. Luckily the legionaries did the same and payed Stalks no mind, except for the few suspicious glances Stalks usually got from landstriders. And once the legionaries had passed and were well out range, Stalks let out great sigh of relief. He did not stop by in Bravil. While he had heard that the city had been retaken and gotten a lot safer, he had his doubt that the city would have any supplies worth buying. So he continued along the Green Road toward the Golden Road. During the night he slept out in the forest in hastily made shelters and the couple of times he decided to sleep at an inn he made sure to leave quickly at dawn. He passed by Skingrad as hastily as he had done with Bravil. And with the last major settlement behind him he felt a relief. The chances of stumbling upon a patrol that would recognize him was now slim. Stalks followed the road west for a while before turning south towards the Strid River. His plan was to dive into the big river and swim underwater up one of the smaller rivers in Valenwood that flowed out in the Strid River. That would get him fairly close to the coordinates he had been given. When he reached the Strid River he saw that he was up on a high cliff with the great river running far below. Stalks looked both up and down the river but could see no good way to easily get down the cliff. He had been expecting cliffs as they had been shown on the map, but not of this height. Seeing no other option he took several steps back and took a moment to make sure all his bags and equipment was firmly fixed to his body. He took a deep breath and ran towards the edge. As he leaped from the cliff he hoped that he would get out far enough to land in the deep parts of the water. For a second he thought he might instead hit the slope at the lower parts of the cliffs, but as they passed beneath him; he put together his hand in front of him as he dived down towards the water like a spear. He went through the surface with relative ease, with only his equipment preventing the effectiveness of his streamlined body. After a quick peek above the surface for directions he made his way towards the outlet of the river he had chosen to swim upstream of. At first the river was hard with strong currents. Which forced Stalks to go deeper and swim just above the riverbed where the current was weaker than at the surface. When the strong current subsided and the water got calmer he went up the surface for another look. Now being surrounded by trees he had a hard time making out his position. There were no easily recognizable landmarks or anything from the map. Suddenly he saw small lines running along the surface of water. Instinctively he pulled out his spear and dived down under the water and as expected he saw the crocodile coming at him in high speed. He made a quick move and fake thrust to the crocodile's side only to turn around and drive the other end of the spear up the crocodile's jaw as it opened it's mouth wide to bite. It was old move he had learnt back in Black Marsh and had by now gotten quite the routine for him. The crocodile began to sink to the bottom when Stalks pulled out the spear and Stalks had no intentions of pulling that heavy body out of the water. So he let it sink and become food for the other river creatures. As night fell he left the water and went upon land. He did not know what to expect from the creatures of Valenwood but he decided to take no risks. He climbed up a nearby giant tree, using his claws on hands and feet to bury them into the thick bark, to it's lowest branch. After having made sure the immediate area was safe from whatever might be lurking in the forest, he lied down on the wide branch. He had a little trouble falling asleep as he kept worrying that he might fall off the branch or that some hungry animal would descend upon him. The next day he awoke to feeling that something was wrapped around his leg and lightly tugging at it. In panic he opened his eyes and tried shaking off the animal. The creature withdrew and Stalks thrashing almost got him to fall off the branch. And before he could regain his composure he heard a strangely familiar voice: "Is that how you grrreet and old acquaintance?" Stalks shot up and just stared at the big, dark green snake with the big, brown, twirling mustached that now nestled on the branch a few feet away from him. "How?!" was all Stalks managed to let out. "So wherre are we going?" the snake asked, simply ignoring Stalks question and altogether shock and surprise. "'We' are not going anywhere. 'I'," Stalks pointed at himself. "am going to my new job. 'You'," now Stalks pointed at the big snake. "will stay here." "If you say so." "Good." Stalks said as he backed off from the big snake that just watched him curious eyes. Stalks then began his descent by the same he had gotten up in the tree. He looked over his shoulder between each step down to see that the snake remained on the branch and just looked at Stalks. When he got down on the ground he did the same as he went along the riverbank till the snake was finally out of sight. After some more traveling with little hassle (and no more mustached snakes) Stalks arrived closely to the place specified by the coordinates. Though the map with coordinates that he had bought was of paper and wasn't so easy to read after his long swim in the river. But he was still sure that the camp was nearby. A slight sound reached Stalks ear, like a leaf falling. Suddenly Stalks could feel cold steel on his neck. A feminine voice came into his ear: "One move, Argonian and I cut your throat." "You greet all new employees like this?" said Stalks, assuming that this person was from the camp. "Silence your tongue." Stalks could notice several other figures emerge from the foliage behind him. "We've been stalking you ever since you entered are boundaries. What business do you have?" "You didn't get what I meant by 'new employees'? I was told to give some commanding officer here a note." "Slowly put it on the ground." Stalks slowly moved his hand to the pocket containing the vial with the note, still dry and in good condition. He held it up so whoever was holding the blade could see it's content. After a few seconds of showing of the vial he slowly and carefully opened it. Holding forth the vial at arms length he simply tipped the vial so the little note fell onto the ground. "Are you people usually this afraid of notes?" Stalks then asked a little half jokingly. "Shut up or I'll stick this knife up your egg poach." said the woman. Three figures emerged from the woods. They were wearing dark green leather armor, along with black leather masks that covered there faces. The one behind said: "Pick it up private." One of the trio did so, a tall and heavily built man. He said; in a rather cold voice: "This is dominion shadow corps code for sure. We should take him to Colonel Saladin." One of the masked soldiers, the one to the tall ones right said: "I don't know. The colonel isn't really in a good mood." Shadow corpse? Odd name. Stalks thought. "Well I just want my assignment. Then I'll be off." "Shut up." the female said. After a minute, she finally spoke, "Bag him." and suddenly hands gripped Stalks. He lost vision as something was placed over his head. I've never had such bad treatment by an employer. Stalks thought as he was manhandled. But he did not resist. And he stayed silent, even though he wanted to say something snarky to that stingy woman who seemed to be the one barking the orders. One of the men manhandling Stalks whispered something into his ear: "Forgive the sergeant for her behavior. She doesn't trust anyone. Just don't resist and you wont be harmed." "I came here for an job. And your 'sergeant' is making me want to go find a new employer. Do you treat all new mercenaries that come here like this?" Stalks whispered back. "Your not a wolf that's for sure. The colonel handles contracts in this area. He's most likely just going to process and send you on your way to your new unit. Who recruited you?" "A small woman, or girl. If that make any sense to you." "Did she have white hair?" "Yes, I think so." "Then that's miss Akney." "Aheh." muttered Stalks. The name didn't tell him anything and he didn't really care for it anyway. After a good hour, Stalks realized they were taking him inside some kind of building. When the bag came off he saw that he was in some sort of holding cell. There was a table, with a set of three chairs. Only a single person was in the room with him. A tall looking man, whom, like his comrades, face was covered by a leather mask. He said: "The colonel will be with you shortly." Must get unbearably hot in those masks. Stalks thought before he spoke: "Is all this really necessary in order to give me my assignment?" "Precautions are necessary." Said a very tall looking man entering the room, He was wearing a Hammerfell styled dark leather long-coat, and seemed to wear a chain mail underneath going by the small amounts of it you could see under his sleeves. Attached to his coat, was a black hood, but he wore it down. Like the others Stalks had seen, his face was covered with a leather mask, but unlike the rest, he had some kind of animal skull painted over on the front. The most distinctive feature about him, however, in place of his right eye, there was a bright red glow. On his back, was strapped a large greatsword. "I apologize for my subordinates mistreatment of you, however with this region being infested with Rebels, you cant be too careful. Please, have a seat." Stalks hesitated for a moment before he took a seat in the chair closest to him. But he couldn't take his eyes of the red glow. It made him feel a little uneasy. "Though I would expect any rebels to be less scaly." "As I said, I cant be too careful." He paused, before taking a seat. He lied down a scroll on the table, and prepared ink and a quill. "Your name please." Stalks hesitated for a second, partly because he had second thoughts (given the treatment he had just endured) and partly because he was not good with a pen. He then picked up the quill, dipped it into the ink and began to write. The end result wasn't pretty and looked like a child had written the name, along with a couple of ink dots around the name. "There. I guess." The man didn't comment on Stalks poor writing skills. "The message you were given was in Dominion code. If a competent legionary, or Oculatus agent recognized it, and found it among your possessions, you would have been drawn and quartered." "Great. Though I don't see how they can tell one set of numbers apart from another. But I'm not going ask. Now I just want to be on my way." "I still have to process you." The man said, he chuckled, "Is my eye disturbing you?" "A little. And what do you mean by 'process'?" The man put up his hood, shrouding his entire face in complete darkness. Not even the glowing red shone through. "I'm simply going to give you details on your contract, and send you to them. You of course, will be escorted by one of my commando's until you're out of my bases border." "Okay. Will I get something or will this new group just have to take my word for it that I'm hired?" "This." He offered Stalks a sealed scroll, "You'll be working for the 8th light infantry skirmishers. A group composed of all Dominion loyal Bosmer. In a sense, you're an irregular." Stalks slowly retrieved the scroll. "Well I will certainly stick out like a sore thumb then." he muttered. "It's decent pay, and you get fed. So it's a pretty good deal." "Wasn't there a roof above my head and a bed to sleep in also part of the deal?" "Depends. You might have to sleep on the ground when your out in the field. Your unit is stationed at a very old imperial fort. So I suppose you will." "The short lady who recruited me said I might also get to sell any loot I find. So will I be able to?" "My men aren't. Looting is unprofessional. But I know for a fact that your commanding officer is much more...liberal in regards to his troops behavior, so yes, you should be allowed to take any loot you find." the man sounded a little smug, "Did this short lady have white hair?" "Yeah. One of your men said she was Akney and I think that was how she presented herself. And while you think looting is unprofessional, it's been a way for me to get by when an employer has decided to pay me less than what was originally promised." "What's your usual line of work?" "Sword for hire, bounty hunting, that kind of stuff." "So your no assassin?" "No. I guess some jobs has been close to what one might call an assassination, but that's about it." "Not your style, eh?" "I prefer to lay in ambush. But breaking into a house and slit the throat of someone sleeping isn't my style, yes." "How long have you been a merc?" "Should be six, seven years now." "Not too long huh? What did you do before this?" "Hunt, fish, pick herbs. I'm from inner Black Marsh as you probably might see on my slightly more... bestial appearance." "Ah. What decided to make your pursue a life of bloodshed?" "I wanted to travel. And I knew how to handle a weapon." "I wanted to travel. And I knew how to handle a weapon." "And do you enjoy it?" "I like the traveling and excitement. The violence I'm mostly indifferent to." "Then why not an explorer instead of a mercenary?" "Because how many will hire explorers?" "Ah, you kill for gold." The man drew his greatsword and started to flourish it, striking the air. The sword itself looked very old, having a very strange looking pale rust about it. Blood red runes covered the blade all the way to the hilt. It was large, even for a greatsword. It was almost unbelievable a man could hold it without two hands. "So are we done here?" said Stalks as he watched the blade, less out of fascination but more out of a worry that the weird man would slip with the sword and hit him. And that the man was swinging such a large blade in a relatively tight space didn't feel any more assuring. "Yes quite." A black bag was placed on Stalks head, and Stalks felt a blunt object hit into his head, as the darkness came to him, he heard a primal chuckle, "Always be aware of your surroundings." Stalks felt like he was still sitting in a chair, a second later the bag was removed and he was almost blinded by the light. But instead of the somewhat dark and dreary room, he was now sitting in the same chair and in the same room as when he had had tea with the talking troll. And almost to Stalks' anticipation: there was the troll sitting in the chair at opposite far side of the table. He looked around a little but the room was pretty much the same as it was when he left. Though this time it wasn't teatime and instead it the skeever seemed to be preparing dinner. The rat butler held in one hand a overly large tray on which a couple pots and plates containing various dishes (that looked in various degrees both delicious and strange) that he placed out along the table. When the tray was empty the butler simply ran out through the large rat hole in the wall and shortly returned with a new, filled tray. Mr Ytrid, the troll, didn't speak or really react to Stalks presence. Stalks didn't seem to mind being ignored right now as he moved his hand to feel the soreness of where he had been hit. It wasn't that bad but he definitely wished that those "Shadow Corpses" could have found a better way to treat new employees than abductions and blows to the head. Another minute passed as the skeever laid the table and Stalks just sat there trying to come to terms with being the this weird place again. He took a closer look at Mr Ytrid across the table and saw that the troll still had that odd scarf, but no longer had the mushroom on top of the head. Once the table was brimming with dishes to the point that some seemed to be about to fall of the edge, and the skeever did not return from the big rat hole, Mr Ytrid stood up. "Welcome back. I'm glad you accepted my dinner invitation." At the declaration that Stalks had gotten a dinner invitation made Stalks unsure of what to say, as he clearly hadn't gotten one, but at the same time he didn't want to offend the troll. "I... was passing by in the area. And I... uhm... couldn't pass up an opportunity for a good meal." he then finally said, hoping the troll would accept it as an answer. "And I hope the food wont disappoint then. Now, lets eat!" Mr Ytrid declared and sat down in a solemn manner. Stalks at first just watched the dishes and wondered what to eat. On one platter was a green mouse that looked like squashed peas and topped with an apple that had a small worm sticking out on the side of it. In a bowl was a blue liquid that looked and moved like a miniature of the sea, and in the sea was something that looked like a small boat. Stalks leaned closer to look closer at the boat and what it was made of, small tentacles sprung out of the soup just around the ship and pulled it down under the surface. Stalks was at first so surprised by the scene that he just watched the little sea for a few seconds, waiting for the boat to float back up. Then he moved on to another plate which looked to contain large berries marinating in a dark red sauce. The berries themselves looked like overgrown blueberries and it overall seemed normal enough that Stalks took the plate to his seat. He grabbed the fork and put into the berry, though as he lifted it from the plate and was about to eat it, the berry split open like eyelids and revealed a big eye looking at Stalks. The whole thing chocked Stalks so much he dropped the fork and the eye landed back on the plate and the other "berries" split open in the same manner and looked at Stalks. It hadn't been a platter full of large berries instead a platted filled with closed, and still living, eyeballs. They all blinked in unison at him. And while Stalks had eaten eyeballs before but having them open up like that and actively look back at him made him lose his appetite. Now Stalks wanted to leave. The table brimming with food just filled him with an uncertainty of what was what and a disgust over what it might actually be. He sank down into the chair and watched his surroundings to see if there was a possibility of sneaking away without alerting anyone. Though with the room being so large and the table being in the middle of the room, it would be tricky at best. Stalks thoughts of escape was however interrupted as he felt something slither around and grab his left leg near the ankle. And before Stalks could really react and kick it off, he was pulled in under the table. The room disappeared behind the table cloth and now Stalks felt like he was lying on grass. Though before he could react again he was hoisted up in the air, dangling by the left leg. At first he was so disoriented that it took several seconds for the world to stop spinning, and when he finally regain his composure he saw the familiar face of the mustached snake staring back at him. Stalks glanced upwards and saw that it that the big snake was wrapped around a big branch on a tree and that it's tail was the thing holding Stalks up in the air. The snake tilted it's head little by little till it was turned upside down like Stalks was. "Hello my little frrriend. How farre the new 'job'?" "You again?" said Stalks. "What? You don't like me?" "Put me down!" yelled Stalks. "As you wish." the snake then obeyed, though not in the manner Stalks had wanted, and simply let go of Stalks leg so he fell down to the ground.' With a soundly thud Stalks landed in the grass. "Damned snake." muttered Stalks lowly under his breath as he began to rise onto his feet. He looked first at the snake which was now only looked back at him while using the tip of the tail to twirl the mustache, then to his surroundings which he recognized as the Valenwood forest. On a rock a couple of feet from Stalks lied a scroll tied up with a simple string holding it together. He slowly began to move towards the rock while throwing glances at the snake every other second.When he got the scroll he removed the string and saw that the scroll was a map detailing an area of the forest. Stalks put away the document in a pocket but kept the map in hand as he planned to use it to figure out his location and from there make it to the camp which had been highlighted by a small ring on the map. But right now he just wanted to get away from the snake. Stalks looked up only to find the snake had stretched it's neck and body from the branch and had apparently been looking over Stalks shoulder as he read the map and document. "So is that wherrre you arre going? The rrring on the map." "None of your business. Now leave me alone!" yelled Stalks, both angry and scared of the big snake. "As you wish. Forrr now." said the snake and pulled back it's before began to slither down from the branch and into a bush where it disappeared. Stalks stayed and waited to see if the snake would return, though nothing seemed to indicate that it would. After a few minutes had passed and Stalks was certain the snake was gone he headed for a nearby hill to see if he could find any landmarks he could use to figure out where he was. Though as he made his way through the forest, he felt an unease that the talking troll and snake had followed him this far. He also began to wonder how and why they had followed him. Though the more he thought about it, the less any of it made sense. In the end he decided to try to ignore it all and focus on getting to this camp.

Albecias Plebo Black Horse Courier Midday The renowned author sat at his private desk in the newspaper’s office, preparing a set of question for his planned interviews with the Empress, Court Mage, High General, and if possible the High Admiral. They were fairly common interview fare, nothing too exciting, although there would be questions as to just what exactly that explosion of light and falling Dunmer were. Albecias’ scribbling was interrupted by courier, who entered abruptly without so much as a knock. He rank of the sour, onion smell of sweat, and the reporter grimaced as the stench assaulted his nostrils and laid siege to his senses. “By the gods, have you ever heard of a bath? You smell like giant pissed on a mammoth in the summer,†he said, covering his face with a handkerchief. The courier flushed with embarrassment, backing away from Albecias. “My apologies, sir, I haven’t had time to wash up. Urgent message, you see.†Dropping the letter on the desk, the messenger fled as quickly as he had arrived, leaving behind only the lingering odor of his unwashed body, and the slightest trace of grime where he had gripped the letter. Albecias gripped it between two fingers, wiping off the message with his handkerchief. The letter bore no sigil on its waxen seal, and no identifying marks of any kind. He pried the wax off with his fingernail and opened the trifolded letter. Mr. Plebo, You no doubt question the origin of this letter, but I’m afraid I cannot sate your curiosity. All you need to know is that what I tell you is true. Skjari Snow-Strider, court mage to the Empress and her soon to be husband, has bound his soul to hers using an ancient form of magic. No doubt you’ve noticed he rose to prominence rather quickly, which seems mysterious, until you realize he controls her every move. I have compiled a list of people who may know of this conspiracy, or who may have helped him with it. They are listed below. I should not need to tell you though, that this man is dangerous, and if you choose to investigate you must do so with the utmost discretion. Your profiles on the Imperial leadership should make that relatively easy. There will be no further contact between us, besides the sum of gold that has been left in your apartment. That should help you decide whether or not to undertake this investigation. High General Ceno, who was in Skyrim with the man. Spymaster Lillin Quentas, whose affair with the man is well known. Magdela Bathory, whose affair with the man is also well known. Generals Retrius and Lithin, who have previously questioned who he is. The Synod, were he reportedly studied before going to Skyrim. My agents inside the palace also tell me that he frequently beds the maids, so they too may know something. Again, do not try to contact me, or you will be all the worse for it. Find what you can, and if it is worth publishing, do so. There may be a reward for that if you do. -L Albecias set the letter down, thoroughly perplexed. He couldn’t believe that the mage was controlling the Empress, but it did match up with his meteoric rise from mage to Emperor. Still, that could be explained as simply politics, but this was too juicy a lead to simply disregard. Investigating couldn’t hurt, and it fit his profiles plan perfectly. And it beat the Waterfront District fire that Iszara had asked him to help on. How that imbecile needed help reporting a fire, he couldn’t fathom. He rose and leaned his head outside his office, looking over the desks of lesser reporters and writers, to see if maybe the courier was still hanging around. As expected, he had vanished, and Albecias was secretly glad. He didn’t like the ominous feeling he got from the letter, nearly threatening him if he even looked into who sent it. Although, he thought, sitting back down, there is only one person who I know that has agents, despises the court mage, and would glad see his downfall. Coincidentally, that man’s name also begins with the letter “Lâ€. But would Lorgar be so stupid as to sign a secret letter with his own initial? No, but whoever did write it was trying to throw suspicion elsewhere. Regardless, who wrote the letter isn’t so important as the story that could come from this. Seems the gods have given me a chance to break the largest story in all of Tamriel. Albecias smirked at his luck, already scheming how he could phrase questions to worm information out of the leadership. He had reason to talk to Ceno, and could ask his friend in the Synod for help on that front. Bathory he could write to, although he had no clue where she was. The two generals would be difficult, but with the war nearing, surely he could find an excuse to talk to them. And Colonel Quentas he’d need to talk to so they could finish the investigation into the Tridus girl’s murder. All in all, whoever wanted this information dug up, had come to exactly the right person. The writer did not enjoy being manipulated, but he cared more for the story than his hurt ego. That would be repaired when he brought down the most powerful man in all of Cyrodiil.

Helen Quentas, Dales Moitre, Witchie Afternoon, Imperial City Helen adjusted her silver spectacles, and shyly raised her hand. Putting her free-hand on her wooden desk, she waited. As predicated, her instructor pointed her finger at her, “Yes, Miss Helen?†Helen said, in a shy voice, “Jagar Tharn was royal advisor to Emperor Uriel Septim IV, responsible for usurping him, and secretly impersonating him. He was eventually stopped and brought to justice by the Eternal Champion.†Her instructor was tall, spoke in a clear, commanding voice, and was quite attractive. In other words, the opposite of Helen in all regards She gave the imperial teen an approving nod. Helen herself was getting edgy, as her legs began to fidget, One more hour until work… “Correct, Miss Helen.†The instructor began to walk around the class room, searching for students who weren’t paying attention. In total, there were around twenty five students in the room, all belonging to the upper echelons of the Empires elite. Children of nobles, high-ranking officers in the imperial army, and famous scholars all got there education from the Imperial Dragon Academy. Established in the late second era by Remulus Valerius, the Imperial Dragon Academy was known for its high standard and level of education. Unfortunately for him and the Valerius family, just after four years after establishing the academy, his family estate caught fire by accident, tragically killing a majority of the family. After that, the academy came into the possession of the Tridus family of Colovia, and has remained as a private school for the privileged and rich ever since. Helen began to doze off, her mind filling with images of paper, words, ink, and hard leather covers. Helen’s teacher’s voice brought her back to the present, as she heard, “ Remember class, tomorrow were learning about mid third-era history, so if you want a head start, read chapter seven though eight of “Brief History of The Empire Volume 3†Helen glanced to her side already seeing her classmates leaving there desks. The girl let out a hearty yawn, before grabbing her bag, and leaving the room. **** Helen walked down the stone corridor, clad in her red and black school uniform, gripping her medium sized burlap bag tightly. Passing by many of her schoolmates, none stopped to greet, or acknowledge her. Her black braids went back and forth as she walked, and the red ribbons on her braids, thankfully, mundane enough not to attract any attention, followed suit. Helen didn’t want to wear them, but Valeria, one of there maids, insisted, “Girls should express there beauty, my lady.†Helen didn’t really understand what Valeria had meant, but afterwards, she also gave a warning not to trust the men at school. Which was, in Helen’s opinion, quite unfounded. In Helen’s experience, the boys at the Dragon Academy were very courteous, polite, and generally nice. While most didn’t go out of there way to make Helen feel comfortable, they were civil, and sometimes, even warm. It was the girls at the school who were the real nasty ones. As expected from the elite of the empire, most of the men attending were exceptionally handsome, and the females extraordinarily beautiful. Helen was not. The only striking detail about her was her Lapis Lazuli eyes, which she shared with a good percentage of her family. With her braided hair, unhealthy pale skin, and her glasses, Helen wasn’t that all attractive, and from a family famed for there beauty, that was unacceptable. When she was younger, she was almost always ignored by all the other girls in her family, Especially by Mary Quentas, her second cousin. Mary was the lovely flower all the girls in the family wanted to be like. It so happened when Helen was a little girl, Mary tended to pretend that she didn’t even exist, simply because of her plain appearance. The other girls followed her example. Add that to the fact her parents tended to focus much on there work, Helen had a very lonely childhood. The only people who gave her any sort of attention were her two cousins, Lillin, and Millnerius Quentas, daughters of Avegellion Quentas of Chorrol. Both Lillin and Millnerius, or Lilly and Milly as everyone called them always played with little Helen, not caring about how others perceived her. They were the daughters of the countess of Chorrol, so everyone had to show them respect regardless of who they associated with. Lillin was a physician by trade, learning the art of medicine from the Dragon Academy when she was a young adult. She was also a master in herbal brewing, being one of the best in Cyrodili, and could whip up any king of potion that was required. She also had the unusual talent of finding hard to find information, as well as being skilled in the art of interrogation. Mixed with her experience in medicine and knowing how the body works, she was recruited as an interrogator in the Chorrol Pentiulas Occultus branch fifteen years ago. Milly, like her sister was also a physician. She studied, instead, herbal and natural remedies from her mother, and was well sought out in Chorrol for her skill. Or she was, until she ran away across the sea. The only other company she had were the servants and the maids, who would also play with her when she was younger. Most of the time, she would spend the day locked up in her room, reading books. Helen had always loved books, and she preferred there company over that of a humans. Books never made fun of you for your personality or your appearance. Helen passed by two older looking girls. The first one had long brown hair, while the second, had golden hair done in a bun. One of them bumped into Helen very hard, causing the young girl to be thrown onto the ground, scattering her books, and having her glasses being throw off. They paused for a second, snickering and barely glancing in her direction, one of them knelt and went close to Helen, smiling she said, “Were oh so sorry Helen.†The other one laughed, and said, “Yes. Very sorry.†The other one got up from the ground, and joined the second. They turned around and left, laughing among themselves. Helen hurriedly started to pick up her books, and then looked for her glasses. She paused, before started to frantically search on the ground for them, her vision very blurry. They were nowhere in sight. With slight hesitation, Helen glanced at the girls who were leaving. She got up, and ran to them. The student asked, in a shy, timid voice, “Excuse me?†The one who had bumped into Helen, answered with her eyes narrowing, “Yes?†Helen responded, “Ummmm…my glasses are missing…†Suddenly, the girls eyes filled with anger, and sharpened. To Helen’s shock and surprised she grabbed Helen’s collar, and said in a loud voice, “Are you accusing us you little bitch?†Helen who began to hyperventilate, said in a frantic tone of voice. She glanced around, no one else was here in the hallway. “I-…I…†Her grip tightened, “Listen here you four eyed freak-“ “Is there anything going on here?†Suddenly a man was behind the girl, placing his pale hand on her shoulder. He had black hair, and pale white skin. He looked to be around the same age as the two girls. He was well built, and had dark blue eyes. The young man’s face was blank, The bully left go of Helen’s collar, and turned around, throwing his hand off her shoulder, “You better watch it Infernus. My father could have you thrown in jail for touching me. Mind your own business.†The young man smiled, “And my father is a high ranking officer in the Pentiulas Occultus, and a personnel advisor to her majesty Empress Moitre. You do well to remember that Laura.†The girl, Laura, let out a “Humpth†before telling her companion, “Let’s go.†The young man stopped her by once again, placing his hand over her shoulder, tightly. “You forgot something.†Laura gave him a death stare, before taking Helen’s silver spectacles from her pocket and giving them to the young man. She and friend left the hallway, vanishing from sight. The young man turned to Helen, and placed her glasses in her hands. Helen hurriedly put them on, “Thank you…Edius.†Edius Inferuns gave her a slight nod, “It was my pleasure. It’s my duty to protect the defenceless.†Helen knew that was just a nicer word for “The Weakâ€, but Edius always remained polite and courteous. However today, he gave her a disapproving frown, “Listen my lady, they can only pick on you if you let them. You need to start standing up to the lot of them. Or at least make it known that you’re a duchess.†Helen shook her head, “They…wouldn't believe me anyway.†He let out a sigh, “Look it’s your decision. But I wont always be here to protect you.†He gave the girl a bow, “Now if you’ll excuse me. My fathers expecting me in an hour.†He left Helen, disappearing from view as he went down the hallway. Helen hurriedly left the building, heading to the imperial palace and to work. **** Kongami gently picked up Dale's small hand and squeezed it, which Dales returned, "It's alright. I'll be out here the entire time. Just go in and be straight forward." Dales nodded, and entered, into the bed chamber. She found Skjari sitting in a chair by the window, looking out on the city. While wearing only simple and plain dark grey pants and shirt. He only gave Dales a weary glance. "You're a bit early." "You alright?" She said with genuine concern, "You havn't been sleeping. That's saying somthing, since i've been barely sleeping as well." "It happens sometimes. When I'm reminded of certain... Anyway, what did you come here for?" "Ehhh....maybe I just wanted to visit you?" "For small talk?" "Or that I found out my brother has a bastard whom I agreed to raise..." "What?" "I'm serious." She let out a breath of air, "I was considering have the mother and the baby killed...but how could have I killed my own niece?" "I repeat: What? And take everything from the beginning." Dales went from the beginning, and recalled everything, including the mothers first meeting, and High-General Ceno's suggestion. "So you want to fake a pregnancy instead?" "Yes." She said with her head bowed low. He began rubbing his temple lightly as he leaned the head on his hand. "A kid... I'm supposed to play father for?" "Yes." She put her hands up, "Only in public. Helen Quentas has agreed, with quite a bit of enthusiasm, to help me raise her. So you dont have to worry about that." "Good." was all he said. He seemed almost lost in thought. "I'm sorry. This is alot to take in. However, I think it's for the best. The people, and the nobility, will recognize are claim to the ruby throne more now that we have a heir." "Yes. And good thing about Helen. Was almost about to ask you to drop your clothes." "She really is an amazing girl isn't she? Apparently I was passed out last night, and she dragged me to bed. Loyal girl." "Though what shall we do when the child grows older? She wont have any of my Nordic traits. And was the mother a blonde Breton?" "Brown haired. She was an imperial however, and has my families clear blue eyes along with my families general Physique." "I'll guess that'll do. For now at least. A year from after her 'birth' people will start asking for spares." "Spares?" "Spares. Do you think royals put all their eggs in one basket?" "Ah. We'll manage that when it happens. We can always fake miscarriages." "Yeah. I just hope it wont lead to accusations of lacking fertility. They can almost be as bad as accusations of being an incompetent ruler." "Whatever. What matters is here and now." "I was just thinking of the time I faced those accusations. But you're right; one child solves about three fourths of the problem." "It'll also be a nice change of pace." "To have a child or not having to hear people nag about when you're going to get pregnant?" "Both." A few seconds of silence passed before Skjari broke it. "How do look forward to the life of being married?" "Not excited. Horrible sex. Weird meetings in public, and stupid public apperances." "There wont be any sex unless your sexuality comes into question again though." "Very good. I'm tired of you ravaging my area with your...snake." "Tired after only one time? Good thing I got women who likes the 'snake'." "Nah, they all love me more. I can make a straight women bisexual in one night." "Keep dreaming." "Koni barely sleeps with you. She's all mine....but I haven't really slept with anyone for a month now." Though that might be because I don't react as much to physical pain as she would like to." "Pain is the truest expression of love, as she say's." "I've had enough cuts, burns and whatnot to not associate pain with love." "Regardless, how goes the wedding preparations?" "Progressing. And I'll conjure up some pretty twinkles as decoration, in addition to what we've already agreed upon, when the day comes." "This sham of a wedding is bullshit." "No less so than your coronation." "Hey, at least I cut down that bastard and his bodyguards myself." "Still doesn't really change much." "Well, if you want me to find your more attractive, why dont you grow breasts, become a girl, and grow your hair long?" "What? I don't think I've ever said I wanted that. And honestly, the reason you had to deal with having sex with me is because you like women in the first place." "So you think I choose to like women? I was always like this. I tried flirting with a bunch of young noblewomen back in my princess day's. It was very pathetic to watch, according to Koni and Miku." "Well tough luck you became a princess then." "I thought I was very charming." She puffed, "I doubt it would have changed much if you were." "I'm the 0.9 percent after all. Lilly hasn't made any moves on me, which is quite surprising." "Maybe you're not enough of a woman for her." "You calling me a little girl?" She put her hand to her hips, A little." "Har har har." She eyed with sharply, "If i'm a little girl, you had sex with me. Which means your a pedophilla." He gave small, light chuckle. "You know what I mean. Anyway, speaking of your endowment: We should make sure to get your milk glands working. Or are you going to hire the mother as a wet nurse?" "Nah i'll do it myself." She laughed, "Helen was begging me to make her breasts give milk, but I told her she was too young." "You want to get on it tomorrow?" "Maybe. Though i'll have to tell Kongami that my breasts aren't going to be used in her sick fetishes." "Yeah, you do that." "Anyway, is there anything you'd like to ask?" "And is there anything else we nee-" he said but was then grew silent as they heard the secret passage open. "Interrupting something? You want to tell him something your majesty?" It was Lilly Quentas. She was wearing...very revealing clothing. Dales smiled, and shook her head, "Nothing. Nothing at all." "Good. Now if you'll excuse us." said Skjari as he got up from the chair and embraced Lilly. Kissing her on the mouth and moving down along her throat towards her breasts, which he had already exposed. Dales had already left, breathing very hard. Hmmmm. Safe for now. ****************** This is kinda creepy... Helen walked among the streets of the elven garden district, admiring the pretty flowers under the moonlight. She was wearing a very expensive dress, along with her hair done in red ribbons. Lilly sure liked showing her off. She finally made it to were the address specified. A large, but run down mansion. It was covered in vegatation, and the garden, while beautiful, was way out of proportion. Helen made her way through the garden, and went to the front door. Knocking. As helpless as she seemed, Helen knew basic destruction magic, and Lilly had most likely sent somone to watch her from the dark. A young Breton girl in servant clothing opened the door. "Yes, may I help you?" Helen buttered out, becoming downcast, "Ummmm....the lady of...the house...is expecting me...My-my name is Helen...Quentas," The servant girl eyed Helen with a curious look for second. "Wait right here for a second." and the she shut the door. A minute later she opened the door. "You may come in. And my lady wishes to know what you would like to do?" "OH. Ummmmm...I dont really know what there is to do...drink...tea?" "Come in." the servant stepped aside and gestured for Helen to come inside. "I'll take you to my lady." Helen shyly went up the servant girl. The servant girl closed and locked the door behind Helen and went ahead towards the stairs. Helen followed the servant, nervously glancing around. They went through the hallway and up the stairs that lead to a corridor. The servant stopped by a door on the right an opened it. Helen walked through the door, shyly looking around for Lillies friend. Pelena sat in the same chair as when Lilly had left her. Though this time she was facing the door and was reading a book. She closed the book and put it down on the small table besides her as Helen came in. She gave Helen a small smile. "Hello." Helen hid behind her glasses, and said shyly, "Ummmmm....Hello...." "Well aren't you a shy one?" "OH, i'm sorry?!" She said, rather loud bowing her head. "Oh, don't worry. Why don't you sit down?" Pella gestured to the couch opposite of her. "Is that...okay?" She asked "Why wouldn't it be if I just offered you to sit down?" she asked, slightly surprised at Helen's shyness. "Oka-okay..." She went to the couch and took a seat. "So what you want to do?" "Ummmm...what is there to do?" Talk; discuss things. Or go out and go shopping. What do you like to do?" "Maybe...both? I need to buy panties." She grew worried face, two reasons. Raine said that the only way she could remain friends with her majesty was to wear only lace underwear. And Karsh said Lilly might have put somthing in them. "Panties?" Pella said, trying to suppress the displeasure and discomfort in her voice. "Yes. Mine are getting too small for me." "But isn't that something Lilly should help you buy?" "I dont like Lillie's taste in clothing...and...she's been looking through my underwear drawers as of late. So I dont...feel comfortable shopping for panties with her." "That's a little odd of Lilly." Pella said, her discomfort becoming more and more apparent. "Well fine then. I know a good, discreet tailor in the Market District." She gave her a warm, innocent, cute smile, "Thank you." Pelena got up from her chair. "Well lets go then." Helen followed her. "Gwyn!" Pella shouted once they were outside the room. Soon a the Breton girl from the door came half running towards them. "Yes, my lady?" she said and bowed her head. "We're going out shopping. You're coming with us." "Yes, my lady." the servant replied humbly. "So what are you doing during the days?" Pella then asked Helen as they began walking down the stairs. "Well I had school. And after school, I work as her majesties hand maiden till eight, though I usually stay till twelve. Sundas is the only say I have off." "And how is school?" She paused for a second, "While I love learning new things, all the other girls are very cruel to me. But it's tolerable, since i'm used to it." "Do they know who you are?" Pella asked as she opened the door to let everyone through. Helen went out, "I dont know if they do. They wouldn't really care. I think they do it because I look and act different then how they do." "Well as I remember from my young days," Pella closed and locked the door before going on. "we were told that school was a good place to make connections for later in life. So literally: the higher the status of your parent; the more people wanted to be friends with you." "The only friends I have are from work. And one girl I know from school." "Well maybe if you toughened up a bit and maybe made a subtle mention on you family's status, maybe the others will start to treat you more nicely." "I dont like hiding behind my families status. Since I barely see my mother and father. Lilly and Milly were the ones who raised me." She paused, "And besides, girls can be crueler then adults. It's not that new. "Well it's at least something to consider. Think about it next time you meet those girls." "I will." "And how is the palace?" "Very nice. Everyone is extremely nice to me. Especially her majesty." "Yeah, I'm sure she is." "She rarely smiles though. I wonder why such a nice person dosen't smile often." "The crown is so heavy that it pushes down and stiffens the facial muscles that you use to smile." "Really?" She asked, "No, I'm just pulling your leg." "Oh." "So have you tried hunting?" Pella said after a moment of silence. "Hunting?" She looked curiously at the sky, "I havn't. Though Lilly is quite the hunter." "I'm sure she is. Maybe you could ask her to bring you on a hunt. Or if she's too busy, arrange a hunt for you." "I dont like harming animals." She said softly, "There's a family of little cute bunnies by the pond which I like to visit. Could never dream of harming them." "Then what do you do during your spare time." "Read. And I like gardening." The walked on in silence till they reached the tailor's shop: The Perfect Dress. Outside it didn't look much and the sign didn't hold much more than a picture of a simple and plain dress. But on the inside it was filled with clothes, dresses and sheets of cloth. The finest dresses and clothes were displayed on mannequins on the far left wall. "Now stay close." Pella said as she walked up to the counter. There stood a Colovian woman dressed in a fine yet humble dress. "My lady." she said. The woman looked a little uneasy at the sight of Pelena. "Didn't you find the mourning clothes satisfactory?" "No it's not that. My friends here is looking for some new clothes. Come here Helen." Helen glanced all around the store looking at all the fabrics, with a bewildered expression. Helen, while having a fair amount of clothing, didn't have nearly as many as Lilly. During most of the day, Helen wore her school and maid uniform. She went up Pelena, and tugged at her dress, becoming shy once again, "Ummmm...may...I see your pantie selection?" The women pointed towards a door to the right. "Go on. I'll wait right here." Pella said. "Willl...you wait for me?" She said "I just said I would. Now please." She nodded, entering into the door. ****** "So, do you follow the news?" Pella asked as they closed in on her home. "I suppose." She said quietly, "Not really though." "What do you know about recent events?" "Well, her majesty was telling me there was a murder recently. So she insisted I take a palace guard as an escort when I left to go back to Lillies mansion." "You mean the one Lilly is investigating?" "Yeah." "Ah. Well, lets not speak about that one. Okay?" Pella asked but continued before Helen could respond. "So, do you know about the mass execution in Leyawiin or the civil war in High Rock?" "Hmmmm. I know a little about Leyawiin. Lord Snow-Strider was there, correct?" "Yeah, I heard he was behind the mass execution." "Well they were horrible criminals weren't they?" "From what I've heard yes. Only filthy terrorists of that cat people." She looked at her strangely, "You dont like the Khajit?" "They're scoundrels. And as they've shown in Leyawiin; murderers, rapist and marauders as well." "Are they really that bad?" She asked. Lilly alwyas told her basing your judgment on an entire race by a group of them was a bad thing to do. "Judging by Leyawiin, yes. Not to mention that most of them are allied with the Dominion." heard a group of them raped and murdered a noble family. Forgot who it was..." "That's what I'm talking about. Hopefully they learnt their lesson in Leyawiin." "Are you scarred of them?" "Not really. But I'd definitely don't want to be in the shoes of those living on the border to Elsweyr." "Isn't the legion stationed on mass there though?" "I think so. Though it they may be more concentrated around the Valenwood border. I don't have any insight in how the army is deployed. But none of it changes the fact that it's not that safe down there." "Hmmmm. Maybe I should warn Lilly never to visit there." She played along, she disagreed with Pelana, but she didn't want to upset her or cause an argurement. She made a note to ask Lilly about it. "I think that will be necessary. I'm sure Lilly already knows how unsafe it is at the border." "Have you ever been there?" "No." "Have you live in the imperial city all your life?" "Mostly. My family have a small manor northwest of the city." "Your father's an elder councilor correct?" "Yes. How so?" "Oh. Lilly was telling me about a few of her friends. She mentioned your dad was a member of the elder counciler, so I was just making sure." "Okay. Though do you really think Lilly would give faulty information given her job?" "Well. Cant be too careful. Lilly is a slippery one." "Yeah. She can be odd." "Very odd. But she means well. Lilly and her sister pratically raised me, so I owe alot to them." "What happened to your parents then?" She paused, before saying, "My parents were always busy, so they had no time for me." "What do they work with?" "My mother is a duchess and my father is a duke. Are fief's require alot of hands on running of the place, so there usual busy doing that." She stopped herself, before saying, "I shouldn't complain though. Plenty of people barely have enough food and water to eat and drink. I have it very good." "So how was growing up with Lilly?" "Fine. She always would take her time to talk to me about my day, read to me before bed, and play with me during the day." "So do you want some tea before you head back home?" Pella asked as she began unlocking the door to her home. "Sure." Helen said, "Follow me. Gwyn, go get us some tea." Pella ordered the servant girl before she led Helen back to the room where they had first met. Helen took a seat. "So, do you have a husband yet?" "No. But I do intend to find one soon. I'm sure if I just show off my status, it will net me many suitors." "It's strange you dont have a suitor yet." "I've had a few but none of the wealth and status I would find adequate." "what do you want?" "A wealthy lord with some elegance. All of my suitors have had a respectable title, but none has had both the charms and the gold." "you want someone very rich?" "Yes." "Handsome? Like a prince." "Preferably. Though at least look a little above average. And what about you, what kind of husband do you want?" She looked thoughtfully for a second, "I really have no interest in men right now." "I know you're a bit too young right now. But something to consider for the future." "True I suppose. A hudband would provide finical stability." Pelena was about to say something when Gwyn, the servant girl, came in through the door. She was carrying a tray with two teacups in expensive fine porcelain. As she approached the two noblewomen she hit her foot on the table leg, which caused her to fall forward and spilling the tea onto Pella. The teacups broke and Gwyn was left on all four looking down in the floor in shame as Pella looked in shock at the stains on her dress. "Ummmm...shall I clean it up for you?" Helen got out of her seat red faced. "No need. I'll get a servant for it. In the meantime Gwyn here will help me change dress. Please just wait right here." Pella got up from her chair, grabbed the servant girl by the arm and pulled her with her out of the room, then closed the door behind them. Helen squirmed. Something felt off. It wont hurt if I take a peak. Pella didn't look pleased. Suprising, Helen was quite the good sneak. Despite how clumsy was, when she was focused, she could move around undetected. Helen joked it was because she lived her entire life in the shadows of her family. She got out of her chair, and quietly snuck to the door, Pella and the servant went through, she took a peek through the key hole. She saw Pelena, now having let go of the servant girl, walk down the hall with Gwyn in toe. Pella seemed to be lecturing the servant girl but she spoke too low for Helen to be able to hear exactly what was said. Then the servant girl said something which caused Pella to suddenly turn around and slap the girl across the face with the back of her hand. Pelena then just said something in very sharp tone before continuing down the corridor. The servant girl followed as before but now held her hand on the cheek that had been hit. They went through a door on the left almost at the end of the corridor. Helen covered her mouth to stop the gasp from coming out. She wanted to make sure the servant girl was all right, but she couldn't reveal her presence. Like a ghost she went down the hallway, tip toeing, and slid to the side of the door, before opening it up slightly and peaking in the inside. There Pella was in the process of undressing and taking off every piece of clothe that had gotten wet by the tea, which was almost everything except her underwear and her shoes. There she stood half naked and waited while Gwyn picked out dresses from Pella's wardrobe and showed them to her. Pella regarded each dress for a couple of second before shaking her head. What a bitch. Helen wasn't embarssed by the sight of another women in her under wear. She occasionally helped her majesty change her clothing from time to time when she too tired. The sight of her majesty, naked, however was a little too much. Helen noticed...a very off piece of jewelry around the woman's neck. Helen...thought she had seen it before in a book. But before she could look at it more intently Pellana had put it away. Helen quickly decided it was time for her to get back to the living room, and excuse herself. Which she did. She paid no mind to the woman changing, instead telling a servant girl, "Tell the lady of the household I just remembered I had important business to attend to." She grabbed her panties, and headed to the door,

I hope I didn't step on any toes but with nearly all the copying I did if the post's font was unreadable cough balrog cough I click 'paste as plain text' It also seems to help with the symbols at times.

Stalks-Deep-Water Stalks was sneaking quietly through the woods, with bow and arrow in hand. He had been hired to hunt down and kill a troll that had been pestering a local village. It had it's home in a cave in this area the villagers had told him. Now he wandered silently through the woods, hoping to find the beast or it's hideout. But so far he couldn't find as much as a trace of the troll. Nor that of any other animal. The woods were completely silent. But Stalks payed it no mind as he was focused on the hunt. After a couple of minutes he spotted a large cliff among the trees. And as he had expected; there was the cave, like a black hole going deep under ground. He carefully approached the cave, ever on his guard that the troll might jump on him from any direction. But nothing happened. Now looking into the cave he hesitated about going inside. The troll may be hiding behind a rock in the darkness, waiting for him to pass by, not noticing the ambush. After a moment of weighing his options he stepped inside the darkness of the cave. He moved slowly and tried to give his eyes time to adapt to the darkness, while watching every shadow and every corner almost nervously. The cave was deeper than he had expected. And the sunlight behind him began to wane as he silently tread deeper and deeper. And then he saw something in the distance. A light: both orange a green, like light shining through painted glass. Now Stalks nervousness began to subside as his curiosity grew. He headed towards the light, wondering what kind of magic it might be. But he kept reminding himself of the troll. That it still could be lurking in the shadows. Though he kept expecting the troll to be by the light, mesmerized by the light and an easy target. He rounded a thick pillar that stood in the middle of the tunnel and then he saw the light: it came from a mushroom, nearly as big as a grown man's head, and completely orange except for green dots on it's hat. Stalks watched the mushroom and wondered what it might be. But his attention quickly went towards the troll besides the mushroom. The troll was sitting on a rock with the head looking down. Stalks just stared for a couple of seconds before he remember what he had actually come there for to begin with. He moved a couple of steps to get a better firing position. That however proved to be a mistake, as he took the second step he hit a loose rock on the ground which then sent of several clings of rock hitting rock. A slight panic went through Stalks body as he saw the troll turn around to face him. He quickly considered his options: if he could notch and fire the arrow in time or if he would have to draw his spear or even the dagger if the troll was upon him before he could even do that. "A visitor?" Stalks heard a voice say. It was a dark, mellow and curious voice. At first he wondered who might have said that but then as he realized it came from the direction of the troll, he wondered if might have been the troll that had said that. And also to his surprise; the troll did not attack it just sat there, half turned around and looking at him. Stalks just stood there like paralyzed, pondering what to do. "Yes?" Stalks then said, hoping to shed some light on this mysterious voice. "Oh, how lovely. I almost never get visitors." Stalks again heard and this time he actually noticed that the trolls lips moved as the voice spoke. The voice had a quite sincere, pleasant and formal tone to it. Stalks heard a loud thud before the troll got up from the rock and faced Stalks completely. Ti which he took the opportunity to inspect the troll; the beast looked pretty much like any other troll Stalks had ever seen: a big hairy, humanoid being with a long face and three eyes. But what wasn't in the ordinary was the fact that the troll was holding a book in it's left hand and some kind of red scarf hanging around it's neck. It was tied tightly under the chin and had a lose end hang down on the middle of the chest. "Who are you?" said Stalks after a moment of trying and failing to come to terms of what he was just experiencing. "Mr Ytrid. Llort Ytrid. I'm the owner and chief resident of this underground chateau." said the troll with a bow. "Chateau?" said Stalks, slightly confused by the word. "My castle. My private retreat. My residence. My home, if you will." "Okay." was all Stalks could say, still trying to wrap his head around it all. "Now would you like some tea?" "Tea?" "Yes, tea." "Ehm, sure." Stalks answered hesitantly. "Oh, it's going to be such fun. My little rat and I haven't had a visitor in ages." the troll then turned and picked up the mushroom and held it like a candle. "Follow me. And watch your feet. Some rocks can be rather sharp." and the troll then walked deeper into the cave. Stalks hesitated for a second before he quickly put back his bow and arrow and hurried after the troll. Stalks couldn't help but to notice as they walked that the troll walked in a rather graceful manner (for a troll that is) and not they clumsy way trolls usually stumble forward in. They walked on a for a minute or so, at least that was what Stalks thought as he had no real sense of time in the cave. Then the cave suddenly ended in an perfectly vertical and flat wall. There in the wall was also a solid wooden door, with two mushrooms just like the one Ytrid was holding on both sides of the door. The door itself was well crafted and had the a door knocker in the shape of a large screaming head (with a large and scruffy beard) in what appeared to be bronze, with an overly large nose ring that reached down and dangled under it's jaw. But there were no door handle to speak of. Mr Ytrid walked up to the door knocker, grabbed the large nose ring and knocked. To Stalks surprise the door knocker came to life with a soundly sneeze. "Must you always wake me up like that. Bah." "Just let me and my guest in." Ytrid said. "To pass this you must-" "First answer my riddles three." Ytrid finished the door knocker's sentence. "Hmpf. Very well then. What is your name?" the door knocker asked, appearing rather offended for being interrupted. "Mr Llort Ytrid." "What do want?" "To pass this door." "What is your favorite color?" "Orange." "You may pass." said the door knocker, rather annoyed, and the door opened. But as Stalks was also about to walk through the doorway, the door shut right onto his face so hard he staggered backwards. "To pass you must first answer my riddles three." the door knocker said, this time rather amused at the sight of Stalks. "But he - it - Mr Ytrid just answered your riddles." Stalks proclaimed. "And I let him pass because of it. Now it's your turn to answer my riddles three." the door knocker said with a sinister smile. "What happens if I say the wrong answer?" Stalks asked, feeling uneasy at the smile. But the only answer he got as a low and sinister laugh. "Fine. Tell me your riddles." said Stalks after a moment of hesitation. "What is your name?" "Stalks-Deep-Waters." "What do you want?" "To pass this door." "What is the speed of a horse running down a 90 degree hillside with a fat lobster on it's back?" Stalks was about to say his favorite color just as Ytrid had done. But as he realized that the question now was completely different he was left speechless. He stood and stared at the door knocker and it's smug smile. His knowledge about horses was quite limited and the absurd part of the question did not make it any easier. He began wandering back and forth; pondering the answer. Trying to think of everything he knew about horse, and lobsters. He then began to wonder what kind horse the door knocker referred to. "Do you mean a Nordic horse or a Cyrodiilic horse?" asked Stalks, hoping that the door knocker would not take his question as an answer. The door knocker's expression suddenly turned to a confused look. "Well I don't know." and a second after it had said that an explosion erupted around the door knocker. Once the smoke had settled, the door knocker looked rather dizzy and a bit grimy. But other than that it looked completely unscathed by the explosion. "You may pass." it then said in a very weary tone. And as it did before for Mr Ytrid, the door opened and let Stalks step inside. The inside was very much unlike the cave. It was like a big room from a noble's manor, except that there were no windows. And it was rather barren as there were no decoration to speak of, except a few candle holders along the walls that held mushrooms similar to the one Llort had, except they shone a bright orange and yellow light, like fire. Other than that there was just a door on the far side of the room, very similar to the one Stalks had just passed through, but with no door knocker. Mr Ytrid stood in the middle of the room, reading his book, with the mushroom now sitting on top of the trolls head. "Ah, there you are. I was beginning to think that stupid door knocker had blown you to tiny pieces." said Llort, as sincere and nice as before, and seemingly not at all disturbed by the fact that his guest might have painted the cavern walls with his guts. "Yeah. Why didn't you tell me about the riddles?" asked Stalks "Oh, I thought it wasn't necessary. You looked like such a bright young lad." Mr Ytrid then closed the book and held it up above his head. Then a giant spider suddenly came down and grabbed the book with two of it's legs before it climbed back up along it's string. This at first madde Stalks jump out of surprise and fear. But it then it also made Stalks look up to see where the spider went and what he saw was that there in fact was no roof in the room. Above them was a great web that continued up along the walls that seemed to go on forever. And in the web was books scattered around. Probably hundreds if not thousands of books. Mr Ytrid began walking towards the other door once the spider had taken the book. Stalks just waited and stared in awe at the great web and all it's books that just seemed to go on forever. Once he snapped back to it, he hurriedly walked in a brisk pace to catch up with the troll. They arrived in a new room, this time with a visible roof high above their heads. The room was slightly smaller than the last, and with a chandelier in the same fashion of the candlesticks of the last room hanging down in the middle of the room, above a long table with only two chairs at the far ends. "Rat!" Llort shouted. "Rat, come here! We got a guest!" A second later a skeever came running towards them on it's hind legs. It was running fast and with a perfectly straight back, and dressed in some kind white shirt with a black jacket on top of it. "You called, sir." the skeever said, in a even more formal tone that Llort, to the point of being prudish. "Yes. Me and my guest here would like some tea." "Very good, sir." then the skeever ran back in the direction he had come from, which proved to a large rat hole. Through which the butler had no problem running through with it's straight back. "Now come. Sit." Mr Ytrid said as he walked towards the table and sat down in the chair furthest away. Stalks hesitated for a moment before he complied and sat down in the other chair. "So, do you have many guests?" Stalks asked after a moment of silence. "Unfortunately no. I tried asking some nearby villagers but they don't even want to answer my requests." Stalks suddenly remembered those villagers and what he had been hired to do. He had completely forgotten about that soon after the troll had begun to speak. "Yeah, those villagers might have a little hard speaking with you." Stalks said. "Why is that? Am I not properly dressed?" Mr Ytrid said and motioned to his little scarf. "I don't think it's that." "Are my manners not good enough?" "I think it might be because you're a... troll." "That's racist. Well no tea for them then. And speaking of tea." the troll turned his face towards the rat hole from where the butler now came running at high speed with a large tray balancing on one hand. On the tray was a teapot, two teacups and a fish impaled on a stck through it's mouth. The skeever first served Stalks by giving him a teacup and then pouring some yellow liquid from the teapot. Then he took the fish on the stick and placed it besides Stalks' teacup. "Customary gift for new guests." the skeever explained before running over Llort to give the troll his tea as well. Stalks first looked at the fish, which was unlike anything he had ever seen before: it was silvery blue, had small bright eyes and fins in a shape that best could be described as hairy sticks. Then Stalks turned his attention to the teacup and the yellow liquid inside it. He picked up the cup and smelled it first. It smelled like cheese. But as he took a sip of it tasted like salted fish. He looked over at Llort to see that he seemed to enjoying his tea. Stalks then looked back at the fish and wondered if he was supposed to eat it. While he was not new to eating raw fish, it was definitely strange to be served a raw fish with tea. But what ins't strange here. He thought as he picked up the fish by holding the stick and then taking a bite. The fish did not taste like fish, but instead tasted like apples. Stalks was about to take another bite when he heard a loud bell from somewhere. It sounded like something from a chapel. He looked up as if to see where it came from, but all he saw was Mr Ytrid suddenly standing in front of him besides the table. "I'm sorry but guest time is up." said the troll and then all Stalks could see was the troll's big hairy fist coming towards him, followed by utter blackness.

Gracchus Ceno Imperial City Morning Gracchus approached the head librarian of the office of records, smiling as he did. "Excuse me, ma'am, but can you explain to me the process for revising a record?" he asked. "Someone approaches us requesting a revision, and we verify it through two primary sources. If none exist, we go to secondary sources. Then, our scribes insert the revised passage," the bookish Nord woman said. "Can anyone request the change, or do they have to be of a certain rank?" Gracchus asked. "The rank doesn't matter, as long as the sources back up the claim. But we rarely have someone outside the palace request revisions," she said. "Okay, thank you. Can you pull up the most recently updated report on myself?" he asked. Thirty minutes passed since Gracchus requested his record, and still he stood waiting. He impatiently drummed his fingers on the counter of the palace's records office, the librarian turning around from the wall of scrolls, her expression chiding him for the annoying sound. "I understand you're in a hurry, High General, but I can only search so quickly. But I've found them, so you can cease that obnoxious tapping," she said, handing him the scroll. Gracchus unfurled it, and sure enough there was mention of events that hadn't happened, just as Skjari said. "May I ask who wrote this passage hear?" he asked. The woman turned the scroll back towards her, peering down through aged, but spotless spectacles at the handwriting. "Ah, that would be Procyon Truptor. The swell on his lowercase "h's" gives it away. You may speak to him, if you wish. Just follow the hall, and it's the final door on the right," she said, pointing with a bony finger at the hallway, eager to have his passive aggressive impatience gone. Procyon was at a desk in the corner, scribbling away at the parchment. Gracchus was standing over the long haired Colovian, but the man didn't seem care as to what went on around him. Finally, Gracchus had to tap him on the shoulder, after several attempts at gaining his attention via throat clearing failed. "Can I help you?" Procyon asked, aghast his work was being interrupted. "You wrote this passage, correct?" Gracchus handed him the scroll, pointing to the revised part at the bottom. "Who requested you edit it?" "I don't know. He didn't seem important, just a regular man," the scribe said, turning back to his work and starting again. Gracchus placed his hand on the man's shoulder, slowly turning him back around. "No, you don't get to go back to work. Not until you've answered my question. Who was the man who requested the change?" the general said. "Tappius, I think. I don't know the last name, I swear," Procyon said. "Who were his sources?" Gracchus asked, letting go of the man's shoulder now that he had his full attention. "Two soldiers, Cobus Liore and Stlubo Saccus. Here in the city, I think. Maybe, seventh legion? Or was it sixth?" the man offered, hoping the general would leave. "Thank you. I apologize for the interruption but I don't like my time being wasted." Gracchus left, shaking his head. He disliked this whole endeavor, hated it in his bones. He'd put off trying to find who altered his record for as long as he could, because he didn't want this person to distract him from his real work. But, he knew he had to address it sometime, and two cancelled meetings and rain caused flooding preventing Valvius' trebuchet test later he had a free afternoon. So, he had trudged up to the Office of Records and started his inquiry, one that was going surprisingly well so far. Now he walked down those selfsame steps, this time headed back to his office. He smiled and nodded greeting to the Breton ambassador as they passed in the hallway, but otherwise his trip was a lonely one. Gracchus reached his office and went straight to digging for a book which held the names of all the soldiers in the sixth legion. The large leather bound tome plopped on his desk as he set it down, and he used a rag to clean off the dust. It smelled of mothballs and again leather, but it was sturdy and the pages not yet fraying. He flipped it open, searching for the last names of the two sources. Surprisingly, he couldn't find them. They either didn't exist, or weren't in the Sixth Legion. Gracchus sat down, stroking his beard and thinking. His initial thought was they used fake names, but the record keepers were thorough in identifying the sources, always double and triple checking them. So that also ruled out them not being soldiers at all. He grabbed the tome and slid it back in its place on the shelf, knocking off a few papers as he did. He set them back on his desk, but kept the copy of the Black Horse Courier that had fallen. The first article was about his meeting with the Elder Council. He chuckled when he read how easily defeated his motion was to bring Tullius' former legion, the Fourth, back into existence. Talk about a failure. It was then he realized just who those men where. Tullius' former men, assimilated into the Sixth Legion. That's why they hadn't been in the book, because it hadn't been updated. Clearly whoever was behind this had gone to a lot of trouble to ensure Gracchus would be hard pressed finding any leads. He spun around and opened up the closet in his office, shuffling through things left behind when Tullius died. Buried beneath old shot glass and a decorative knife/letter opener, was the Fourth Legion's own enlistment book. Gracchus flipped through its dirty pages, until he found the two men he was looking for. Sure enough, they were part of the Fourth Legion, but now must be in the Sixth. He closed it and left it on his desk, not even bothering to close the closet door in his rush to leave. Forsaking his coat because of the rush, he stepped out into the rain and set out for western gate, outside which his men were camped. He mounted Lil Ceno at the stables near the gate, although the horse didn't seem pleased at being ridden in the rain, and he loafed along so as to make sure Gracchus got wet, apt punishment for taking his horse out in miserable weather. The land around the camp was soaked, the exposed dirt morphing into a Black Marsh bog from the downpour. His mount flung up mud with each step, men clearing out of the way to avoid getting clods slung in their faces. A legate can running up to greet him, smiling and going on about the marching exercises and weapons training, which would regularly please the High General, but currently he didn't care about anything the man said. Cutting him off, he asked, "Where are Cobus Liore and Stlubo Saccus?" The legate seemed confused, before realizing what the general was asking. "Uh, I'll lead you to them, sir. They share a tent, over here." The legate trudged through the mud, his boots making a sucking sound with each step, as the earth seemed to try and eat them before finally spitting them up. Gracchus smiled and saluted the soldiers he passed, but his usually cheery mood was drained out of him, washed away by the torrential rain. The tent they reached looked like all the others, although several voices could be heard inside. Gracchus dismounted and handed the reins to the officer, who also held the tent flap open for the High General. Inside, a card game was going on, the pot in the middle quite large. The soldiers looked up with mild disgust, wondering who it was that could be letting in the rain. The sight of the gleaming gold and red armor, however, snapped their attention away from the cards, as they all tripped and stomped over each other in effort to stand and salute. "Which two of you are Cobus Liore and Stlubo Saccus?" he asked, voice assertive and commanding. Two men stepped forward, one of them hastily dropping the cards he hadn't realize were still in the clutches of his saluting hand. Both looked pale and nervous, which they had every right to be. He looked them over, but showed outward disgust or contempt. "Follow me," he said, then left and remounted, riding off towards the legate's tent with the legate himself and the two soldiers in tow. The marched quietly, the whole procession looking like a funeral train. Gracchus jumped of his horse with dexterity missing in most men his age, then walked into the legate's tent. It looked like Gracchus' had in Skyrim, the memories flooding back to him like the rain outside flooded the ground. "Who paid you to lie to the Office of Record's scribe?" he asked. The two soldiers almost certainly knew why they had been pulled out of their tent for, but it didn't stop them from lying. "I don't know what yo-" Cobus started, until Gracchus harshly snapped, "If I hear another lie come from your mouth I will burn you where you stand, on grounds of treason and accepting bribes. Who paid you." Stlubo, clearly the smarter of the two, said, "Tappius Duronia. He approached us at the Laughing Fox a month ago, saying all we had to do was lie to the scribe and there wasn't a chance at being caught. The coin was so good, and-" Cobus socked his friend in the gut, cutting his words off as a rush of air replaced them. Gracchus flicked his wrist, the telekinesis spell sending the paperweight straight into the attacker's forehead. The first thump was the iron weight colliding with his face, the next was his face colliding with the floorboards, blood seeping out in a puddle where his nose mostly assuredly broke. "Legate, have these men given two hundred lashes. And then, have them thank the gods I'm generous. What you did was heinous, and men have been locked up for less. But we need soldiers, and hopefully this will be a lesson to all the soldiers here that no coin ever comes without a price, no matter how good the deal sounds," Gracchus said, walking past the two conscious men and the body and back out into the rain, which was beginning to subside. A quick appraisal of the clouds with a scrutinizing glare, and he surmised that it would probably rain all day, even if the worst was over. Hopefully his investigation would follow the same route, the worst being over. He mounted up quickly, then sent his heels into Lil Ceno and they took off, sprinting towards the tavern Gracchus knew so well. Apparently, whoever was doing this had a sense of humor, that or this was an outstanding coincidence. He suspected the former, which made him even more perturbed that he was traipsing around all over the city for the perpetrator. Now he knew how Lilly felt looking for that murderer. His arrival at the Fox saw the improvement of his mood, if only slightly. It had stopped raining, but not before he was thoroughly soaked to the bone. He was about to cast off his approximation it would at least drizzle all day, until a droplet hit his shoulder as he swung the door open. The inside was nice and warm, a good reprieve from the dampness of the clothes beneath his armor. Patrons glanced up from their conversations, many regulars that greeted the general with friendly smiles and neighborly waves. He returned them, although his weren't near as genuine. This whole business still soured his mood, just like his underclothes would sour if he didn't change soon. But he wanted it over by today, so he didn't have much choice but to stay wet. Ena greeted him, saying "Stables by the main gate," in reference to his decidedly horse-y smell and long face. "Actually, I need to ask you, do you know a man by the name of Tappius Duronia? Is he a regular?" "Yeah, I guess so. He comes by bout twice a week, usually with a revolving set of drinking mates," she replied. "Do you know where I can find him?" he asked. "He just left, right after you walked in. He's tall, a skinny fellow with knappy black hair and yellow teeth that'll curl your toes," she said, but Gracchus was already sprinting towards the door. Outside, the misting continued, so the streets were uncharacteristically empty. Gracchus spotted Tappius, who was snaking in and out of the crowd at a jog. The General approached two guards, gave them the man's description, before they took off at a run after him. Once them realized he was being chased, he too upped his pace, but he'd either had too much to drink, was tripped, or slipped on the wet stone, because he fell into a food vendor's stall, sending vegetables and fruits flying in the air. He tried to get up, but his hand had penetrated a melon, and he slipped again. The guards gripped him by either arm, hauling him to his feet and dragging him into a nearby alley. "Why did you lay those soldier to lie to the records office? Why did you ask for the revision?" he asked, as the man sat sulking on the wet, cold stone. "Don't know why yer talkin' bout," he said in an uneducated voice. Gracchus looked at a guard, who nodded and promptly kicked the man's rib, sending the vagrant gasping for air. After a few seconds, he regained his composure and the wheezing stopped. "Who are you working for?" Gracchus asked again. "Look, he paid me five hundred septims! My job at the docks doesn't pay that much in half a year!" Another boot greeted his excuse, this time leaving him clutching his side and coughing for several minutes. Likely, a rib or two was broken, but the High General felt no remorse. Whoever was doing this, or even just doing it for the money, was a traitor, and could have caused enormous amounts of damage to the Empire. Because if Gracchus wasn't High General, one of the other generals would have been, and none of them were near the general he was. That might have been arrogant, but it was true. Now was not the time for humility. Now was the time for action, for leading men. Softness and niceness would only get him so far. Rasping, Tappius said, "It was an Elder Councilman, Baron or Lord or Duke something. Paur Dielle, yeah, that was it. I swear that all I knows." Gracchus turned around, asking the guards if they would accompany him to the Talos Plaza District. The both agreed, of course, and Gracchus knew these two wouldn't slow him down like the large guard detail he generally had. It was hell convincing them to let him do this alone, but he preferred the solitude. Now, however, that he knew an Elder Councilman was behind this, he figured the added muscle couldn't hurt. They arrived at the Baron's, as it turned out, manor, and were quickly allowed admittance. Perks of being High General, it seemed. The steward was adamant they not interrupt the Baron in his study, but the was brushed off and the three men climbed the stairs with steely resolve. Banging on the door proved fruitless, as the Baron either wouldn't open it was or was hiding, so Gracchus gripped the door knob and cast a flame spell, the metal melting away until the door swung open quietly. Inside, the Baron was tied to a chair facing the door, thrashing about and frantically grunting. His eyes looked above the door, filled with primal fear that only threat of death can bring. "Baron!" cried the guards, seeing him in his undignified state. They didn't notice the direction the man was looking, too shocked by the image of him tied up. The guards stepped past Gracchus, ignoring the increasingly desperate shaking of the Baron's head. After entering the room, the first guard finally noticed something when the Baron ignored them and continued looking at the door. "What are you..." Too late. Before they could even register what they were looking at, a blur of white exploded, and the guards, as well as the Baron, were filled with ice spikes like a volley of arrows upon an open field. Gracchus cursed under his breath, moving towards the three men with healing spell in hand. He checked the two guards first, but found they were both dead. The Baron was as well, but Gracchus was less concerned about him than the guards, if in fact he turned out to be the perpetrator of the deception. The High General inspected the room, running through dresser and drawer and desk, finding nothing but the usual notes associated with an Elder Council member. He was nearly done when the notion to search the body struck him, and he berated himself for not doing so sooner. The outer pockets of the pants he had held nothing, but the inside pocket of his cloak held a letter, written on weathered paper and signed only with the letter 'S'. It said for the Baron to meet the writer in the Waterfront District, to receive payment for something, at an abandoned shack near the docks. Gracchus folded the letter and tucked it in a pouch that hung at his belt, where it found a resting place in between his house key and a few septims. He then used the Baron's cloak to clean the blood that leaked from the three men off his boots. He wouldn't normally be so rude to the deceased, but this man was almost clearly the one who framed him, even if done at the direction of the mysterious 'S'. The steward was already heading up the stairs to look into why no one had returned from the study yet, and Gracchus told him of the three men in the room. Mouth agape, the man nodded his pale head when the general told him to fetch more guards. Gracchus left, back into the rain that leaked from sky as if the clouds were the hull of a sinking ship. The lightning was the cracks in the wood, the thunder the roar of the waves. It was towards a very real body of water that Gracchus walked, the Waterfront District on Lake Rumare his destination. Before he did, he slipped inside a shop near the dock gate, spending the septims he had on a thick woolen robe, hooded, that he slipped on over his armor. Better that as few people as possible see the High General wandering around the slums. So it was he wandered around those slums, until it was he found the shack he suspected the letter indicated. It was a dilapidated wooden structure, the roof caving in in the far corner, rags covering the windows, and a blanket acting as the door. He swept it aside, noticing it was similar to his coat in both texture and dampness. The general cast a candlelight spell, the orb of bright bluish light hovering above him like a pale winter sun. "Hello?" he asked. *** "Finally... the High-General has come sniffing around our pantaloons." "Yes, finally indeed. Humans are slow to pick up on things, but I expected better from General Gracchus Ceno." "Don't take him lightly. Remember the dossier. We should contact the Royal General before we move into the house to kill him." "You're right. We don't want to screw this up. Killing him will be a big win for the dominion." *** "Well, lets get these over with, so I may rest. What's the first on the list. Ahh, yes. My pupil." Tacitus Silus Meridius Status: Possible Asset. Asset status dormant. Kill unless proven to be detrimental to the alliance Description: Imperial, Age: 38, High Admiral of the Imperial Fleet Tacitus was born in the rundown shack city of Bravil, where he was practically raised around and grew up near the water. He joined the Imperial navy after seeing approximately eighteen summers, where his father payed for him to receive the position of Master-At-Arms. This lead to his eventual rise to captain ten years later, which while not necessarily an unusual amount of time for one who performs well enough for the position in the legion, was unusual in that Tacitus was the youngest captain amongst the rest. When the war came around, Tacitus continued this pattern of quick rising of rank. Because of our insistence on sending plenty of combatants the Nord's way, Tacitus saw his promotion from Captain of his original ship to a larger ship and more responsibilities in the war after the War of the Sundered Dragon lead to the deaths of so many Imperial seamen. This ship was the one responsible for carrying General Gracchus' battlemages, who eventually managed to set fire to the Howling Harpy, slowing down the Nords, and our attempts at lowering Imperial capabilities. This was when the Imperial Tacitus first came to our attention. Whether for the deed of sinking High Admiral Rebec's ship, or simply because there weren't many choices left to choose from, the Imperials were once again forced to promote someone with little experience to high ranking positions, making Captain Tacitus, High Admiral Tacitus. This most certainly proved that despite the sinking of the Howling Harpy, our efforts indeed did bear fruit, and our campaign to make the incompetent Imperial leadership even more incompetent continued to be successful. After the Empire unofficially declared war on the Dominion, the Admiral began leading raids on Dominion ships, which eventually lead to the attraction of a sea serpent, which destroyed the Admiral's ship and killed his crew. For a time, it was thought that the Admiral had died, until fate saw to it that he'd wind up in Elsweyr, and in our care. High Admiral Tacitus was then held in Valenwood, where he awaited the arrival of the Royal General, Corio Adorin. General Corio interrogated the prisoner, removing his arm even to finally get a name from the Admiral, which was when Corio finally realized who he had for sure. Corio, remembering the campaign to sabotage Imperial leadership released the Admiral, hoping to either create distrust amongst the navy and the White Gold Tower, or force the Imperials to once again employ a broken man, much like the unfortunate (for the Empire) results of the torture of the former Spymaster, by Baldur Red-Snow. Since then, the Admiral began leading a campaign against Dominion ships once more, this time with more focus and ferocity rivaling even the barbaric Northmen of Skyrim. It seemed for a time that the Royal General's plan backfired. That was, until General Corio lead the Imperials into a trap with our blessed Sunbirds, bathing the Imperial ships in wondrous holy fire and light of the ancestors on high. It is General Corio's estimations that the raids will be called off, as the brutal and decisive win at sea should be more than enough to dissuade the Empire from attacking by sea any time soon. The Admiral survived the attack, but this is just as well. Now, the Empire will be even more demoralized, and faith in their High Admiral should lower even further, though not to the point of removing him altogether. Because of the Admiral's past torture and his failings, it is unlikely that the Empire would be willing to listen to any demands for his return. Because of this, it is not a high priority to go after this man. In fact, as things stand, we would prefer that no Justiciars or other assassins waste time pursuing him. The Royal General likes him just where he is. It is for his unique history with the Dominion that we consider him a possible dormant asset. We hope that given enough time, the Admiral will become as detrimental to the Imperial leadership as their spymaster was. He is not to be taken lightly, however. His dormant asset status does nothing to avoid the fact that the man Tacitus is indeed dangerous. It was because of this fact that the Royal General had to deploy a Sunbird to stop his advancing in the first place. It is because of this that while we don't want assassins seeking him out, we do still want all operatives to kill the man if they so happen to see him. He is a ruthless and inventive foe, taking advantage of his lost appendage to use crude 'attachments' for weapons. Most of them are merely blunt weapons and sharp metal sticks, but there's rumor that he might be in possession of a magical enchanted weapon as well from sources unknown. So essentially, the target is always armed and dangerous, and should be handled with caution in case he does indeed possess magical means of attack. Theodore Adrard Status: Asset. Asset status fickle, likely to change and should be monitored. Description: Fat. Breton, Age: 48, King of High Rock Theodore Adrard, the Chubby Thundercloud of Camlorn. Theodore Adrard is the most interesting figure to arise from High Rock, probably since the days of the Deceiver and Trickster, Tiber Septim. Born to Lord and Lady Adrard of Camlorn, Theodore learned his political mastery from his noble father, who used his skills to gain favor. Being of noble stock, unlike most of our latest targets... Theodore of course received the best tutors High Rock had to offer in all things tasteful, including the language arts, political machinations, swordplay and battle tactics. He ruled his father's land until his death, and eventually married the Daggerfall King's daughter after receiving the title of Lord, and gained the title of Lord General after proving his worth in campaigns against pirate lords and bandits within High Rock and off its coasts. Theodore since then went from a uninteresting and unimportant bore, by our standards, to turning into a most wonderful little war hungry and power hungry King, after newly appointed King and his Queen supposedly tried assassinating him. It was true the two were at odds, but from our observations, the chances of the new King trying to assassinate the Lord General for this reason was no higher than eight percent. It is our belief that the General orchestrated the entire thing in a bid to become the new King. However, there is no need to interfere. For one, we have no proof of this, but proof may be fabricated in the future if need be. But also, in order to secure his new rule, King Theodore executed his brother, then made his wife the face of treason when she fled with an army at her command. This set High Rock into yet another civil war, like Skyrim, except the Empire was smart enough to support him this time, unfortunately. The fact that he so ruthlessly and efficiently took down his opposition both politically and militarily is why we believe strongly that he indeed fabricated his own assassination attempt. If he didn't, then he is most clever and conniving indeed. If he did, then he is most clever and conniving indeed. While he hasn't yet won, we suspect that his victory will be inevitable. We will try to prevent that from happening to keep Theodore in asset status as long as possible. Until then, do NOT kill this man. If he is victorious anyway, then steps to bring his treachery, true or not, into the light for our purposes will be taken. Magdela Bathory.... "Hmm..." Corio sat still, his pen unmoving. Thoughts went flashing through his mind. Some fantasy, some memory. A handsome Altmer man laid in a bed under the figure of a luscious temptress on her knees. Tongue running over her red lips. Fine wine, grossly extravagant wine dripping down over her decadently sweet pink nipples. So sweet, that simply imagining oneself to taste them would send a recovering moon sugar addict spiraling into relapse. They were bouncing, oh how they bounced. Set to the beat of her thighs slapping into his as she rocked back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Soaking the sheets in perspiration. It was this scene that Corio watched attentively. The Altmer in his bed, another Justiciar at his command. He had the main event. But he had to watch as Corio took hold of those pink human nipples with his mouth. The jealousy strangely fed his desire, and soon the Altmer could no longer hold in his essence, even with the help of stamina magic coursing through his veins. This woman took all of him in, but she was in control, standing unsatisfied before the Justiciar while he lay there tired and sated. And now it was Corio's turn. Corio shoved her down, pointing her in the direction of the mirror in the room. Made her watch as the Thalmor lay into her from behind after being freshly fucked. She squirmed and squealed. Made him think he was in control. But he knew. As his hands gripped her blonde hair, and as she made even he finish earlier than he wanted, he knew secretly, she was laughing at him. How dare she? That whore! I am the Dominion, you are the Empire. I am your master. I will make your display genuine! I-I.... Corio snapped out of his memory suddenly... or fantasy? Why... why can't I remember clearly... Being with the courtesan was like having every fantasy become reality, and after over-indulging, the two eventually started blending together until he could no longer remember which were real and which were only imagined. "Ophelia! Ophelia!" *** Later now, Corio came back with a clear mind, scotch glass in hand. Wiping the perspiration from his forehead, Corio picked up the pen once more. Magdela Bathory Status: Kill ... Magdela Bathory Status: Traitor, Capture. Bring to Royal General for Interrogation. Kill as last resort. Description: Female, Imperial, Age: 24-26, High-Classed Courtesan Magdela Bathory, daughter of the Count of Skingrad. She is best known for her dirty low classed literature, entertainment best suited for the squalor of the Empire, but none the less finds itself secretly in the hands of many of her betters. She found her way into our borders with her unique skill of mingling with high end society and intriguing all who gazed upon her. She was a deviant little minx to find herself among the chosen few to cross into the heart of Dominion territory. She made many connections with her skill. Connections she maintained and helped feed her fame and notoriety, gaining popularity for her books. Eventually, she became nothing short of a celebrity in the Imperial City. Even the late Emperor Motierre had eyes for her, the spineless weasel. After the Emperor was killed, it didn't take even a second for the courtesan of all courtesans to switch allegiances like that. She began giving up names and information to the new Empress and her mystery mage, revealing just how well the unholy daedra of a whore could wrestle out sensitive information from those that she courted. Soon, she was courting the Empress' court mage, and once again she was the center of more hushed conversation amongst the circles of Imperial nobility. Do not kill this woman. Unfortunately, she is a treasure trove of valuable information just waiting to be picked. Her current whereabouts after the death of her father in a sudden housefire accident are unknown, but she is married to the new count of Skingrad, and must pop up eventually at some time. Do not bed her. Her services are a disease. She purposefully fulfills the secret desires of her clients, creating an addictive vice around their mind, and making them dependent on her skill for sexual satisfaction. It's an insidious method for information gathering fitting for lowly humans, who never seem to learn to close their legs. Keep your sword sheathed, and capturing the bitch shouldn't be difficult, if you can find her. Lorgar Grim-Maw Status: Asset/Kill, Asset status dependent on location, Kill status active Description: Nord, Age: 56, former Spymaster, traitor of the Empire Lorgar Grim-Maw is an odd individual. He started off as one of the deadliest soldiers the legion had to offer, quickly climbing in rank from body count alone. As Legate, he commanded the only surviving outfit of legionnaires in Skyrim, the elite force known as the Wolf pack, fittingly named. What was once a rumor is now confirmed, as reports of the Imperial's leader being caught after transforming into an actual wolf spread rather quickly. This is where the legate's impressive skill became overshadowed by his unfortunate failings. Whether he was confident that he could escape the Stormcloak forces within their walls, and his wolf blood activated at a most ill opportune time, or he was simply overconfident and incompetent, we're not sure, but either way the legate ended up in the loving care of Boldir Iron-Brow and eventually Baldur Red-Snow. After a most savage and brutal interrogation, Captain Red-Snow managed to acquire the location of the elite Wolf Pack, and they were quickly overwhelmed and wiped out, creating a fresh new graveyard of their exposed unburied bones. Considering Legate Lorgar Grim-Maw managed to escape, it is unlikely that the Captain, now High-General, intended for his interrogation method to psychologically break the Legate to further harm the legion, but that is what happened. After the events of the War of the Sundered Dragon, the Legate, strangely enough, was promoted to Spymaster of the legion despite the torture he received along with the loss of his men. He did receive a demotion beforehand, but they should have given him a psychiatric evaluation as well. It is because of this mistake that the legion suffered security and sensitive information fumbles, while the Spymaster distracted the court mage with some rivalry over reasons unknown. Eventually, the Spymaster started working on something called "Blood Wolf", and began hiding his own assets in preparation of disappearing. After a while, the Spymaster's movements became sporadic. Appearing in Skyrim to attack both General Red-Snow, as well as General Hammer-Fang, and also having sightings of him killing Imperial soldiers, assassinating other individuals, and attacking the court mage. We're not sure what his motives are, but we are sure that as long as he stays in the Empire, he is of great use to us, and a fantastic distraction. If Lorgar Grim-Maw appears in the Dominion, however, kill him. But do not try to do so alone. Recommended methods are with poisons, silver, the arcane arts, or arrows. Why the Empire didn't seem to mind that he was a mutt of Hircine, we are not sure. The going theory is that they took the Nord claims as superstition, or believing them to tell tall tales of him because of his association with the Wolf Pack. The unusual appearance of his wolf side in human form in the form of his teeth seem to be a dead giveaway, but the WGC propaganda passed says that they were artificially created in Solstheim, which the humans believed because of the Nord's savage reputation. Brund Hammer-Fang Status: Possible Asset, more information needed. Capture but do not kill Description: Nord, Age: 52, Stormcloak General There's not much that is fascinating about this Nord. He was a very young Legate in the Great War, at the absurd age of 22, thanks to his father's connections. During the Great War, he brutally tortured and executed our people, and admittedly killed a great many of them with the legion soldiers at his command, but that's where the fascination ends. He had a reported rivalry with Captain Ulrin Red-Snow, a man with great potential that unfortunately was never acknowledged, likely at his request. The rivalry carried on until Ulrin was surprisingly beaten and killed by his own son, Baldur Red-Snow. Now, thanks to our friend in Solitude's court, we know that this rivalry lives on between the failed Legate, now General and Ulrin Red-Snow's prodigy, High-General Baldur Red-Snow, despite the fact that it was he that promoted General Brund in the first place. They were even said to have fought viciously over the table of the High-King, all over a simple insult aimed at Baldur's wife, the High-Admiral, and a disagreement over who would be the High-General. A very... Nordic... occurrence. However, the current status of this rivalry is unknown, as shortly after, the two were said to have fought together effectively enough to counter the werewolf Lorgar Grim-Maw, and even almost kill him, causing us to question the accuracy of the information given, which shouldn't be a surprise, given the informant is known for incompetence. We assume that the High-General did not know of his father's rivalry with General Hammer-Fang, due to him being promoted. Currently, the General's mundane and simple, yet morbidly effective tactics are being utilized to quell the Forsworn in the Reach. Whether or not he manages to push the Forsworn out, we are confident that his efforts will be in vain in the long run. The Forsworn are too adept at hiding amongst Skyrim's residences and within the Reach itself to ever truly be stomped out without the full attention of Skyrim's army. Without that, we are sure the Forsworn will be around to cause trouble during the next Great War, and we should remain hands off. The General isn't likely a valuable hostage to the Nords, but he could be broken to fit our purposes, much like Admiral Tacitus and Ex Spymaster Lorgar. The information of his rivalry could be fueled to bite the Nords in the arse if one were to successfully feed the General's desire for revenge against his old adversary, Ulrin Red-Snow. He has no magic, and while skilled, is an ordinary, if barbaric fighter. Capturing him should be trivial, especially with his brain capacity. Which is to say, very Nordic. Corio dropped his pen, finally being done with the dossiers assigned to him for the moment. Massaging his wrists and cracking his fingers, the Royal General leaned back in his chair, intent on napping there before falling into Ophelia's embrace for the night. Before that could happen, however, the scroll at his belt began glowing, lighting up the dark cabin that was lit only with a glowing orb of his creation. Corio tiredly sprawled the scroll across the floor, sitting cross legged, eyes closed just like before. By secret glyph: dreamsleeve transmission Dreamsleeve: urgent, security protocols bypassed Security protocols: Aldmeri Ancestral Phoenix Wards JS: Justiciar Sylthern to Royal General Corio Adorin. We- (transmission interrupted) RGCA: This better be DAMN good, or you're both dead. How dare you bypass the Dominion's security protocols! If the humans were to obtain our transcription channels... (edited 1 min ago) JS: It is good, sir. General Gracchus has taken the bait. We wanted to get your orders to make sure the target dies. RGCA: I see. Burn the house down. Do not wait for him to activate the traps. If he makes it outside, fill him with arcane energy until nothing remains but dust, then cast it to the winds. Let the Legion stew in their juices wondering where he is, before they finally declare him dead. But before you attempt to kill him, make sure you burn your transmission scrolls. Just in case. JS: Understood, sir. For the Dominion. (Transmission terminated) *** Gracchus' words hung in the air for what felt like hours, the only answer in return the creak of the old shanty. He stood there, long enough that his magical candle went out, leaving him in momentary darkness. Then, flames sprouted from the rags covering the windows, and within seconds the walls were coated in flames. The general stepped back from the walls, into the center of the room, where the lightning rune lay hidden neath a rug. His boot clipped the edge, however, as the blue-white bolts danced harmlessly mere inches from his face. The hair standing on his body and the growth of the fire snapped his attention to his situation, and he formed an ice shield spell in his palms, where the sweat quickly froze into icicles that melted as they dropped to the floor. Knowing that this was now a trap, he ran straight for the window on the right, using the icy spell to keep the flames at bay, and to put out the burning blanket covering the window. The spell dissipated as he jumped, tucking his head and shoulders while his arms reached out so catch him. Evidently whoever set the trap hadn't expected his exit to be from the windows, because nothing assailed him for a few seconds as he came out of his roll. He turned to face the shack, where smoke hung like fog, obscuring the immediate area like a mourner's face at a funeral. Gracchus leapt to his feet, wards at the ready in both hands. Their magic showed themselves first in the darkness of the area before the hooded figures themselves did. Waves of lightning came crashing into Gracchus' shields like the front lines of a shield wall colliding with the enemy. The magicka flowing from their fingers lit the area momentarily, revealing their yellow faces beneath their mundane dark brown robes. Seeing their spells outmatched, they quickly switched to more powerful lightning spells, aiming at the ground near the General's feet to arc up behind his ward. When the High Elves switched, so did Gracchus, rearranging the wards so they overlapped in the middle, one covering his head, the other his legs. He eyed them warily, waiting for them to make their move. The Altmer looked to one another, then nodded. Having practiced and prepared for this battle for months now, coordinating strategies on a whim was nothing to them. The Altmer to the left continued with his assault, hoping to blind Gracchus to what the other was doing. Suddenly, a dark purple cloud burst forth from nowhere, then in its place, a Storm Atronach appeared, joining in on the barrage of storm lights. The other Altmer having cover fire summoned forth his own Atronach as well, and all relentlessly hammered spell after spell at Gracchus. Slowly, the atronachs began to move around the sides, where they could fire around the wards and end the fight. He didn't have long, so Gracchus dropped to a knee and lowered his top ward, adjusting the second so it covered his crouched body. His right hand, now free, began cooling with the icy frost spell that now sat on his fingertips. With one swift move, he brought the ice wall from across his body to his right, lowering the ward as he did. The wall formed between he and the enemies, while he formed a fire bolt with the left hand. Gracchus aimed the explosive blast at the one enemy that wasn't hidden behind the frost wall, the storm atronach to his right, which exploded into the purple dust from whence it came. The wall wouldn't last long, so the High General scanned the area for any means of retreat. The dock ended a few steps away, and with the raining the water was cold enough to kill, especially now that the sun had set. Now alleys or paths revealed themselves, so Gracchus prepared to fight his way out. While he was scheming, the surviving atronach began to move forward within melee distance, while the Altmer prepared to pepper the area with chain lightning, since the Atronach would be unaffected. Seeing the atronach appear from around the corner of the wall, Gracchus hit it with a simple frost spell, slowing it down to he could unsheath he sabre. A ward caught the few bolts it flung, while metal met atronach as he sliced at the floating rocks of the summoned beast. He made quick work, as the daedra had no melee attacks to speak of, and the ward blocked all its lightning bolts. Backing away from the dissipating storm golem, Gracchus was sent to his knees by two bolts of lightning, both sapping his magicka and life. They came from the slowly dissolving atronach, it's body the conduit for the chain lightning. His muscles rigid with the electrical energy, his face contorted with spasmodic convulsion, he struggled to stand, fighting both his own rebellious muscles and the spells of the Thalmor. The chain lightning stopped just as his eyes began to flicker with black splotches, and he stood tentatively while gripping his sword, the point stabbing the wooden dock as a makeshift crutch. His spare hand glowed orange in healing magic, but Gracchus thought better of it. With his magic drained from the lightning, he'd need every ounce left. He flipped the sword back into the upright position and charged from around the wall, diving behind a stack of barrels as the lightning spells lashed out. Ice spells slammed into the barrels, which were thankfully stacked two thick, otherwise Gracchus would be a icicle pincushion. Gathering his breath, the general rose to his feet and sprinted out from cover. Using a quick, weak ward to deflect one icy spear, he charged the two Thalmor with sword at the ready. The first one came in range, and he sliced across his belly, the tip sinking barely in before an ice spike slammed into his left shoulder, the armor only marginally stopping it. He retreated, but not before blocking another spear with a lesser ward and cutting the thigh of the other mage. It was then he abandoned his sword, throwing another ward behind him as he dove back behind the barrels. The Thalmor, angry now that they were caught off guard by such a simple tactic as charging them with a weapon, switched to fire spells, both to preserve their magicka stores and also to blast this ******* primitive to ash and piss the remains into the mud. Gathering the flame within their hands, the Thalmor inched closer, wanting to be dead on balls accurate with their shots and to be very certain that Gracchus suffered the full impact of their magic explosions. Gracchus closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, focusing on the redhot power forming in his hands. He blocked out the fire bolts that were blowing his cover to pieces, instead recalling the intricate had motions needed for the master level spell. His hands moved like dancers at a party, whirling and twirling while his palms filled with flames. He caught his breath, now only waiting to release the spell. But he didn't want to do it from cover, no, he wanted the Thalmor to see he had bested them at their own magical game. So he stepped out, the rain still pouring down and sizzling as it evaporated from the heat surrounding Gracchus. Then, the world turned red and exploded, fragments of wood from the dock, the barrels, the shacks filling the air like an angry swarm of wasps, reaching out and stinging the burning bodies of the Thalmor. The Elven mages flew backwards, their robes aflame. Gracchus was left standing in a burning ruin of half a block of derelict shacks and old warehouses, the rain sizzling as it hit the flames. Gracchus' chest rose and fell with the heavy breaths, and his shoulder ached with each throb of his veins. He was bleeding again, the blood that was frozen from the icicle now thawing. His magicka reserves were depleted, so healing was out of the question. He just ignored the pain and stumbled over to the elves, hoping to find some useful information on their bodies. The Thalmor's charred remains sizzled in steam as the rain fell on what was left of them, their once golden bodies now an ugly dark brown and thick black. As Gracchus came to the first, a burst of steam came forth from the Altmer's chest, splitting it open like an over cooked sausage just before the rest of him collapsed into a pile of black wet ash. The next was in a similar state, but instead of the dramatic display of the first, this one's chest rose as his mouth suddenly gasped in a ghastly struggle to bring life sustaining air to his lungs. One of which was collapsed by the heat and shockwave. The sound of his intense wheezing was mostly drowned out in the rain that assaulted his skin. He turned to his stomach, desperately trying to crawl away, leaving the skin from his back behind, like meat clinging to a frying pan. Gracchus put a boot on his back, the leather sticking to man's skin and slightly exposed bones. He then formed a brief healing hands spell, just enough to keep the mage alive. In truth that was all he could manage, and even that was lacking. He then rolled him back over, so his half charred face was looking up at him. "Where is you hideout? Who are your agents in the city?" he asked, standing over the man so that rain dripped from his hair onto the elf. "I'll... t-tell you... every... everything. Just... don't... k-k," The Thalmor's breathing grew more labored as he tried to speak, and his hand wandered to the General's boot, signifying it was too hard to breath with its weight. Gracchus lifted it, but sat the tip of his blade just below the mans chin. "Now talk." The Thalmor amazingly seemed to be smiling then, though it was hard to tell. With short raspy breaths that seemed to be his best attempt at laughter, he said, "Our... hideout. Is your home... our numbers... are your numbers. We're everywhere... and nowhere... we... are... Thalmor." Suddenly, the half burned mer's hand glowed with the power of lightning just before he slammed it in the puddle of water that now gathered beneath his body and the General's feet. He deliberately rasped out his words slowly so that he could gather the magicka needed, and so that the puddle could grow. His last desperate attempt at killing his target. Unfortunately, he would die before the spell could have a chance to even touch the puddle. Gracchus leapt in the air, noticing the blue-white lightning crackling from the elves fingertips. He stabbed once with his sword, sliding the tip through the crusty black skin. He slid it out, wiping it off on his woolen cloak before looking around. The magical fire was subsiding, the great deal of rain falling helping tremendously. Voices could be heard in the distance, someone barking out commands. Guards, most likely, or a local slumlord directing his men to clean up the mess. Either way, Gracchus cared not, as he sheathed his blade before trudging off into the black of night, his clothes smelling of blood and sweat and smoke. He shook off the tattered cloak he wore and left it on the ground behind him.

Stalks-Deep-Waters They found the shaman (or tree-minders as they were also sometimes called in Black Marsh) just outside the village. Hidden behind some trees with the branches, lush with leafs, hanged like veins. Making them look like green curtains. There behind the curtains was the largest tree in the area. The tribe's Hist tree. It wasn't that much taller than the other trees. But the trunk was thick, so to a degree it looked bloated. Especially at the bottom. Making the tree trunk take on an almost cone shaped form. It's roots thick and strong. So much so that the roots even held up the body of the tree from the ground. Just enough to walk if one crouched down low enough, but plenty of room if one instead decided to crawl on all fours. There in the middle under the Hist were a couple of eggs. Lying on a mattress of thick, soft moss. And from the ceiling (or the bottom of the tree trunk) slowly dropped a golden, thick liquid down on the moss that soaked it up like a sponge. And because of this the moss had a more golden than green color. Sitting by one of the tree's roots was Sleeps-With-Trees. The shaman had the top of half of a crocodile skull on the top of his head. Almost like a helmet. With the eye sockets of the skull sitting right over his eyes. And the nose was also gone so the skull was just as long the shaman's head. The rest of his body was dressed in a leather armor made from the scales that Stalks presumed to be from the same crocodile who's skull adorned the shaman's head. As well as various teeth tightly strapped to his arms and chest. And with a good couple of inches between each tooth as to not make any noise when he moved. In the lap was a also a spear. Slightly longer and quite sturdier than Stalks' spear. With only having a tip at one end of the spear (instead of one at both ends as Stalks'). As well as a large barbed blade sticking out in an almost hook like fashion just below the tip. As Stalks and his father approached the shaman, they could see that the shaman had his eyes closed and gave off a light snore. Which in a way wasn't so surprising given the shaman's name. Stalks had always wondered if the snore was just an act. As he had once in his young childhood tried to sneak past the shaman, when he had been sitting up against a root and snoring just like he did now. Stalks had just wanted to look at the eggs. But as soon as he had let the shaman out of sight, the snoring had stopped and before he knew it he was dangling upside down with the shaman holding him up by the tail with only one hand. That was also the first time he had really spoken with the shaman in person. Sleeps-With-Trees proved to be much less harsher than Stalks had expected. Instead of scolding him, the shaman had spoken in calm tone and explained that the eggs was not to be disturbed. He also answered any questions Stalks had about the eggs and the Hist. Albeit after he had put down Stalks back on the ground. Stalks and Sleeps had kept up a rather friendly relationship ever since then. Now as they stood before the snoring shaman, they both waited to see if the shaman would wake up on his own or if they would have to say something to wake him up. "Are you going to leave a crippled man waiting?" Stalks' father said after a long moment of awkward silence. "Yes." the shaman mumbled sleepily. And continued to snore. "Can you at least wake up to examine my son." The snoring stopped and the eyes opened. "For what? As I have told you before. He was hatched here. Drank the sap from this very tree. He's not going to lose the connection for being far, far away for a couple of years. And even then he still has his little keepsake of Hist sap. Or had. As he have probably tried to commune with the trees in whatever faraway land he was in. If I'm not mistaken." "How?" was all Stalks could say in great surprise. "The Hist, boy." the shaman raised his left hand and patted the root behind him. "Oh, and I can also see that the pouch I gave you is empty." he then pointed at the shriveled flat pouch at Stalks belt. "Well can you refill it?" Stalks loosened the pouch from his belt and threw it to the shaman. "I can, but that will take time." the shaman replied as he caught the little sack. "Now if you excuse me, I want to get back to my nap." "Come on. Lets go father." Stalks said as he was about to turn around and leave. Though he stopped when he saw that his father just stood there, disappointed and slightly frustrated as he stared at the shaman. Then up at the Hist tree. "Guess he's right then. Alright lets go." he said and began turning around (which went a little slowly with only one leg and a crutch) and walk with Stalks back to the village. "And why don't you tell me a little of your adventures." "Well the first few years was rather slim. Those elves and humans are not prone to hire us people of the root. Cyrodiil was a bit more interesting this time around. But with the Thalmor it was a nightmare getting a job. Most mercenary work was given out by them and they preferred hiring their own pointy eared kind. Only passed through Hammerfell this time around." Stalks didn't need to tell his father where these provinces lied as he had given his father and mother a map of Tamriel last time he had visited. "Took a job as a caravan guard for some merchant on their way to High Rock. High Rock was a rather cold place. But the constant feuding of the nobles made it a ripe place for someone of my profession. Though most of the jobs were either bounty hunting, which often wasn't that exciting, or just guarding something. Be it a mining storehouse or a small caravan. Best jobs were when I was tasked with attacking some other noble's hired swords. Though those jobs were few. I was once even part of a raiding party. We were told to steal back some cattle that some other neighboring noble supposedly had stolen. I don't know who stole those cows first. And truth be told; I don't care." "What's a cow?" Stalks father interrupted. "Like some weird bloated horse. Your remember I what I told you about horses?" at which his father just nodded. "And they got a big bladder sticking out of their stomach. Apparently that is the milk breast. And it has four nipples that stick out like sticks. They are domestic and the humans use them as a source of food." "Odd creatures. Anyway, continue with your story." "So the raid went almost perfectly. We went in and killed a couple of guards. But when we were on our way back with the cattle. We walked right into an ambush. They were waiting on the road back. And had a couple of archer up on a cliff by the road. Apparently they had expected us. The leader of the ambush party wanted us to lay down our arms and come with them quietly. Apparently they wanted us to testify against our employer. I didn't want to lose my weapons or the pay. And the other didn't really want to either. So while our leader and their leader argued back and forth of why and why not we should surrender, and seeing as I no one minded me; I turned invisible. With a potion. So don't give me that look. Anyway, I sneaked behind the enemy and up the cliff. There I managed to push one of the archers down and then stab the other before he could react to my presence. And with the archers gone we actually had a fighting chance of getting out of there. Not that I had given us much choice by taking out the archers. Soon the enemy routed and we managed to return with the cattle. Although we had lost almost half our numbers. And the others were a bit angry at me for just taking out the archers without a warning. Though they were also happy enough that they could get the job done. So I think it evened out. And later when I traveled to Skyrim in hope to find any good jobs due to any instability the wars would have left in it's wake. That land was really cold. High Rock may have been cold but Skyrim is even worse. So there I was in the wake of a war torn land. Bandits and bounties aplenty. But then as the northerners began to recuperate and patrols began to increase, the jobs also began to steadily decrease. Headed east to maybe try my luck at joining an Argonian raiding party In Morrowind. Though on the way when I stopped to check for jobs in Skyrim's new capital, I got a bounty on some Dunmer woman. And that proved to be the biggest adventure I've had so far." Stalks then told about how he had found the Dunmer woman and how she proved that the stories they had heard as young weren't that exaggerated. About the chase west and Companions. The werewolf in The Reach and how the Companions had sold him out as a spy. His escape and how he eventually caught up with the mercenaries and then how he in the end managed to slay the wicked dark elf. And the strange armor he had looted off her. "Then after having sold what I didn't want and what I could of her belongings, I cashed in on the bounty and headed straight back home. Only notable thing on the way being a spooky town off the road, with a ridiculous amount of fog." "I'm sure the others will want to hear about some of your adventures as well. Though you might want to tone down some of the more life threatening parts when your mother is around." "Yeah, you're probably right about that." When they reached the beach, they were about to sit down and fish with the elders, when they saw that Shocky was up and about and with Stalks' cousin standing next the wamasu. She was attaching leather straps around his stomach, which would work as a primitive saddle. And a large quiver filled with four javelins at the front left leg. Stalks never seized to be amazed that she could get all that onto Shocky, even less ride the great lightning drake. He had himself tried riding Shocky once. He only came up on the great lizard after many failed attempts. Where he was getting shocked as soon as he tried putting one leg over the wamasu's back. Then when he finally managed to get into position (without getting electrocuted off), Shocky gave him a quick ride that ended when Shocky made a sharp turn; throwing Stalks right into a tree. And ever since then he (and everyone else) had let his cousin take care of any riding of Shocky. After she had mounted Shocky and the two began to walk past the line of fishermen on the beach, all staring at the sight of the Argonian riding the lightning drake, she stopped when she saw that Stalks sat there next to his father at the end of the beach. "Look who's here?" she said half sarcastically and half joyfully. "Hello to you too." Stalks replied. "So where are you two off to?" "To the marshes to the east. One of our hunters said they saw something big in the distance near there. We think it might be a young swamp leviathan. I'm going to take Shocky here to investigate. We don't want anything like that encroaching on our hunting and fishing grounds, now do we?" "No we don't." was all Stalks said. She had always had a bit of an attitude. But Stalks knew better than to argue. It would be better to talk with her later when she wasn't busy. "Good. I'll probably be back before nightfall. Don't wait up if I don't. Bye." she said and she Shocky set off to the east. "Well I'm going to see if I can't have some peace and quite instead. Now did you people loot all the new fishing rods from the pile?" ******* Stalks stayed for two and a half weeks in the village. Sharing stories and catching up with old friends and relatives. It was mostly a quiet time. As quiet as it could be in Black Marsh that is. There were still the occasional predator. But dealing with those things were routine for the Argonians. And when Stalks set off back into lands beyond the swamps and marshes he knew, he felt both a little bit sad to leave. But the call of the road and what might await around the next corner was for him irresistible. Once he was out of Black Marsh and back on the same paved path of the Yellow Road. He turned south. Towards Leyawiin. He still had that odd note with the coordinates for his next job. But the only thing he had was a simple map over Tamriel on a durable piece of cloth. He'd have to get a more advanced map in Leyawiin. And some supplies. Though there was the problem that he was broke now that he had spent every coin on the things he had brought back to his tribe. But he still had those two amulets that he could sell. He had his doubts that the iron amulet from the crazy Dunmer would sell. But the delicate one in silver was something he was assured could get him a hefty sum of Septims. Leyawiin proved to be somewhat peaceful as a whole, but rather tense in the corners. Something about a mass execution that had taken place some time ago, painting the streets red with Khajiit blood. Stalks tried to not pay it any mind. What happened to the cats wasn't his business, not that he cared for any them anyway. He managed to sell the silver amulet to a traveling merchant in the market for a good sum of coin. Which he then used to buy himself a proper map and some food and alchemical supplies. And still have a some change left. But he still couldn't find anyone who wanted to buy the weird iron amulet. He left through the east gate and headed north. He considered heading through Eslweyr, but he had little to no information on how things were there. And he didn't really trust the cat people. So his plan was to make it up north and stay in Cyrodiil for the time being, pass the Imperial City and to Skingrad. There he would head southwest towards the Strid River. Once there he would swim over in the cover of dark. And from there he would have a relatively short travel distance towards these coordinates. If the map he had bought was correct. The trip seemed to go smoothly till he passed the town of Water's Edge. He was just passing through when he heard an imperial woman he had just passed by scream behind him. "That lizard stole my coin pouch!" Stalks just turned calmly around to face the woman, a brown haired imperial in a simple blue dress and soft facial features. "No, I did not steal your coin pouch. I'm mercenary, not a thief." he said in a calm and polite manner. "Liar!" she yelled. By now she had also caused a scene a group muscular men arrived. "Have you stolen this woman's coin?" the biggest one at the front of the group, a Nord with light brown hair and a big furry mustache, said in a rough voice. Helping the "pretty" woman from the filthy, scaly beast man I see. Stalks thought. "No I did not. And I said I am not a thief." "You're a liar." the woman shouted again. "That is my money pouch you have at your belt." she said and pointed at Stalks pouch that had the leftover coin from Leyawiin. "No, this is my pouch." he said, his patience slowly wearing and the politeness in his voice with it. "Just give the woman back her pouch and there wont be any trouble." the big man said. "This is my money. I earned it myself." "By stealing it." the woman spat out in disdain. "Listen here, lizard. Just the give the woman back her money and me and the boys wont have to get rough with you." It was obvious that talking wasn't going to get him anywhere. It was either give the woman his own money, or pull his weapon and try to fight, or simply hightail it out of there and run. There were no guards in sight. But Stalks didn't think they would even doubt the woman's accusations as well. Fighting was a possible option, but he was severely outnumbered even if the opposition only had their fists to fight with. And any bloodshed was sure to call on the guards. And giving over the money was not something he would do if possible. So that left only one really viable option. Stalks quickly turned around and darted through the small crowd that had gather around the scene. "Stop the lizard!" and "Stop the thief!" he heard the men and woman shouting behind him. But Stalks didn't pay them any mind and just focused on getting out of town. He followed the main street of the Green Road. The edge of town was within sight and the townspeople around him just stared in surprise when they saw the lizard being chased by the group of men. He got out of town and soon he would be free. The road was quite clear except for a few people with carts moving goods in and out of the city. "Haldir! Stop the thief!" the big Nord shouted behind Stalks. And before Stalks could really a react, a brown haired Nord moving a small cart filled with firewood tackled him. Stalks fell to ground and before he even got a chance regain his composure and the man that had tackled him locked his arms around Stalks' throat from behind. Stalks suddenly got hard to breathe and he could see in far corner of his eye that the group of men were getting closer. He knew that if they got their hands on him, it wouldn't be pleasant. He tried to wrestle out of the hold the Nord had on him. But the Nord proved a lot stronger than expected. And the more he struggled the less he could breathe. Then Stalks made a split second decision. He pulled his dagger and drove it deep into the side of the man behind him. The Nord let go of Stalks neck as he felt the dagger go deep inside of him. Stalks got up on his feet and tried to pull out the dagger. But it didn't really move. Then he remembered that this wasn't his old dagger and that this dagger had barbs on one side of the blade. He tried again with more force and this time it came out. Along with the flesh and innards the barbs had sunk it's teeth into. Leaving a big gaping hole in the side of the man. The group of men and everyone else on the road just stared at the display. All paralyzed like statues as they saw Stalks shake off the meat slabs from his dagger and the man on the ground; bleeding from his large wound and forming an ever increasing larger red puddle. Stalks didn't feel like waiting around for the people to regain their composure. So he ran. Behind him he heard a great cry of anguish and fury. It was the Nord leader. Apparently the man Stalks had just killed been a relative or close friend to him judging by his reaction. Stalks only gave a quick look over his shoulder to see that the group had taken up the chase once more. The big Nord was picking up pace and ran even faster than before. Stalks kept running with the men in tow. They ran and they ran. And whenever Stalks thought he was going to lose them, they managed to pick up pace just enough to stay on his heels. It seemed like it would be a competition of endurance rather than speed. Then some time later; further up along the road Stalks saw a small patrol of legionaries marching in his direction. And when the big Nord behind him saw them too he began to shout at the top of his lungs: "Stop the murderer! Stop the lizard! Stop the murder!" This day wasn't going Stalks' favor. And he still had the bloody dagger in hand. But he had at least a little luck as the patrol was still too far away to really hear what the man chasing Stalks was shouting. Stalks then steered left, into the woods, before the legionaries could make out what was shouted. But soon after he had gotten into the forest, he could hear the the heavy footsteps of the legionaries far behind him. And so the chase continued from the paved road and into green woods. The sky was growing darker and the shadows longer as the sun was reaching the horizon. The lungs began to hurt and the legs felt tender and weak. Stalks didn't know if the big Nord was still on his trail but he knew the legionaries were. And they were catching up on him. He could see glimpses of them in the distance among the trees and he was sure they could do the same with him as they headed straight for him. Stalks knew that he wouldn't be able to keep up the chase for long. He had to hide. Soon he came a to small clearing. And in the clearing was a large statue of some man with in pompous clothing, a big goatee and holding a cane. Behind the statue was just a tall and steep cliff. Stalks looked over his shoulder but couldn't see the legionaries. But he could hear them. He could keep running but his legs felt like they would collapse at any second. So he mustered what little energy he could and ran towards the statue. He ran around it and past a big rock next to the pedestal, then fell more than sat down, with his back up against the pedestal. Now behind the statue and the rock he could hear, but not see, the legionnaires enter the clearing. They argued a little over where he had gone. Then he heard them split up. One group heading north while another heading south. Stalks listened to the footsteps as they disappeared in the distance with a great relief. He was so tired. And he suddenly also felt quite sleepy. The eyelids grew heavier and heavier. With the legionnaires gone he felt he could afford himself at least a little nap before he continued. So he closed his eyes and let sleep take him.

Corio Adorin Dawn's Shadow, off the coast of Valenwood 11 a.m. "Come back to bed m'lord. I'm not done with you yet." Corio looked back at his mistress, rocking in the back of his cabin along with the sway of the ship. "Well I'm done with you for the time being. We're an hour away from our destination and I want to relax before the fun begins. The woman, a tall girl for a human, walked over with her blonde hair bouncing along with the rest of her before crouching in front of the Thalmor Royal General's seat, looking up at him with hungry eyes, her red lips sliding between her teeth. Corio had known this girl since she was in her early teens. She was going to be executed along with the rest of her family in Cyrodiil for accusations of working against the Thalmor and endangering the WGC, but Corio managed to 'save' her. Now she was in her mid twenties, and she'd known nothing but a life of luxury. And all she had to do was love her caretaker. "Come now, you know you can't ignore me for long," she said as she stood, taking Corio's wine cup from his hands. She drained it all, then let the red liquid pass from her mouth to his before sticking her tongue down his throat. Breaking off, she said, "Now, you just sit there, and let me take care of you. Go back to reading, don't you mind me." "Ophelia, you are a godsend," he said as he opened his book as the girl crouched before him once again. Flipping through the pages, Corio ran over several dossiers to pass the time. Thalmor Dossiers of Tamriel Cyrodiil: Empress Dales Motierre Status: Asset, Traitor Description: Breton, early 20's, Empress of Cyrodiil Princess Dales, Now Empress Dales started off as an effective Thalmor servant, working in our employ at the behest of her father as a 'High Inquisitor', a title that did not officially exist. The girl was talented, having learned from the Synod and becoming skilled in illusion and alteration magics, by human standards. Something happened to her, however in Skyrim when she left to deal with the Stormcloaks under the watchful eyes of our Thalmor operatives. The intention was for her to be assassinated so that we could force even more cooperation from the Imperials to fight with Skyrim, but unfortunately that never happened. In fact, after the war was lost due to a series of unfortunate events, Dales Motierre with the help of legion allies and a mysterious mage, killed her father and took his place on the throne. Afterwards, she made sure that the legion slayed any of our operatives they could reach in Cyrodiil and unofficially declared war on the Dominion. Since her rule, however, Dales Motierre has proven to be considerably less serious about seeing to our demise. While the increase of anti Dominion policies has been somewhat troublesome, the fair Empress has been more concerned with her many female mistresses, rather than ruling her one of two provinces of the Empire. There were two assassination attempts on her life, but all have since been called off. The Thalmor believe that Dales' ruling will be more beneficial to us in the long run, especially if things like rebellious Imperial generals like Jon and riots continue. The execution of failed General Tullius was most unexpected, but a delight none the less. We've taken measures to prevent any other assassination attempts on her life from outside sources as well as within. Skjari Snow-Strider Status: Active (Kill) Description: Male, Nord, Age: (?) Perhaps late twenties. Descriptions vary, Court Mage of the White Gold Tower Not much is known about this person, which is alarming to say the least. Some reports say he was with the Empress when she was in Skyrim, and that he was a member of the Synod, but that is all that we know. Rumors circle around him constantly, such as one that says he is somehow behind Empress Dales' rule. He was the one that slayed General Tullius, but if this is the case, this news is actually comforting due to her recent failings. However, when this mysterious court mage stepped out of the shadows to declare himself the future husband of the Empress, he immediately went to work quelling some of the fires around Cyrodiil, such as yet another supposedly rebellious individual. A count, no less. Whether or not the rumors of him leading the Empress was true before, there is no doubt that they are true now. If he is allowed to become Emperor of Cyrodiil, then perhaps more of his secrets will be revealed. His involvement could interfere with our desire to see Dales rule, and thus make her apparent incompetence inconsequential. It is preferred that he be removed from the picture at any costs. Politically, or violently. He is said to be a rather powerful wizard, having demonstrated some of his skill to students in the imperial city, one of which was an operative of ours. Judging from the reports here and also what has been seen of him in recent conflicts around Cyrodiil, we've concluded that he is not to be taken lightly, and must be dealt with by only the most professional of magical assassins. High General Gracchus Quintus Ceno Status: Active (Kill), Traitor Description: High General of the entire Imperial Legion, Male, Imperial, Age: 56 Born into peasant stock, General Ceno made his talent known when he joined the legion in the Great War. He fought well and bravely, showing skill with the sword and magic, as well as the leadership skills required to lead his people in warfare, something the legion sorely needed after their huge losses at our hands. Graccus Quintus Ceno, soon a Legate, went to prove himself again when he finally, and unfortunately, brought an end to the Howling Harpy of the Stormcloaks, ending at least momentarily, the raping of legion ships at the hands of the Nords. He went on to do battle with the Stormcloaks as a general when General Marius was somehow captured and converted to the savage Nord's side. He prevented what would have been an embarrassing defeat and kept his men organized enough to hold their own and push the Stormcloaks back, despite the bigger losses that the legion took. General Gracchus Quintus Ceno did the best he could in a desperate situation, when his legion was trapped behind the avalanche of Pale Pass, supposedly caused by the Nords and Redguards using black powder from Hammerfell. His men were starving and running on limited supplies, but luckily, we managed to capture the Stormcloak general, which should have been enough to win, if not at least pause the fighting long enough to clear the Pass, but unfortunately, General Marius, who defected to the Stormcloaks, and General Tullius managed to help him escape. The war was on once again, and General Ceno kept the pressure on the fortified Nord town of Falkreath, utilizing siege weapons with string from horse hair to make a dent in their defenses, once again demonstrating his intelligence and ingenuity. The Nords even had to go as far as sacrificing their Redguard military leader to sabotage the siege machines to buy themselves time. Unfortunately, with limited supplies and support, it was only a matter of time before the legion in Skyrim was again defeated. The blockade was all but gone in the seas, and with the avalanche, the only choice they had was surrender, or to try and take the fortified town, which was now converted mostly to militia. It is in our expert opinion that knowing this, Gracchus Ceno was more easily persuaded to betray us. We are unsure how it happened, but we believe that given the assassination of Motierre afterwards, the Empress possibly persuaded him to do it, seeing her chance to gain favor with someone popular in the legion. Whatever the case was, the Stormcloaks and the legion allied with one another and defeated our forces, setting in motion events that would lead to the allied human nations against the Dominion. Now this man is the High General of the entire legion, replacing the intelligent, but failed General Tullius. We've concluded that no one else is well suited for the task of running the legion as a whole, and that the Empire is running low on talent. Because of this, killing or capturing General Gracchus Ceno is the highest priority in Cyrodiil. Killing is preferred, as trying to capture him will likely lead to failure, as the general is skilled in the ways of destruction magic, which makes up for his growing age. We do not want his talent to be utilized in the upcoming war. He has a wife and an elderly mother, both of which could be used against him in the upcoming war. Killing or capturing them should be trivial. Ophelia stopped what she was doing and interrupted Corio's reading, much to the Altmer's displeasure. "Can I take off this wig? It's really uncomfortable, an-" "Put... the wig... back on," Said Corio with intense malice in his voice. Ophelia knew better than to argue with him when he spoke that way and did as she was told before going back to what she was doing. "Now, where was I? Ah yes, the Nords." Skyrim: High Admiral Rebec Red-Snow Status: Active (Kill or Capture, preferably capture) Description: High Admiral of the Stormcloak Navy, Female, Nord, Age: 32 Being in Skyrim, not much is really known about the admiral's beginnings. We know that she started off as a sailor, lost one of her ships from drunken incompetence, and as a merchant, she has connections along the coasts of High Rock and Hammerfell. We know that rumors say she was little better than the pirates she dealt with, and that she had conflict with the Reavers of Solstheim, which she dealt with in a surprisingly brutal fashion not expected of a woman her age. But then, we are talking about the savage Nords. But this brutality seems to have served her well, and explains somewhat how a young woman such as herself could possibly cripple and embarrass the Imperial Legion's navy. After she made contact with the Stormcloaks in Fort Neugrad, the Captain there who had connections with the High King Ulfric Stormcloak not only got her out of her charges for associating with Erikur, a man who was working for us, but the King was also even convinced by this captain, one Baldur Red-Snow to let her command a ship for his navy. We do not believe that their marriage later was a coincidence, as it seemed the young woman had a promiscuous nature typical of Nords. What seemed to have been a foolish move turned out to be a lucky one, as the woman soon proved that she could sail circles around the large and slow ships of the legion. This was great news for us, as when she was made High Admiral due to her effectiveness, we took advantage and made sure Motierre sent more ships to deal with the upstart Admiral. As we predicted, this only lead to a graveyard of Imperial ships, until General Ceno caught the Admiral's ship on fire and she was forced to retreat. After the events of what is called the War of the Sundered Dragon, the High Admiral and now High General made their way to Hammerfell, where they interfered in our plans to start a civil war in the heart of the region. After this, the woman managed to negotiate an agreement with the Admiral of Stros M'kai, finally sealing an allied naval force between Skyrim and Hammerfell. This woman is to be killed, but preferably captured. She is obviously of great importance to the High General and High King of Skyrim. Even if the High King won't, her husband is almost sure to listen to any demands we give if we were to come into possession of his promiscuous admiral. She is clever and dangerous, but has no magical ability. Capturing or killing her shouldn't be any more complicated than reaching her alone. Of course, with Skyrim, that is easier said than done. If one cannot capture her, then kill her, and do so thoroughly. She knows how to command, and has already proven her talent with ships. Something that we surely don't want to see utilized in the future. High General Baldur Red-Snow Status: Active (Kill or Capture, Preferably Capture) Description: High General of Skyrim's forces, Nord, Age: 39 Baldur Red-Snow started his career against us early, when he interfered with our first attempts to lower legion numbers. After discovering this plot, the Nord got our bandits to fight each other off, then used the legion to dispose of them all. The Thalmor Justiciars in disguise got away, only to be tricked while tracking him, then hunted down one by one. Only Corio Adorin, High Emissary at the time escaped with his recall spell. This failure and the failure with one Blades Grandmaster Esbern caused the Thalmor operative to lose his position in disgrace. The Nord went into hiding, and it is unclear what he did with this information, or why the info was never used against us. The Nord was later spotted again working with the Stormcloaks and captured by General Tullius along with Ulfric Stormcloak. After the dragon rumored to be 'Alduin' attacked, Baldur Red-Snow managed to save the King's life, which is believed to be the reason for his unusually quick rise in rank, though with the limited talent in the upstart Stormcloak army, it isn't that surprising. Later, one Boldir Iron-Brow managed to capture the legion Legate, and Baldur was rumored to have used methods akin to Thalmor torturers themselves on civilians to acquire the location of the Legate's camp, though whether that is true or not is unknown. Either way, the Legate's forces were wiped out completely. Soon after, Baldur Red-Snow lead the battle of Pale Pass, utilizing the 'Grim Ones' he commanded to hold back the legion and Thalmor forces while their back ranks traded arrows with Cyrodiil's forces. Just before the general decided to retreat, he ordered the Dunmer up front, where they activated their ancestral wraith abilities, and charged the front lines of the legion. Baldur was later captured and tortured by our men, but managed to escape with Tullius' help, and Marius, who he managed to recruit to his side. After he escaped, he was said to use the marks from his torture left behind to persuade unusual amounts of civilians to become militia. It later was discovered that the Nord took his torturer with him and brutally executed him in some barbaric manner unique to Nords, drawing credibility to the rumors of his torturing of civilians in front of Legate Grim-Maw. After a brutal display when the legion betrayed the Thalmor, the general had his Grim Ones take over the Pale Pass, effectively controlling the entire Southern border of Skyrim to Cyrodiil. The General, now High General later left to Hammerfell with his new wife, the Admiral and together ruined our plans to start a civil war in the heart of the region. We know for a fact that the Redguard leader who tried to assassinate them had no magical talent whatsoever, but somehow he managed to summon a sword according to the reports. We suspect foul play, but are unable to prove anything to turn the Redguards against the Nords. The High General is rumored to become the general of the human alliance that is unfortunately now inevitable now that Hammerfell is effectively unified. Like the High General of the legion, he is smart, cunning and dangerous. Like him, the Nord general leading anyone in the war is to be prevented at any costs. Though like his wife, he has no magical ability and thus, should not be too difficult to capture once again. If we manage to capture him, we can gain much knowledge. He is a close friend to the High King, and even if Ulfric does not listen to our demands, the Admiral surely will. Like her, if you cannot capture him, kill him thoroughly. The next in line to replace him is General Brund and Galmar Stone-Fist. The former is a failed Imperial Legate and a brute, and his rise to High-General would be very useful to us. A close friend of his is one Boldir Iron-Brow, another brutish Nord, but competent. He is credited with collapsing Pale Pass, but lucky for us, is retired. It should be considerably easier to capture him during the upcoming war, which could lead to a valuable bargaining chip against Baldur Red-Snow, though his current whereabouts are unknown. Morrowind: Mystery Mage, Possibly a Telvanni: Status: Active (Kill with extreme prejudice) Description: Dunmer, Male, Age Unknown Unfortunately, this entry is not complete. All we know is that the Empress has come into possession of a mage rumored to be Telvanni. That news alone is already disturbing, but now we've received reports that a beam of light was seen shooting from the Imperial City, and that a Dunmer mage in red robes fell from the sky. This is eerily similar to the machinations of our Sunbirds. If this Dunmer knows how they work, he must be killed immediately. After more information is gathered, this mage may be a higher priority in Cyrodiil than High General Gracchus Ceno. If he is Telvanni, then steps against Morrowind may be made in an attempt to scare the Telvanni back home, but threats on the Dark Elves may backfire, and we do not wish to see them in this war as well. Caution must be taken. The entry about the newest Admiral, Tacitus Silus Meridius was not yet complete, and seeing as how he had direct contact with the Admiral, it would be up to him to complete it for the Thalmor Justiciars to read. Ophelia finally finished, and Corio even smiled at her when she was done. Evidently, the old handsome fart was in a good mood. Closing the dossier collection, Corio stood to his feet, tying back his trousers and making himself decent. "Today, is a glorious day, my girl. Today, we stop the human's brutish attacks on our ships, and hopefully, I'll get to end this Admiral today and avoid having to write that dossier." Ophelia stood as well, laying her head on her master's chest. "If the Admiral proved to be this troublesome, why did you let him go in the first place?" "Troublesome? Oh my dear girl, you misunderstand. This is exactly the sort of thing I wanted from him. The Imperials may have had fun with our ladies of the sea, but now it is our time to ravage a few ships. And when I'm done, the Empire's morale will sink along with them. Today, we show the world just how mighty we are. A little prelude, if you will, to the next great war. So smile, my girl. And hold on to something. Things might get a little bumpy for a bit." Corio turned from the girl with a big grin on his face to take point at the bow of his ship. "Ta ta! I'll be back soon, my dear. The fun begins at noon, when the sun is at its highest." *** Tacitus Meridius Rancor, open water, sailing south towards Valenwood coast 12 pm Tacitus twisted the brass fist to the right, screwing it into place on his gauntlet. It was high time he broke out the enchanted attachment, and what better time than the largest raid undertaken by the Imperial navy. He ran a wet cloth over the exterior, shining it up so that it gleamed in the soft light barely entering the cabin through the windows on either side. High noon made his cabin darker than usual, and the glass covered lamps gave of little light. He rose, slipping his scabbard and belt on over his pants, so that it hung at a cockeyed angle towards his left hip. He grabbed a pair of shears from his desk, snipping off half his beard in one go, it now hanging to chest level instead of abdomen. It was choppy and uneven, but he didn't care. His facial hair would be soaked with blood by the time the battle ended, anyway. He would get Silana to trim it properly when he returned to port. He brushed the extra hair off his black trousers and white shirt, before slipping on his black vest which he left unbuttoned. The admiral exited his cabin, into the searing light of the noonday sun, hanging overhead like conjured mage light of the harshest kind. The thumping of the war drums surge along with the boat, as the rowed pushed and pulled the dromon forward towards the east. He had taken the ships out to sea, then swung around back towards land so they intercepted the Thalmor convoy from the side, and not head on. Climbing the stairs to the aft castle and tiller, he noticed his first mate was already there. "Vulpin. Quartermaster get the arms handed out?" he asked. Vulpin saluted the Admiral. "He's handed them out to the assigned boarders. He also has some extra weapons out in case we need to call the rowers to arms." Tacitus returned with a sloppy salute, then moved to stand by the first mate. "Good. Will you be boarding with us?" Tacitus asked, as he pulled out his spyglass and brought it to his eye, peering at the horizon with practiced intensity. "No. I'll stay back and make sure we're not caught off guard." Tacitus grumbled but didn't reply. More elves for me was his thinking. They sailed along in silence, nothing but the beating of the war drum and crashing of the waves making a noise. The admiral eventually took over the tiller when the lookout cried "Ships ahead!" His broken visage cracked with a smile, and the tune of a sea shanty hummed from his throat. It rose and fell, like the ship gliding across the waves. Finally, when he was happy with their angle of intercept, he have the rudder back to the tillersman. "Right. Let's signal Abecean Bull and Swarthy Maiden to cut the ships off from the north. Head-hunter and Jack-of-All-Trades will go to the south, cutting off the retreat. Black Moon and Monstrosity will go with us. Get those oars moving!" Tacitus barked out, men scrambling to fulfill the orders. He raised the spyglass again, scanning the two ships. They sailed with another two ship escort, but besides that seemed to be alone, with not another sail visible in any direction. It seemed suspicious, but maybe the Thalmor had counted on them sneaking by and not needing a larger escort. "Oh my... they've brought quite a bit of ships, haven't they?" said Corio, standing beneath silken sheets held up above his head by dominion soldiers to protect him from the sun. Looking through his spyglass, Corio watched the ships moving in, seeking his pet project, High Admiral Tacitus. "Where are you, my Admiral? Where... ahh... I see you." Corio was uncertain if Tacitus could make him out, but he waved a hand at him anyway. Tacitus was scanning the aft castles of each ship, his gaze stopping on the strange formation of soldiers holding up what looked to be a sail, until he realized it was meant to block the sun's rays. Beneath it stood a figure who also bore a spyglass, his off hand moving frantically. Tacitus looked up from his glass, rubbing his right eye before refocusing on the target. The elf was waving at him, or the ships, but why he hadn't a clue. What in the hell... he thought, until he realized who the Altmer was. Same thin white hair, same arrogantly perfect beard. He spat off to his side, a disgusted grimace forming as he looked at his former torturer. Why are you here? How did you know I'd be coming? Tacitus turned to Amadus, gritting his teeth in hopes the anger and fear in his voice wouldn't show. "We need to be careful. I think...I think we may be sailing into a trap." *** "Sir, what are we going to do? It's still not noon yet. Not for another ten minutes. In order for us to have the destructive power we need to counter all these ships, it must be noon!" Corio backhanded the wood-elf barking facts at him, and said, "Lower your voice, coward. We are the dominion. We can outrun their ships long enough for us to counter. Retreat west. Slip through them. Signal the Precipice. Let them know what we're doing. If the humans try to cut us off, have the Precipice ram them. There will be no failure today. They reached us sooner than expected, but I have planned for all scenarios. All end in our victory." *** Tacitus watched as the Dominion ships turned towards his vessel, stopping just short of straight at him, their prows aimed at the spot vacated by Abecean Bull and Swarthy Maiden. They meant to slip through the net he was casting, but why he didn't know. All that would do is assure they got caught, of by them a short window of time. But why forsake safety of the shore for a diminutive period of time? "Call back the ships, and move us into intercept position. We will not let them slip through." *** Corio was indeed confident, but he couldn't keep his hands from shaking. Was it fear? Maybe. He knew what would happen if they screwed up and were caught by the humans. Tacitus would do horrible things to him. His death would not come swiftly. But more than likely, it was excitement. Being out in the field again, commanding ships. And of course, his first military victory as the Royal General. For too long, he'd suffered defeat by the hands of men. Today would be his day. Though he was cutting things close.... Placing a finger to his throat, Corio cast an alteration spell to carry his voice around the deck. "Battlestations, everyone! Archers, Battlemages, be ready to fight when they come in range!" *** Tacitus watched elves like ants scramble aboard the ships, the figures growing larger and larger as they neared each other. The group he'd sent north was now heading southwest, Tacitus heading northeast, and the third group swinging around to come up behind the Thalmor ships. "Arm yourselves men! Archers and mages at the ready, boarders near the ram. I want boots on their ship the second we collide!" Tacitus watched his own men scramble around, wondering what it was the general had in mind. The ships grew closer and closer, the net closing around like an expert fisherman. But Tacitus couldn't shake the uneasiness he felt, the butterflies extra active in his stomach. Old Tacitus might have back off the ships, seen what their play was. Not this one, though. What better way to discover the trap then to spring it. Arrows began to fly, and lighting began to arc as the ships finally reached killing distance. Arrows riddled the Dawn's Shadow, as the Dominion troops, surrounded on several sides, did their best simply to avoid injury, let alone fire back. An Imperial ship came almost close enough to ramming the tip of the Dawn's Shadow, but as Corio ordered, the Precipice made a hard turn to its left, slamming directly into the Imperial boat's middle. Corio sidestepped an arrow that struck one of his sheet holders instead of him as he watched the crew of the Precipice prepare to defend themselves. "Oh dear. I guess I better contact the First Dawn now. The Imperial ships are far enough in the open now. Hold down the fort while I'm gone, men." As Corio left, his men barely heard what he said amongst all the panicked shouting and death screams. By now, most had thought their Royal General mad, and merely brought them here to die. Back in his quarters, Corio said, "Ophelia? Ophelia, wake up! How in the gods' name do you sleep with all this noise?" "Mmm, like a khajiit on a lazy afternoon, m'lord. What is it?" "Bring me the Dreamsleeve transcriptions. It's time I contact the First Dawn." After Ophelia brought him a scroll, Corio unraveled it, revealing a glowing rune in its center with words constantly scrolling over them. Sitting in the center of his Cabin, Corio cast a spell upon himself, then closed his eyes as if sleeping, or meditating. By secret glyph: dreamsleeve transmission Dreamsleeve: urgent, security protocols granted Security protocols: Aldmeri Ancestral Phoenix Wards Dawn's Shadow to First Dawn. It is Noon on Nirn and time for you to descend. Incoming co-ordinance.... Lat: 31° 13' 24.402" Long: -52° 12' 25.3116" ........ ........ First Dawn to Dawn's Shadow.... transcription received.... downloading.... accessing.... locked. First Dawn's landing incoming.... *** Monstrosity surged forward, it's ram embedding itself deep into the Thalmor ship Corio commanded. Imperial soldiers leapt from deck onto the enemy vessel, storming aboard and engaging the enemy in brutal close quarters combat. Black Moon rammed another enemy boat, but another came alongside it and was raining arrows and fire upon it. Swarthy Maiden, meanwhile, was nearly split in half by a Dominion ship, but it seemed the Imperials were abandoning her and swarming aboard the ship that attacked them, in hopes of taking it over. Everywhere, men died and arrows fell and fireballs and lightning bolts and icicles exploded, crackled, and impaled sailors. But Tacitus' ship was stopped, nearly dead in the water. He hadn't realized it, but his hand was up, signaling to stop. His gut feeling something was wrong had intensified, and he had subconsciously ordered his men to cease their rowing. *** "Ahhh!" "I told you to hold on to something, didn't I?" "The Imperials! They're on the ship!" Ophelia yelled, circling around the cabin, wondering where she could hide. Corio snickered to himself, watching the poor brainwashed girl fearful for her life for absolutely no reason. If the Imperials did succeed, she'd be free. Problem was, she didn't even realize she was in captivity. Closing his eyes, Corio said, "Don't worry, First Dawn will be here soon." "But when? We're already being taken over!" "Wait for it..." Suddenly a charge filled the air, like static, along with a low hum coming from nowhere in particular. At first, Ophelia thought she was imagining it, until the hairs at the back of her neck stood as well. Corio felt his hairs stand up also. That was when he stood and said, "Now." Outside, the battlefield at sea took a drastic change. The sun seemed to grow even brighter until a beam of light shot down from it into the sea. Suddenly, a great formation of light lay before them. It's only indication of it being a ship was the stupidly large rectangular sails it had, stretching far with thousands of names written in the blazing white fabric. The 'ship' gave off an almost infuriating mind numbing sound that radiated with power. If the ship's light was not so luminous, one could see the waters around it moving away, as the entire ship shook with the energy it contained. Even the crew of the Dominion was disoriented as it descended from the skies almost instantly. Before the other ships had time to respond, the crew aboard the Sunbird First dawn began repositioning the mirrors that sat at their top deck, until a great beam of magical energy shot from their vessel into the Imperial ship Monstrosity to remove the enemy from the vessel of the Royal General. Tacitus watched as the Monstrosity fragmented into thousands of splinters, the poor souls still onboard cooked from the intense rays, until they exploded like sausages left too long over a fire. A fine mist of blood and wood particles rained down aboard the Rancor, and Tacitus watched his ship run red with the blood of the Monstrosity'ssailors. "Get us out of here now! Take up oars, full reverse, then turn us around. Signal the other ships to back off, and head back to Anvil. Full retreat, full retreat!" Tacitus yelled, trying to hide the panic from his voice. Amadus grabbed his war horn, letting out a quick and loud blast, followed by another, signaling the retreat. The sunbird turned is deadly gaze next to the Abecean Bull, which was bravely heading straight for the magical ship. "No," Tacitus mouthed, as two magical beams plowed through the decks of the ship, again cooking the men and again throwing up that bloody rain. Men that weren't cooked entirely screamed from the burns, the salt water of the ocean multiplying their agony tenfold. Jack-of-All-Trades and Head-Hunter, which had not yet caught up with the main battle, hastily turned around, forsaking their brethren just as Tacitus was doing. It was all they could do, against this threat which disintegrated ships and fried men like meat. The sounds of battle lingered, as the Imperial soldiers who boarded their ship still remained and fought desperately to take as many Dominion forces as they could out with them. There were men lost at sea, drifting on wood or desperately trying to swim away, but even they were not safe. The First Dawn quickly aimed their massive mirrors down towards the sea and watched as the sea was eventually brought to a boil, cooking everything in it alive. Corio did not leave his cabin to see any of it, however. Instead, he quickly cast another spell upon himself, glowing in dark blue magics as he sat back down in his position from before. By secret glyph: dreamsleeve transmission Dreamsleeve: urgent, security protocols granted Security protocols: Aldmeri Ancestral Phoenix Wards Dawn's Shadow to First Dawn. You have a small window of which First Dawn can hold such immense destructive power to hold a decisive inevitable win. Quickly, star jump again and cut off what ships you can. Kill them all, if possible. Outside, the Sunbird later disappeared into the sky as quickly as it had arrived. It took some time to do so, however. A moment later, the Sunbird descended again amongst the retreating Imperial ships, Jack-of-All-Trades and Head-Hunter. Both ships were immediately shot with the magical energy beams, but they seemed to be at less strength than before. Men still screamed from the painful heat of the weapons, but there was no cooking or exploding ships. But, with hole punched all the way through to the ocean, the end result was the same. Lost, will all hands on deck. Swarthy Maiden, rammed earlier, was sinking as well, and Black Moon was being boarded, it's sailors still fighting but up against odds in which they couldn't win. That left only Rancor, which turned as hard as she could, heading due north, away from the eastbound wrecks of Hunter and Jack. "If it disappears again, I want us to bank hard starboard, back to the east. Hopefully it can't maneuver while it teleports," Tacitus said, turning and aiming his spyglass at the glowing, magical ship, that looked to be made out of wards, in the shape of a ship. Stunning, deadly, powerful beyond reckoning. Tacitus knew then there would be no more raiding. Not while the Thalmor willingly deployed that thing. But, to draw out their most powerful weapon meant they were scared, frightened by what Tacitus had done. And that made it all worth it. Unfortunately for the Thalmor, two jumps in quick succession was all the ship's crystal-engine could manage in a short period of time. Any more and the First Dawn could be stranded in Aetherius, or simply disintegrate under the massive energy it exposed itself to altogether. But the destruction it caused was enough for now already. Corio finally stepped out of his cabin with his mistress behind him, spyglass out and scanning the horizon. The First Dawn's shine made it difficult, but he could just barely make out Tacitus' vessel. "Hmph, looks like I'll have to write that dossier after all...." Tacitus turned his spyglass at Altmer ships, but they were one. He then turned and spat, and looked at his first mate. "We need to get back to the capital. I think our raiding days are over, and there's a mage there that needs to hear about this attack. I'll let you take us home," he said, unscrewing his Dwarven brass fist as he descended the stairs. It was all over now. Until the real war started, it was all over. "Aye, Captain." Amadus said and having a look mixed of surprise, fright and bewilderment. "How do you think they will take the news?" "I don't know, and frankly don't care. For us to escape with our lives is fortunate enough, and I'll take my chances with an angry Empress over death any day," Tacitus said as he looked out over his blood covered deck. "Get those lazy sea rats to swap the deck. I'll not have us come into port looking like a butcher's shop." "Aye, sir. But I'd wager there goes our extra funding." he said before barking out orders to those left on the ship, and not manning the oars, to start swabbing away the blood and gore.

(Continued from earlier) *** "Here, boy. You don't need to see this. Go on, go find some rabbit or something. You need to start fending for yourself before you get fat and lazy off of our food." Baldur cast Stuhnir to the ground, where the fox landed skillfully before running off towards the longhouses. "Good boy. Got no time for spoiled freeloaders. Ooh, hope he doesn't go after Vigge's chickens..." Baldur made his way to the fort's dungeons as promised, trying not to remember past memories with the Thalmor's torture chamber, or the beating he got during the trials. He ultimately failed, but that was fine. Those memories would feed his anger now and steel his resolve. The sounds of the prison's iron door was heard through the cell hall, accompanied with the sounds of a chair being dragged across the stone floor. Baldur watched as the Forsworn captives all looked up at him expectantly, one by one until he finally stood in front of the one to the farthest side of the prison. The man's face, half painted in intricate black designs, was untouched by battle, and at the moment, he looked completely unhurt. The hateful, defiant look in his eyes was all the confirmation Baldur needed to know that this one was not looking to talk. Baldur positioned his chair in front of the cell, smirking to himself at the man's look. Sitting now, he said, "What are you so angry at? Did you forget my promise? Or do you not remember who I am?" "I remember you." the man responded in his funny Reachman accent. "You said to behave." "And you have, I'm happy to say. And I'm a man of my word, so I will let you go." Baldur leaned forward then, memories of the dream he had last night still going through his mind. "See, the problem is, I said I'd let you go. But I didn't say I'd let all of you go. Get me? I need you to do something for me. Something that will prove to me that you won't try and get your buddies from the Reach to come back here for revenge." They all remained silent, save for one, who couldn't have seen more than seventeen winters. "What is it?" the boy asked, immediately earning disdainful looks from his four comrades. Baldur scratched at his beard, thinking how best to go about handling things from here. "Perhaps this is a conversation best handled in private. You, the defiant one. Step forward." Baldur drew an axe from his belt as he opened the cell enough for one to walk through and said, "You surrendered out in the open for a reason. You know what I can do. Try anything, and I will kill all of you, no problem." The Reachman hesitated for a moment, probably because he didn't want to be recognized as the 'defiant one' but there was no point in pretending like Baldur had been referring to anyone else, so he finally frowned and consented, walking through the door with his head held high. Leading him far away from the others to a single cell with a table, Baldur closed the door behind them, using a torch from outside the room to light the ones within. "Okay, this is going to be a rather simple request. I need one of you to relay what happened here in thorough detail, and I need that person to tell as many people about it as possible. Reachmen, Nords, anyone that will listen. Tell of the warriors in the white bear pelts, tell of how they fought. Tell everything. Promise to do that, and you will live. Easy, right?" The Reachman seemed a little surprised by the request, but he quickly hid the surprise behind the same hateful look he'd been wearing before. "That's it? Why?" Baldur chuckled to himself, thinking the answer was obvious. "Why indeed. Well first, I want the word of what we are doing here to spread through Skyrim to attract more talent for what I'm calling my Grim Trials. I want the best Skyrim can offer, both already in the Stormcloaks, and warriors who have not yet joined. Spreading word of our ferocity in battle will be just the thing I need. And besides that, but also most importantly, it'll dissuade your kind and any bandit scum from trying to come here and screw with us ever again. I want them to know exactly what fate awaits them if they find stones big enough to try it." "You think that my people would be frightened by your message?" asked the Forsworn. "We will only return with more, and even your Bear People will not be enough." "I doubt that. Not with General Brund barking at your heels. I'll also have more men here, but if they do try, I'll give you extra incentive to persuade them otherwise. But before we get to that, I have to be persuaded that you'll even do as I ask. Will you? And are you willing to prove it?" The man looked unsure for a moment, and then finally, his expression hardened. "I will not serve your kind again, Nord. Not even in this." Baldur's eyes narrowed while his face moved closer to the Forsworn man's. "Then why do you waste my time? Why surrender? Had you simply lost your nerve back on the battlefield? Do you need a reminder of what kind of death you'll face?" "What I did was cowardly." said the Forsworn. "I fell in line with the others, but being one coward of many is no better than being one alone. That is why I will not help you." Baldur fell back in his seat, sighing in frustration. "Looks like I've miscalculated. My mistake it seems was not understanding the mindset of cowards. If you don't want to be the lone coward of the group, then I guess I'll have to give the others more incentive to be cowards. Lest they follow your example." Baldur stood from his seat then and opened the cell door. Tossing his axes aside to the ground outside, he said, "There. For renewing your honor, I'll grant you a chance at freedom. Get through me, and you can free your friends and leave this place." The Reachman looked like he couldn't believe what Baldur was doing. He spent a good fifteen seconds frozen in place, waiting for whatever trick he suspected Baldur had in store. Finally, his frown faded, and he immediately darted from his seat towards the doorway. "For the Forsworn!" the man shouted as he barreled toward the door. The remaining Forsworn in their cell all flinched as a powerful sound thundered from where their comrade had been taken. It was immediately followed by a terrible shriek that only lasted a second before being cut short. "What the- What just happened?!" cried out Perlach, the youngest of them. He was terrified, and unlike the others, he wasn't quite so good at hiding it. "It's nothing." answered Frella. Though Perlach didn't think she sounded all that reassuring. "They're just trying to scare us." If that was the goal, they were doing a good job. Perlach was thoroughly frightened. He didn't believe for a second that the Nords would let them go. If what he'd seen in his final days in the Reach was any indication, mercy was not something they could count on. "Do you smell that?" she asked, sniffing. Frella hid her fear well. Probably because she felt responsible for being the first of them to surrender. "Something's burning." "Probably Crendal." said Tall Thraind. "Old gods keep him." "We don't know that." said Frella. "This place is huge. It could be anything." As Perlach began to pick up the scent himself, a slow pair of footsteps approached their cell. They all went silent, and before long, the Nordic general was in front of them again, with the burnt smell at his back. Baldur dropped his chair back in the same spot from before, taking off his Necro Nord leather tunic and placing it over the back of his seat after airing it out. "If you're wondering, I'm taking this off so I don't end up having to clean this again. My mother almost killed me when she saw the mess I made the last time." Sighing as he laid back in his seat, Baldur closed his eyes and said, "The good news is you all have a better shot at leaving this place, now that your friend is... well. The bad news is I'm losing my patience. Who wants their shot at leaving next?" "I do." said Brelan, who had so far remained silent. Perlach had almost forgotten the older man had been among them. He hadn't said much even when they had been free. "Alright, then," said Baldur, making his way to the cell door once more. A few jingles of the keys, and the door was open. "Alright, you know the drill." As the Reachman made his way out of the cell, Perlach noticed that he was muttering under his breath. Not a second after he was on the other side of the bars, Brelan's right fist was covered in lightning, "Come on!" the man shouted as he released his spell at Baldur. Perlach was frozen in place, but Tall Thraind didn't waste a moment. The larger man had been ready for this, and had already been moving to help Brelan as soon as the spell left his and. Baldur kept his wits about him, but a lightning spell he was not prepared for. He only missed the lightning bolt by a hair's breadth, barely avoiding its shock. Acting quickly, Baldur booted the man back into the cell, knocking back the big one behind him. Before the old man fell back too, Baldur grabbed his arm and slammed the cell door shut on it, putting all his weight on it until he heard a snap. "I told you not to **** with me old man! Die!" He yelled, before chomping viciously at the Forsworn's outstretched fingers. Brelan shrieked, and whether consciously or not, he sent a second lightning bolt from his free hand, but it went nowhere near Baldur. Thraind recovered and attempted to pull his friend free, but Baldur had him trapped tightly. Perlach and Frella didn't move, seeing that the attempt had already failed. Thraind however, was at the bars, trying to free his Brelan from the ferocious Nord. Baldur finally let the old man's arm slip away. He was likely to die, anyway with his fingers missing and his arm broken. Baldur was in a mood again, indicated by how the anger in his face disappeared, as if he didn't just mutilate an old man with his teeth. He spat the man's fingers at the cell, two of them bouncing off the bars and one going through. "What did I tell you?" he said, chuckling as he wiped the blood from his chin. "I knew it. I just knew it. So. Who wants their shot at freedom next? I hope you fair better than this one. And don't even think about raising your hand, big guy. You and I have a date with Dagon. Because I'm sending your ass straight to Oblivion." "Voids take you!" the Reachman spat. Not at Baldur, but at his comrades. He went to the far corner and took a seat, all the while glaring hard at them. Perlach realized that the moment Frella went back with the Nord, he would be left alone in here with Thraind. A prospect that pleased him not. Behave, and we may let you live. That's what the man had said. It didn't sound so difficult. He saw Frella take a breath, and quickly went to speak first. "I'll go with you." He cautiously lifted his hands so the Nord could see that he had no intention of putting up a fight. Baldur's eyes went to the boy, sizing him up curiously. He reminded him of Daric. "How many winters have you seen, lad?" "Seventeen." replied Perlach anxiously. He could feel Thraind's eyes burning into his skull. Baldur opened the now blood stained cage, giving him a genuine smile as he stepped out, though not really at him. "Follow me." Baldur dragged the burned man out from the cell and gestured for him to step inside. The smell was strong, but that's what Baldur wanted. It was a constant reminder. Taking a seat opposite of the boy, he said "So, tell me. What's your name? Why are you a Forsworn, boy?" He hesitated, "Perlach... I am Perlach... I'm a Forsworn because..." The scent of his burned ally filled the Reachman's nostrils, and made his eyes water. Not wanting to look as craven as he felt, he blinked the moisture away. What if he doesn't like my answer? Will I get burned too? What if he asks me to betray the others? They are all stronger than I am. Better. "I'm Forsworn because the Rea-" Perlach halted his answer again. They were a long way from the Reach. It could anger the Nord if he used it as justification for attacking his town. He fumbled in his brain for a better answer, but found none. "I- I just am. They are my people." "There's Reachmen who don't fight with the Forsworn. Reachmen that despise them, in fact. What about them?" Baldur asked, genuinely interested. "Did your mother make you join? Your father?" Perlach thought a moment, and then decided that he had a better chance of living if he was honest. "They're dead. I joined by choice. Like I said, they are my people." "So, if I were to give you a second chance. A second chance to live and start over. You wouldn't take it? Say that I let you live, then after you performed a little task for me successfully for about a year, you come back here. Then I make you a Stormcloak. Would you do it?" Cooperating as a Stormcloak prisoner was one thing, but joining them? "No." Prelach answered. Never. Even he was not so cowardly as to turn cloaks and fight for those who had killed his brethren. I would die first. he told himself. Like Brelan and Crendal. Baldur smirked and said, "Good. Without a genuinely good reason, I wouldn't have taken someone who'd so easily switch sides like that anyway. So, here's the deal. I need two things from you if I'm going to let you go. First, I need you to agree to something for me. You like stories, right? I love them. Stories have the power to teach and inspire. It's for both of these reasons that I want you to travel around the Reach and tell your people, both Forsworn and not Forsworn what you saw yesterday. Tell them about the battle and how they were defeated. Let everyone know what will happen if they come back here." "That's... That's it?" asked Prelach. Surely there was more. Surely this Nord wanted to squeeze some sort of information he probably didn't even have from him. Crendal was prideful, but even he couldn't have rebelled against a demand like this. Could he? "That's it. Simple, isn't it? Of course, I do have to be assured that you won't just go off and live your life without doing what I said. Which brings me to the second thing. Follow me." Baldur lead the boy past the burned body again, back to the cell to speak with the others. "Now tell the others what I told you. Then pick one of them to accompany you." Perlach looked at each of his brethren, and they were looking back. Thraind with anger but curiosity as well, and Frella with only the latter. Brelan laid unmoving, probably unconscious. "The Nord says that I am to go back to the Reach..." he paused for a moment to gauge the reactions that they never ended up showing. "I- uhh... I'm to tell our brethren of the battle, and our loss." "Sing of the Nordic victory like a damn bard, you mean?" asked Thraind, who knew he was dead and now feared no repercussion. "Try to make our people fear them? Dagon take you, Boy! You're no brother of mine." It had been his hope against hope that Thraind would act more forgiving upon hearing Baldur's words. The man had acted in a way that doomed himself, but the Nord had given Perlach a chance to save him and make amends. Frella is smart, and would've known to behave enough to keep from being executed. As it was though, Perlach could not choose Thraind and expect to make it home alive. He would have to pick Frella, and doom this man. And so, ignoring the insults from Thraind, and fighting not to look the man's way, he softly made his choice. "Fr- Frella." He nodded to the woman. "I choose Frella." "Heh, always choose the poon, boy. That's a rule. Alright, you're almost home free. Back in the cell, boy." When the boy was in with the other two, he left them momentarily, unconcerned with the fact that they were alone with a dead man who had nothing to lose. When Baldur returned, he came back with something wrapped in cloth, then handed it to the woman through the cell. "To prove to me that you two will do as I say, I need only one thing from you, and then you will taste freedom. Believe me, it is necessary, considering you are enemies of Skyrim." Baldur waited for the woman to open the cloth, revealing a rusty dagger inside. "Give me the man's tongue from his neck. Cut it from his throat. Then throw it and the dagger out of the cell." Perlach and Frella both looked appalled. The woman was already shaking her head, but Perlach could see a look of extreme guilt breaking through her typically stoney expression. "No," she said, looking up at Baldur. "I was the one to surrender, but I can't do this." Perlach agreed. He couldn't believe that the Nord would expect this to work right after he'd just told the man that he would not take up arms against his people. "Why not?" Asked Thraind, standing. Straightened, he was a full head taller than either of them. More resembling a Nord than a Reachman. "I'm dead anyway. Why are you afraid of hurting me?" He took a step towards them, opening his arms wide. "Do it, you cowardly bitch. Do it so you two can go free like you so desperately want. The Nord won't let me stop you anyway." Perlach could see Fella's fingers nervously working at the dagger hilt. She was considering doing it. He took it from her, to no resistance. "We won't do it." Even as the words left his mouth, the large Reachman lunged out and grabbed Frella, dragging her to the ground and squeezing at her neck. Perlach didn't hesitate then, he went low and plunged the dagger into Thraind's chest. Right where his heart was. The larger man released Frella, who needlessly kicked him hard in the nethers as she shoved him off. Thraind gave Perlach a look that had no anger in it. In fact, it appeared to be approval, and then his eyes went still and he was dead. "Still want his tongue, Nord?!" Frella asked vehemently. Baldur watched the scene, looking almost uninterested. "That is what I asked for, isn't it? You said you wouldn't do it, but what you and the boy fail to realize is you already did the minute you chose your life over his. He knew it, which is why he did what he did. I want you to remember that as you're cutting his tongue from his throat. Remember that as thoughts of revenge enter your mind, taking up arms against this town again. Figuratively and literally, it was you that killed him. So yes, I want the man's tongue." Perlach didn't speak or move. He let Frella dislodge the dagger and go to work cutting into their fallen brother's mouth. Did he want us to do that? He wondered. It would explain why Thraind had attacked when he had, and the final look he'd given him. The Nord is right. I did kill him... "Old gods keep him." he muttered while Frella finished with the tongue and tossed it and the knife through the bars to their captor. Baldur let the items fall before kicking them aside. "Good. I'd tell you why I'm being so cruel, but I'm sure neither of you really care right now. And really, I don't care to explain. You have your reasons for coming here, brandishing weapons to slaughter my family. And I have reasons to play with your lives like livestock. So." Baldur bent down and picked up a metal rod with what looked almost like the number 8, but thinner. "This is a lemniscate. Left behind by the Thalmor. Why they have one of these, I don't know. To us, the lemniscate represents the timedragon eating its tail, which represents the endless coils of time that anchor this world. To the Thalmor, maybe it represents eternity of spirit. Either way, I will be branding the both of you with this." Baldur looked away from the two momentarily, then launched his thu'um at the tip, making it glow a bright white instantly. "My men will come tonight and release the both of you with moderate supplies. Do as I say, and this mark will simply be a reminder of your second chance at life. Don't do as I say, and I will spread the word of what happened here, both to my people and yours. They'll see this mark and hunt you down. You will know no solace in Skyrim ever again for the rest of your lives. Stick out your arms." The Forsworn looked at each other, and then both stepped forward. Prelach wasn't going to make Thraind's death for nothing, and in a strange way, he felt that he deserved some sort of backlash for what they'd just done, as if this made it better. He knew that it didn't, but what did it matter? It was to be punished with this or death. He stuck his arm through the bars, content at least in the knowledge that he would soon be free. Frella did the same. "If it makes you feel better, I've taken one of these before, so I know the pain I'm making you go through. It'll go away in a few days." Baldur grabbed the boy's arm first, pressing the heated metal in quick and hard, so the burn would be deep and they couldn't cut the mark out. He did the same for the woman as well before leaving them both to themselves. Prelach bit on his tongue all the way back to the wall, where the pair of them slid down to the floor and sat. Frella knew some weak magic, and he wondered why she didn't try some sort of healing spell to see if it would ease her pain. But he didn't ask, for fear of looking like an idiot who knew nothing of magic. Besides, his own seared arm was enough to keep his mind occupied. It hurt, a lot, and it would be a constant reminder of what had happened. He would go free, and he knew that besides the guilt this brought with him, he would have no choice but to heed the command his captor had given them. They would live, which on its own was shocking, but it was bittersweet, as every breath would be a gift from the enemy, and a reminder of how thoroughly the Nords had won. *** Baldur walked out of the prison with his tunic in hand, free from the blood that found its way to his beard and chest. Walking whilst looking at the stone floor, he made his way up to the second floor of the dungeon to the holding tables re-purposed for a medical room. Daric and Mazoga still slept on stone slabs with furs under them and covered in sheets. Baldur washed himself off in one of the washbuckets, making sure that all trace of blood was gone from him before he walked over to his friends. They both seemed to be running fevers, sweating profusely. Baldur ran a hand over Mazoga's forehead, smiling at the tough orc that looked almost peaceful in her slumber. For a time he sat there, washing their hair before drying them with furs nearby and combing their hair. Mazoga's felt as though she'd never combed hers a day in her life. While Baldur was doing the same for Daric, he noticed a faint mark on his cheek that was barely there... but there none the less. He didn't notice before, because he was covered in so much gore, but now that Daric had been cleaned off, he could see that Daric had slight blue marks on his right cheek that resembled swirls. Even after being wounded and yanking an arrow from his own back, the boy still took the time to find Baldur's paint and mark himself in the same way he did. Seeing that made a tear fall from Baldur's eyes, then another. Taking a seat next to him, Baldur looked down at the boy, out cold, then said, "Heh. Menel must have you two on some strong stuff. You're such a fool to be following me, you know. It's only going to get you killed." Baldur wiped his face and calmed himself down. "You look at me like a father. I know it. Rebec probably knows it. I deflect your affection and treat you like a little brother though, because the responsibility scares me. Rebec said I wasn't responsible for your actions, so I listened to her. It made things easier. But even with her saying that, I only agreed because I can't be your father. Look at you, you're already half dead!" Baldur stood from the table with his hands behind his head. "I thought I was done with this, thought I was finished being afraid. But then, then I had this dream... and- and in the dream, I was waiting for mother to come back from Rebec in the other room with the baby. And she did. But Rebec didn't come with her. I walked home with you next to me with a blank look, and I didn't know what was wrong. When we got home, I stripped to my skivvies, and I'd just drink and drink and drink with you giving me this stupid ******* look." Baldur violently brushed some medical tools off of another table in a loud crash. He calmed himself again, and sat back down before Daric. "Then I woke up. Except when I did, Rebec wasn't sleeping next to me. And then I knew. I knew. She was gone. She was dead. Died in childbirth. I knew what I had to do, I knew what it meant. A dagger appeared in my hands, and I smiled because it was my ticket to being at her side again. But then... the crying. The child. The child stayed my hand. And I knew that I'd have to suffer the pain for the rest of my life. Alone with this child, looking to me for everything. I knew I'd end up like Vigge. Wife dead, then losing the girl that looks so much like my love to womanhood and curs that only want to-.." Baldur's thought was cut off with a sudden outburst of sobbing. "It was so real. It was so real. Even when I awoke, I was still crying like a milkdrinker. I had to leave the house, lest I woke up Rebec. I had to drink, like in the dream. It helped. It lead me smack into Menel and the Queen, but it helped. Why are the gods tormenting me with this? Why? Is this of Shor or is this of Vaermina? Is this just a dream or is it a prediction?! I can't lose her. I can't... I-I can't raise this child alone. I can't wake up one day after years of loneliness next to some strange woman, driving me to hate myself for the rest of my days. I know I'll say it will never happen, but it always does. I can't... And it would have been my fault. I drove her to this... I just had to have a child... I had to have something over Toki, and all the others she'd been with. I had to have that connection. Then when she told me she already had a child, it was like I died inside. I was so disappointed, in myself more than anything. Like I had somehow failed. There I was, thinking about myself when Rebec had just shared her pain with me. Selfish. And now that selfishness will have killed her. Because of me." "That is why... I took these steps. I can't have these curs endangering my home. My wife. I can't lose her. I know it's what I deserve, but I can't. I can't I can't, I can't, I can't...." Baldur buried his head in Daric's chest as he wept, continuing to say the same thing over and over. "I'm sorry Daric. I'm so sorry. But a part of me hopes that you don't wake up, just so that dream will never come true. But I love you, boy. Like you were my own, I do. Forgive me, please." Baldur's head shot up nervously from Daric's tunic, his body as still as the stone slab it laid on. Quickly washing his face in the washbucket nearby, Baldur wiped his eyes and took a moment to settle down yet again. When Falgrum knocked again, Baldur's foul mood got the best of him. "Hold on a godsdamned minute!" The dungeon door flew open then, almost striking Falgrum as Baldur's head came poking out. "What is it?" Falgrum hesitated, taken aback momentarily by Baldur's uncharacteristically foul disposition. Baldur snatched the letter from his hands, growing impatient with his second. Menel came by then, sidestepping the two Nords and making his way to Mazoga and Daric now that he had something to eat. Falgrum watched as Baldur's puffy reddened eyes darted over the document: The existence of this letter, and it's contents, has to be kept our little secret, from everyone, especially from the Imps. You will therefore obviously not find a sigil-seal, likely already dutifully noted by yourself, because that then offers up information that could be, and will be, readily used against us. Say nothing, to anyone, even burn the letter when you finish. What do you know of Skjari Snow-Strider? I have reason to believe that he is controlling the Empress of Cyrodiil, possibly through nefarious means, which I will not discuss over letter, but could spell serious trouble for us if true. I know the cloak and dagger doesn't suit most Nords, but most Nords don't kill their fathers, write books of poetry, or barely escape assassination in Hammerfell. If you choose not to reply immediately, keep your reply for a fortnight, when a merchant ship will arrive at your new town. Then, give your reply to the captain. Remember, do not mention this to anyone. Save your wife, if you believe she may be of help. You may not like the anonymity of this letter, but I assure you, a smart fellow such as yourself can figure it out. Thank you, General. "Falgrum, who gave this letter to you? The Bretons?" "Aye, one of the little weasels was sneaking about, trying to find you. I had my eyes on them since they got here since they were by the Queen. Then I noticed him fall away from the group." Baldur seemed to be reading the letter over again, faster this time. A few minutes passed as Baldur ran his eyes over it again to memorize what was there, then he said, "Heh, whoever sent it is a flatterer. They also are very well informed... They mention a sigil-seal, so whoever sent it must be important. Say, you didn't happen to catch the name of their king, did you?" "I did. It was... Gaerheart?" "No, that was their last king. You remember the new one?" asked Baldur. "Umm... Adrard I think. Theodore Adrard." At that, Baldur's eyes widened and a smile crept on his face. "That it is, Falgrum. Good work." Baldur balled up the letter, then threw it in the air where it was consumed in the fires of his thu'um. "Lets go see the Bretons before they leave." *** "And this rug is woven from the purest silk of the Gauvadon caterpillar, which can only be found in the center most glade of the Gauvadon forest, making it extremely rare," Sir Charien said, altogether oblivious to how much the Nords didn't care. "The going rate is three thousand septims, but I could be persuaded to offload it for two thousand. If not here, a buyer may be found in Solitude, when we return in two weeks. Oh, and if you look in this crate, these vases and urns are carved from the volcanic stone of an inactive volcano high in the Wrothgarians. Nearly indestructible, and as beautiful as a black pearl." Duke Mon looked uninterested as well, while Sir Theirry had altogether left for the ship, overseeing some minor maintenance, even though it was Sir Charien's cog they had sailed on. A long sharp whistle came from the other side of the dock as Baldur and Falgrum made their way through the crowd of townsfolk eying the Breton's wares. "Which one was it that brought you the letter, Falgrum?" "That one, but I think they're all in on it. I can't tell though." "I guess we'll see soon," Baldur said. The guard saw the Nordic officers approaching, stopping then before they got in sight of Mon or Charien. He barely resisted the urge to salute as they stood in front of him, so nervous was he. "I take it you got the letter?" he asked. "That I did. Give your king this," Baldur said as he handed the man his letter. It read: I am a lover of letters and I thank you, Charitable men for the literature you've brought, At this, I wish to gift you words too, Now, so I can give what it is that you've sought, Tears fill my eyes, for my wish is too great. Come not has a publisher for this bit of writing, One could still steal it, I do not want that fate, My, but the thought of you reading it's exciting! Every day's a great day to read with a friend, Hindering that opportunity is surely a crime, Every man of literature is welcome here in the end, Rear your head up as I beckon with rhymes, Endless delight awaits, as I have what you seek. "He should be able to understand my meaning, considering his own letter. But if not, tell him to look in the direction the sun sets." "I will. Thank you, and I apologize for the secretiveness. I wasn't supposed to let the others know. Don't know why, but when the coin is good enough I don't question why, haha," the man said, flashing a nervous smile. Baldur said, "Yes, well, if you want to keep receiving coin for jobs like this, I suggest you try not to look so obvious. And sweat less. This is Skyrim. Sweating so heavily here makes you stand out like a Butterscotch Elf's hind quarters." "Yes sir. I think I dressed to warmly too, heh," he said. Falgrum tapped Baldur on the shoulder, making him look up. "Right, well you better get your act together and get moving. I see your companions wandering over now. Here's a little gold for your trouble." Sir Charien was indeed approaching, his grin stretched from eye to eye. The guard pocketed the money quickly, sliding it into his pants pocket. "You gentlemen looking to buy some goods? Maybe luxury items for the High General? We even have some items for children too, as I hear your wife is pregnant. Congratulations!" Baldur lowere his guard at that, admittedly excited to see what the Bretons had. "As it happens, I've recently come into a little more coin than normal, so I'd be happy to see what you have for children. I hear the Bretons even have some Nordic looking clothing, us being relatives and all." "Fur unites us all. It's both decorative and functional!" Charien said with a laugh, leading the High General towards the edge of the dock, where the goods sat. Charien reached into a crate, pulling our several toys. One was a tiny horn, taken from a baby minotaur, filled with beads and rocks so that it rattled. He handed it to Falgrum, before reaching back in and pulling out a tiny boat, carved from wood and painted similarly to Charien's. He handed that to Baldur, then reached in and pulled out a wooden horse and cart, with real rolling wheels. "Those are the best we have, in my humble opinion," the Breton said. Falgrum looked at the rattle with an eyebrow raised, embarrassed at his current task. When he shook the horn and heard it's fun noises, however, a little smile escaped the big man's vigil of surliness. Baldur was about to turn down the rattle since Vigge was already working on a special rattle, but the memory of his dream was still fresh on his mind. The fear of Rebec dying in childbirth made Baldur want to be able to distract the child as much as possible. "I'll take them all," he said. "Ah, but that's not all. Here, I have something special," Charien said, moving along. He opened a crate, saw it was the wrong one, then moved to the next. He pried that one open, shifted the hay around until he found the item, then hefted out a huge battle horn. "Made from a Bjoulase bull, whose horns have been known to span seven feet. The largest of their kind, and the sound they make, well, I'll let you try it yourself," he said, giving it to Baldur. Baldur looked astounded as the man pulled a horn out, and it just kept coming. It was so large, that it came with a belt buckle for the user to wear around his or her chest. "I've seen these before in taverns for drinking out of, but never one for a battle horn." Smiling in childish delight, Baldur put as much air into blowing the horn as he could. The sound was deafening, and attracted the attention of almost everyone on the docks and even beyond, clearly being heard throughout the town. "This is perfect! If it's one thing you Bretons know how to do, it's sell. I'll take it." he said. By now, Baldur's demonstration and his buying of their wares was beginning to attract more customers for the Bretons while Baldur continued to shop. Charien smiled at the crowd, and motioned for the rest of the wares to be brought ashore. "Just wait until you see what we have over here," the salesman said leading the much now lightened pocketed Nord along the dock. A curtain hung, hiding whatever was behind it. With practiced movement, Charien slid it aside, revealing a green leather and chain armor, which flowed down to the wearers ankles. A belt hung beside it, with several loops for axes and such. It was the same outfit worn by Sir Theirry, although his was blue. Falgrum shook his head and said, "Oh no, they're gonna take all his coin..." "Oh hush, Falgrum. One more thing, then we'll leave." Baldur walked up, very interested now in the outfit and said, "You boys sure know your customers. This is very Nordic indeed. I gotta wear something else besides my officer uniforms every now and then, don't you think Falgrum? You think you'll have something like this in my size?" "It's a favorite of some of the Northern Bretons, although Sir Theirry took a liking to it as well when he and Duke Mon stopped in Farrun," Charien explained, turning the clothing around to show it off. "We have many sizes, and the clothe comes in every color imaginable. We carry other armors and clothing, but I believe these are the most Nordic you'll find." "How much?" Falgrum said with narrow eyes before Baldur could say he'd buy. "Ah, the price can be negotiated. Give me your best offer, Mr. Red-Snow," Charien said, rubbing his hands together. "Fifty," Falgrum yelled. "What are you, my wife? Seventy gold coins. This is clothing and armor, and it's nicer than the stuff they got at the Radient Raiment. I'll give a fair price for the outfit. I imagine it's worth a bit more, but surely you can cut me a deal for bringing in more business? I imagine more will buy, especially if you let me change behind the curtains and let the townsfolk see their High General walk out in the new attire." Rebec had come up from belowdecks when the horn sounded. Muttering, she said, "What in Oblivion is going on here. Baldur's not even drunk." She stepped to his side and eyed the garment suspiciously. "You have a deal, High General. Would your friend here like one as well? Maybe some of the other officers?" Charien asked, revealing a white styled one, a red one, and a black one, hoping the new colors might persuade the second. "We also have slimmer variations for the women," the Manmer added, looking at the new arrival. "Rebec, look what I'm about to buy!" To the Breton, he said, "I don't think I'll be spending anymore coin. I need something left for mead. Falgrum?" "No. My Necro Nord gear your mother made us is more than enough." "Suit yourself, then," said Baldur. "What do you think, Rebby?" "What are you offering for it?" At hearing the answer, Rebec's eyes widened. "Dagon's balls! It better be enchanted with money-making power or our baby'll have to get a job in the tavern." In truth she liked the outfit, but the first rule of negotiation was to act disinterested. "Buy it if you want it, love. I'm going to go get the queen. They've got some alchemy stuff and spell books she might be interested in." "Wait, I'll come with you. Let me change first," he said. By the time Baldur came back from behind the curtains, more people had come by to see what all the fuss was about. Baldur was all smiles, as were the people nearby as some of the more wealthy townsfolk planned on getting their husbands similar clothes so they could dress like the High General. One of the women not noticing Rebec nearby even gave a catcall. "Well, that's it for me I think. I hope to see you all back soon, my friend." Rebec waited, and couldn't suppress a smile as Baldur emerged looking like a king of old. The smile vanished at the woman's catcall, but seeing that it was one of the newly arrived settlers, she decided not to load the crossbow yet. Next time. She directed some of the Wisp crew to retrieve the goods she had tagged down below, then took Baldur's hand and walked off with him. "One of the boys said the Bretons gave you a note. What was that all about?" Baldur took the little minotaur horn out of his pouch, shaking it with a happy grin now that his mind was distracted. It faded some when the note being brought up reminded him of what he was doing, though. "Tell him not to mention it to anyone else. We're going to be having a visitor some time in the future, probably some months from now since he's busy with the war. King Adrard wants to know about the mage. He says he knows something about his controlling of the Empress. If so, then he knows something I don't. Normally, I wouldn't bother telling anyone a damn thing, but this can work in my favor." "Don't get involved in the Bretons' schemes, Baldur. It never ends well. What do we care who controls Cyrodiil as long as they're fighting the Thalmor." Baldur said, "That isn't the point. What is, is their credibility, and who they hold loyalty with. We're already agreeing to this trade agreement. I need the Bretons to trust me and distrust the Empire in the future when I'm commanding the allied armies. It'll help in the future. It's not the Breton's schemes you should be worrying about, but mine. I want the mage to rule now. It helps me out a great deal." Rebec shrugged. "Fine. You should probably tell the queen. Ulfric might not like you corresponding with the Breton king, supposing he really is in charge over there." Baldur stopped walking and put away the baby toy. "No, don't tell Veleda anything about the note or the mage. They know nothing about this, and I'd prefer it stays that way. It's for their own good. Ulfric has an idea, but he doesn't know the whole picture, and that's the way I like to keep it." "What? That's kind of... treason, isn't it?" she said, keeping her voice low now. Baldur made a look that said he obviously hadn't thought about it like that. "Look, Ulfric wouldn't have given me this position if he didn't trust me. What I'm doing is for his benefit. It keeps any falling out from he and Veleda, and in the end I'm doing this for Skyrim. Ulfric's never been one to ask me too many questions, as long as I got the job done. Ulfric and Veleda knowing will just complicate things. So, when the King comes, I'll just tell him he was concerned about strategy or something, and wanted to talk numbers for the war." "Because Ulfric is always patient and reasonable about everything," Rebec said, a little worried smile on her face. Changing the subject, she gestured at his new outfit. "You're a sight. Admit it, you got a bit of Dibellan in you, going after the finery and jewels." "I'll admit it if you admit that you love it," said Baldur poking his tongue at her. "And that's not all I got either." Baldur showed her the horse with the wagon attached and the spinning wheels. "Now the dragon and the troll have something to attack, hehe." Rebec laughed. "If Stuhnir doesn't tear it apart first. Where is he? Hiding from the Bretons, I expect." She stopped mid-stride, realizing how carefree she had felt, just for a minute, despite the fact that their home was attacked the previous day. Brushing her hand over the rich cloth, she said, "I do like it. Shor bless those Bretons. Just this once." Baldur put an arm over her shoulder so she could continue playing at the soft fabric. "I'm glad you like it," he said, smiling deeply again at the way she looked at him in the new attire. "What do you say I roast us up some food and we watch the ships go by while the sun sets? We can sit at the other docks away from everyone else. Then we can go and see how Mazoga and Daric are doing." "Roast up some of that bear with the mead baste you made before," she agreed. "I'm starving. Axe work is hungry work." Grinning again, with his glands salivating, Baldur cheerily walked on with Rebec beside him, forgetting for a time about his worries of the child and Daric. "Haha, consider it done."

Baldur, Rebec Kyne's Watch Morning "Ahh, I love this town. What a beautiful morning!" Baldur yelled, attracting attention from a few passing Stormcloaks who did not seem to agree with him. They all too clearly remembered Baldur putting them on nightshift right after they were done burning Forsworn bodies and preparing their comrade's bodies for departure on ship. But Baldur didn't let their sour mood ruin his. He woke up with a slight ache in the vein in his temple, likely from too much mead, but the wonderful thing about living so far up North was the marvelous effect the cool air had on his aching head after a night of drinking spirits. With another bottle of mead and a nice fat piece of horker steak freshly roasted, Baldur walked the coast on his way to the fort like a happy drunk, skipping and spinning, pivoting on one foot as the sea rolled in over his boot like spilled grog. "The wind twirls and twirls, the tide rushes in, the tickling snow flakes on cheek make me grin," Baldur took a long swig, then went back to singing. "Magnus moves slowly over morning sky, and mead flows down my throat until this man dies!" This time Baldur took a bite of the horker which steamed heavily in the morning's cold breeze. He opened his mouth to sing another note, but suddenly a flash of purple burst out from a rush of dark clouds and the general smacked directly into something in it's midst, knocking both the mead and the horker from his hands. Face in the snow, he said, "What... the...Molag's balls!?" Two figures went tumbling into the cold sand of the beach. The queen, sprawled flat on her bum, sat up slowly. "Remote, you said! I thought you said it was remote!" "It IS remote!" The latter was a muffled sound coming from underneath Menel's big fur cloak, which had flown up over his head. Spitting out fur, he dragged it off his face and glared up at Baldur. "Don't you know a recall rune when you see it?" Veleda looked around, still on her rump and resting back on her hands. "Menel. You put a rune. On a beach. Does the concept of morning and evening tide mean anything to you? We could have drowned!" "Oh, don't take that lecturing tone with me. It's high tide now, and it's perfectly fine apart from blundering Nords. Help a Bosmer up, general, don't just stand there." Menel lifted a chubby hand up to Baldur expectantly. Baldur lifted his face up from the patch of snow, face contorted, and his temple aching with fresh waves of pain once more. Before yanking the elf up, Baldur said, "Menel. Get your big, round, carnivorous, tree hugging ass off of my horker, or I'm going to roast and eat it instead." Veleda picked herself up and started brushing off sand. "Good morning, High General. Sorry about the rude meeting. Knocking into passers-by is a risk of the mark-recall spell, I'm afraid." "Not as bad as getting lost in the Void on your way," Menel offered. He had retrieved Baldur's horker and was picking sand off it, apparently prepared to eat it. Apparently unconcerned with the queen, Baldur said, "I swear to all the gods I know, and believe me, that's a considerable amount... I will eat your limbs if you so much as lick that meat, Menel. I'm starving." Before Menel could answer, a furry bundle hopped from a pile of snow and snatched the meat from Menel's fingers. Stammering, and considering murdering Stuhnir, but ultimately failing to stay mad at the adorable creature, Baldur sighed in frustration and said, "Good morning to you too, Queen Fire-Hand. What brings you here to these parts and my meal?" "I thought it high time to inspect our new naval base. How are things? Menel, stop sputtering. It was just a fox. Though I've never seen one so bold before." "He's mine. His name's Stuhnir. Long story really. I was going to send you and Ulfric a report, but now that you're here, I can just tell you directly. Things are going fine enough, if you don't mind a Forsworn rush and refugees coming from Markarth." "Menel said you'd found some scouts. There were more?" Baldur spotted his honey mead rolling away to the sea, and put his big boot on it before it got too far. "A lot more, yes. Not an army, but enough to challenge us and take the town. We're going to need reinforcements along with the next shipment of Grim Ones to continue the trials." Veleda appeared shocked. "So many? I had no idea they would consider this place a prime target, with the fort here. They must have waited until the naval exercises were done and your numbers down again. I'll speak to Ulfric about it right away. But now I'd like a tour. I'm eager to see the town." "Alright, might as well swing by and pick up Rebec afterwards. As for the Forsworn, the new townsfolk said that they were retreating out here from all the fighting in the Reach. I haven't yet gotten word from Galmar or Brund, but things must have picked up even more." Baldur lead the Queen past the docks and the village to the center of town to where the new tavern was being built, mostly complete besides the roof which would be completed once they retrieved some of the wood from the Howling Harpy. Besides their new tavern, there wasn't much else to see besides the ships and new docks in the distance. Baldur lead Veleda back to his home, occasionally having a Stormcloak bow their heads when they realized the Queen was passing by their humble, yet increasingly large town, still mostly empty for the time being besides families of the Stormcloaks themselves and the refugees that were lucky enough to flee with enough coin to purchase new homes there. One of them was a rather thick Nord woman with quite the heaving bosom and generously sized hips, as well as an impressive unibrow. Brinja Bear-Born had enough to purchase things from the sailors and start a general goods store, selling goods to the less fortunate refugees at half price temporarily. Veleda was amazed with the progress. It was still more the outlines of a town than a real town, but it was fast becoming such. "If you suffered such an attack, it just shows how much we need this anchor to really subdue the Reach. I had expected you to be calling for more supplies?" Rebec had joined them by then. "We could use them, but we got a trading ship stop in from High Rock, and I sent the boys back to Solitude to re-stock. What ship you come in on, your majesty?" Baldur slowly turned his head in her direction as if she just insulted his mother, holding a maniacal open mouthed grin before hopping in front of her and holding that same expression. Holding her arms, he said, "Ship? Did you say... ship? Hahaha, are you daft? The Queen and her lovely second don't use ships, you plebian! No, instead, they use magic to pop out in the middle of nowhere, knock the mead out of your hands and sit his big Bosmer booty on my meat!" Rebec looked from one to the other and back. "I have no idea what you just said, but I think you said Menel needs to meet Kyne's Talon. No one's booty but mine gets Baldur's meat, elf. I thought we covered that." "What? No, no!" Menel put his hands up. "It was an accident. How should I know the general takes long morning walks on the beach." This reply sounded even worse. At Rebec's glare, Veleda laughed and explained, "A little teleportation accident. We'll work on our recall rune placement. I'd like to set up beacons and a teleport station like I had with the College. Not that we could help you in another attack, but it would improve communication. Ulfric isn't certain yet. This was a little experiment." Baldur stood there with an empty expression, eyebrow arched. When Baldur finally got it, he said, "Oh. Ohh! Gods, no, I meant my breakfast, Rebby. Gods. Anyway, I'm not one to be suspicious of magic usually, but considering we'll be living here and I don't want a repeat of the Great Collapse, I'll have to ask is there any risk of accidents? I know nothing of what this kind of magic entails. I've heard of it, but I've only seen it done once in Fort Neugrad." "If I had the power to cause a Great Collapse, we'd have far fewer worries about the Dominion. The main thing is that it will need to be a safe place, so that it can't be tampered with or misused. For now I thought about putting a rune in your house..." Rebec looked up sharply and was about to say something when she realized that telling the queen her idea was ludicrous was not the best career choice. Trying something milder, she said, "Uh... our house is just one room right now. You appear with no warning and you might get an eyeful more than you bargained for." "Oh. Oh yes, I see. Perhaps in the fort, then. Let's go have a look." Before the Nords and their Elven friend could reach the fort, a long, sorrowful, deep horn sounded from the docks. A brightly painted ship, moved by equally colorful sails cut through the morning fog. The flags it flew, in descending order, were a black bull's head on brown, a white owl on green, and a ship split in half on blue. It slid into the dock with grace unexpected from a carrack of its size. Three men, two well dressed in nobles clothing, the other in a chain and leather seagoing armor, were waiting by the railing to dismount. Dock lines tied the ship to the horn cleats, and a gangplank thumped onto the large ship's deck. The three Bretons exited, followed by several mages, who wore the same chain and leather armor as one of the leaders. A few soldiers also dismounted, their armor plated and heavier than the mages. "Speaking of High Rock," Baldur said as he picked Stuhnir up to his shoulders. Jogging ahead after noticing the soldiers, Baldur blew his warhorn to get the attention of nearby Stormcloaks to meet the entourage at the docks before they wandered in too far without seeing what they wanted first. Rebec eyed the ship and its passengers. "Bretons. They do like to make an entrance. Best not tell them who you are yet, Your Majesty. Not til we see what we got here." She and Veleda trailed along after Baldur. "Stand aside," Baldur commanded as he approached his men blocking off the docks. Placing on his snowbear head, he stepped forward, fur covered arms crossed. "I am High General Red-Snow of Kyne's Watch. To whom am I addressing and what brings you here?" The lean, pointy nosed man stepped forward to speak, but nary a sound exited his mouth before the armor clad man stepped forward. His wooden leg thumped on the similarly wooden deck. The man took a tattooed hand off the axe that hung at his side, then placed both hands behind his back to show he didn't mean any harm. "I'm Sir Lewin Theirry. He's Duke Mon," he motioned to the skinny man whose mouth still hung open, affronted he had been interrupted. "And this is Sir Gaspar Charien," the man he indicated smiled, revealing a perfect set of white teeth. He was mostly bald, with only a rim of graying hair left on his dome. "We've come to meet with you and the High Admiral about trading and naval exercises. Sir Charien heads the Merchants Guild of Farrun, and Duke Mon is the King's emissary. I'm here on behalf of the navy." Smirking at the reaction of the dandy little Duke, Baldur said, "Trade and naval exercises, huh? That's my wife's territory." Baldur stood aside so Rebec and the Queen could step forward. "This is High Admiral Red-Snow of Kyne's Watch, and this is the High Queen of Skyrim, Veleda Fire-Hand." "A pleasure to meet you both," Sir Theirry said, with a bow to the queen. "And I've looked forward to meeting you, High Admiral. Your tail-kicking of the Imps last year was something to behold, even for us. Not many run a blockade like you, I hear." Rebec looked the men over skeptically, hands on her hips. "Duke? Duke of what? Never mind. Well this is the queen, she can speak to the trade agreement we made with... whatever that guy's name was. I suppose you're here to tell us it's just not possible and so forth. As for your navy, I didn't know you had one. I guess we ought to go inside and talk about it." Baldur said, "Since you all will be dealing with that, I've got some trash to take care of down in the dungeons. If anyone needs me, I'll be with the cells in the back." "It's...a work in progress. King Adrard has commandeered a few dozen shipping carracks, and our mages will make them heavily armed, if slow," Sir Theirry said. "Actually, dear admiral," Duke Mon said, rubbing his hand together, "we will honor the agreement. Henry Leland, who you may have heard of, has agreed to reduce taxes forty percent. Sir Charien has also agreed to the forty percent, as have several families of Wayrest and Camlorn. It may not be the forty five percent agreed upon, but surely it is generous enough." "Leland. That's the fellow we got our rings from." Rebec didn't volunteer to show hers to the Bretons. She turned to walk towards the fort, gesturing for the men to follow. "King Adrard, is it? That should last long." Her tone implied she thought the opposite was true. Veleda piped up, "I think what our admiral means is that the Bretons are not known for uniting under one banner even at the best of times. Perhaps it is the worst of times that has made it so. Or are you using that term optimistically?" "We've been...united in name for the past few decades. By that I mean we've had a king, but it was more a figurehead, so the Imperials would have someone to deal with," Sir Theirry said, as he swung his peg leg in a strange gait resembling a newborn deer. "As of now, only Evermor still opposes King Adrard's rule. But this will be a true kingdom. Adrard will not sit by and be a figurehead." "We'll see about that," Rebec said skeptically. They had reached the fort's mess hall. She kicked a lounging Stormcloak's leg off the table and sent others grumbling back to their duties in order to make room, then called for the steward to bring mead for the visitors. Veleda took a seat at one of the long tables. "What are your king's intentions as regards the empire?" The Bretons filed around, sitting all in a row opposite the female Nords. Sir Theirry slouched in his chair, while Duke Mon and Sir Charien looked like scarecrows, wooden crossbars keeping them upright and uptight like the snooty nobles they were. Sir Theirry, much to Mon's chagrin, again spoke up. "I can't speak as to his intentions, but him asking you to drop those contracts shows he won't be put under their thumb. He does have good enough relations with them, though, that he can deal with them as closer to equals than kings of the past." "Good luck with that, too." Rebec turned a chair around and straddled it, eyeing the mead the steward was pouring longingly. She refused a mug herself, however. "Look, we can sit here and jaw all day, but if the past couple centuries has shown anything, it's that talk doesn't mean a damn. We'll trade with you. We'd be stupid not to, you being the closest ports except for Morrowind which hasn't got a pot to piss in. If you want to build your navy, send them out to deal with the pirates in your waters and do us all a favor. I brought in some slaver pirates myself when we met your king Adrard, so they'll get the practice. Then we'll see if they're worth anything against the Dominion. If not, I'm not going to risk my own ships by putting any faith in merchants looking for a bit of royal favor." "Our ships are not manned by merchants," Sir Theirry said, leaning on the table. "We have a regular navy, presently tied up with a war. I apologize that pirates use this opportunity to stalk our waters. Do not demean us by presuming we can't hold our own." "But of course, of course we accept your trading, and welcome your business," Duke Mon said hurriedly, hoping the offer wouldn't be rescinded by the brash talk of Theirry. "I'll believe you can hold your own when I see it," Rebec answered. Veleda said, "We're keeping our end of the bargain. I've already told the EEC office in Windhelm to seek grain supplies from the Iliac Bay since we don't intend to renew our trading contracts with the Colovian wheat guilds. They want a premium anyway for shipping it such a great distance, now that the EEC isn't subsidized." "And the stuff arrives here half sprouted and moldy anyway," the admiral added. "Only reason we bought so much Cyrodiil grain before the war is because the empire made it mandatory." "Right," Veleda nodded. "And the days of Skyrim bowing to Cyrodiil's interests are over. But tell me, gentlemen, have the Thalmor been active in your lands at all?" "You'll find our wheat and grain more than satisfactory, I assure you," Duke Mon said with a smile. "I'm sure they have spies there, like everywhere else. The only thing I can recall seems to be the persistent rumors of Direnni support for the gold skins. Whether that's true or not, I couldn't say. They've been pretty well isolated as of late," Sir Theirry said. "I told your new king to mind his elves and he acted all insulted," Rebec said sharply. Veleda appeared thoughtful. "I had heard the Direnni took in Altmer refugees when the Thalmor seized power. Then there were assassinations of mixed race individuals in Balfiera some time ago, before the Thalmor got involved in open war. I can't imagine the Direnni are cooperating openly with them. There may have been infiltrators in the refugee community, however. If agents have access to Adamantine Tower, who knows what they could do with its power." She thought about her examination of the sunbird diagrams, and of how little they still knew of Altmer capabilities. "I don't believe you ever spoke to King Adrard. That was his father-in-law, King Gaerhart. He died of sickness a while back," Theirry said. Addressing the queen's statements, he said, "As for the Direnni, I was just repeating what I heard. They probably aren't allied with the Dominion, but racism is prevalent against elves seems to crop up everywhere these days." "Gaerhart, Adrard." Rebec waved a hand. "The point is, if you don't know, you better assume the worst until you do." "At the very least, the Direnni could make a potent ally," Veleda said. "It is likely that no one outside the Dominion would have more insight into the Thalmor mindset or capabilities." "I'll relay that idea to King Adrard. No doubt he plans to meet with them once our civil war is over, but it won't hurt to mention the High Queen of Skyrim stands behind the idea. Although, I think I'll leave out the High Admiral's distrust of the elves," Theirry said, smiling. "I've heard you have a division of your best troops specifically for the Dark Elves. Does Morrowind plan to commit any troops?" Sir Charien said. "As best I can tell, they will remain neutral," Veleda replied. "They have no quarrel with the Dominion, though no love for them either. The Dunmer in our forces were volunteers." "Most of those died in the stupid imperials' war," Rebec added bitterly. "And you can tell your king if he doesn't mistrust a secretive group of Altmer hiding in a tower so close to his lands, he's a damned fool. Now, since you say you want to trade, what've you got in that pretty ship of yours?" "King Adrard is more prudent than my words can relay, but I know your appraisal of words is low, so I won't try and persuade you to that fact. Just believe me when I say he will explore all avenues, whether that means killing them or allying with them," Sir Theirry said, his eyes and face bored looking. He was tired of trying to deal with this hard headed woman, and decided nodding and saying would be the best means of negotiation here on out. Sir Charien spoke a little too quickly, his face beaming like a child's. "Oh, I think you'll enjoy this. Meats, liquor, cloths, books and tomes, a wide variety. Our hold is stocked to the brim with both luxury items and essentials." "Alright. I can't guarantee you'll sell everything here. We're just getting started around here and there isn't a lot of coin flowing, but I'll see what I can do. Once we get Reach silver going through, you won't need to go on to Solitude at all. You tell that to Leland and his buddies. Let's go inspect your wares. If Your Majesty doesn't have anything against it, that is?" Veleda stood. "It was only by chance I was here at all, but let me take the opportunity to say that I hope to meet your King Adrard soon, and we trust that there will be more cooperation with him than when Ulfric called for aid from his predecessor and got silence as a reply. Now I should go visit our wounded. There was a battle here yesterday." "Some of your people," Rebec explained, her expression hard. Duke Mon's smile dropped, and his gaze hardened. "We offered help to your king and queen, and they rejected it. The Forsworn are a plague that needs to be destroyed, and we want their deaths as much as you. But you denied our help, so now they're your problem. Otherwise, there would be Breton soldiers here even now." Sir Charien looked frantically between the two women, sputtering out, "But yes, yes we will definitely go look at our products." Theirry smirked at Mon not brown-nosing any longer, and said, "I'll let the king know. He hopes to improve the relationship between our countries. The offer of help for the purging of the Reachmen reflects that." The admiral hadn't known of this offer, but shrugged. "We sorted it." Veleda replied, "I spoke of Ulfric's request during our war with the imperials, but the Forsworn we will indeed handle ourselves. We've not had good experience with foreign intervention in the Reach. The situation there is too delicate. I bid you good day, my lords, and a safe journey home." Rebec waited until the high and mighty were done talking, then gestured for the men to follow her back to the docks. As she passed the dungeon door, she glanced down the stair, wondering what Baldur was up to with the prisoners. Near the entrance, Menel fell in beside them. "Good sirs. Did you say you had meats aboard your ship? What sort, may I ask?" At a sudden hard jab in his back, the Bosmer jumped straight in the air. "AHH! What was that for?" "You're supposed to be in the infirmary healing Daric and Mazoga," the admiral said. "Get there or you'll be missing some cuts of meat you already got." "But..." At Rebec's glare, he backtracked, hands held up. "Oh, very well. If you see any blood sausage... Right. I'm going." As the Bretons left, one of Mon's guarsd waiting outside the room fell back from the main group, until everyone was out of sight. His wide eyes glanced suspiciously in every direction, retracing the groups steps until he found a guard. "Where's the High General at? I have a letter to deliver," he said, running a sweaty hand over his scraggly facial hair. He then fumbled in his armor, procuring a slightly wrinkled letter with a wax seal, showing it to the guard as if to prove he wasn't lying. The guard looked at the man, irritated at his suspicious behavior interrupting his peaceful standing around and doing nothing. Fortunately, the sight behind the guard made him relax again and ignore the Breton all together. "Ehem," came a voice behind the skulking Breton guard. When he turned, a Nord with fiery hair and a milky left eye stood just behind him, bear claw covered arms crossed in annoyance. "If you wanted to deliver a letter to the High General, try doing so when his wife is present next time instead of skulking around our fort. Hand it here." The Breton turned the letter over in his hands a few times, before finally giving it over. Then, he looked from guard to one eyes man, before finally shuffling off after his group. He glanced back over his shoulder a few times, but never stopped or uttered a word. Falgrum watched the little man scurry off like the skeever he was. He was a worm, all of them were. Sneaking about like things amongst the gutter. Falgrum hated that their general now had to play whatever game they were playing, but that was the way of things, now that they dealt with the Manmer of High Rock. Knocking on the dungeon door, Falgrum called down urgently. "Baldur? General sir. I have something that may require your immediate attention." (TBC)

Farni Fair-Face Evening, Valenwood, "Got any twos?" Asked the obviously bored Farni Fair-Face. She was wearing the standard issue dark-green leather armor of her unit, with some personnel adjustments that benefited her position of chief interrogator. Running down the leather was strips of black and red paint, with the sleaves of the leather armor removed. Instead of the two small pauldrons of the regular outfit, she had one medium sized one on her right shoulder, which held the howling wolf symbol of the Blood Woves. Having removed the bandoilers, Farni instead had straps which she had attached leather sheaves too, using those sheaves to hold a dozen knives which she used both on the battlefield and in the dungeon. As her 'father' had taught her, torture devices were for rookies. A true pro only needed a simple stone knife to cause a veteran soldier to regret the day they joined the millitary. Farni made the exception for thumb screws, which she loved to put on the small, tiny hands of little girls, and her second all-time favorite thing beside her precious knives, the iron pearl. The screams and thrashing it made her bound victims endure, always caused Farni to get a little excited. While certainly not as appealing, Farni hated Gender in-equality, which caused her to develop some...male only interrogation tactics. This frankly had not appeal to her at all. She only targeted females for fun, Males were just boring. Girls, on the other hand, were always interesting, begging her to spare their lives for a massive variety of reasons. Farni recalled with happiness the time when a young looking imperial girl, who couldn't have been over seventeen in Chorrol told Farni that her fiancée had just proposed to her, and told Farni that he had bought her a diamond enjoyment ring, which caused Farni to cut off that finger. She had her fun with her for a good three hours more, before finishing with her trademark face mutilation. It never got old to Farni, carving up there oh so pretty little faces. She loved them young, pretty, with blonde hair. Occasionally, she would apply makeup for them as they cried. Some of them ruined part of the fun though. Screaming so loud. How was Farni supposed to make them look pretty? Screaming was like lullabies to her ears. So she hated shoving dirty old rags into their mouths to gag them. But she had little choice, and it gave her the silence needed to work properly. Hearing them beg and plead for respite. Farni made a game of making them believe they were going to live, and that she was going to release them, for as long as possible. Her current record was four hours. Farni's scarred face was covered in red warpaint. Again inheriting the information from her 'father', Farni was taught to make the warpaint from her victims, Forsworn style. Which meant making it when they were alive, and offering the blood up to the Old Gods. Unfortunately for her, after catching wind of how she made her paint, Colonel Fury-Eye had restricted her to only retrieving the blood when the lucky guy or gal was dead. Took the fun out of the entire process of making it. To make matters worse, he had also found her precious iron pearl during a surprise inspection of her room. Confinscated it on the grounds of it being "Too cruel". ******* bastard. It was her private business; he had no business to what she used to have fun in her spare time Unlike most of the soldiers on base, she didn't wear any gloves, on or off duty. They dampened the feeling of holding a blade and cutting flesh. Beside her naked hand, was her black leather balacava. A useful item, used by Bosmer Snipers and Dominion Shadow Corps agents, it concealed the face and helped the user blend in darkness. As an officer, she was expected to customise her with a drawing. She had painted, with vibrant blue, purple, and orange paints a child-like drawing of a girls face covered in realisticly drawn, red, cuts and marks. It certainly got rid of the stealth factor, but Farni was rarely used for stealth operations, primarily remaining at base as her main job entailed, expect when the operation called for an interogation on sight. Colonel Fury-Eye rarely used her for that sort of thing, but Captain Wraith would ask her to come with him on a few occasions. Despite this, the captain would usually eye me with disgust, similar to how the colonel would. ******* asshole, they have no right to judge me. All i'm doing is making girls look pretty again, right? And a few annoying men, of course. She was paid after all, to be a torture technician for the Blood Wolves. The pay was good, and it provided quite a few people to play with already in a nice package of chains. Farni had just visited a Bosmer village on leave a few days ago, following Blood Wolf regulation, she wasn't allowed to show her identity as a Blood Wolf Commando, so she went to the village in civilian clothing. As of last week, she's had her eyes on this little Bosmer girl. Couldn't be older than six or seven. Almost managed to lure her into a secluded area of forest with promises of meat, apparently to dirty cannibals, it was like candy, and considering the hard times around Valenwood, it was a very rare treat to a little child. The sweet girl must have been taught by her parents that taking things from strangers was wrong, so it took a good deal to convince her. Farni had in her bag all of her knives, rope, and some finger screws. She almost had her, until Captain Valerius had shown up. That bastard getting into my buisness again. Wraith had instructed the little girl to go back home, and that her momma wanted to see her. Gosh that dark look he gave me looked at me like I was some kind of Pedophilla. Jeesh the nerve of that man. Farni glanced in front of her, holding out her hand of cards, though careful not to show it to the man sitting across from her. He was a redguard, in his early forties, with large, brown, dreadlocks, He shook his head, "Nope Go Slaughterfish-“ Suddenly, the door bursted open. Leaning on Two Unknown Bloodwolf commando’s, Colonel Saladin himself entered into the room. Just by giving a general glance, you could tell he was grievously injured. His dark plate mail, was blackened like a crisp, and his leather balacva was malformed, with its white paint being disorted and peeled off. Farni calmly said, as she backed away from the table, “What the **** happened to you?†Igorning her, the colonel instructed one of the commando’s to clear the table, which her or she did. Farni noticed the commando had Saladin’s greatblade, Azidnok, strapped to his back, with a much smaller two and a half sword. Saladin limped to the table, and threw off his Leather balaclava, which revealed his face. Which didn’t show much, as the places that weren’t covered in blackened skin, were layered with massive scars. His left eye, which was usually covered by his leather eye patch, was shining bright red, adding to his general pissed off look. Oh so that’s why they call him “fury-eyeâ€. To be truthful, Farni had never seen the colonel without his balaclava on. She noticed his teeth were abnormally large, and instead of looking like normal human ones, the colonel’s bared a closer resemblance to fangs. The commando on his right, the one carrying his greatblade, took off his leather balaclava, revealing a young man in his early twenties. He had slightly tanned skin, vibrant green eyes, and slightly messed up, short, blonde hair. His rank insignia and unit patch identified him as a Sergeant, of Second Company, under the personnel command of Captain Valerius. The Commando to the left of the colonel, spoke up, in a surprisingly feminine voice, “Sir, you need proper medical attention.†On her back was a quiver of arrow’s, and a yew longbow. On her belt was a strange looking dagger, made out of what appeared to be bark. She threw off her Balacava, which revealed pointy ears. She had pale skin, and very long golden hair. Unlike the other man, she had some green war paint on. A bosmer? Her skin is unusually pale… The colonel responded in a deep, growl that didn’t sound remotely human. Farni had heard him speak like this once before, when he was laying a beatdown on a hapless recruit who stole from a fellow soldier. Yep, he was pissed, “Negative Sergeant-Major. Miss Fair-Face is one of the best at carving people up, I assume she’s equally as good patching them.†The man to his right, who was busying taking bandages out of his pack, said worried, “Derilas is right sir.I can see parts of your ******* inner muscle. Those burns are third degree-“ The colonel barked, “That’s enough Sergeant†He turned to face Farni, “Help me get out of this.†Farni noticed that the sergeant was right. On the occasional spot, you could see some of the muscle. The upper layer of the skin was completely burnt off on a few locations. She nodded, as she went closer and began to gently take off the blackened plate mail. The colonel said deadpanly, “Care about my well-being Warrant Officer?†She gave him a sinister smile, “Nope. Only pay day sir.†He returned it. When she finished, she motioned for the bangages, as well as the bottle of Whiskey to her left, which he redguard companion brought. He said in a rather worried tone, “Oh **** man. Does that hurt?†Saladin laughed, “What do you think?†Farni grabbed the bottle, opened it, and carefully began to pour it on the parts of the skin were the muscles were exposed, which caused the colonel to scream out in pain. It brought some pleasure to Farni, seeing the old **** to be in pain. The colonel yelled out, “What the **** was the for?†I like seeing you scream. Nah, I do, but that’s not the reason. “Normally, pouring Alcohol on a burn wound is a bad idea. For one as bad as these, however, we need to sterilize it.†After pouring the Alcohol, she told the Bosmer woman, “Go to the infirmary, and ask the commando on desk for Teapovosh oil. It’s good for treating burns. Make sure to bring a lot.†The bosmer nodded her head, “Yes ma’am.†She left the room Farni put her hands together, “Alright, it looks I’ll have to play doctor today.â€

Black Horse Courier ** Elder Council convenes, Discusses Several Items Put Forth by High General By Shelur gra-Borbug High General Gracchus Ceno appeared before the Elder Council's monthly session yesterday to discuss numerous bills and legislature he was proposing. The battlemage started off the session by proposing a lowered draft age, from seventeen to fifteen. There was some an hour's worth of arguing that the age was too low, but eventually it was put to a vote, where it narrowly passed. The next item discussed was the establishment of a new Orcish homeland. Emissaries had been sent to Blacklight, and spoke to the Dunmer's acceptance of the idea, if only to possibly draw Argonian raiding parties away from themselves. The High Chief of Orsinium also liked the idea, the other emissary reported. Finally, it was taken to the floor, where members debated briefly before an overwhelming majority passed the bill. Ceno next requisitioned funding to reinstate the Fourth Legion, which was destroyed in the Skyrim Civil War, but it was decidedly defeated after it was determined there were no funds left to employ another general and officers. When asked about how the session went, the High General had this to say. "I was pleased. My biggest worry was that the draft age wouldn't be lowered, but it was, if barely. I understand many people worry fifteen is too young, but we aren't going to immediately press them into active duty. Those drafted under the new bill will be trained here during the war, to act as auxiliaries and reinforcements should we need them. Best case scenario, they are trained but never have to fight." The rest of the session included representatives of both the Synod and College of Whispers, seeking clearance for conjurings that will accompany the mage tournament they are putting on. High Chancellor Doron Zethus had this to say in his address to the Elder Council. "I would also like to thank Lord Snow-Strider for solving the recent issues in the south. You have my thanks, as well as that of all Nibenese. Now, we can regain the respect so many fail to give us, and refocus on returning the Niben Valley to its former glory." And with that concluded the annual meeting of the Elder Council. The only member not able to attend was Maretheon Tridus, who is mourning the death of his daughter. ** Skooma Addict Arrested in Connection to Murder of Councilman's Daughter By Albecias Plebo Yesterday brought about a most surprising revelation in the murder and rape Maressa Tridus, daughter of Elder Councilman Martheon Tridus. Zedrick Horatius, a nobleman, was arrested and taken into question by Sergeant Amidius of the city guard, and Colonel Lilly Quentas, the Royal Spymaster. The suspect was discovered high, naked, with a bottle of skooma sitting next to him and a prostitute lying on the floor, also intoxicated. He proved violent when confronted, swinging at the officers until he was finally restrained. The escort was subdued with a sleeping spell, like the maid who wouldn't allow admittance to the home. Several others were questioned as well, although no arrests were made. Rosentia Vinicius, the noblewoman who hosted the party, was able to provide a guest list, and Horatius was apparently an uninvited attendee. Adrian Ador, one of the many suitors Maressa had, was questioned as well. He and fellow nobleman Maro Salvius were frequently seen fighting, usually because of Maressa. Arlowe Goldwine also fancied her, although his offer of marriage was rejected at the party. Merchantman Caius was questioned, although he seemed to be a fringe suspect at best. Many other were questioned, but they either lacked motive or means to commit the crime, and weren't taken in for further questioning. It seems at this point the investigators are focusing on Mrs. Tridus' acquaintances, as opposed to her father's political enemies, who may have had her killed to send the councilman a message, or in retribution for some wrong doing. No leads have appeared on that front, however. The officers plan to interrogate Zedrick Horatius, in hopes of determining why he snuck into the party, and if he had any cause to kill Maressa Tridus. ** Pro-Imperials Forces Win the Day at Wayrest, Jehanna By Claude Vautrine King Theodore Adrard's forces, aided by Imperial troops led by Legate Montrose, defeated the Lielle Rolston's at Wayrest. The Breton king employed a skillful maneuvering of his forces, drawing the enemy army away from the city, whereupon they were attacked from behind by a naval landing force from the Iliac Bay. In Farrun, the siege was lifted by Lord Traven of Northpoint, and then Jehanna, allied to the "Pretended", was besieged. While the actual events are hard to track down, it appears that someone inside Jehanna let Traven's forces in, and so the city was easily captured. Only Evermor still remains under Lielle Rolston's control, who tried to usurp the throne away from King Adrard after he executed her husband. The late Lord Rolston was convicted on charges of attempted assassination and attempted kinslaying, after being only king for one day following the death of King Gaerhart. King Adrard, then a Lord, attended the Empress' coronation, as the ambassador to Cyrodiil. Now his cousin Manis Adrard fills that role, and said "We believe the end of the war is now in our grasp. These traitors will soon be brought to justice and dealt with, so that High Rock may return to peace." ** Lillin Quentas: A look at our Royal Spymaster By Albecias Plebo Underhanded, deceitful, low, all describe the way in which I've gone about studying Colonel Quentas. While it's true I have been following her and Sergeant Amidius around to write about Marrssa Tridus' murder, I've also been taking notes, so as to write my first of several essays on our leaders and decision makers. I decided the only way to get an unadulterated, open look into the Countess of Chorrol was to do so secretly, something she no doubt admires. Lillin Quentas is a stunning person, hair nearly white it is so blonde, with a slender, wiry physique to match, and well endowed chest. But, her attitude is not one of a prissy noblewoman, but a soldier who just got of the front lines. You could see the two parts of her clashing as she entered the room upon our first meeting. She grunted like an Orcish brute, but her lips were drawn in a beautiful, perfect smile. She dressed in black Oculatus armor, alway with a sword on her hip. When we sat down to talk about her case, even more of her enigmatic personality revealed itself. She smiled, seeming to enjoy the details of the murder. She is blunt and brusque too, calling the victim an unpleasant name, as well as referring to Magdela Bathory as a "harlot." But her overall demeanor is of a truth seeker, fighter for justice, if she is a bit rude. Once we left her manor, we made small talk, where I learned that she doesn't read, but has an air for the dramatics, donning a long coat and lighting a cigar as we exited through the garden. She admonished her cousins for spoiling their child, Helen, who lives with Lilly. Her parents made sure to instill in their children no sense of entitlement, which was easily observable in her manner of addressing everyone in her gruff way of speaking. Once we arrived at the first suspects house, her demeanor changed entirely. She was polite and courteous, bowing and addressing the minor noble as "my lord." Had I met her just then, I would have had no indication she was even remotely the same person. It was the same way when questioning the next suspect. I began to question my sanity, when I say her talking to herself as we traveled around. It seems she may have multiple personalities, a curious condition indeed. She was back to the woman I met originally, when we came upon a skooma addicted suspect who resisted arrest. She barked out orders, subduing the maid and prostitute while another officer took the druggie down. Besides her strange behavior at times, many of you are probably wondering about her rumored relationship with the court mage, Lord Snow-Strider. I briefly touched upon the subject, but she deflected any question. Though, it would appear that her dislike of Mrs. Bathory stems from both their supposed fancying of the Nordic Emperor-to-be. So, I discovered our Spymaster fits the role well, sneaky and sly, but also a little strange and unorthodox at times. Only time will tell, but I would be she sticks around longer than the last one. ** News in Brief By Iszara Nasser -A party hosted by Colonel Quentas was interrupted by a supposed trespasser in the garden. Major Infernus assured us it was nothing, however. "The Penitus Oculatus is investigating. Nothing more to talk about. People at the event overreacted greatly, including myself. Rest assured, the privileged few can sleep easy, and do not have to worry about a shadow someone thought they saw. I on the other hand, would look to the dark alleyways in the waterfront when your inspecting your factories and docks. I've informed Captain Imperius of the Palace Guard, Captain Amiruis of the Imperial Watch, and Legate Avitus of the legion to instruct there men to be more dilligent. I can't do anything else." -An explosion and strange beacon appeared at the Imperial Palace, while a Dunmer mage fell from the sky, stopping just short of the ground. Rumors persist it was an assassination attempt, although sources inside the palace have told the Black Horse it was merely a kitchen accident. No injuries were reported. -Skyrim has begun building a new city, on the far western coast near High Rock. It will go by the name Kyne's Watch. Overseeing the building are the High General and High Admiral. -Reports of a sea monster spotted near Rihad came in, with the beast having, according to one onlooker, "a whale in its mouth." This is the third sighting since the High Admiral was attacked by a sea serpent, and it seems the monsters are coming out of the depths for one reason or another.

She walked a good while. When she arrived at the masion, she glanced at the large looking pond, and the abundance of vegetation around the masion. Reminded Lilly of the masions in Chorrol. She cleared her throat, and knocked at the door. A young Breton girl opened the door, a servant judging by the simple clothes. "Yes? How may I help you?" she asked. "I have buisness with the lady of the house hold. Imperial Watch and Penitus Oculatus business." "And you are?" "Colonel Lillin Quentas." "Will you please wait here while I go ask Pelena." and she shut the door before Lilly could respond. A minute later the servant opened the door. "You may come in." Lilly walked in, and gently waved her long silver hair to get rid of the rain. She took off her coat, and handed it to the servant, she asked, "How is milady taking the death of her sister?" "Not well. She's in the lounge. Up the stairs one floor. Then head left and the second door on the right." she pointed to the stairs on the opposite side of the entrance hall. She thanked the servant, and followed her instructions. The lounge was medium sized but was still rather nicely decorated with a few painting on the walls, and detailed furniture. Pelena was a sitting on a chair near the window. Just staring blankly out on the streets, even as Lilly entered the room. She was young, with dark brown long hair and soft features. And all she wore was a simple black dress. Lilly coughed, "Excuse me, Pelena?" She looked at Lilly, though her eyes were still slightly blank. "Sorry, I was deep in thought." "It's fine." She eyed her. She was wearing mourning clothing. "How...are you?" "I'm surviving." "When did you receive the news?" "Before noon. The day directly after the party." "I have a few questions if you don't mind." "Oh, go right ahead. I don't mind." she said in her plain tone. She's... oddly relaxed. Lilly wrinkled her eyebrow, before saying, "Do you know anyone who had an intent to murder your sister?" She decided to do a much more thorough investigation with the sister, and started with a basic question. "No. She'd had her disputes with others. But they never lasted or escalated really. And I remember that the crime was about her body, and not really about past grievances." "She was lovely wasn't she?" "Yes. She was." "So, I've interviewed her many suitors who were at the party. An Adrian, and a Mario. You think they could have done it?" "Those two guys that flirted with her? Probably. They didn't seem like the kind who buy you flowers first." "Hmmm was she flirted with a lot?" "Yes. Most men payed her compliments." "Any women?" She said with a sly smile. "She's not like you, Lilly." Pella said, sounding a little annoyed. "Though I think Maressa once told me the empress had once flirted a little with her. She was both a little proud and disgusted by it." Lilly let out a chuckle, "That's my majesty." She continued, "Have you thought that maybe someone did it to get to your father?" "No, not really. No one has made any threats to him as far as I know." "Are you sure?" She paused before continuing, "I know for a fact an Elder Councilor would make a lot of enemies." "No, I'm not sure. And the only rivals of him I know of live in Anvil." "Hmmmm. Was your sister...'provocative' or 'teasing'?" "She dressed like a proper lady. And behaved like one. Most of the time. But she did like to tease now and then." "Okay." Lilly scratched her chin. "Did she owe anyone money?" Pella chuckled, a short hollow and sad chuckle. "No. If she needed money she just put on her puppy eyes and asked father for some." "She was spoiled then?" "Aren't we all?" "My mother if I was misbehaving, let me spend a night alone in the Chorrol woods." Lilly said in her usual deadpan tone. "Wouldn't that have been dangerous?" she said surprised and quite shocked. "She gave me a knife." Pella just stared at Lilly in disbelief. "She sent Milly with me once. We skinned and gutted a deer together." "Right." Pella then paused for a moment, which only made the situation more awkward. "So how are things back home?" "Well my sister has been disowned, my father wants more power, me and my mohter are not in speaking terms, and my brother is mourning the death of his wife." "But you're still doing good up in the palace?" "Of course. As her majesties physician, and spymaster, I have plenty of work." "And you're still trying to ensnare that mage?" "He's very handsome and powerful. Ensnare is a harsh word." "Though it's fitting. I know a few who even believes you're trying to ensnare the empress as well. One even even went so far as to claim you've ensnared them both and that you're behind their marriage. So that you may rule the Empire from behind the scenes. Ah, Augurius is always one for conspiracy theories." "Eehh, I've never screwed the Empress. Dales has way to much on her mind for me to interfere with her life. Besides, when I rarely do go for a woman, I like them tall, tough, and big breasted. Dales only fits one of those criteria." "Well I wouldn't take Augurius' theories too seriously. A couple of years ago he had this idea that the dragons were out to get him." "And he thought that the cliffracers were going to swarm Cyrodiil and kill everyone. Well, we live in troubled times. Cant blame him." "We got to make the best of what we have." "So, hows your father taking his precious little daughter's death?" "Not good. I think he might have hit the bottle. Or is going to." "Maybe you should be with him?" She glanced around the room, "Not in your isolated mansion. There's a reason why your a social outcast." "Yeah, I probably should." "I could send Helen to keep you company if you want." "If she's not busy, that could be nice." "She loves the garden district. I'll send her over at eight." "Great. Now, you didn't come here for pleasantries right?" "Just checking up on you. I know it's hard to loose a sister." She paused before saying, "I also need to know about a man who had proposed to your sister recently." "Which one?" "Arlowe Goldwine." "Ah, him. He glanced at my sister a lot. But kept his distance. Looked quite sad." "Was he under the influence?" "Of alcohol? Not really as I could see. More like a broken heart." "Did your sister do that often?" "She did so whenever there was someone foolish enough to fall for her." "So she wasn't interested in marrying?" "She was. Though I think she wanted a bit of 'fun' while searching for a good candidate. She always thought she deserved better." "She was a very high class lady." "Yes. But sometimes I thought she wouldn't settle for anything less than empress." "Hah. If she wanted Amaund, she would have been slowly tortured for months. If she wanted Titus, she would have had to listen to him talk about military strategy all day." "I doubt she would have cared if her husband was boring, just that he had power and wealth aplenty. Though I think she would have reconsidered her other options if it was someone like Amaund." "Power and Wealth are dangerous. I didn't want to end up like my mother, which is why I gave up my inheritance and joined up with the military. I ended up acquiring my wealth, my power, through my own hard work." "Right. You and your sarcasm." she mumbled. "Back to the right topic now?" "So, do you think anyone in the party had the guts to kill and rape your sister?" "Guts to do it? No. Though if it's not Adrian or Maro, there's one guy who seemed to lack any sense to make up for the lack of gut. I think he was drinking more than the alcohol." Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, "What do you mean more than alcohol?" "You know how someone becomes more sluggish when under the affect of alcohol? Well he was certainly drunk, but he was also more energetic than he should have been." "Illegal drugs then." "Probably." "You know how he would've acquired any?" "Connections. That's my guess." "Who was the 'lucky' man?" "I think his name is Zedrick. Don't really know his last name though. Don't think he was invited either." "So some low-life moocher?" "I think he actually was some nobleman. Dressed like one anyway." "Who did he chat with?" "I bit of everyone I think. I tried to stay clear of him and left the room when he came in." "Have any specific names?" "Well I do remember he tried 'chat up' Maria and Lucina." "Lucina you say? She's a good friend of mine." "Well that's all I know, or can remember, of this man." "Was he making unwanted advances on your sister as well?" "Not as far as I could see. Though I wasn't around her all, or even most of the time at the party. So it's possible." "Hmmm. Is there anything else that would help?" "Not that I can think of right now." "Are you sure?" "Yeah. Though if I remember something new I'll let you know." "Alright." she got out of her chair. And headed towards the door. Lilly said "Take care of yourself. Helen will be over so hold the depression at bay till then." Pelena looked down as she remained quiet for second before then looking up at Lilly. "Thank you for coming by. I really needed the company." She then turned around went towards Pella and playfully gave her a peck on the lips. Pella pushed Lilly away and started to wipe away at her mouth with her sleeve. "We may be friends but even that has it's limits." Lilly cackled like she usually did, "Was just showing some Chorrol friendliness." "Keep that friendliness to that mage up in the tower. I can do without it. Thank you very much." "You need to find a man, girl. You can't be holed up here all day." "I know I need to find a husband. But mourning comes first." "Men. Women. Cats and lizards if your into that sort of thing. You're like Helen hold up in your house reading all the time." "I'll see if I can't get dad to introduce me to some suitable suitors." Pella paused for a moment. "Some time after Maressa's funeral." "Just don't touch Helen in any strange ways." she said as she went towards the door again. "You don't need to worry. If I wont to lie down with you. Why would I desire Helen?" "Can't be too careful." "You worry too much. Take care." Lilly found the author and the sarge just outside Rosentia's mansion as they were leaving, and asked them, "Found out anything?" "Prizes on tunips has gone up. And nothing about Arlowe's friends. He doesn't really have any. Though Rosentia mentioned that the spare key for the gate to the garden seems to be missing." Amidius said in his formal tone. "That's odd." "It is. Though it might just have been misplaced somewhere this huge mansion. Best to keep an eye for it anyway." "I got a new lead from the victim's sister. Some man was intoxicated with drugs and he chatted with a friend." "Who was this drugged man?" "Zedrick. Never got the last name though. An old friend chatted with him; Lucina." "Is this Zedrick Horatius you're talking about?" "Don't know. Tell me about him." "He's a bit of what we call a regular among the guards. We take him in at least once a month for assault, sexual harassment or molesting. One of his parents then comes, pays the fine and takes him back home. He's a noble. Of which rank I do not know. But his family is wealthy." "So he's scum?" "Pretty much." "Can we roughen him up?" "If we find him doing nothing, I would advice against it. Though my gut says that the chances for that happening are small." "Alright. Where would the man be?" "Apart from his home I know of two places he usually has to be dragged out of. A local pub and a brothel. I say we try his home first. And if he's not there then there will surely be a servant or someone else to tell us where he is." "Lead the way sarge." "It's just down a couple of streets." he said and started walking. Soon they were standing in front of a quite decorated house. It wasn't near as big as a mansion but it must have certainly been expensive. Amidius walked up to the door and knocked. The one who opened the door was a young looking female Dunmer. "Hello, Amidius. Has Zedrick done something bad again?" she asked with a slightly weary tone. "That's what we're here to find out. Is he in?" "Yes. But he's in the study and cannot be disturbed at the moment. You can come back tomorrow." she said and closed the door. "If you ask me, it sounds like someone is trying to avoid you two," Albeciad said. Amidius turned to Lilly. "Well what do you think?" Lilly slammed the door with her fist and shouted "This is Penitus Oculatus business. If you don't open up I'll incinerate the door." The Dunmer was quick to open the door, she looked scared. "What business?" "We're investigating a murder." "And can't it wait till tomorrow?" the Dunmer now started to look quite anxious. "No." "Can you wait right here while I go get him then?" "No." with one swift move she grabbed the woman and cast a paralyzing spell and pushed her aside as she entered the masnion with the her two companions on tow. "So, where's the study? And don't you mages have spells to detect other people or something?" asked Amidius. She cast a detect life spell, "There's two figures in the west wing. One is slumped over while the other is standing up." "Lead the way then." "We're doing this by the book. Sarge prepare your weapon. Author stay behind us." "I really don' think that'll be necessary. Zedrick's never been one for daggers or anything. He got a mean lefty, but that's about it." "Fine. You secure the other person, I got Zedrick." "Lets find out what he's hiding before we do any arrest." Lilly lead them to a doorway, she stealthily snuck to one side of the door and motioned for the sergeant to take positions beside her. Amidius followed and tried to move silently, even though it became clear he had quite limited skill with sneaking. Albecias stood a little ways off, back down the hallway, so as to stay safe from any violence that might take place. Lilly suddenly kicked open the doorway, with her lapis coated throwing knives in hand. Inside was the two people, a woman and a man. The woman was a half naked Altmer with hair as golden as her skin. She jumped around and like paralyzed she stared with frightened eyes at the intrusion. The man was an imperial, only noticeable feature was his overly squire jaw and unkept dark brown hair. He was however totally naked and sitting in a large armchair, not caring who saw what of him. Besides him was a small round table with an half empty bottle of wine, an empty bottle of ale and a green jar. And it was apparent that this was the study as bookshelves cover half of the walls with books. And further to the side of the room was a desk with lots of drawers and an unlit candle sitting on it. The man that was obviously Zedric, who's only study he seemed to care for was that of the female Altmer. He had a dull look and stupid smile covering his face. And not even with Lilly bursting into the room took did he manage to take his eyes from half naked woman. "Hey! Don't stop!" he shouted in a very annoyed manner. "I would stop if I were you." Said Lilly half amused, "Sarge. Restrain this brute." "But he hasn't really done anything yet." Amidius protested. "He's high." She motioned to the Skooma bottle, she raised her voice a little, "Do it sarge. Drugs can make a shy and timid man vicious and blood thirsty." The sergeant, who had apparently little experience with skooma as he looked with slightly confused eyes at the green bottle before moving into arresting Zedrick. The nobleman did not seem to react till Amidius got between him and half naked woman. Then he started shouting and when Amidius was just upon him, Zedrick flew out of chair and sent his left fist straight for the sergeant's head. But Amidius dodged it as if he had expected that move and tackled Zedrick down on the ground where he quickly managed to subdue him. Holding both of Zedrick's arms behind his back while pressing him down with a knee. "I told you." She approached the woman, she gently put her hand up, "It's alright. Were not going to hurt you." The woman just stared at Lilly at first with wide open eyes, that on closer inspection was dilated. "Who are you?" she then said in a scared tone. Lilly gently opened her eyes, noticing the strange orange tinged, " Dont worry. I'm from the Pentiulas Occultus." Lilly said kindly. She told the sergeant, "The woman over here is showing Symptoms of Gold leaf, a highly potent herb. I think she was drugged." "I came here to work." she apologetically. "Did he put anything into you?" She asked, "I'm a physician." "Ehm... No." "Of course." She said in her deadpan tone, as she placed her hand on her hand, and cast a sleep spell on her. She fell asleep onto the floor. Lilly got up, and approached the man, who the sergeant had in an armlock. She said in a rather spiteful voice, "No use talking to you when your in this state. What shall we put him in? An imperial watch cell, or an Oculatus sarge?" "Well we got a cell in dungeons he'd feel at home in. Though you'll have to explain to his parents when they come to bail him out." "I'll handle that." "And we need to get something to cover up his private parts. His family would be furious if we paraded him out on the streets like this. Not to mention the distress of the poor onlookers." She called out to the author, "You!! Make yourself useful and find us some clothes for this scoundrel!!" Albecias nodded, scrambling around the nearby rooms, which included a kitchen and living area, before finally finding a coat closet that held a long robe, which he grabbed. Then he rushed up the stairs and pulled the draws open in a bedroom, finally finding a pair of pants. He hastily brought them back down stairs, where he tossed the fur cloak and trousers to the colonel. "Here's what I could find. Should work well enough. There are also some boots by the door he can wear. Now, if I'm done being an errand boy, I need to write this down," Albecias took out his pen and paper and began jotting down notes in shorthand, occasionally glancing up to look at Zedrick, as well as the room itself. "Describing this in full detail I see?" "Well partial detail wouldn't do me any good," Albecias said. "Shouldn't you be dressing your captive?" "Getting a noble lady to dress a skooma addict? How ungentlemanly." She said coyly. "Getting an esteemed author to run errand? How disrespectful," Mr. Plebo saltily replied. "I can dress him if none of you are going to. But I need someone to hold him." Amidius interrupted. Lilly punched on Zedrick as she restrained him, "Alright Sarge." "All right Zedrick, just try to stay still." he said in calm tone. Some time and a few wild kicks later the sergeant had managed to get Zedrick dressed enough that he wouldn't cause too much outcry out on the streets. "Alright let's take him away." "Okay Zedrick. Get up. Easy now." said Amidius as he gently helped the nobleman onto his feet but still holding him in a firm grasp. "Want to follow to the dungeons or shall we meet up somewhere?" "Meet me at the dungeon." She took a cigar out of her pocket, "I've got business back at Oculatus HQ. I'll be there in two hours." "I'll tag along with the sergeant, if he doesn't mind," Albecias said, tucking his paper into his coat pocket. "I don't mind. As long as you're ready to help if he tries to make a run for it." said Amidius as he began to lead Zedrick out the room, even though the nobleman's twitches (which probably more came from the drugs than any attempt at escape) made it a bit hard to keep him walking in a straight line. "Of course. But, given his state, I doubt he can walk on his own, let alone run," the author said. "Better safe than sorry." and with that he led Zedrick out of the room with the author in tow.

Civil War Aftermath Chapter 3: Season's End 1.11 By , March 30, 2014 in Civil War Aftermath Rate this topic Reply to this topic Start new topic PREV 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 NEXT Page 2 of 11 BladeKnight Allies 1,864 3,333 posts Posted July 14, 2014 (edited) Theodore Adrard Evermor Camp Morning Your Majesty King of High Rock, You will be pleased to know that we have been very successful in the north. We found victory at Farrun, and after several days managed to defeat the Pretender's forces, breaking their blockade and relieving the seige on the city. This was three days past. Now, I sit writing this letter on Lord Birian's desk in Jehanna. My forces, bolstered by the survivors of Farrun, surrounded the city last night and set seige. The first push was unsuccessful, but before we attempted a second, a rider came to us claiming to be representative of Lord Birian's wife, Lady Roain. She claims that her lord husband intended to involve her in false plots. He had the intent to frame her so that he could legally dissolve their marriage in favor of one with the Pretender herself. I hope you do not miss the irony of this. Lady Roain opened the gates to us. With that done, Jehanna fell in less that two hours. Most surrendered. With so many prisoners, I had my men build temporary prison camps to hold them until you can offer judgement yourself. Due to the short time frame, I admit that they are less than accommodating. Though avoiding a long stay in these was reason enough for many of the Jehannan soldiers to fall in line and come to your side. At this point, we have even more men than we did upon setting out. Lord Birian himself is still alive for now, and is currently being held on a ship heading back to Northpoint. I felt more comfortable with him there than attended by the skeleton force I intend to leave here in Jehanna. You may also be interested to know that your son has fought well. He did not participate in the final surge into Jehanna, as he had taken an arrow to the shoulder in the earlier assault. Worry not, it is just a flesh wound, and our healers are certain that there will be no long term damage. Unfortunately, not everyone faired as well as your son. Duke Endre's ship caught fire and him with it during the naval battle at Farrun. We never found his body. Sir Vette fell there as well. My own nephew took two arrows in the same battle that your son was wounded in. He lives, but the healers say he will not see morning. He is the eldest of my sister's four, and fought bravely. She will not take the news well. Tonight, I offer my men comfort, food, and rest while in Jehanna, but tomorrow, we march south. Our progress will be slow, as we must push through Gauvadon Forest, but if there is no delay, we should be arriving in Evermor in roughly a week's time. Hopefully you will be there when we arrive. Traven, Lord of Northpoint Theodore smiled to himself, wringing his hands together in cool delight. The war was going perfectly, much more so then he could have ever imagined. Even in a war as planned out as this one was, the gods had favored him yet again. The king sent a silent prayer of thanks up, the grin still covering his face, his mustache curling with his lips. I'm truly blessed, lucky, or both, he thought in between coughs, wiping snot away from the chocolate colored facial hair. Best not get too full with myself. I must remember to commemorate a day of celebration to all the poor bastards lost on this war. Maybe even give their widows some coin. Bah, what am I saying. They aren't the ones with blasted colds. The betrayal of Lady Roain Birian was icing on the cake, complementing the bolstering of Lord Traven's forces quite nicely. As it stood, both armies had gained men since they left, an idea that Theo hadn't accounted for. Now, he could expect even more additions once arriving at Evermor, with some of Lielle's "allies" likely to switch sides once they saw banners of the former sir, now Duke Aric, along with Baron Ysciele's, Lady Birian's and the Imperial Dragon. Theodore shuddered at the thought of the dragon, the recurring nightmare still burned into his mind. His thoughts as to who, or what the dragon was always shuffled around the same people. The Empire itself, an actual dragon, the Nord Skjari, or Arkay. Nothing else dragon related came to mind, and of the four possibilities he felt the Empress' consort and the Empire were the two best possibilities. But, neither of them had any reason to quarrel with him, not so far as he could remember. That could always change, but as of now they meant him no ill will. It was a perplexing case, to be sure. Whatever the dragon represented, he knew he could deal with it in time, as he had a war to focus on. A shuffling of boots outside his tent snapped him away from the fire, which he hadn't realized he's been staring at. Another chilling reminder of the dragon ordeal, but he shook it off. "Enter," he said, before the person could even ask for entrance. In walked Duke Jhared Mon, smiling his unsettling, pale lipped grin. He bowed, flourishing it as if doing so made him more important. If this man wasn't so gods damned good at procuring money, I don't know if I could stand him, Theodore thought, as he motioned for the Daggerfallian vassal to sit. "My lord, I bring news from Skyrim. Stormcloack accepts us into the alliance, as well the trade contract proposal," Mon said with his perfectly fake smile still in place. "What were their conditions? On the trade proposal, that is," Theodore asked. "A forty five percent tax cut. Of course, it will be difficult to convince the shipping families to take such a tax cut, but seeing as our relationship with Leland is so well, I believe we can talk him into doing at least forty, if not thirty five or so," Mon dismissed the tax cut with a wave of his hand, as if it was inconsequential. "We'll have to do better than just him. The families in Wayrest are loyal to me, and I can get them to follow the tax cut, as well as those in Camlorn. That should be enough to placate the Nords, for now. Maybe I can convince Traven, but as it stands I'm not worried in the least about the Nord's feeling being hurt because they got a little less then they wanted. We can make do with whatever deal you work out in Kyne's Watch," Theodore said, sipping from his flask as he finished speaking. "Excellent. I will leave to there tomorrow morning. No rest for the wicked, as they say," Mon said. "Be sure to talk to their High Admiral about joint naval exercises. Our caravels differ from their long boats, but she sounds clever enough to work out some tactics using both. And ask the High General what his plans are for the upcoming war. Nothing too detailed, just the gist. I want to know where my men are likely to be deployed," Theodore commanded. "Of course, my liege. I will be taking Sir Charien of Farrun with me. He is the Merchant Guildmaster there, and will speak on their behalf to get a deal worked out. If that is all, I will take my leave," Mon said, rising and bowing again. "That is all. Safe journeys, Duke Mon," Theodore said, bowing his head respectfully. The Duke left, and Theo shook his head. "How does that match up?" A figure appeared from behind a false flap in the tent, so that he was hidden during the conversation. He had a scruffy, unshaven face, a pair of wide eyes underneath a furrowed brow, and a crooked nose. His uniform was mainly green, with white accents, mimicking the green and white owl sigil of the Mon Family. "Well, all of it really. 'Bout the only part he left out was that he was more than a little rude, I thought. The king didn't seem to like him much," the guard said, bashfully looking at his feet. "Good. Calm your conscience, I need to know these things. My job as king demands it. And for your troubles," Theodore tossed him a bag of coin, which brightened the mans mood. "Many thanks, your majesty," he said before leaving with one too many bows. ** One Week Later "Move those bodies! We need the space for Traven's men," Theodore cried, pointing his sausage like finger at the field of dead. The skirmish hadn't lasted long, much to Theo's thanks. Now, the soldiers loyal to Lielle Rolston were holed up in the mountain city of Evermor, and the siege was beginning. "Your Highness, we have men moving to cut down the trees as you ordered. The towers and ladders should be built-," the young Duke Thierry was cut off by a loud horn's bellow that echoed throughout the valley. "Excuse me, Duke, I must see to our new arrivals. If you will, gather up Estermont, Gondwyn, Wirich, Ottus, and Aric. The barons too, if they're near. Then, along with yourself, meet me in the command tent," the king ordered, then sent his horse on a trot to meet the newcomers. At the head of the army, Lord Traven rode, flanked by the heir prince Roland, Duke Vette, Duke Brolus, Duke Northwode, Duke LaRouche, and a man whose shield bore a tarred and severed head, held by the hair from a fist, and that bled from the eyes. A horrendously gruesome family crest, if quite inventive. Theo could never remember the reason for the brutality of it, but he would be sure to refresh his knowledge tonight before he slept. The man was bald, his head covered in liverspots and lipped by a ring of thinning grey hair, slightly yellow teeth formed in a permanent sort of snarl. "Duke Maul. So you've chosen the winning side," Theodore said to the oldest man of the group, he of the gory sigil. "That I have, my King. Birian was a fool to join Rolston, and I told him as much. Duke Chirditte, the idiot, yammered on about how vile and evil you were, and Birian fell to the old man's 'wisdom'. I switched sides at the first opportunity, as Lord Traven will attest to," Duke Maul said. "And Lord Traven, congratulations on your victory. I am sorry about your nephew, my sincerest condolences to your sister," Theodore said. "Thank you, my King." answered the lord of Northpoint, as plainly as always. "I am certain that your royal condolences will bring much comfort when word gets back to her..." his tired-looking eyes traveled beyond Theo, off towards the city. They snapped back the moment he continued. "And congratulations to you as well. I've already heard bards practicing new songs of your victory at Wayrest." Theodore turned to look over his shoulder, tracing the path Traven's took. "Quite a formidable obstacle isn't it? Our nights will be sleepless, I think, while we struggle to crack her open." "As for bards, I've never been much to listen to their squawking. Yours is the more accomplished battle. Breaking a blockade, relieving a siege, besieging, and sacking all make for a great tale for your grandchildren. Now, let us go to the command tent, where you all are welcome," Theodore said, looking at the various dukes. "Refreshments await us, of course. But I wish to get to our plans as soon as possible." "Of course." responded Traven. He turned in his saddle. "Thonir. Send word through the ranks that we are to make camp here. Keep an eye on the Jehannans. They are not to cross over into the king's camp." "Yes, my lord." replied Traven's Nordic lieutenant before riding off, shouting commands all the way. As Traven's forces set to work, the lord and his companions followed Theodore to the command tent. "Tell, Lord Traven, how did you come by a Nord? I have both an Imperial and a Dunmer in my employ, but they are merely tutors. Your's seems to be a bit more than that," Theodore asked, as he and the Lord-in-the-North rode ahead of the lower ranking dukes. "Indeed he is. Thonir is the Castellan of Northpoint, and one of my chief advisors. My father invited him in after his mother died in the Great War." Traven gave a slight shrug. "I never learned how my father knew this woman from Skyrim, and Thonir never knew how his mother knew a lord in High Rock, but the too obviously were close." "Ah well, my father too had a few friends in various cities, but I'm afraid none of their children ever made it into adulthood. Pity," Theodore said, voice filled with false melancholy. Theodore and Traven continued the short ride to the tent, where they dismounted and gave their steeds to nearby pages. Inside the cozy fire-warmed tent the various dukes Theodore summoned were gathered. He smiled, nodded, or shook hands with each one, until he found himself standing at the head of a table covered in maps. The king cleared his throat after a cough, and wiped his nose with a handkerchief. "Lielle Rolston's forces are holed up inside the city. There are two main gates, one facing this road, and another facing the Bjoulase River. That one leads directly to a bridge, and is quite narrow. Our best chances lie in assaulting the one towards the road, which they undoubtedly expect. So, I will open the floor to whatever ideas you may have." Estermont spoke up first, as expected. "Thierry here is building the siege towers and ladders, so we use those. We also bundle some trees together in a ram, and use that to knock the door down. It'll take a while, but that's the best way." "We could use our mages and archers to set the city on fire," Duke Vette suggested. "Burn it to the ground. Though I think that's an option of last resort." Duke Aric, who had fought against Theo during the Battle of Wayrest, but lacked no zeal when it came to destroying Lielle, chimed in, "What about besieging it? Starve them out. The civilian casualties will be high, but we don't risk losing any men. And we wouldn't need as large a force as we currently have." "That will take a while." said Lord Traven. "I am not against a siege, but it would be good to know what we are up against. Between Evermor and Rolston's forces, how many men are in the city?" Duke Wirich stepped forward. "I've been doing the calculations, and I've estimated they have ten thousand troops to our thirty seven thousand. We hold a considerable advantage any way you cut it." "But you must consider that they will also 'enlist' as many civilians as possible. Forcibly so, perhaps," Baron Eardwulf said. "So," Theodore said, "We have the liberty to take whatever route we wish. My personal preference is the one that costs the least amount of lives, since we need the troops for the Thalmor." "We are in no hurry." said Traven. "Keeping them pinned in the city works well enough for now. No one is coming to their aid. In fact, it surprises me that the Pretender has not already surrendered. Has there been an attempt to make contact?" "No. That is troubling. One would suspect her to give up, if only to save herself. That begs the question, what does she know that we don't? She may have something planned that she believes would swing the war in her favor," Theodore pondered Lielle's next move, before finally saying, a nearby royal spellsword, "I want you to double the look outs and scouts around the camp. Keep an extra eye on Baron Ysciele's forces, and the Jehannans." "I'm worried she may have allies, even mercenaries, we don't know about, in which case we must be prepared. That, or those forces formerly loyal to her may still be so." "We're starving them out then?" the young Duke Theirry asked. "What about the civilians? Do they deserve to die because Lady Rolston is so foolish that she'd rather die then surrender?" "Forgive me Sir," said Traven, his eyes on the Duke, "I do not recall your name. But I am assuming that by now you have seen enough of this war to know that lives will be lost no matter which avenue we take. This is the only one immediately present that presents no danger to our men. And it gives the enemy time to assess the situation and realize that their only chance at survival is to open the gates. It leaves options, as we can at any time go with Lord Estermont's plan and assault the walls." Legate Montrose spoke up. "I don't like it. The King makes a good point. It is troubling that they still have yet to give up. Victory seems so assured, and yet Rolston risks thousands of lives. Why would she do that unless she thought they could win. I am of a mind with Estermont. We should press the attack now before they have any chance to surprise us. Make it a matter of days rather than weeks or even months." Duke Theirry started to identify himself, but was cut off when Duke Gondwyn, still sporting his Theodore styled mustache and bald head, jumped into the conversation. "Let's take it to 'em. I say days, not months, like the Imp said." Theodore nodded, but whether that was affirmation he thought the same or a simple gesture one couldn't tell. "There is another matter I haven't brought up yet. We procured some of the Redguard's explosive powers, as well as several experts in its usage to accompany it. If we did decide to capture the city quickly, we could blow up either gate with it, provided we get close enough." Estermont's eyes widened, and a childish grin stretched from bright eye to bright eye. "I've heard tales of the power of their powder. It caused an avalanche at Pale Pass, and can level entire mountains. Siege engines pale in comparison to what we could do with that." "Indeed." agreed the Legate. "All the more reason to attack now and end this quickly. We have the means." "We can end this quickly, at the cost of blood." said Traven. "I have no qualms with this, but our King has already mentioned that the fewer lives lost, the better. Why not give them a day or two, to ensure that they have no intention of surrendering? If they do not, well, we will still have the powder." Duke Theirry spoke up again. "We may need closer to a week for the siege engines, but if we use the powder then we won't need them. It's your discretion, my liege." Theodore leaned onto the table, his chin resting in his hand. He shuffled through the maps, until he found one of the city itself, in fairly great detail. It was near one hundred years old, but the city had changed only on the inside, and the walls were the same. "I think we should rush the siege engines into development, and use them to assault the main gate, as the expect us too. Then, we send in a secondary force to blow up the Bjoulase River Gate, and storm in from there. The result should be a swift victory. Until then, eyes and ears open. I want any suspicious activity reported back to me. I won't have this Pretender turn the tables on us," Theodore said, rising back up off the table. "Any objections?" "No objections. But a suggestion." Said Lord Traven. "As you know, I persuaded many Jehannans finally bend the knee up north. I'm certain that one of them could just as easily be convinced to carry a message into the city for you, if you would wish to give terms of your own... strictly for the sake of exploring options of course." "I believe that is an excellent idea. Maybe then they'll surrender and we can all go home. Or not. Now, you are all dismissed. See to your men and assign work teams on the siege engines. Lord Traven, if you would stay a moment," Theodore asked. Traven simply nodded and remained while the other nobles exited the tent. The right of his lip curled into a thin smile once everyone else was gone, but he said nothing. "Did I miss a joke?" Theodore said, his lips traced with a grin of his own while he poured each of them a glass of fine scotch. "No, my liege." said Traven as he reached for his glass. "But it warms a lord's heart to know that you're warming up to me." "How do you know I didn't invite you here to kill you? Or banish you forever?" Theodore asked, chuckling as traced the lip of his glass. "Or poison you. People find it so reassuring when the person who may be poisoning them drinks from the same bottle, but I've always thought that if I were to poison someone, I'd lace the inside of glass. No one ever bothers to check that, in my experience." He sipped his drink, although because of the small quantity that meant half of it was already gone. "I suppose I wouldn't be prepared. After all, we are family now." Lord Traven lifted the glass to his lips and took a drink. "Of course, King Rolston was family, and that didn't keep him from poisoning you." Traven smiled knowingly. "But you are not Rolston, are you?" "No, and for that I am eternally grateful. My father may have been a drinker and whorer, but at least he was smart enough to play the game. Rolston would probably have had us sit the war out. He always did despise war, the coward," Theodore said spitefully. "And I for one would never kill my kin. Although, in his defense, is your wife's sister's husband really family?" Theodore laughed, shaking his head. "I like to think so." responded Traven. "I believe that anyone considered family should be treated as such. If more people saw it this way, having a large family like mine would be viewed as a strength rather than a risk." "I can see what you mean, but I find people are only loyal until someone else gives them more than what you can. Loyalty is fleeting," Theodore said, as he sipped the remainder of his drink. "We never got to discuss your views of the world as it stands today. I know, a broad subject, but I want your opinion on Skyrim, Cyrodiil, everything. Start with the Nords first, since you seem to know them better than most." Traven took another sip. "I regret that it has been some time since my last update on the goings-on in Skyrim, or anywhere else besides High Rock, for that matter. Our Nordic neighbors seemed to be doing surprisingly well at the time. Good news if we are to be aligned with them in the next conflict with the elves." "Bad news if they have any designs for our eastern territories. We are on good enough terms with the Redguards that I don't worry about them, but it's no secret the Nords don't respect us. I hope we can change that opinion. This next war brings us the perfect opportunity to do so. Prove our worth. Now, Cyrodiil. Particularly their leaders," Theodore asked. "Cyrodiil..." Traven finished his scotch and set the glass down on the table. "Amaund was about as likable as a nest of aquatic dreugh, but I knew who he was. From what I've heard, his daughter's young, and her only prior experience was leading some elven inquisition." Traven's brow furrowed. "I'm sure you know how I feel about that... As for the Nord she's marrying, I don't know him at all. Apparently he's a mage. Now, mages have their uses, but giving them political power is how you end up with people like Jagar Tharn. If you ask me, the lot of them can keep to that tower of theirs, and let us keep doing things the way we've been. I guess that's one good side of them. Besides your legate friend, they've all been content to stay out of our way. That's a step above Amaund." "The mage is an ambitious sort, up-jumping his station rather quickly. And the girl is young, careless, with the makings of a decent leader if she survives that long. My biggest worry is that they aren't content with our mostly independent rule. It remains to be seen, however. Now, I do have something I would like to run by you. It's rather...strange, I would say." Theodore set his glass aside and leaned over the table, so that his full meaning was clear. "As I traveled back to High Rock, the general I traveled with, Gracchus Ceno, received a letter from the former Spymaster. In it, he said that the mage had bound his soul to the Empress, using a form of very dark magic. I've looked into the practice, and discovered that it's been done before, however it is almost exclusively between people and animals, and even that was long ago. I'm frankly not sure what to do with this information, besides the fact it means he is the real power, and that she is a mere puppet. Which makes their marriage a sham." Lord Traven's eyes briefly flashed with what might've been surprise, but he quickly hid it behind a dry smirk. Most men wouldn't have even noticed the drop of guard, but Theodore was not most men. "What you do with information like that, my king, is lock it up and save it for a rainy day." Traven didn't say it, but Theo could tell from the look in his eyes that this news excited the lord. Gesturing at the entrance flap, Traven asked, "Does Estermont know? Or any of the others?" "Estermont? Pah, I trust him with almost anything related to killing, and not much else. No, they do not. My mother-in-law does, as does my wife. My son, however, I've kept in the dark. I want to make sure he's mature enough before he can be trusted," Theodore said, leaning back in his chair so it balanced on the hind legs, a precarious situation for the large noble. "A rainy day..." he twirled a corner of his mustache with index finger and thumb, staring off into the distance. "Yes, I suppose so. But this alone, while a powerful bargaining chip, is not enough. I've mustered what information I could on the man, but all I found was that he worked for the Synod, he was Dales' tutor. Besides that, nothing more than the rumors of him and the Bathory author, him and the Spymaster, and a possible quarrel with a general. Those I was able to garner from the Black Horse, or it's tabloid edition." Theodore could practically see Traven's mind at work as the clever lord took into account everything he'd just learned. "Not enough..." the man muttered. Finally, he said "I am glad to be the one you've shared this with, my king. Hopefully soon, we can better discuss these matters behind the walls of Evermor." "I too hope so. While the war ahead darkens the days for most, I think I can see a torches beginning to light our path, and it is one I look forward to walking," Theodore said, sighing with a great release of pent up stress. "Our days are bright indeed." "Dangerous neighbors in Skyrim, a deceptive mage running Cyrodiil, and an entire elven empire to the south who would see the lot of us enslaved. All while we fight our own civil war. Heh, your idea of bright is interesting, if nothing else." Traven flicked his empty glass. "I'd drink to it if I weren't out." "You are far to cynical," Theodore said as he refilled their glasses. "All those thing can be dealt with, as long as we play our hand the right way." "Of course." Traven raised his glass. "To bright days." "And a brighter future for our children, and grandchildren," Theo said, clinking his glass to Traven's before gulping down the burning, aged alcohol. ** The next morning Theodore rose early, drinking a potion to rid himself of the slight hangover. He needed to check up on his son, whom he hadn't talked to yet. He dressed quickly in a blue tunic, gold trimmed navy blue cloak, and black pants. His crown was simple, ebony and iron with dark stones inlaid all the way around. Over his neck he slipped a golden medallion, engrave with his family's sigil. His wedding ring, dark ebony with a diamond in the center, slipped on, and a shortsword swung from his hip, in lieu of his greatsword, which he found difficult to wear when dressed up. The sun cast a bright, glaring light, no clouds to dilute the rays. A soft breeze blew the smell of stewing meat across his nostrils, his stomach grumbling at the notion of food. Slipping back inside, he grabbed a sliver of honey ham and a strawberry effused pastry, eating both as he walked the camp. His son's tent was at Traven's encampment, but at the edge closest to Theo's. He was momentarily stopped by a few knights looking to flatter the king, and he welcomed their praises for a few minutes, before setting off again. Duke Thierry stopped him, shuffling him off to the construction area where the siege towers and ram were being built. He told the story of a tree guardian attacking a few of the men, but once they got a few flame spells on her she burned like Dwarven oil. Theodore quickly inspected them, noting that they needed protective wards on the front to keep them from burning. After that, Theodore finally made it to his son's tent. The guards greeted him, but went inside to see if Roland was awake and decent before letting the king in. Standard procedure, if a bit annoying. After all, it was his son. But he digressed, and the guards soon let him in. Roland, right arm wrapped in a bandage, sat shirtless at a small table, with what appeared to be a book in his hand. "Since when have you ever read for pleasure?" Theodore asked, taking a seat across from the prince. Roland lifted his eyes from the page, but only for a moment. "I needed something to do while injured. I can't sleep around anymore, I've never been much for drinking, and I can't play any instrument or sing, so now I read." Theodore lifted an eyebrow, but said nothing for moment. Outside, men could be heard laughing, horses whinnying, tents ruffling in the wind. Finally, Theodore asked, "What are you reading, exactly?" Roland set the book down, finding an appropriate place to stop. "Not The Lusty Argonian Maid, if that's what you're thinking. It's a Magdela Bathory novel." "That reminds me, did you hear the news? It's not quite recent, but poor Count Bathory died in a fire. At his mountain lodge, I believe," Theodore said, wiping away at the snot on his nose. "He seemed like a powerful man from the little I've heard of him from you. Always a shame to lose an ally," Roland said. Another silence followed, before the king asked, "How's your shoulder?" "Sore. It was a damn bodkin point, went right through the chain-mail and armor. I'm lucky it only hit my shoulder, or you'd be down a son," Roland rotated his shoulder, wincing as he did. "Make sure you get the healers to check and clean the bandages. Infection can be just as deadly as an arrow," Theodore said. "How's your cold?" Roland asked. "Annoying. The damn thing won't go away. Hell, I think it's gotten words. Bah, it'll be gone before to long," Theo said with a wave, as if that would get rid of the cold. "'Make sure you get the healers to check it out'," Roland said in the best impression of his father he could manage, both of them laughing heartily. "Oh shut up, before I ship you back with the women. You and your pansy wound," Theo said with a smile. They talked and laughed and drank when the afternoon approached, sitting around and catching up until work finally called Theo away. A scout had found captured a messenger returning from somewhere, and trying to sneak back into Wayrest. Even after being tortured, he still claimed he didn't know who the message was for, and that he only dropped it and a bag of gold off in the ruins of an old fort. He unfortunately didn't survive further interrogation, but the king was alarmed enough to double the watches, as well as send off more scouts in every direction. He would take no chances, not if he could help it. Edited July 15, 2014 by ColonelKillaBee Quote Ambassador Elders 8,050 11,750 posts Posted July 18, 2014 (edited) Mazoga Wilderness near Kyne's Watch Mazoga had stopped counting days. They all were the same anyway. The only thing that mattered was her, the bear, and her work. She had tracked the bear for a long while, and soon she would be ready. Snow bears didn’t hibernate except to bear young, but after a kill the beast would find a cave and sleep for a day or two before emerging again to hunt. In those times, Mazoga watched and worked. One day, she looked up and saw an old orc staring down at her. “What’s that you’re making, friend?†“It’s a weapon.†Mazoga went back to her work without another word. Before these last few weeks, she had liked company, and the days and nights of tracking she hadn’t spoken to a soul. The trials had changed her, though. Now the old man was just distracting her from the task she had to do. The man took a seat next to her at her fire. “Not much of a weapon. What are you going to do with it?†“Kill a bear.†Chuckling, the man said, “It had better be a scrawny one. What are you going to do, tickle it to death?†Mazoga snapped her tusks. One of them was broken now, a little reminder of the fight with Bully. “It’s a crossbow. I’m going to shoot an arrow in the bear’s eye.†She was going to poison it, but didn’t say that. It would ruin the meat, and Baldur would probably disqualify her, but no one had said you couldn’t use it. “Kind of cowardly, don’t you think? A real orc looks his opponent in the eye.†“Don’t care about being a real orc.†“Is that so?†The man regarded her skeptically. “I guess not. You don’t look so good, if you don’t mind me saying. Better eat something. You’re going to need it when you have to run away from an angry bear.†“I’m fine.†Mazoga had been saying that a lot lately, trying to convince herself more than anyone. “I died a while back. That didn’t stop me.†“Heh. Is that so. You think you’re the only one who’s tasted a bit of death?†At that, she looked up, interested in the man for the first time. “Who are you?†The orc stood to his feet. “I’m Horkis gro Akathmal. And since you haven’t got a real weapon on you, I guess I’ll go check my traps and see if we’ve got supper. Don’t keel over before I get back. You might put out the fire if you do.†Mazoga watched after him, her brow knit. Ignoring her frozen fingers, she went back to work then. The task was painstaking. She had found some dried-out whalebone on a beach near Kyne’s Watch, and was building the crossbow from peeled layers of it fixed together with pine resin. The bolt tips would be made of bone, too, and the shaft she carved of wood with her dagger. For the poison, she was collecting nirnroot and imp stool. Her mother, the hunter, had taught her wortcraft and fletching, and as for the crossbow, it was a good thing she had studied the diagrams of them they’d taken from the dwarven ruin in Stros M’kai. The old man was right about how she looked. Bully had broken her bones, and now there was something in them. Time was running out. True to his word, the old orc came back soon with some hares in tow. He set about skinning and cooking them, humming a tune Mazoga didn’t recognize. While they ate, the man said, “If you don’t care about being a real orc, does that mean you want to be some other kind of elf? A Bosmer, maybe, with your archery?†She scowled at him. “That’s ridiculous.†“Well if you don’t want to be what you are, you must want to be something else.†“I’m Mazoga Thorn-Orc. That’s all I want to be.†“Thorn-Orc. What sort of clan name is that?†“If you were from Leyawiin, you’d know.†“What’s in Leyawiin?†“A legend.†“Tell me. I like stories.†Mazoga sighed, not feeling like repeating the tale. The old fart would probably mock it, too. She eventually complied, however, because she owed her grandmother the honor of being remembered. The old man listened intently as he chewed, and when she was finished, he nodded once. “A worthy name. And there’s nothing wrong with bows. I did a bit of archery myself in my younger years. If you don’t mind, I’ll hang around for a while. I’m interested to see if this crossbow will work.†The next morning, the old orc was gone. Mazoga wasn’t surprised. She hadn’t minded his company after all, but didn’t need any distractions, and didn’t care for the skepticism in his tone. It too closely matched her own fears. Two weeks later, Horkis gro Akathmal was sitting at the same fire when she came back, a snow bear pelt over her shoulders. He looked up. “Thorn-Orc! You’re not dead after all. That’s a start. I see your crossbow worked.†“It worked well enough.†She showed him the broken-off bolt, still sticking out of the bear’s eye socket. One wound, that’s all Baldur had said. “Did you at least let him take a swipe at you?†Mazoga plopped down by the fire. “No. I hid on a ledge where he couldn’t get me even if wanted to.†The man groaned. “Is that how an orc does battle?†“I told you. I don’t care how an orc is supposed to be. He’s dead and I’m not. I killed it with my own hand, and the arts my mother taught me. If you say that she’s not a real orc, I’ll have to put you in the ground, so don’t.†Horkis gave her a sly grin. “You’re not ashamed of where you come from. That’s good. Better to bear even shame and defeat together than to turn your back and seek your own glory. Here, I want to give you this.†He handed her a ring. It was very old, the silver scuffed and somewhat blackened. On its face was inscribed a symbol like wings with two downward slashes like fangs. “It was earned as reward for a battle won, and you’ve won a battle here, so it’s yours. Eat something now, then you’d better be off soon to find a healer. You still don’t look so good.†*** "Not good enough. You can do better than that. If you can't, then perhaps I should kill you right here and save us the embarrassment later." "**** you!" "That's **** you, High General, sir." The clangs of steel on steel would have been enough to disturb anyone nearby if not for the songs of winter drowning all else out. The Sea of Ghosts carried the tune of its inhabitants in its winds, as well as the unforgiving cold of the North, both of which filled Daric's being as his reddened hands shook as he forced himself to hold onto the cold steel at his side. Baldur stood in front of him like a specter, unaffected by any of it and waiting for his pupil to make a move before he did. That didn't happen, however. Daric spent the past half hour attempting to strike him in this weather, with nothing at all covering his torso. Impatient now, Baldur ran towards the shaking Breton and slammed his large fist in Daric's little gut. The hit brought Daric off his feet momentarily, and before he knew it, his back met the snow as the Sky's frozen tears tickled his face. Sighing, Baldur took a step over Daric's body, thinking him being out cold since he dropped his sword. "You haven't put a single cut on me, boy. Not even a nick. Even a scout needs to know how to fight, lad." Baldur raised his axe, looking for a spot to wound him to give him his lesson in pain since he couldn't learn his lesson in skill. As his axe fell towards Daric's arm, the Breton's legs came up, sending spinning kicks that caught Baldur's weapon at its side and sent it flying from his hand. Daric made a scramble for his sword and came at Baldur with the quickness of a charging ice wraith. Just before Daric came close to jabbing at Baldur's exposed gut, Baldur's foot kicked up another axe from the snow into his hands, then the Nord fell to his back. Before Daric could get closer, Baldur's boot found its way to Daric's bruised torso. To his credit, Daric held his ground enough to meet Baldur's swing with his blade when he rolled forward, but with the wind kicked out of him, it had no strength, and his axe made a neat red line across Daric's cheek. "Not bad, Daric. Not bad. You couldn't hit me, so you decided to wait until you could take me off guard. Unfortunately, you're still a boy, charging at the first opening you see in search of quick victory. That'll only ensure you receive a quick end." "You cheated. I didn't know you had another weapon hidden nearby," he said as he stood, pawing at his wound. He could not feel it, thanks to the bitter cold numbing his face. "Don't ever let me hear you say that again, Daric. You're not a child anymore, you're a Stormcloak! There's no such thing as 'cheating' in battle. Expect the unexpected, or expect to be killed. Understand?" "Yes sir..." he said, feeling embarrassed now that Baldur had to yell at him. Daric was busy moping over Maggie's departure before, but now he was glad that she wasn't around to see him still acting like a child. Baldur placed an arm over his shoulder and said, "Cheer up, boy. You're definitely improving. Allowing myself to be disarmed was a poor mistake on my part, so be proud. I'll still keep my promise and allow you to go scouting with the men, alright? Give you some time out there without me holding your hand. In the meantime though, lets go see if Rebec's up yet. If we're lucky, she's got something to eat!" "Something to eat? I've never seen her cook..." Don't think I want to either... "She's cooked.. she can cook... I think." Baldur thought about it some and realized the only time he ever saw Rebec cook anything was in Solitude, when she made sweetrolls better suited for slingshots. "Well... if not, then we'll swing by ma's house and see if she can whip us all up some soup." *** Rebec had stirred that morning as Baldur left her side, but it was still dark out and she burrowed deeper under the covers, so tired that it was like her limbs were paralyzed by one of Menel's spells. Her hand moved over her stomach. Was this a good sign or a bad one? If the baby was drawing so much at her strength, maybe it was because it was a strong little Nord. Or maybe something was wrong. While she was debating it, sleep drew Rebec back down, or it must have, because she had the sensation of rocking on a choppy sea. She must be out to sea. A storm was coming on, about to swallow them. As Rebec was about to run to get the sail down, she noticed something white bobbing in the black water. Then she heard a baby's cry and knew what it was. Had she had the baby yet? She must have, and had been so occupied with sailing the ship that she'd let it fall over the side. Panicked, Rebec ran the rail and started to climb, but before she could reach it, the little white bundle slipped beneath the waves and disappeared. NO! The storm rolled over them and Rebec swallowed water as she tried to scream. She woke shouting, every muscle and fiber gripped by panic, sweat dripping from her brow and neck. For a full minute, the terror and guilt and desperation were still just as real as they had been in the dream, and a rush of thoughts crowded Rebec's mind. Baldur would hate her now. She'd let their baby die, she always put the damn ship first. You're so selfish, selfish and careless, you never deserved all this. You know this baby is going to die, just like Jala. It's you. You ruin everything. Heart pounding and limbs trembling, Rebec tried to calm. Reality crept back in, the dim light of dawn revealing the details of the longhouse. She had to piss, desperately. On the pot, Rebec thought about the dream and her thoughts afterward, and felt a prickle of embarrassment. The baby was alright, everything was alright, and Baldur wouldn't hate her. She hadn't ruined anything, not this time. As she finished and stood up, Rebec gave a little chuckle. "This is what happens when you go off mead," she said aloud, trying to chase the last of the fear away. Still, even an hour later when the fire was roaring and she sat writing up her weekly report to Ulfric, a knot of it remained in the back of her gut, like a hint of nausea that wouldn't go away. *** "What is this place, eh? I don't remember this village being here." "Neither do I. It's perfect for us. We can stay here for a while, don't you think? Just long enough to gather supplies before we go back to hiding." "I agree. I don't see any soldiers yet, besides what's on the road in the front. The others should overrun those guys quickly enough. Shh, wait! Someone's walking over there." "I see 'em. It's just a boy and a Nord. Lets kill them. We do that, and they'll be distracted by the time the others get here. Leave the horses and follow me down the cliff. Hey, you two! Hold this rope and lower us down." *** Daric put his Stormcloak tunic back on as they got closer to the longhouse with Rebec, unable to cope with the cold any longer and not afraid to admit it. Even Baldur had to admit he was tired of freezing his ass off and throw on his leather officer coat and bear furs. Both no longer cared if there was going to be food ready and only hoped that Rebec stoked the fires already. "So, Daric. About that Imperial woman. Did you..." "Did I..." Baldur nudged him in the shoulder. "Come on, you know what I mean. Got your mead spigot wet, boy?" Daric suppressed a smirk and nudged him right back. "I'm not telling you." "Come on." "No." "Daric... come on." "No!" Daric said. Laughing, he shoved Baldur away from him and said, "It's none of y-" "Oh quit being such a milkdrinker! I've got a bet against Rebec that says you didn't get any. Now cough up the details so..." In a puff of snow, Daric suddenly collapsed to the ground behind him as he continued to walk. When his head turned, what greeted him was an arrow protruding from the back of Daric's shoulder blade. Eyes bulging from his sockets, Baldur's head darted around madly in search of the attacker. And now, either Baldur was going crazy, or two deer heads were peeking around the corner of a longhouse, stalking him. "You missed and got the boy, idiot." Baldur's attention left the two men with bows in their hands and settled on Daric's still form in the snow like a log. There was no movement coming from him at all. No shaking, not even the rise and fall of breath from his chest. Baldur's vision went blurry with what he realized was tears, stinging his eyes as their heat shocked his face, trickling down his cheeks. "No." "How was I supposed to know he'd shove the big one out of the way. Hurry up and kill the other one." The Forsworn smiled as he notched an arrow to his bow. "No.." Baldur repeated as a trembling hand rubbed at his eyes. "I'll show you how it's done." Their garments were too light and exposing to adequately deal with the cold, even with their furs, but when the man let his arrow loose, it still hit its mark despite the chill seeping into his bones and shaking his arms. "Got 'em! Now that's how you..." "Huuuaaaaaahh! Dariiiic!" The Forsworn watched in confusion as the red faced Nord with an arrow in his side kept running towards him, reaching out for him with his bear claw covered arms. The man was enraged, yelling out curses that were unintelligible and with tears in his eyes. Just like the bear that draped his head, the big crazed Nord was disturbingly quick. Before they knew it, the man was on top of him, ripping out the arrow in his hide before he stabbed it in his neck, then his face, where Baldur used the arrow to gouge the man's eyes out. His friend was taken aback by this brutality, momentarily frozen like the land around him. For a moment, all he could do was listen to his companion's startling wails as his face was literally torn to pieces by this animal in front of him. Eventually he regained his composure and was about to run Baldur through from behind, but before he could, he found a bloodied steel blade protruding from his chest. The blade disappeared just as quickly as it appeared, and the Forsworn man's face planted in the snow before he could see the boy he thought he killed run past him. "Baldur! Help," said Daric, collapsing to the ground before he could reach him. The blood pooling in his mouth kept him from saying anymore, only reddening the snow he laid on before his vision went dark. *** "Got to... keep..." Mazoga's muttering stopped as she heard movement up ahead in the forest, the crunch of footsteps in the snow, then voices. She must be near Kyne's Watch now, the orc judged, but the weeks of tracking left her wary all the same. Pulling out her whalebone crossbow, she nocked a bolt and moved into the trees. It proved to be just travelers, however, heavy laden with packs and a cart they were trying to get up a steep slope in the road. Mazoga considered slipping past them. Barely able to walk, fire shooting through her bones, she was in no shape to push a cart. Sighing, she replaced the bolt and made towards the farmers anyway. If she was going to drop dead, it might as well be here. Just as she emerged from the trees, a lone woman out ahead of the others dropped as if her legs were cut from under her, a Forsworn arrow sticking out of her neck. Then more arrows were flying through the air. The remaining peasants dropped their burdens and began to run, screaming. With war whoops, Forsworn streamed out onto the road after them. "Shit, this is just what I need." Mazoga dropped the heavy snow bear pelt around her shoulders and replaced the bolt. She had just enough time before the Forsworn disappeared over the top of the slope to run forward, get down on one knee, and put a bolt in one of their backs. Before the Reachman was on the ground, she was already up and loading another as she ran. *** "Somebody! Hey! I need help!" Baldur sat in the snow holding Daric's wound, the barbed arrow now removed. Fortunately for Baldur, the arrows were barbed, and didn't do a great job of penetrating his leather coat or the vest under it. Daric however had his arrow's barbs go right through the rivets under his sash, which was what they were made for. The barbs were also serrated, and Baldur couldn't take them out without doing anymore damage to him. "Baldur! Over here!" Falgrum ran his way over to the two in his new uniform matching Baldur's. So too did Huomundr the Sullier, Burla She-Wolf, Hafnur Shallow-Tip, Dagnjorn of Whiterun, Bardok the Impaler, Bjorn Shatter-Wall, Kjisvild Moon-Gazer, Siguroar Twice-Cursed, and finally, Torik, the Dunmer battle mage. Falgrum got to them first, but Torik quickly pushed through the rest. "Out of the way, they're injured!" "Get Daric first!" Baldur said as he stood. "I'm fine, don't waste time on me." "Baldur, the town is under attack. There's Forsworn overrunning our men! We're gonna get overrun if we don't do something." "What? How many are there?" Baldur asked Falgrum. "I don't know, three score maybe more?" While they talked, Daric started to stir under the waves of Torik's golden glow flowing from his hands. "This one will be fine, Baldur. He'll be up soon. He'll have to keep those barbs in him for now until someone can cut them out of him later, but we don't have time for that now. What are we doing, retreating?" Bardok said, "Retreat? **** that, I want blood! People blood. I'm tired of fighting without killing. I need to kill something today!" Dagnjorn said, "I'm in agreement with Bardok. We've been training for scenarios like this right? Let's go cut loose." "Baldur, we're outnumbered. A tactical retreat would probably be best..." "No, Torik. No retreat." Baldur's face was twitching with barely contained anger as he drew his axes from his belt. "These fuckers come to my town, shoot my apprentice and endanger my family? No. They're going to pay now. In blood and flesh. We're going to rip the flesh from their bones! So everyone will think twice about ever coming to our town with ill intent." "Let me come...too..." Daric grabbed Baldur's arm to pull himself up. Looking as pale as the Nords, he said, "I'm good to fight. Let me come with you." Baldur opened his mouth to say no, but his increasing anger and excitement stopped him. "Yea. Alright, if you think you can fight, then I'll let you. But not with us, you'll slow us down. Go, fetch Rebec. Tell her to get her sailors and have them ready to chase the Forsworn into the woods. I've got a plan." From behind another longhouse, another antler adorned head stood by, watching the scene of the Nords counseling near his dead companions. "What are they saying?" "I don't know... I think they're planning on attacking the others." "By themselves?" "Heh, yea. Crazy right?" "Very. The boy and the big one with the sissy hair made short work of Ramon and Stilch though. We should regroup and." "Well well well, what do we have here?" came a voice from behind the two men. They jumped and predictably swung their swords in the Nord's direction, but before they could, the red headed giant wrapped his arm around one of their necks and dropped him with a grisly snap. The man's neck was broken, but he wasn't dead, merely paralyzed. The other Forsworn looked into his milky eye in panic, daring another swing in his direction, only to have the Nord remove his hand with his silver great sword almost as large as he was. Baldur and the others heard the scream and quickly drew their blades. "Daric, go get Rebec and let her know what's going on!" After Daric limped off, Falgrum came from behind the home and said, "Look what we got here, boys!" Falgrum dragged the two Reachmen behind him as if they were mere children, then dumped them both in the midst of the bloodthirsty Nords. The Reachman with the missing hand was losing consciousness quickly, but unfortunately for him, Torik started using his magics to keep him going for the time being. "What should we do with my catch, sir? I've got recommendations." "I know what to do," Baldur answered as he pulled out his dagger. The nordic carved blade's tip moved from side to side before the paralyzed one's eyes like a pendulum that would soon descend and cut into him like the piece of meat he was. "See, I'm a fan of the ancient Nords. And the ancient Nords had many interesting means of execution. One of them was said to steal the power of a man's voice." Baldur patted the tip of his blade at the Reachman's neck. "By stealing their tongues and ripping them from their throat. So what do you say? Let's get Merithic on their asses." The Nords snickered in delight from the frightened man's panicked cries, cracking their knuckles in anticipation of the cut. Baldur and the others paid no attention to the other Reachman as he scrambled away in obvious terror. He was doing exactly what he was supposed to do. Rebec was already out the door and strapping on her axe belt when Daric showed up. She took one look at the arrow in his shoulder and cursed. "Forsworn. Gods damned savages, I'm going to piss in their skulls. Where's Baldur?" Daric was more fatigued than he wanted to admit, but he did his best to ignore the pain running down his arm. "He and the Necro Nords have something planned. He told me to tell you get your sailors ready to fight. He said they'll have the Forsworn in the forests somehow, and we're going to run them over. Didn't say much else, just to hurry and get your men moving." "On it. You get into the fort and get that arm seen to." Rebec didn't stay to make sure he did it, just ran towards the quay yelling "Forsworn!" Daric turned to do as he was told, but stopped just short of running out the door. Baldur said he could fight, but Daric knew the right thing to do would be to get healed properly. The Dunmer cleared him, but they all seemed to be in a hurry, and he certainly didn't feel good enough to kill right now. And yet, Daric was sick and tired of being treated like a boy still. Being yelled at to fetch this or do that, not being treated like a soldier. Daric tried to reach for the arrow, but he couldn't get a good enough grip on it. Every time his finger twitched it, pain would shoot up his arm and through his shoulder again, sending tears from his eyes. Daric was determined not to give the Nords a reason to call him a milkdrinker, however. He'd fight with the arrow in his shoulder if he had to. But, there was still another way. Daric turned his back to the door and creaked it open just enough to stick the arrow through before slamming it shut. He put his Stormcloak sash in his mouth to keep from biting his tongue, then yanked his body from the door as hard as he could. The arrow was successfully removed, but it took almost five minutes of screaming before Daric was able to get up again. He knew he probably wounded himself even further, but at least now he could move his arm normally again. That meant he could swing a blade, which he fully intended to do. Daric grabbed a spare steel axe from within the longhouse and took off in the direction of the fighting, just like the rest of the Stormcloaks, ignoring the blood he felt running down his back. *** The Forsworn indeed outnumbered the small posting of soldiers Baldur ordered to the edge of town, numbering in about eighty men and women to the Stormcloak's twenty, holding back the mob of savages with their shields as best they could. There was a rush of newcomers fleeing the scene into the town, obviously expecting there to be more soldiers in the king's new port that they all heard about. The sight of the bare bones barely adequate security disheartened them all and made them think all they managed to do was trap themselves into a dead end. The Stormcloaks were slowly being pushed back by the numbers of the Reachmen despite cutting into their pathetic excuses for armor almost with ease. The numbers were just too much for them to hold back forever. As the assigned captain took a Forsworn bone spiked blade to his face, and had most of it ripped away, the others were just about to rout until they heard behind them, "Help! They're coming after me, help!" The antler adorned Reachman was bleeding all over the place, most notably from his severed hand, and yet somehow he had enough fear in him to make it all the way to the battlefield, only to collapse in front of everyone in a dramatic display. Shortly after, the sounds of what seemed like wolves, or rabid animals drowned out the sounds of battle. With bloodied weapons and blood smeared faces, eleven bear fur wearing barbarians charged directly towards the position of the overwhelmed Stormcloak soldiers, letting out warcries that split the enemy's ears. One of them with greyish skin stayed in the back and shot waves of frost from his hands, hitting the Nords and Reachmen alike. The Nords were mostly unaffected, but the Reachmen in the front lines found themselves backing away from the bitter cold that now hindered their movement. Even more, they had no way to prepare for the barbarians that came charging past the Stormcloak's front lines, as the frost magic blurred their vision, blinding them, allowing the Necro Nords to savagely stab into the Forsworn as if they were in a trance of madness. "Huoooooaaaaaaaaahhh!!" Falgrum's great sword caught a group of the Reachmen off guard, decapitating two of them with a mighty heave and burrowing into the neck of a third. Before he could be jumped from behind, Bardok the Impaler true to his namesake, ran two of the enemy through with his blade. Baldur's axe flew around in a flurry into the backs of routing Forsworn that were ill prepared for such a strong and surprising counter attack from so few. And with the frost magic slowing their swings down, they were being slaughtered quickly. Baldur's axes came down hard into a Reachman's shoulders, allowing him to pull the man towards him and take a chunk of flesh from his neck in a fountain of spurting blood. This grotesque display was enough to discourage the front lines and make them rout for the next group of fresh soldiers to come. Disheartened, but not afraid, the new soldiers came with blades raised, looking to overwhelm and cut down the blood crazed freaks they saw slaughtering their friends. Before one of them could run away, Falgrum's sword stuck him through the back and into the ground. Before the other Forsworn overwhelmed them, Torik sent another wave of frost magic to mask their movements, allowing Baldur and the rest to maneuver through the enemy lines, cutting whoever got in their way. When the frost magic dissipated, Baldur and the Necro Nords were behind the Forsworn, holding one of them with his arm around his neck. Baldur cut a dagger through his gut and made him watch as his men tore his intestines and other organs out from him. This did the trick. While the others bathed their faces in the man's innards and blood, the enraged Forsworn charged their positions, looking for revenge. Baldur and the others ran to the forest, laughing madly as their bloody footsteps showed their enemies the way. Falgrum slammed his gore covered hand to his chest, barking in challenge to the first that were close enough to greet his steel. His child sized blade cleaved through the first woman's arm, then halved the head of the man behind her, sending his teeth flying in a loud crunch before Falgrum dashed away from the crowd with the others. Meanwhile, the Forsworn who would rather take their chances with the other Stormcloaks found themselves in a much less favorable situation, with over half of their men gone and chasing the Grim Ones into the winter hell that these demons surely came from. Behind the Necro Nords, lines of navy crossbowmen formed up and began sending bolts into the back ranks of the Forsworn. Rebec's crossbow was on her back, because come Sovngarde or Oblivion, she was going to fight her way to Baldur's side. She found herself on the right flank of the Stormcloaks just as a few Forsworn broke away, trying to make for the village, no doubt to use the chaos of battle as an opportunity to burn it. "Men, over here!" Rebec called back to her crew, and brought her own crossbow around. Bolts caught one Forsworn in the leg and slowed him enough for Rebec to run up and hack his spine open. She extracted her weapon and saw a young Forsworn man getting away, almost to the edge of the village. The next moment, Kyne's Talon was sailing through the air, spinning end over end. It hit the man's skull, cleaved it neatly in two and continued on, burying itself in the back of hers and Baldur's longhouse. On the slope above the town, Mazoga heard the sounds of battle just as she crested the ridge, and realized that the Forsworn attacking the peasants were just outliers, probably rearguard scouts for a much bigger attack force. Now half of that attack force was routing, and headed straight for her. She had six more of her homemade bolts, then she'd be out. "Better make 'em count," the orc growled as she took aim at an antlered woman. Daric made his way into the fray, trying his best to ignore the pain in his arm. The bigger adult soldiers made it tough for him to work his way in, but Daric's skinny frame made him perfect for stabbing through the shield wall. Before the Nords up front had to move their hands to strike at the Forsworn, Daric quickly slashed at their face any time their heads poked through. Killing was something he'd yet to grow accustomed to. He still had the feeling of subduing to authority, so the idea that he was now killing people much older than him gave him a rush that made it hard to keep his weapons in hand. When the Forsworn came crashing into the shield wall again, Daric got on the ground and stabbed a man through his knee, then dragged him from under to cleave off his head. He only managed to cut his throat with the axe, but the man was dead all the same. Suddenly, one of the Stormcloaks caught a spear through his skull and fell backwards over Daric, allowing some of the Forsworn to pour in. One of them tripped and fell over Daric, but me managed to lift his sword just in time for the woman to fall on it. Only now, Daric was trapped between bodies while a bunch of soldiers stomped around him, threatening to crush his head while this woman's stomach seeped warm blood over his tunic. Daric once again had to fight back the urge to wretch. Good thing he hadn't eaten yet, this time. The routing Forsworn, hearing their fellows charge again into the Nords' shield wall, began to hesitate. Mazoga took advantage of the confusion and put several of them down. She kept moving, using cover, but a Reachman spotted her nonetheless and charged at her with axe brandishing. Even when the orc put a bolt in his chest, he still kept coming. It was her last bolt. Horkis gro Akthamal's taunt came back to her. What are you going to do, tickle him with it? Drawing her dagger, Mazoga waited until the Forsworn was on her, starting to bring his axe down. She ducked underneath, spun, and brought her homemade crossbow around, bashing the man in the head with it. The whalebone layers shattered, and the man screamed as bits of bone flew into his eyes. Mazoga was left with a jagged spear of reinforced bone. The Forsworn was waving his axe wildly, and by chance caught Mazoga across the shoulder, but as she came around, she jammed her dagger square in the back of his neck. It took several more blows to bring the man down. Mazoga wrenched her dagger free and looked up to see two more Forsworn running towards her. She took a moment to curse her luck. A few weeks ago, no one expected her to succeed in the trials, let alone the solo hunt. Now that she was almost within sight of home, of the ship were she would be captain for the first time, it was going to end. There wasn't even time to grab the dead man's axe. Nevertheless, she wasn't going to go down quietly. As Mazoga raised her dagger to meet the attackers, a streak of green moved next to her, and the next thing she saw was Horkis gro Akthamal thundering in among the Forsworn attackers with a harsh war cry, his sword cutting an arc through them. Horkis broke out in curses and shrieks that seemed unfitting for him in his old age, but nevertheless they came, just as his sword did from the withered body of an old man that should not have been fighting either. First, a wild eyed woman fell to his feet when his sword slipped between her ribs. Then a man had his chest cavity illuminated by the world's light for the first time when his sword met his pecks. The man dropped his sword, but with his last strength tried holding onto Horkis' body, the only resistance he could muster against his foe in his dying state. Horkis rewarded him by shoving a fist in his open cavity, ripping his beating heart out from behind his ribs and taking a bite before tossing Mazoga the man's sword. "You can join in any time you want, my little green Bosmer." Mazoga caught the sword, her mouth still agape at the ferocity the old man displayed. Now that was a real orc. She nodded once at him, and said, "Thank you for your help. Now I've got to go. Those are my friends down there." "Farewell then, young one. I'll be watching. Say hello to the scholar for me, and don't get shown up by these pale skins." There was no time to be puzzled by the old orc's words. Mazoga knew she was in pain, but if she had learned anything the past weeks, it was to feed on pain like sustenance. She ran down the hill, shouting, and carved a path through Forsworn until she was at the Nord lines. Beyond the shield wall, she saw the bloodied faces of the Grim Ones, and wondered if they would allow her into their ranks. If they didn't, she really would be dead this time. *** "Fall back!" Baldur cried. They were slowly but surely leading the other half of the Forsworn away, but now they were starting to circle around them again. Baldur would not let them have their lives so easily, but instead would slowly pick them off until they ran away to lick their wounds, or Rebec's forces came to clean up. The Grim Ones all but disappeared in the world of ice and desolate trees. The sounds of battle could be heard in the distance, but beyond that, the Forsworn could hear nothing but the winds whispering in their ears. The Grim Ones ran in three different directions, causing the Forsworn to split up, now roaming the Nord territory scattered and disorganized, but too angry and pumping with too much adrenaline to back down now. Their leader was clear as day, sporting a large headdress of six deer antlers and bits and pieces of Legion and Stormcloak armor attached to his attire like trophies. With his spear in hand and his muscles like thick coiled rope, this dark skinned man was easily the most threatening of the lot. He crouched as he stepped silently through the snow, even managing to avoid the crunch. A scream suddenly came from somewhere close. It was from the forest, not the battlefield. The Forsworn were certain of that. Periodically a few more screams would echo around, carried by the winds to taunt them. The leader with the large headdress ignored them, but the men behind him was starting to lose their nerve. "There was more resistance here than we planned. First we got these psycho Nords coming out of nowhere, then they got reinforcements from that bitch with the crossbow. Perhaps we should cut our losses and flee while we still have some numbers left? This is pointless." "We're already committed. Our forces are split and locked into battle. They'll flee on their own if they know what's good for them. In the meantime, we can at least hunt these savages down. We outnumber them. It's only a matter of time. Got me? Well? Hey, where'd he go?" The Forsworn to his right was no longer around. Only he and his other soldier remained. The man in question started spinning around, swinging his weapon at an imaginary enemy, thinking the Nords were using invisibility spells or something. Backed up to a dead tree half gone, he said, "Lets just get out of here and regroup with the others later! I'm cold, hungry... this is no way to die." As if he spoke the password, a roar came from behind him followed by a large pale body covered in bear fur breaking through the dead wood and encompassing him. He had an axe through his neck before he even realized what happened. Before the other one could get involved, the Forsworn leader felt a tap on his shoulder, followed by a two note whistle. "Over here, pal." The last thing he saw was a red headed Nord's milky eye before his great sword cleaved through his neck like a hot knife through butter. Baldur stood from his victim's body rubbing his sore shoulder, smirking. "That tree was harder than I thought." Falgrum peered behind him at the hole Baldur made in the rotted tree from tackling it through the hole on the other side already present when they got there. "Hahaha, you should have seen his face. I saw the whole thing from where I was at. Now what?" "We'll keep picking them off for a bit, then meet up with my wife. By now, her men should be pouring through this area soon. Should be easy pickings with the Forsworn split up like this. Lets go, there's still more scum to wipe off the face of Nirn." Falgrum whipped his sword over the ground, making it hum as the blood flicked off into the snow. He followed Baldur close with his claymore over his shoulder, smirking like a Bosmer in a butcher's shop. "It's a dirty job, but someone's gotta do it." The Forsworn's bodies littered the ground, but in one last ditch effort, the Reachmen pushed back hard against the Nord's front line by switching out their own front line with the men and women in the back itching for blood. Daric had to watch from his position under the dead woman in quiet panic as the Stormcloak old folk stomping around him suddenly became Forsworn old folk. For the moment, he wouldn't dare move from under his spot. Unfortunately, the gods made that decision for him when a man tripped over the stacked up bodies and knocked the woman from over him. When the man recovered, Daric prayed hard that he would not notice the little Stormcloak staring at him, horrified. But he did. For a moment, it seemed as though who he was didn't register. Daric didn't realize the blood covering him made it hard to make out his blue sash. Unfortunately the blade going through the Reachwoman was a dead giveaway, literally. In a rage, the Forsworn came at Daric with the agility of a man and the killing instinct of one to match. His bone spiked weapons were in his face so quick, all he could manage to do was fall to avoid them. On the ground, he sent a swift kick to the man's groin, but he recovered and stopped Daric's axe swing with his primitive 'blade'. The man lifted Daric up by lifting his Forsworn sword, preparing to swing into Daric's ribs. Only by Daric's lack of arm-strength, especially with his wound, and the blood that drenched his hand from the woman was he saved. Daric's grip slipped, making him fall and avoid the Forsworn's blow just barely. He couldn't reach his sword in time, so he grabbed the only thing he could, which was a half broken Forsworn weapon on the ground, half stomped on and covered in blood, mud and snow. Avoiding the prick in his hand from quickly yanking it up, Daric swung the thing up at the Forsworn's most vulnerable spot. His groin. The spikes on the weapon hooked and made a large line of splattered blood from under him as Daric dragged his weapon away along with his manhood. He couldn't help it. What he saw made him dropping it non negotiable. Daric's enemy fell to his knees screaming louder than anything Daric ever heard before, aside from the thu'um, as he tried in vain to scoop his mutilated genitals back in, only to bleed out shortly after the attempt. Daric already felt as though he did something wrong, but when the other Forsworn started paying attention to them due to the man's screaming, Daric felt as if his stomach just dropped through Nirn. Placing his foot on the woman, he mustered all the strength he could to wrench his blade out, then he charged towards the Forsworn front line, stabbing a man through the back of his head and running over him to escape his pursuers, leaving his weapon imbedded in the enemy in haste. Being a Breton and covered in blood, Daric almost was killed by the Stormcloaks themselves when he came charging through the shield walls, but another blocked an axe swing with his own sword just before Daric was striked dead. "Shit, my bad lad! I hardly recognized you!" "Keep on fighting, soldier!" commanded the one who saved his life. It was a grey skin of all things, draped in the white furs of a snowbear. A Draugr Dunmer. Torik lifted the little Breton up and blasted him with a wave of restoration magic to patch him up again momentarily. Smiling at him and said, "Baldur would be proud. Here, take my sword and keep fighting." "But how will you-" Just then, a Forsworn man came hurtling over the shield wall at Torik, but was blinded with a wave of ice to his face. When he landed, a grey hand met his chest, keeping him from falling, only to have an ice spike protrude from his back shortly after. Letting him drop, Torik winked at Daric, then moved up to the front, where another Forsworn just pushed through, only to have Torik's hands move in a blur, filling the foe with a flurry of little spikes that made him jerk around until the human porcupine crumbled to the ground and died. *** Rebec had looked up just in time to see Baldur and some of the Grim Ones heading for the trees, drawing off a portion of the Forsworn. "Gods damn it," she cursed. It was a good strategy, but that didn't mean she had to like Baldur being out of her sight. Meanwhile the Reach berserkers on the edge of the attack force kept charging at the village, and one of them got off a fireball that set a longhouse ablaze. It all started to make her mad. Really, really mad. Spying a female quarry, a big Forsworn charged at her, braying. He stopped in shock as the Nord woman let out a bloodcurdling yell and leapt towards him with equal velocity. Their axes met, locked, slid away, then locked again. Despite Rebec's charge and the fury she felt, she took no chances. The weapons sessions with Baldur had given her plenty of practice at countering big, strong dual wielders. She could counter him and might get a lucky swipe in, but so might he if she stayed in one place too long, and he had a strength advantage. Speed would be her friend. That, and surprise. Abruptly she spun away and began to run as if trying to escape. The man came after her, not seeing that she was sheathing her axe as she ran. When she stopped and turned, he spied the rope in her hand and dodged. The rope sailed over his head, and the man gave a bloodthirsty grin. "Nice try, Nord bitch. I'm going to enjoy-" There was a crack, and the man looked up just in time to see a tree branch coming towards his face. Rebec was on him while he was still clawing at branches. Grabbing at his belts with her free hand, she half climbed the man's torso while her off hand brought her axe down, chopping through the branches and into his skull. Rebec rode the falling corpse and jumped clear just as it crashed to the ground. Around her there was a boil of hacking, screaming, and dying men and women. Rebec was covered head to toe in blood. At one point she turned around and came face to face with a similarly drenched Mazoga. She shouted happily, "Maz! You look like shit!" "Nice to see you, too, Admiral." "You seen Baldur?" "No. You go on. We got this." Rebec surveyed the scene. It was obvious that the naval forces were carrying things. No more Forsworn tried to charge the village. More were running the other way, tripping over the bodies of their fallen comrades. Turning back, she said, "Nah. Screw that. Let's sweep 'em back up the hillside and let Baldur's men help finish them off." *** About an hour later, Baldur finally started making his way back to the village, sure that by now, the rest of the Forsworn were either dead or gone. His beard was caked in blood, as was the rest of him, and there was gore and bits of people stuck in the bear furs of his tunic's sleeve, and his bear cloak, but it wasn't anything he wasn't used to. Weary, Baldur stumbled his way home on the main road, still feeling jittery from the excitement coursing through his veins, and sporting a smile on his face, exposing his red tinted teeth. Suddenly, Baldur saw five figures ahead of him and thought at first that it must've been Rebec with a group looking for him. The calls of "Forsworn!" put that thought out rather quick, however. They didn't attack him head on, though. In fact, they didn't attack him at all. They only stared as if waiting for him to speak. Baldur looked from his left and right, then slowly took out an axe. "Put down your weapons or die. You're all my prisoners now." Baldur expected them to laugh, but they actually looked like they were considering it, weighing their options. As they ran their eyes over the blood soaked Nord in front of them, one of them finally dropped their weapons, eventually making the others follow her lead. "Wise decision," said Baldur as he signaled with his head towards the trees to their left. Falgrum came out with his greatsword pointing towards the group, snickering. "Lets get moving, or we'll just cut you down where you stand. Behave, and we may let you live," said Falgrum. For once, they weren't lying. They'd need survivors to tell of what happened here today. *** The mopping up took longer than Rebec expected. The Forsworn were a determined enemy, you had to give that to them. You also had to give them a bolt in the eye. Rebec had given over her crossbow to Mazoga when she noticed the orc's sword swings growing slower. At a lull in the battle, Mazoga suddenly teetered and fell sideways into a heap. Rebec shouted for help and some of the Wisp's crew came running. When they were satisfied that Mazoga wasn't severely injured, one of them tossed her over his shoulder and loped off towards the fort. Meanwhile Rebec took back her crossbow and followed the rest of the Stormcloaks who were pushing the last of the Forsworn back. She had a bolt drawn on the Reachmen facing Baldur, ready to start putting them down if they made a wrong move. Baldur didn't bother trying to tell her to lower her crossbow, not at all trusting his new prisoners. The other Grim-Ones met up with he and Falgrum, so he had them take the prisoners off his hands to the cells of the fort while he ran up to Rebec. Seeing her equally bloodied, he put his arm over her shoulder as they walked, and said while grinning, "Good morning. You sleep well?" "How's anyone supposed to sleep with all this shouting?" she answered, grinning. Caught by exuberance and not caring about the blood, she grabbed Baldur's shoulders and gave him a quick, hot kiss before walking on, crossbow still raised and brandishing towards the prisoners. "Oh, I could use a soak in the sea, right about now," said Baldur to himself. A moment later, a small limp form came strolling over to them from the side until he was close enough to collapse before him. "Daric! Shit, you look like shit! You alright?" "I'm good," he said, picking himself up. His face was pale as a ghost, however, and Baldur knew he wasn't. "Like hell you are. You're going to see Menel, then you're spending the night in the fort after you get cleaned up." Baldur was exhausted, but he managed to muster enough strength to carry the little warrior on his shoulders. (TBC) Edited July 19, 2014 by ColonelKillaBee Quote Ambassador Elders 8,050 11,750 posts Posted July 18, 2014 (continued) The prisoners were secured away for the day while the others took care of the Stormcloak and Forsworn bodies by the roads and near the town. Baldur in the meantime checked up on Ysana, who had a dagger in her hand and almost had to use it when she saw how filthy he and his soldiers were in the new uniforms she just made for them. She made them all soak in the sea until the gore was gone, then rolled around in the snow to rid themselves of the salt on their skin and in their hair, letting their uniforms air dry until they were ready to be swatted and beaten to get rid of the salt in them as well. With his hair and beard brushed and freshly washed, Baldur made his way to the infirmary where Daric, Mazoga and Rebec were, along with Burla and Falgrum traveling behind him in matching fur kilts from their stormcloak officer uniforms. Burla was the first to walk in, curious to the state of the orc woman, but saying nothing at the moment. Baldur however ran up to her and immediately greeted her with a hug. "You're back! Rebec thought you were dead. You smell like it though." Mazoga kept her face straight, though the hug made her feel like her bones were cracking again. Menel wasn't there, something about an errand he needed to attend to, and there were only diluted cure disease potions around. It was bonebreak fever, the healers said, and an advanced case. She gave a weak smile. "See you all were planning some fun while I was away. Glad I got back in time to join in." Baldur said, "Yea, we prepared for a few raiders moving in on our town, but we didn't expect that many Forsworn. There must be a reason so many decided to leave the Reach. The townsfolk mentioned what we already know, which is the war. Maybe something happened in Markarth itself. We'll question the prisoners later." "Where's your bear fur, Mazoga?" asked Burla from a corner, her voice booming. She sounded genuinely curious, rather than antagonistic. She walked over just a bit after her inquiry, stepping into the better lit part of the room and exposing the gruesome scars over her stomach like four deep trenches, likely from the bear she herself killed. Mazoga looked up at her, suspicious about the sudden interest. "I dropped it to fight Forsworn. It might be still out there." Probably trampled or grabbed up by one of the Reachmen. Now she could tell Horkis gro Akthamal that she was a real orc. Only an orc could have such shit luck. Baldur shared a glance with the other two, but ignored the accusation in it. "That's... unfortunate." "What now? Is she one of us, or isn't she?" Falgrum asked. "Well, she's not an officer, but she did pass the trials. So that means she's one of us," Baldur answered. Burla sighed, sounding disappointed, though it wasn't clear if it was because she failed the final test, or because she managed to become one of them in the end. She didn't seem intent on elaborating either. "So, what do we call her? We've got Necro Nords, Draugr Dunmer, but an Orc? What's next, Abominable Altmer? Gods..." "Hows about the Odious Orsimer?" asked Baldur. "Sounds about right... Looks about right, hehehe." Rebec came up behind them and looked from one to the other. "What's going on?" When Mazoga explained, she said, "Well you're not all just going to give up, are you? I'm going out there to look for the pelt." "I'll go with you." Baldur said, but Burla shook her head. "No, I'll go. Just the three of us ladies." "If it's just the three of you ladies, why are you going? Baldur already looks prettier than two of you..." Falgrum joked. "What do you mean two?" said Baldur. He and Falgrum both shared a laugh until they saw Burla's look. "Maz needs to stay here. Look at her. She's more grey than green." The orc was already standing up, however, and would brook no protests. Rebec looked around as they were leaving. "Where's Menel anyway, gods damn his greasy hide. We got other wounded and he's off lollygagging somewhere." Burla picked her nose with her pinky, flicking something at the walls as they walked. "The cute little fat elf? That butter ball high tailed it to the Queen already with some devil magic. Had me suspicious, since he left just a few hours before the Forsworn came after checking on my wounds." "Menel's no Forsworn spy," Rebec said, shaking her head. "That would be too much work for him. I'm surprised he stuck around as long as he did. Probably jealous of Ulfric." She glanced back. "Easy there, Maz. You're almost done with all this foolishness." She took the orc's arm to steady her. Mazoga directed them towards where she remembered dropping the pelt. The civilians' broken cart was still there in the road. There was no pelt, however. They were just about to give up when two of the travelers came back up the road from the village with tools in hand to fix the cart. One of them recognized Mazoga and came over to thank her for helping them. When she told them about the pelt, one of the men said, "We found it! It's with our goods. I didn't want the savages to get it." By the time the women got back to the village, Mazoga's heart was pounding. She didn't want to admit that she wanted to succeed in the trial, but she did. If the farmers had taken the bolt out... There the pelt sat on the top of a pile of trade goods, the homemade crossbow bolt still protruding from the skull. Rebec let out a whoop and grabbed it up to go show Baldur. Baldur and Falgrum sat around kicking their feet in boredom while they watched Daric slumber. Baldur wasn't worried before, but now with Menel missing and forced to deal with the other half rate Nordic healers, he was sweating as much as the little Breton was on the medic table. Falgrum noticed this, mostly because watching Baldur sweat was the only interesting thing going on while the women made them wait. "So. The boy tasted real battle today. May as well declare him a Nord now. Give 'em a name and all. What do you think?" "You mean a moniker? Heh, sure. I think he'll like that. How'd you get yours, by the way? You don't use a shield, so why are you Falgrum Blood-Rim?" Falgrum's face suddenly went grave, which considering his bad eye, gave Baldur slight chills, though he'd never admit it. Falgrum looked at him directly and said, "There was a young boy, almost a man in Morthal, born with a glossy blind eye, who was said to be an orphan. The rumor was that he killed his entire family for no reason at all. Just a whim... like how you decide one day you'll wear a new pair of shoes. No one wanted to take in the boy even before they suspected that he did it. The air about him was all wrong. They had to do something with him though, but no one wanted to take up the responsibility. So, they decided to get rid of him, move him to another town. The boy heard the others talking and staring, and they knew they'd come for him. So, he came for them first. That night, there was a dead body in the street, then another the next, then another. Eventually they realized it was the child, because he stood at the edge of town with bloody hands, staring back with that awful glossy eye. The townsfolk had enough, but they grew afraid, saying he was possessed by the spirit of Mephala or Boethia. So they did what Nords always did when there was someone they needed to kill, but couldn't. They got a giant. They forged a great blade with a forked tongue at the end, and painted it in swirls from cow's blood, then sat it in the middle of town and left. They waited three days until they heard the great steps of the giant coming to claim his prize. Thinking that they solved their problems, the townsfolk came rushing back to see the aftermath of the battle... and they all fell to their knees in awe and horror. What they saw, was the giant, shorter now, because his head was missing, and blood shot so high from his massive body's neck, that they could have sworn that the splatter touched the sky, or so that's how they'd always remember it. Since then, the demon boy with the bad eye was known as Blood-Rim. So the story goes. Could have been a giant, could have just been a really big Nord mercenary, but if you go to Morthal and ask about Blood-Rim, the guards will tell you they still have a bounty on his head for your weight in gold if you kill him." Baldur hadn't said anything for the entirety of the story. Falgrum said it with such solemn sincerity, such grave earnest, that even before Baldur asked the question, Baldur knew the answer. "That true? You were that boy?" Falgrum stood up, brow knit as if Baldur just asked was his wife really murdered. Meeting Baldur face to face so close that he could smell his breath, Falgrum said, "Na, I'm pulling your leg, general. I got that name because I like cutting heads off. Get it? Blood Rim is their bleeding open neck holes." "You son of a bitch, I believed you!" Baldur said, disappointed. "That would have been a great story!" "Ahahaha, it still is! That's why it's a story." Rebec was about to burst in with the pelt in her hands, but stopped herself. Handing the bear fur to Mazoga, she said, "Here, Maz. Your kill, and your honor. I'd follow you into battle any day, but that was always so. Now the rest of these assholes will know what they're dealing with." Burla scoffed in reflex, remembering that she was one of those assholes, doubting the Orc's strength. "I admit, you surprise me, Thorn-Orc. You didn't kill the bear up close, but I suppose cunning is nice. I'd rather fight with you than a grey-skin. It'll be nice not being the only female officer." Mazoga shrugged her thanks. She'd had the sentimental beaten out of her. "Anyway, let's go. Then I'm going to sleep for a week." Inside the infirmary, she showed the pelt to Baldur with a blank expression, prepared for him to disqualify her anyway for some reason. Baldur shared a glance with Falgrum, rubbing his beard as he inspected the pelt. "Hmm. Right Falgrum?" "Hmmm... yea, I'm thinking the same thing. Hmmm..." "Hmmm... Oh and-" "Yea, yea. We should, right?" "Uhuh, come here." Baldur and Falgrum left the others to whisper amongst themselves in a corner, occasionally looking back at Mazoga with concerned looks. Finally, Baldur and Falgrum wandered back over to the women to give the news. "Well..." said Falgrum. "We're in agreement," said Baldur. "Unfortunately, you're going to have to tell Ysana yourself to make a new uniform. Neither of us want to deal with her again today. Oh, and you're in." Rebec was the one who shouted and jumped up and down at this, hanging on Mazoga's shoulder and then releasing her quickly as the orc groaned in pain. Mazoga's expression remained blank at first, but gradually she cracked a smile. "Thanks boss." Without another word, she walked over to her cot and fell into it. Hailing Menel's apprentice, Rebec said, "Give her the best potions you got. I know Menel's got his own stash somewhere. Find them and see that she gets what she needs, and come get me if anything changes with her." The admiral's commanding tone brooked no opposition. Then she turned to Baldur. "I'm going to go help clean up the mess those gods blasted freaks left out there. I'll see you at home later." Baldur hugged her quick and kissed her on the cheek, happy that she could finally stop worrying about her friend. "You have fun with that. I'll be waiting here for a while with Daric and celebrating Mazoga's success with a bottle of mead while you're gone. Get the boy some of that potion too. I'd say he needs it as well, maybe even more." Quote Blade Allies 1,479 1,977 posts Posted July 19, 2014 Lilly Imperial City Late morning "******* rain." Said Lilly, annoyed at the rumbling thunder clouds. She puffed in anger, and adjusted her black long-coat. Albecias walked behind her, writing utensils tucked safely in his coat's inside pocket. He frequently ducked beneath awnings, moving from one to another in an attempt to avoid the downpour. He knew the lesser nobles' apartments and houses weren't far off, so he shouldered the deluge and hopped over puddles to avoid ruining his new boots. Lilly said in a rather monotone voice, "Have any of the murder cases you've studied involved the nobility?" "Oh yes, the most recent one in fact. A poor Nordic girl, Friga Shatter-Shield, was brutally murdered by the Windhelm Butcher. It was an awful crime scene, blood and body bits everywhere," Albecias said, dodging out of the way as a cart passed by. "Heard about that. Also recall something about the Shatter Spears were heavily involved in shady dealings, in an attempt to close down the east empire company in the Eastmarch region. Serves them right for all I care." She said, looking around. "Oh, you condone senseless murder, and necromantic rituals performed by said killer, because the Shatter-Shields hired pirates to harass the East Empire Company? My my, you preside in a sick and twisted world, madam Spymaster. I'm afraid the general populace wouldn't share your sentiments, especially given the detailed descriptions I provided in my book. No, they would vilify you for wishing that upon anyone. Lucky for you, I prefer to keep such things to myself. Gossip has it's uses, but I think having you as a friend has more," the writer said with a suspicious smirk. "A friend of mine went down with one of the hit ships. I have many friends in the navy, which the east empire company usually recruits from for navigators. Blood pay's with blood. I'm very sure the Nords would agree with me." She laughed dryly at his remark, "You would do well to remember that my 'friend'. As you said, I'm much more useful as an ally to you." "I'm sure you have a great many friends, in a great many places. What, with your charming personality and sharp-as-a-blade wits," Albecias playfully said, smiling at his own sarcastic joke. "You know your sense of humor is baffling...with you entertaining yourself by telling really bad jokes..." She said sarcastically. "It is, isn't it? Completely and utterly strange. But that is why I don't write humor," Albecias said. "Murders and comedy really don't lend themselves to each other do they?" Suddenly Adrian, the suspect she had interrogated the previous day, came into sight as he walked towards them. He gave Lilly a spiteful glare. "Bitch." he also said with an equally spiteful voice as he passed by. "From what I hear, your the one who likes to be bent over and treated like a bitch, boy." Lilly coughed, saying somthing out loud for the author to hear in a mischievous voice, "We shouldn't look down on him. There's nothing wrong with him pretending to be the female in bed." "Oh, come now Colonel. Surely there is some better insult you could slap on the man than his sexuality. I would love to give you some pointers, but then I would offend Mr. Adrian here," Albecias bowed his head in greeting, then took a half step back to allow the lesser noble and spymaster continue their petty squabbling. Adrian's face was now boiling with anger. "One day, you little bitch. One day, you slu-" he was then suddenly interrupted by a white goo hitting the top of his head from above. Adrian's face then suddenly changed to one of shock and disgust as he raised his hand and poked at the goo with two fingers and then held them up before his eyes to see what it was. He simply stood there silently while he looked at the goo, and the look from his face said he was about to explode from the embarrassment, frustration and anger. She gave Adrian a wink and contuined on her way, "Lesser nobles. Tsk tsk. Thinking they're above it all." Albecias hung back, pulling Adrian aside. "If I might have a word; it will only take but a few moments," he asked politely. Lilly brushed her shoulder, doing a hidden signal. Soon Karsh landed on Lilly's shoulder. "I know there's few people out in the street now, but couldn't you have found a subtler time to call me? Put an invisibility spell on me. And a spell to help keep me dry. Bloody rain ain't good for my feathers." She did so, before saying, "Nice hit by the way. Go see what the author is doing with Adrian." "Practice makes perfect." he responded before flying off. Adrian was still staring the white goo on his fingers with the same intensity as the author pulled him aside. Even as the rain sped the pace at which it began to slide down his face. "What?" he then managed to spit out in a rather unpleasant tone after a long moments of silence. Albecias whipped out a handkerchief and quickly disposed of the white substance, folding the napkin and sliding it back in his pocket once done. "Why the animosity towards the Spymaster? Any particular reason?" "She interrogated me yesterday. Or rather, mistreated me I would say." "How so? Physical or emotional bullying?" the author and reporter had taken out a small scroll with a charcoal writing instrument, and was scribbling down notes up against the wall of a nearby building. "Both. Mostly physically." he said with a bitter tone. "Do you happen to have any marks or bruises to show?" "Not really. I was slammed into the wall." Albecias wrote something down, then tucked the parchment in his coat. He smiled and cordially said "I appreciate the information, and your time. Good day." Adrian just mumbled something unidentifiable in response as he then continued his walk down the street. "Asshole," Albecias said, long after the noble was out of earshot. He caught up with Lilly, huffing slightly as he came up behind her. "Well that was quite an interesting interview. Enlightening, almost," he said with a sneer. "Well? Was he as personable as me?" she said sarcastically. "I can't say I've ever met anyone with your...personality," the writer said, his word choice careful. "Your really lucky I'm assuming that's a compliment...Oh by the way Sarge is a little rough. Don't get on his nerves." "And who is this 'Sarge'? I assume it's short for sergeant, unless his parents were so dim-witted they named their child Sarge. Either way, I'm sure we will not clash. I'm perfectly likable." "That's debatable..." She muttered under her breath. Walking at a brisk pace she went over to the crime scene, and asked a guard she met yesterday, "Were's the sarge?" The guard saluted her. "Up in the mansion, talking with the noblewoman. He said he was going to get the guest list. Though that was a while ago. She's probably talking his ears off." "Did he mention anything?" "Well, he said that if he ain't back within a couple of minutes that we should pray to Stendarr to have mercy upon his ears." Lilly turned around and headed into the mansion searching for the sergeant and the hostess of the party. It wasn't soon before she heard the familiar voice of Rosentia in the distance. As she headed in the direction of the chatter. And behind a half open door, she found Rosentia talking with a very distressed looking sergeant Amidius about some gossip on a merchant that had been arrested last week for tax evasion. "My lady, may I borrow the sergeant from you?" She said in a deadpan tone. "But I'm not done talking yet." she answered. "Just give me the gods damned list!" Amidius said in a rather annoyed and angry tone. "How rude." she responded and handed him a piece of paper. "Thank you, m'lady." Amidius managed to force himself to say before hurrying out of the room. "Lets go before she decides to inform us about how the grocery prices have risen." he said to Lilly in a low voice as he passed her. She took the hostesses hand, kissed it gently and said rather rudely, "Stick to tormenting your usual victims okay?" She gave her a cat like smile. A disgruntled "Hmph." was all she got from Rosentia as she clearly felt insulted by the statement. "Don't look so gloomy. If you want, you can stop by the mansion and have dinner with me and Helen." "Fine." she said, trying to look like she was reluctant to accept, while there was a clear glimt of eagerness in her eyes. "Come at eight. Helen has a day off today so you can pester her with questions." And with that she turned around and followed the sergeant. Albecias greeted Rosentia with a smile, and quietly followed Lilly and Amidius. He could've asked her some questions, but he wouldn't get away for at least an hour. The sergeant walked with a quick pace out of the the mansion, totally ignoring the author and everything else till he got outside. Where he stopped looked up at the clouds in the sky as the rain began to subside. And drew a heavy sigh of relief. "The mighty righteous imperial guardsmen. Fear not the bandit, serial killer, rapist, and vampire. But you're afraid of gossiper?" She said with a sly smile. "I know how to fight those things. With her all I can do is stand there and try to listen with the occasional nodding." he replied. "She's harmless." "Not to my ears." "You need to get out more sarge." "If that means listening to more people like her, no thanks. Anyway, we should get going. We were to question that rival of yesterday's suspect. What was his name again?" "What we want is Maro then." "Right. He lives in the house opposite of Maro if I remember correct." the sergeant was about to turn around and head as he now noticed the writer following Lilly. "And who are you?" "Albecias Plebo. Author and reporter, quite famous and skilled in both. I'm here covering this murder for the Black Horse Courier, if you don't mind," he said in his usual pompous and pretentious manner. "Famous? Never heard of ya. Just keep out of my way and you wont have to suffer the view of the inside of the dungeon." he then turned to Lilly. "Shall we go?" "I assume that along with fearing talkative noblewomen, you must also be afraid of reading, if you haven't heard of me. Hmph, and what might I see the dungeon for? Gross misuse of sarcasm, perhaps?" Albecias once again facetiously remarked. "Interfering with a lawman's work. That's what." he replied while giving the writer a strict look, before turning back to Lilly once again. "Now shall we go?" "Just let the big boys do there job, and we'll let you write okay?" She turned to the sergeant, "Roger." "Oh yes ma'am. I'll be sure to keep out of your way," Albecias said dryly. "You realize my talking is in no way interfering. Unless you're easily distracted, in which case I'll have this Maro remove all shiny objects, lest you forget why you're here." "Just zip it." She said in a joking tone. Albecias smirked but said nothing. He could antagonize the two for days, but in the end, without their cooperation, he would have nowhere close the access he did now, so he followed the Spymaster's advice. Amidius muttered something inaudible under his breath as he with quick steps headed out onto the street. And as soon as they were out in the open on the street, Karsh (who was still invisible) silently swooped down and landed on Lilly's shoulder. Lilly whispered, "By the way, are you the one whose been putting the idea that I'm a incestuous pedophile in Helen's head?" "Well aren't you? The way you've been going through her underwear." the raven replied. "That girl has enough problems as it is. Don't cause her more stress. She already has a dozen phobias." "What's wrong with having a phobia of pedophiles?" "If she's thinks I'm one it'll cause her to feel uncomfortable at home. Which is a place she should feel safe." "And how is it my fault you're going through her underwear?" She looked away, embarrassed, "You know teens these days....moon sugar and skooma. I needed to make sure she wasn't hiding anything." "In her underwear?" "Does it look I go around town looking for little girls to molest? What am I? A dirty old man?" "Fine. I wont talk with her about your plans to molest her. "Shut up." She said rather quiet. "Why are you muttering with yourself?" Amidius asked. "Should have cast a muffle spell." Karsh said into her ear with a smug tone. "Allows me to gather my thoughts sarge." She said with a smile. "Oh, okay." the sergeant said with a shrug. "And I almost forgot. They talked about your interrogation you had yesterday." Karsh said. Casting a muffle spell, Lilly asked, "The details?" "That guy following us asked what happened and that guy with shit on his head said you mistreated him and slammed him into a wall. And that's it. Boring conversation." "Boring is good." "No, it's not. I prefer when people say things that'll get them killed. That way I'll have some nice eyeballs to shew on." "Man I need a holiday. " She started to think deeply, "Maybe a trip to Chorrol. Visit the old harpie herself. Take Helen shopping. Go to the hotsprings. Yeah that would be nice." "After the assassination attempts you should be happy to be able to leave the city without the little blonde thing." "Then your hearing is slightly off. And I'm going to keep calling her little as that makes me feel bigger." "But your tiny." She said in a deadpan tone, "Why don't you ask your master to turn you into a giant fire breathing raven?" "Like if he ain't happy with amount of food I already eat." "Unlike you however, while small, Dales is adorably cute." "At least I'm charming. And handsome." he said with a slightly gruff tone. "Jealous of her majesty? Jealous that your master favors her over yourself?" She said slyly. "Jealous? Favors? I'm the one who does all the important hard work. All she does is sits on a throne and tries to look competent while sometimes taking a sausage up her private quarters." "Dales does all of the 'boring' stuff. Focusing on the social issues, economics, and of course, the paper work of the empire. She wakes up at 5 AM and goes to sleep at 2 AM the next day. While your stuffing your face in meat and sleeping. She does far more then you." She said smugly. "Keep telling yourself that. I am important. And a bit peckish." "The messanger raven is more important then the empress. You're a nice pet." "I'm not a pet! I'm a companion." "Hehehehehe. Want a dog biscuit for dinner? I'm sure Helen would love to dress you up in frilly princess clothing as well." "Like if my feathers weren't warm enough in this climate. Keep your clothes to yourself." "A little baby bib and some little socks. Helen will give you a bottle of milk and make you say 'mama' over again as she rocks you in a manger." She said smiling. "Bah. You humans are freaks." Albecias looked on with awe, first noticing the whispering, then watching Lilly as she cast a spell. He only noticed because he was already watching her strange movements. Then, she began to speak, her lips moving but no words coming out. Occasionally, she glanced at her shoulder, talking as she did. The whole behavior was perplexing, and he had never seen anything like it before. Albecias didn't say a word about it, but noted that the Spymaster might be unstable, or even insane. She dispelled the muffle and said out loud, "So sarge do you think this guy is the killer?" "How should I know? Never met the man." he answered. "I don't know. Last case like this I worked was the black rose killer back in Chorrol." She shuddered at the memory. "The Black Rose case was quite ugly. People can be monsters, that much I've seen firsthand," Albecias piped from behind Lilly. "Yeah, but this seems more like a killing made on impulse under the effect of alcohol. I doubt there's any kind of thought put into the deed." said Amidius. "Worst part about that was we never found out who he or she was. Just letter after letter talking about how it eviscerated and tortured those poor girls." She took a huge mouth full of air. Lilly didn't want to go back to those dark days, "Your right though sergeant. Those murders were calculated and well executed. The black rose killer would stalk it's victim for days before making its move. This one seems to have been in the moment due to how sloppy it was." "Anyway, here we are." said Amidius and stopped in front of the house opposite of the one they had visited yesterday. Both houses looked quite alike. "Hopefully he'll be more receiving of me. Though I doubt he'll take kindly to letting in the writer. I don't think anyone would like his kind watching and taking notes on how your treated as a suspect in such a gruesome murder. Especially nobles." "On the contrary, I think he would want me there. As your first interviewee told me, his treatment at your hands was rather rough. I'm sure Mr. Maro knows this, and would want a witness to report such foul mistreatment," Albecias had dealt with this situation before, and for the most part the person being interviewed wanted someone there that wasn't biased against them. "I agree. The author can come if he wants." Lilly said. "Whatever you say. But in my experience, most nobles prefer a bruised body over a bruised reputation." he said with a shrug and went up to the door and knocked. "And most would want their side of the stories heard rather than be labeled by the general populace as a murderer and rapist." Albecias said with his trademark smug smile. "I don't know what people you've worked with, but I don't go around announcing who's a suspect." The door opened and middle aged woman in simple servant clothing stood there. "Yes? How can I help you?" Albecias took out his noted and scribbled something down, the quickly slipped it back in this pocket. "I've worked with your colleague here, and she kindly told me who the suspects were. Still, it isn't hard to deduce by those who knew the victim. People will assume Maro is involved, because of his relationship with her." Lilly ignoring the two's small squabble, approached the woman and said, "Colonel Lillin Quentas. Were here to speak with your master on Oculatus, and Imperial watch business." "Which one?" she asked. "Maro." "He's in the dining room. Eating breakfast. Is it urgent?" "Very." She said with a simple nod. "This way then. And don't touch anything." she stepped aside and gestured for everyone to enter. Lilly entered the door first, not bothering to take off her long-coat. Albecias followed, whipping out his parchment and charcoal so as to write notes more quickly than with ink and quill. Amidius just followed quietly and kept his strict look on his face. The servant led them through the entrance hall to a door at the far left on which she knocked. "Mr Maro? The Oculatus wants to see you." "Is it that important? I'm eating!" shouted a grumpy voice from the other side of the door. "They say it is." replied the servant woman. "Fine. Send them in!" Maro yelled back and the servant opened the door for the three to enter. Lilly entered into the room and bowed her head, "Colonel Lillin Quentas. This will only take a little of your time." Maro who looked like a rather average imperial with short brown hair and a clean shave, except he had somewhat broad jaw. He sat the left side of the table, eating sandwiches made of fluffy white bread and slices of smoked venison from a plate. And delicate glass filled with clear water next to him. Other than that the table was quite barren. On right wall hanged a couple of paintings of what could be assumed was prominent member of Maro's family. A small and relatively simple chandelier hanged in the roof. It was unlit as the sunlight that managed to pass through both the clouds and the windows was still enough to lighten up the place so there were no dark corners. Maro straightened his back and looked at Lilly and her little entourage that followed. "Well I do hope you have a good excuse to interrupt a man's breakfast." he said a in a calm yet slightly annoyed tone. Then taking another shew of his sandwich. "Its about a party you were at recently." "What about it?" he asked with his mouth still shewing on the sandwich. "Were aware that you have an intense rivalry with a noble named Adrian correct?" Maro waited a second to swallow before he replied. "Depends on what you consider intense. I would consider it long-lasting. And given our past disputes, I dare say that things are relatively calm between us right now." "Hmmm. Are you also aware of the murder that happened at that party?" "Murder?" he said with surprise. "She was raped as well. A daughter of an elder councilor. You and Adrian were fighting over her the night of the party." "Maressa? She's dead?" he said and then grew silent and just stared. "Death by strangulation." "Well if it's not Adrian I don't know who it could have been." "May I be blunt?" She said calmly. "Ehm, sure. Go ahead." he said, sounding a bit confused. "You're a suspect." "Why?" he sounded a little shocked at the notion. "You were piss drunk. Angry. And made hopeless passes at the girl." "Who told you that? Adrian?" "A large amount of sources." "Well I can admit I was a little more than just tipsy from the drink. And yes, I had an interest in the girl. And I wasn't angrier than usual when it comes to being close around Adrian." "You understand? If there's anything you can tell us to clear your name it would help." "I mingled. Drank some. Had a brief talk with Adrian inside the mansion. Then I mingled and drank some more. Then I heard from someone that Adrian had been accusing me necrophilia at the party, to some of the guests. When I asked where he was someone said that he had headed into the garden with Maressa. I headed to the garden and we meet just outside. I told him a few things and where he could stick it. Then I headed back to the party and mingled some more. Then drank some more till I could barely walk straight. And then I headed home." "I heard it was a very heated argument that nearly came to blows." "That sounds like pretty much every conversations me and Adrian has ever had." "You both wanted the victim?" "Wanted the victim? I can admit I fancied her. But I wouldn't beat Adrian because of her. If I would beat him it would be because of his smug and arrogant demeanor and not for that he managed to woo a girl and I did not." "He was successful in his attempts?" "Well he managed to get her into garden for some private time. How well it went after that you'll have to ask him." "What was Maressa's mental state at the time?" "A bit tipsy when I spoke with her. Maybe she'd had some more to drink after I spoke with her and before she went with Maro. And she seemed to be enjoying the party and the alcohol." "Was there any... illegal substances going around?" "Not as far as I was aware of." "Besides Adrian was anyone acting strange?" "Strange? I would say that Adrian was his usual unpleasant self. Other than that I would say that everyone acted like people usually do when they have had some to drink." Albecias wrote things down as he listened, hovering behind the two officers of the law, so as to appear as inconspicuous as possible. "Do you think Adrian would have the balls to commit the deed?" "In general; no. Though he had had some to drink. And he becomes a bit unpredictable when he's had his drink." She stretched out, "Has Adrian ever gotten really violent?" "Not in public. Heard he beat one his servants really bad a few years ago though." "Beat his servants? Who was the unlucky victim?" She nudged the author, "Take notes." Albecias rolled his eyes after Lilly had turned around, as he was already writing down the abbreviated words of everyone in the room. "Some young girl or boy. Don't remember. I don't keep track of his servants. It was a rumor I heard a few years back." Maro replied. "Shame. We could have asked him or her about Adrian's sanity." "If being a smug and spoiled brat is insanity. He's really insane." "Hmmmmm. From what I read, Adrian has a small criminal record. He didn't do any time, just for being loud and harassing other nobles. I also read a file on him, he doesn't seem like the person to take something so far. "Well if he didn't do it. Then who did?" "That's what were trying to figure out. Was there any other known 'deviants' at the party my lord?" "Not as far as I could see." "Could someone have sneaked into the party? Was there any guards?" "No real guards as I could see. And I bet that after the reception was over and the drinks started flowing, that someone could have sneaked in. It would then just be a matter of looking like you fit in." "So it must have been somone from the party..." She turned to the sergeant, "Sarge, you have the guest list right?" "Yeah, I got it." the sergeant said and patted his pocked. "Hand it over to Maro over there." She asked him, "Would you look over it and see if any person on the list besides our mutual friend catches your eye?" "Okay." said and fished up the folded piece of paper, which he then handed over to to Maro. "I doubt I will actually be of some help. If you want suspects you'd be better of asking the hostess." said Maro with a light shrug. He unfolded the paper and looked it over for a good minute. Shaking his head lightly he looked back at Lilly. "I know quite a lot of these people, either friends or barely acquainted. But I don't know anything that would make them suspects in this case." "I think that's about it. We'll contact you if we have any other questions." She bowed her head, "Thank you for your time." "You're welcome. Now I'd like to finish my breakfast in peace." he handed back the list to Amidius and took a sip from his glass. Albecias was the first to leave, deciding he could garner no new information by personally questioning Adrian. He slipped out the door quietly, and exited the front door onto the still drizzly day. Lilly followed him out, she quietly said, "Think he's telling the truth?" "You think I was given a lie detector function when boss infused me with magic?" said Karsh with an annoyed tone. "Honestly, I don't know. He seemed confident enough in what he said. Which indicates that he's either telling the truth or that he's a good liar." "True." She turned to the author and said, "You think he's lying?" "I've dealt with nobles often enough to know that many fancy themselves excellent liars. Whether he is one or not, I couldn't tell. As another member of the party, though, I can tell you that the amount of alcohol flowing through our veins makes discerning lies from confusion or inability to remember difficult. He could have killed her but not remembered, because of his inebriation," Albecias walked as he spoke, brushing past peddlers and vagabonds alike. "You sure know your physiological profiles" She said, praising the author. "I've spent time studying the criminals in our prisons, as well as those of the provinces I have visited. Not to mention tailing law offices in other provinces, such as I am doing now. For a book to be well written, appropriate research must be done. I cannot just make up drivel like some authors. Even my fictional novels have accurate representations of the criminals and guards portrayed," Albecias smiled, the praise warming him like a lizard on a hot day. "Do you know why someone would be compelled to do something this horrific?" "Lust, anger, frustration. Those are my bets." Amidius briefly interrupted. "Insanity. Drunkenness. Jealousy, or any other strong emotion. Why people do things like this will never make sense to those with sane minds," the author said, before stopping and turning to the Spymaster. "Where are we going, again?" "Whose next sarge on your little list?" "Let me see." he said while fishing up the list again and reading the names and addresses. "Well the closest one on the list lives a bit further down the street. A jewelry merchant. I know that because he's been bothering me about supposed thefts that seem to happen in broad daylight." "Have any kind of record?" "Record on thefts? Not really. We only keep records on thefts if its' really valuable things that is owned by high nobility." "I think she meant does this merchant have any kind of criminal record himself," Albecias said. "What the author said." Lilly said. "No. Not as far I'm aware of." the sergeant replied. "So he's squeaky clean? Middle or high class?" "Something in between. Not nobility but he's isn't lacking in gold." "Can we roughen him up?" "Unless he does something to really warrant it, I would say it's ill advised." "****. All right, lead the way sarge." Quote "Power corrupts, absolute power... is a whole lot of fun." Blade Allies 1,479 1,977 posts Posted July 19, 2014 "Aye, sir." he replied and started walking down the street. And before soon they could see a sign with a green emerald on it and the text which read The Sharp Emerald. "I know this place." Karsh said. "That fool likes to leave his window on the third floor open." Ignoring the bird Lilly said, "What kind of silly name is that?!" "All shops have weird names. Have you seen the inn named after a Laughing Fox? Humph, some people have no imagination," Albecias said, mostly to himself. "Though I think the butchery in the market district called the 'Mooing Beef' is sillier." said Amidius. "Gods dammit. So unoriginal." She knocked on the door. "We're open!" A man's voice was heard yelling from the inside. She stepped inside and glanced at her surroundings. It was a nice shop with locked display boxes of glass lining the walls of the room and the counter. Each holding at least a few pieces of jewelry, just enough to give each piece good room to show off and not blend in with each other. Behind the counter was a young imperial man with dark brown hair and he looked slightly Nibenese. "May I help you?" he said in a rather humble tone. "That's the assistant. It's his master Caius who owns this shop." Amidius whispered to Lilly. "Spymaster Lillin Quentas. We have a few questions for your master." "Okay." the assistant then shouted through a door behind him and the counter. "Caius! You've got important visitors! The spymaster!" however there was no response. The assistant turned back to Lilly. "He's probably busy with something. I can go get him. I hope I can trust you to stay where you are not touch anything. And make sure anyone else walking into the ship don't touch anything?" "Of course." "Good." he said a bit nervously before he slunk into the doorway and disappeared from sight. "Look at all these shinies." Karsh said with an almost bewitched voice after having twisted and turned around on Lilly's shoulder. "Don't touch anything." "Come on. Lets 'borrow' some." "No you magpie." But before Karsh could continue Caius came out through the doorway and placed himself behind the counter as if to help a customer. He was a imperial man in his forties, bald and with a big brown mustache. He had very simple clothes with some dirty spots here and there. "Yes what is it?" he raid with a somewhat rough voice. Lilly bowed her head, "Lillin Quentas. At your service sir. We just have a few questions related to a party you recently attended." "What about it? Did a snooty nobleman report his drink missing?" "No. A woman was murdered." "Oh." he said and changed his attitude to a bit more humble. "I'll answer what I can, but I don't see how I can be of any help." "You remember Maressa? Was anyone showing her unwanted attention, besides a certain Maro and Adrian." "There was this suitor. Arlowe Goldwine. I remember him mostly because he bought the ring he would use to propose here. My memory is a bit hazy but I think he was glancing at her a lot during the party." "Sarge is this man on the list?" "Let me see." said Amidius while he fished the list out of his pocket and began reading. "Yeah, here's the name." "So what's this guys general personality?" She asked the merchant. "Don't know. He seemed like a nice guy when he bought that ring. You'll be better off asking someone who actually knows him." "Do you know anyone who knows him well?" "Not really. Only one I can think of is Rosentia. She practically knows everyone, for good or ill." "Hmmm. All right. I truely thank you for your time." Lilly bowed her head. "No problem. Now if you can excuse me." Caius then turned around. "Boy! Come down here and get back to the counter!" he yelled in a stern tone. To which the assistant came running and placed himself by the counter next to Caius. He looked like a little scared but was also at attention for any new customer. "Good day." said Caius, now with a nice tone, and left the room. "Hmm seems we have to visit the hag again." "If I may offer my services," Albecias chimed in, "I could ask Rosentia about this man's friends, while you go and talk to him personally." "Fine." "I'll go with you then." said Amidius. "So you're not left completely at the mercy of her unending shit-chat." Albecias smiled, nodded, and said to the guard captian, "You can lead the way." "Sure. This way." Amidius did a simple hand wave for him to follow as he left out through the door. With the author quick on his feet following in tow. "Now it's just you and me. And that stupid assistant." said Karsh into Lilly's ear. "Lets knock him out and take some shinies." Lilly said, "No. Enough with your lust for gems." "You can never have enough shinies." "Yeah, yeah. For that we'll have to get out of the shop. And leave all those beautiful shinies behind. And that weirdo assistant who looks at you like you are crazy, all mumbling to yourself." "We're all a little crazy. I'm a witch after all." "Do all witches mumble to themselves in public?" "Only me." She said playfully. "May I help you ma'am?" the assistant said after, what was for him, a long moment of awkward silence. "Nah I'll be good." She left the building. "Aww." said Karsh with a disappointed tone, like a child who had been denied some candy. "Anyway, renew the invisibility spell before I leave?" She cast the spell, "Stay frosty magpie." "Raven. Raven. Raven! Say it!" "Yeah, raven..." "That's right." and then he flew off. Only the wing flaps to be heard as he left. Lilly took a cigar from her jacket pocket, placed it in her mouth and lit it. Well, at least were getting somewhere. Still...I have a gut feeling somethings not right. She thought as she smoked the cigar and waited for Karsh to return. Some minutes passed before Karsh swooped down and landed on Lilly's shoulder. Nothing but the increased weight on her shoulder to signal his arrival. "Well that was a waste of time. They went to the hostess as they said. And I can't really follow indoors." "Well ****." She said in a sarcastic voice, "Maybe for your failure I should lessen your dinner tonight?" "Come on. There were no windows or doors open. What am I supposed to do? Build a huge, black tower with a giant, fiery eye on top that can see through walls?" "That sounds like somthing I read from a novel before." She stopped for a second, before shaking her head. "Somthing about rings. Meh, whatever." She said, "Who do you think murdered the bitch?" "So far? My shiny is on Adrian. Uncomplicated murder and his personality and lack of wit fits." "I agree." Lilly walked slowly towards the house she was supposed to visit. The mansion itself was pretty, but quite small. Another minor noble. Poor man, must have been laughed at by the bitch when he proposed. She knocked on the door. Soon the door was opened by a young servant, a female Bosmer. "Yes?" she asked with a tired voice. "Lillin Quentas. Spymaster of the Empire. I'm doing an investigation, I need to speak with your master." "Which one?" "Hmmm? You have more then one employer?" "I work for the family Goldwine. In this house lives Ariela Goldwine. And her two children: Arlowe Goldwine and Arnora Goldwine." "I would like to speak with Arlowe please." Lilly always choose to speak to servants politely and kindly. "He's probably in the kitchen. Do you want to wait in the hallway while I get him?" "Sure." The servant stepped to the side and gestured for Lilly to enter. Lilly walked inside, she winked at her, "My. The Goldwines are lucky they have such a pretty servant like yourself." The Bosmer gave Lilly at first a slightly confused look before it turned to one with some disgust as she closed the door. Then she quickly headed through a door on the left. Lilly gave a smirk, she flirted with anyone who tickled her fancy, as she waited crossed armed. A minute passed before Arlowe showed up through the same door the servant had left through. He was a relatively handsome young man, if wasn't for his roughed up hair, uneven stubble and fancy clothes, all wrinkled and dirtied as if he had worn them non-stop since the party. In one hand he held a bottle of ale and in the other roasted chicken leg which he took a big shew from. "What is it?" he said in a weary voice and the mouth full of chicken. Oh god. It's Tullius' mirror image She gave him a warm smile, before saying, "I assume your servant told you who I was. I just have a handful questions about a party you attended last night. I'll only take up at the most twenty minutes of your time." He gulped down the chicken quite loudly. "It's about Maressa's death, isn't it?" he said as if he'd expected Lilly's arrival. His eyes becoming sad as he turned his gaze down to the floor. "I'm afraid so." "Well I tried to keep an eye on her during the party. I know I should not do that and just let her go, but... Anyway, I saw her enter the garden with that Adrian. A bit later Maro followed and Adrian came out soon after." "I was told you were going to propose to her?" "And you weren't told that I already had and were rejected?" "No. I came to that conclusion myself, knowing what kind of woman she was." "Hmm." he just mumbled. Still staring into the floor. "Arlowe!" yelled a woman. It came from what looked to be Arnora Goldwine, as she shared a lot of features with Arlowe. Probably his little sister as she looked quite a bit younger than him (though that wasn't hard given the state Arlowe was in right now). "How can you present yourself to strangers like that." she then rushed down pushed him back. Grabbed his chicken leg and bottle of ale while yelling for the servant. Soon the Bosmer woman appeared to which she handed over the food drink, holding the things like they contained the plague. Then she turned her attention to Lilly. "I'm so sorry Miss...?" "Quentas. Countess of Chorrol, and Colonel of the Penitus Occultus." She bowed her head, "How do you do milady?" "Ah." was all Arnora could say at first. She looked a little displeased at hearing who Lilly was for second, but she nonetheless put up a friendly appearance. "I would do better if my brother here would pull himself up from the gutter." "It's fine milady. It's his right to grieve of course." "Grieve; yes. Make a mess of himself and the house; no." Hmmm nice body. She gave the girl a warm smile, before saying, "Did you know Merassa?" "Not really, no. But I know she wasn't much of a proper noble lady." "No she wasn't, but that still dosen't mean she deserved to die in such a horrible manner." Lilly eyed the girl, before saying, "Are you a proper lady, milady?" "I am. And what's that supposed to mean?" "Nothing." She bated her eye lashes before turning around to face the man, "You know Maro and Adrian?" "I know who they are. But I don't really know them." he said. "Were you jealous they got Maressa's attention all the time?" "All the time? Not a chance. Adrian just got lucky at the party." "So you were close to her?" "I thought I was. But I was wrong." "How did she react when you proposed? Not very pleasent?" She gave him a sympathetic smile. "She looked surprised. But not in the good way. She said: 'I don't think so.'" "Well, her father holds a seat on the Elder Council. You should have known what the outcome would have been." "Yeah, I should have." She turned to the sister, before asking, "I assume you warned your brother what was going to happen?" "I did." she replied. "You understand why I would be investigating you, yes?" "Yes." he said lowly. "To the people investigating, it doesn't look good for you." She paused before saying, and spoke is she was quoting, "Man in jealous rage murders woman under the influence of alcohol." "I did not murder her. All I did was glance at her a couple of times. I never even went near her." "Do you have any witnesses to back your claim up?" "I was at the party as well." Arnora interrupted. "Trying to introduce him to other women he would have a better chance with. And even though I wasn't at his side all the time, I did keep an eye on him. So he wouldn't hit the drink too hard or sit down in a corner and start weeping." "And was he drinking hard? Alcohol is a poison that affects and addles the mind." "He was trying. Managed to keep him sober enough throughout most of the party. But before he got too intoxicated I decided it was time for us to go home." "What time was the exactly?" "You aware she was killed by strangulation, had her underwear torn, and there was little blood?" "No I was not." she said, sounding slightly shocked. "All I heard was that she did die a horrible death." "While comparing it to other deaths, it's not that horrible." She coughed akwardly before asking the man, "Do you know anyone who was out to get Maressa? It was most likely not planned, but it's a possibility." "No." he shook his head slowly. "I don't see why anyone would want to hurt her." "What do you mean by that? Her father was a very high ranking official." "He can't talk rationally about Maressa." said Arnora. "And I doubt he would know. All he could see was her, and nothing else. If you want to talk to someone who would know Maressa's enemies, it would be her sister." "Hmmmm. She might know something." She turned to face the man and then to the woman. "I thank you for your time. If something comes to mind, please inform the Imperial watch." Lilly bowed her head. "No problem my lady. And if you don't mind; can you please not tell anyone about Arlowe's state? We want him to appear presentable and not soil the family name." "I wont tell a word." "Thank you." she said humbly while bowing her head. Then she lead her brother up the stairs. He had silently begun to weep. What a wuss. She went outisde, winking at the bosmer servant one last time. Her sister... Pella. Good girl. She whispered, "I need you for recon." "Do I get a snack for it? That chicken leg the fool held got me all hungry." "I'll throw in some mashed potatoes and gravy." "And a big juicy steak?" "Fine. Just watch the wuss for me." "How long? I don't expect him to do more than cry in a corner all day." "Just do it." "Fine. But if he doesn't stop crying or falls asleep, I'm coming back to you. By the way; where are you going?" "Some mansion by the Revrus pond in the elven garden district. The victims sister, Pelena lives there." "Got it." and with that Karsh took off.

Lilly Imperial City Late morning "******* rain." Said Lilly, annoyed at the rumbling thunder clouds. She puffed in anger, and adjusted her black long-coat. Albecias walked behind her, writing utensils tucked safely in his coat's inside pocket. He frequently ducked beneath awnings, moving from one to another in an attempt to avoid the downpour. He knew the lesser nobles' apartments and houses weren't far off, so he shouldered the deluge and hopped over puddles to avoid ruining his new boots. Lilly said in a rather monotone voice, "Have any of the murder cases you've studied involved the nobility?" "Oh yes, the most recent one in fact. A poor Nordic girl, Friga Shatter-Shield, was brutally murdered by the Windhelm Butcher. It was an awful crime scene, blood and body bits everywhere," Albecias said, dodging out of the way as a cart passed by. "Heard about that. Also recall something about the Shatter Spears were heavily involved in shady dealings, in an attempt to close down the east empire company in the Eastmarch region. Serves them right for all I care." She said, looking around. "Oh, you condone senseless murder, and necromantic rituals performed by said killer, because the Shatter-Shields hired pirates to harass the East Empire Company? My my, you preside in a sick and twisted world, madam Spymaster. I'm afraid the general populace wouldn't share your sentiments, especially given the detailed descriptions I provided in my book. No, they would vilify you for wishing that upon anyone. Lucky for you, I prefer to keep such things to myself. Gossip has it's uses, but I think having you as a friend has more," the writer said with a suspicious smirk. "A friend of mine went down with one of the hit ships. I have many friends in the navy, which the east empire company usually recruits from for navigators. Blood pay's with blood. I'm very sure the Nords would agree with me." She laughed dryly at his remark, "You would do well to remember that my 'friend'. As you said, I'm much more useful as an ally to you." "I'm sure you have a great many friends, in a great many places. What, with your charming personality and sharp-as-a-blade wits," Albecias playfully said, smiling at his own sarcastic joke. "You know your sense of humor is baffling...with you entertaining yourself by telling really bad jokes..." She said sarcastically. "It is, isn't it? Completely and utterly strange. But that is why I don't write humor," Albecias said. "Murders and comedy really don't lend themselves to each other do they?" Suddenly Adrian, the suspect she had interrogated the previous day, came into sight as he walked towards them. He gave Lilly a spiteful glare. "Bitch." he also said with an equally spiteful voice as he passed by. "From what I hear, your the one who likes to be bent over and treated like a bitch, boy." Lilly coughed, saying somthing out loud for the author to hear in a mischievous voice, "We shouldn't look down on him. There's nothing wrong with him pretending to be the female in bed." "Oh, come now Colonel. Surely there is some better insult you could slap on the man than his sexuality. I would love to give you some pointers, but then I would offend Mr. Adrian here," Albecias bowed his head in greeting, then took a half step back to allow the lesser noble and spymaster continue their petty squabbling. Adrian's face was now boiling with anger. "One day, you little bitch. One day, you slu-" he was then suddenly interrupted by a white goo hitting the top of his head from above. Adrian's face then suddenly changed to one of shock and disgust as he raised his hand and poked at the goo with two fingers and then held them up before his eyes to see what it was. He simply stood there silently while he looked at the goo, and the look from his face said he was about to explode from the embarrassment, frustration and anger. She gave Adrian a wink and contuined on her way, "Lesser nobles. Tsk tsk. Thinking they're above it all." Albecias hung back, pulling Adrian aside. "If I might have a word; it will only take but a few moments," he asked politely. Lilly brushed her shoulder, doing a hidden signal. Soon Karsh landed on Lilly's shoulder. "I know there's few people out in the street now, but couldn't you have found a subtler time to call me? Put an invisibility spell on me. And a spell to help keep me dry. Bloody rain ain't good for my feathers." She did so, before saying, "Nice hit by the way. Go see what the author is doing with Adrian." "Practice makes perfect." he responded before flying off. Adrian was still staring the white goo on his fingers with the same intensity as the author pulled him aside. Even as the rain sped the pace at which it began to slide down his face. "What?" he then managed to spit out in a rather unpleasant tone after a long moments of silence. Albecias whipped out a handkerchief and quickly disposed of the white substance, folding the napkin and sliding it back in his pocket once done. "Why the animosity towards the Spymaster? Any particular reason?" "She interrogated me yesterday. Or rather, mistreated me I would say." "How so? Physical or emotional bullying?" the author and reporter had taken out a small scroll with a charcoal writing instrument, and was scribbling down notes up against the wall of a nearby building. "Both. Mostly physically." he said with a bitter tone. "Do you happen to have any marks or bruises to show?" "Not really. I was slammed into the wall." Albecias wrote something down, then tucked the parchment in his coat. He smiled and cordially said "I appreciate the information, and your time. Good day." Adrian just mumbled something unidentifiable in response as he then continued his walk down the street. "Asshole," Albecias said, long after the noble was out of earshot. He caught up with Lilly, huffing slightly as he came up behind her. "Well that was quite an interesting interview. Enlightening, almost," he said with a sneer. "Well? Was he as personable as me?" she said sarcastically. "I can't say I've ever met anyone with your...personality," the writer said, his word choice careful. "Your really lucky I'm assuming that's a compliment...Oh by the way Sarge is a little rough. Don't get on his nerves." "And who is this 'Sarge'? I assume it's short for sergeant, unless his parents were so dim-witted they named their child Sarge. Either way, I'm sure we will not clash. I'm perfectly likable." "That's debatable..." She muttered under her breath. Walking at a brisk pace she went over to the crime scene, and asked a guard she met yesterday, "Were's the sarge?" The guard saluted her. "Up in the mansion, talking with the noblewoman. He said he was going to get the guest list. Though that was a while ago. She's probably talking his ears off." "Did he mention anything?" "Well, he said that if he ain't back within a couple of minutes that we should pray to Stendarr to have mercy upon his ears." Lilly turned around and headed into the mansion searching for the sergeant and the hostess of the party. It wasn't soon before she heard the familiar voice of Rosentia in the distance. As she headed in the direction of the chatter. And behind a half open door, she found Rosentia talking with a very distressed looking sergeant Amidius about some gossip on a merchant that had been arrested last week for tax evasion. "My lady, may I borrow the sergeant from you?" She said in a deadpan tone. "But I'm not done talking yet." she answered. "Just give me the gods damned list!" Amidius said in a rather annoyed and angry tone. "How rude." she responded and handed him a piece of paper. "Thank you, m'lady." Amidius managed to force himself to say before hurrying out of the room. "Lets go before she decides to inform us about how the grocery prices have risen." he said to Lilly in a low voice as he passed her. She took the hostesses hand, kissed it gently and said rather rudely, "Stick to tormenting your usual victims okay?" She gave her a cat like smile. A disgruntled "Hmph." was all she got from Rosentia as she clearly felt insulted by the statement. "Don't look so gloomy. If you want, you can stop by the mansion and have dinner with me and Helen." "Fine." she said, trying to look like she was reluctant to accept, while there was a clear glimt of eagerness in her eyes. "Come at eight. Helen has a day off today so you can pester her with questions." And with that she turned around and followed the sergeant. Albecias greeted Rosentia with a smile, and quietly followed Lilly and Amidius. He could've asked her some questions, but he wouldn't get away for at least an hour. The sergeant walked with a quick pace out of the the mansion, totally ignoring the author and everything else till he got outside. Where he stopped looked up at the clouds in the sky as the rain began to subside. And drew a heavy sigh of relief. "The mighty righteous imperial guardsmen. Fear not the bandit, serial killer, rapist, and vampire. But you're afraid of gossiper?" She said with a sly smile. "I know how to fight those things. With her all I can do is stand there and try to listen with the occasional nodding." he replied. "She's harmless." "Not to my ears." "You need to get out more sarge." "If that means listening to more people like her, no thanks. Anyway, we should get going. We were to question that rival of yesterday's suspect. What was his name again?" "What we want is Maro then." "Right. He lives in the house opposite of Maro if I remember correct." the sergeant was about to turn around and head as he now noticed the writer following Lilly. "And who are you?" "Albecias Plebo. Author and reporter, quite famous and skilled in both. I'm here covering this murder for the Black Horse Courier, if you don't mind," he said in his usual pompous and pretentious manner. "Famous? Never heard of ya. Just keep out of my way and you wont have to suffer the view of the inside of the dungeon." he then turned to Lilly. "Shall we go?" "I assume that along with fearing talkative noblewomen, you must also be afraid of reading, if you haven't heard of me. Hmph, and what might I see the dungeon for? Gross misuse of sarcasm, perhaps?" Albecias once again facetiously remarked. "Interfering with a lawman's work. That's what." he replied while giving the writer a strict look, before turning back to Lilly once again. "Now shall we go?" "Just let the big boys do there job, and we'll let you write okay?" She turned to the sergeant, "Roger." "Oh yes ma'am. I'll be sure to keep out of your way," Albecias said dryly. "You realize my talking is in no way interfering. Unless you're easily distracted, in which case I'll have this Maro remove all shiny objects, lest you forget why you're here." "Just zip it." She said in a joking tone. Albecias smirked but said nothing. He could antagonize the two for days, but in the end, without their cooperation, he would have nowhere close the access he did now, so he followed the Spymaster's advice. Amidius muttered something inaudible under his breath as he with quick steps headed out onto the street. And as soon as they were out in the open on the street, Karsh (who was still invisible) silently swooped down and landed on Lilly's shoulder. Lilly whispered, "By the way, are you the one whose been putting the idea that I'm a incestuous pedophile in Helen's head?" "Well aren't you? The way you've been going through her underwear." the raven replied. "That girl has enough problems as it is. Don't cause her more stress. She already has a dozen phobias." "What's wrong with having a phobia of pedophiles?" "If she's thinks I'm one it'll cause her to feel uncomfortable at home. Which is a place she should feel safe." "And how is it my fault you're going through her underwear?" She looked away, embarrassed, "You know teens these days....moon sugar and skooma. I needed to make sure she wasn't hiding anything." "In her underwear?" "Does it look I go around town looking for little girls to molest? What am I? A dirty old man?" "Fine. I wont talk with her about your plans to molest her. "Shut up." She said rather quiet. "Why are you muttering with yourself?" Amidius asked. "Should have cast a muffle spell." Karsh said into her ear with a smug tone. "Allows me to gather my thoughts sarge." She said with a smile. "Oh, okay." the sergeant said with a shrug. "And I almost forgot. They talked about your interrogation you had yesterday." Karsh said. Casting a muffle spell, Lilly asked, "The details?" "That guy following us asked what happened and that guy with shit on his head said you mistreated him and slammed him into a wall. And that's it. Boring conversation." "Boring is good." "No, it's not. I prefer when people say things that'll get them killed. That way I'll have some nice eyeballs to shew on." "Man I need a holiday. " She started to think deeply, "Maybe a trip to Chorrol. Visit the old harpie herself. Take Helen shopping. Go to the hotsprings. Yeah that would be nice." "After the assassination attempts you should be happy to be able to leave the city without the little blonde thing." "Then your hearing is slightly off. And I'm going to keep calling her little as that makes me feel bigger." "But your tiny." She said in a deadpan tone, "Why don't you ask your master to turn you into a giant fire breathing raven?" "Like if he ain't happy with amount of food I already eat." "Unlike you however, while small, Dales is adorably cute." "At least I'm charming. And handsome." he said with a slightly gruff tone. "Jealous of her majesty? Jealous that your master favors her over yourself?" She said slyly. "Jealous? Favors? I'm the one who does all the important hard work. All she does is sits on a throne and tries to look competent while sometimes taking a sausage up her private quarters." "Dales does all of the 'boring' stuff. Focusing on the social issues, economics, and of course, the paper work of the empire. She wakes up at 5 AM and goes to sleep at 2 AM the next day. While your stuffing your face in meat and sleeping. She does far more then you." She said smugly. "Keep telling yourself that. I am important. And a bit peckish." "The messanger raven is more important then the empress. You're a nice pet." "I'm not a pet! I'm a companion." "Hehehehehe. Want a dog biscuit for dinner? I'm sure Helen would love to dress you up in frilly princess clothing as well." "Like if my feathers weren't warm enough in this climate. Keep your clothes to yourself." "A little baby bib and some little socks. Helen will give you a bottle of milk and make you say 'mama' over again as she rocks you in a manger." She said smiling. "Bah. You humans are freaks." Albecias looked on with awe, first noticing the whispering, then watching Lilly as she cast a spell. He only noticed because he was already watching her strange movements. Then, she began to speak, her lips moving but no words coming out. Occasionally, she glanced at her shoulder, talking as she did. The whole behavior was perplexing, and he had never seen anything like it before. Albecias didn't say a word about it, but noted that the Spymaster might be unstable, or even insane. She dispelled the muffle and said out loud, "So sarge do you think this guy is the killer?" "How should I know? Never met the man." he answered. "I don't know. Last case like this I worked was the black rose killer back in Chorrol." She shuddered at the memory. "The Black Rose case was quite ugly. People can be monsters, that much I've seen firsthand," Albecias piped from behind Lilly. "Yeah, but this seems more like a killing made on impulse under the effect of alcohol. I doubt there's any kind of thought put into the deed." said Amidius. "Worst part about that was we never found out who he or she was. Just letter after letter talking about how it eviscerated and tortured those poor girls." She took a huge mouth full of air. Lilly didn't want to go back to those dark days, "Your right though sergeant. Those murders were calculated and well executed. The black rose killer would stalk it's victim for days before making its move. This one seems to have been in the moment due to how sloppy it was." "Anyway, here we are." said Amidius and stopped in front of the house opposite of the one they had visited yesterday. Both houses looked quite alike. "Hopefully he'll be more receiving of me. Though I doubt he'll take kindly to letting in the writer. I don't think anyone would like his kind watching and taking notes on how your treated as a suspect in such a gruesome murder. Especially nobles." "On the contrary, I think he would want me there. As your first interviewee told me, his treatment at your hands was rather rough. I'm sure Mr. Maro knows this, and would want a witness to report such foul mistreatment," Albecias had dealt with this situation before, and for the most part the person being interviewed wanted someone there that wasn't biased against them. "I agree. The author can come if he wants." Lilly said. "Whatever you say. But in my experience, most nobles prefer a bruised body over a bruised reputation." he said with a shrug and went up to the door and knocked. "And most would want their side of the stories heard rather than be labeled by the general populace as a murderer and rapist." Albecias said with his trademark smug smile. "I don't know what people you've worked with, but I don't go around announcing who's a suspect." The door opened and middle aged woman in simple servant clothing stood there. "Yes? How can I help you?" Albecias took out his noted and scribbled something down, the quickly slipped it back in this pocket. "I've worked with your colleague here, and she kindly told me who the suspects were. Still, it isn't hard to deduce by those who knew the victim. People will assume Maro is involved, because of his relationship with her." Lilly ignoring the two's small squabble, approached the woman and said, "Colonel Lillin Quentas. Were here to speak with your master on Oculatus, and Imperial watch business." "Which one?" she asked. "Maro." "He's in the dining room. Eating breakfast. Is it urgent?" "Very." She said with a simple nod. "This way then. And don't touch anything." she stepped aside and gestured for everyone to enter. Lilly entered the door first, not bothering to take off her long-coat. Albecias followed, whipping out his parchment and charcoal so as to write notes more quickly than with ink and quill. Amidius just followed quietly and kept his strict look on his face. The servant led them through the entrance hall to a door at the far left on which she knocked. "Mr Maro? The Oculatus wants to see you." "Is it that important? I'm eating!" shouted a grumpy voice from the other side of the door. "They say it is." replied the servant woman. "Fine. Send them in!" Maro yelled back and the servant opened the door for the three to enter. Lilly entered into the room and bowed her head, "Colonel Lillin Quentas. This will only take a little of your time." Maro who looked like a rather average imperial with short brown hair and a clean shave, except he had somewhat broad jaw. He sat the left side of the table, eating sandwiches made of fluffy white bread and slices of smoked venison from a plate. And delicate glass filled with clear water next to him. Other than that the table was quite barren. On right wall hanged a couple of paintings of what could be assumed was prominent member of Maro's family. A small and relatively simple chandelier hanged in the roof. It was unlit as the sunlight that managed to pass through both the clouds and the windows was still enough to lighten up the place so there were no dark corners. Maro straightened his back and looked at Lilly and her little entourage that followed. "Well I do hope you have a good excuse to interrupt a man's breakfast." he said a in a calm yet slightly annoyed tone. Then taking another shew of his sandwich. "Its about a party you were at recently." "What about it?" he asked with his mouth still shewing on the sandwich. "Were aware that you have an intense rivalry with a noble named Adrian correct?" Maro waited a second to swallow before he replied. "Depends on what you consider intense. I would consider it long-lasting. And given our past disputes, I dare say that things are relatively calm between us right now." "Hmmm. Are you also aware of the murder that happened at that party?" "Murder?" he said with surprise. "She was raped as well. A daughter of an elder councilor. You and Adrian were fighting over her the night of the party." "Maressa? She's dead?" he said and then grew silent and just stared. "Death by strangulation." "Well if it's not Adrian I don't know who it could have been." "May I be blunt?" She said calmly. "Ehm, sure. Go ahead." he said, sounding a bit confused. "You're a suspect." "Why?" he sounded a little shocked at the notion. "You were piss drunk. Angry. And made hopeless passes at the girl." "Who told you that? Adrian?" "A large amount of sources." "Well I can admit I was a little more than just tipsy from the drink. And yes, I had an interest in the girl. And I wasn't angrier than usual when it comes to being close around Adrian." "You understand? If there's anything you can tell us to clear your name it would help." "I mingled. Drank some. Had a brief talk with Adrian inside the mansion. Then I mingled and drank some more. Then I heard from someone that Adrian had been accusing me necrophilia at the party, to some of the guests. When I asked where he was someone said that he had headed into the garden with Maressa. I headed to the garden and we meet just outside. I told him a few things and where he could stick it. Then I headed back to the party and mingled some more. Then drank some more till I could barely walk straight. And then I headed home." "I heard it was a very heated argument that nearly came to blows." "That sounds like pretty much every conversations me and Adrian has ever had." "You both wanted the victim?" "Wanted the victim? I can admit I fancied her. But I wouldn't beat Adrian because of her. If I would beat him it would be because of his smug and arrogant demeanor and not for that he managed to woo a girl and I did not." "He was successful in his attempts?" "Well he managed to get her into garden for some private time. How well it went after that you'll have to ask him." "What was Maressa's mental state at the time?" "A bit tipsy when I spoke with her. Maybe she'd had some more to drink after I spoke with her and before she went with Maro. And she seemed to be enjoying the party and the alcohol." "Was there any... illegal substances going around?" "Not as far as I was aware of." "Besides Adrian was anyone acting strange?" "Strange? I would say that Adrian was his usual unpleasant self. Other than that I would say that everyone acted like people usually do when they have had some to drink." Albecias wrote things down as he listened, hovering behind the two officers of the law, so as to appear as inconspicuous as possible. "Do you think Adrian would have the balls to commit the deed?" "In general; no. Though he had had some to drink. And he becomes a bit unpredictable when he's had his drink." She stretched out, "Has Adrian ever gotten really violent?" "Not in public. Heard he beat one his servants really bad a few years ago though." "Beat his servants? Who was the unlucky victim?" She nudged the author, "Take notes." Albecias rolled his eyes after Lilly had turned around, as he was already writing down the abbreviated words of everyone in the room. "Some young girl or boy. Don't remember. I don't keep track of his servants. It was a rumor I heard a few years back." Maro replied. "Shame. We could have asked him or her about Adrian's sanity." "If being a smug and spoiled brat is insanity. He's really insane." "Hmmmmm. From what I read, Adrian has a small criminal record. He didn't do any time, just for being loud and harassing other nobles. I also read a file on him, he doesn't seem like the person to take something so far. "Well if he didn't do it. Then who did?" "That's what were trying to figure out. Was there any other known 'deviants' at the party my lord?" "Not as far as I could see." "Could someone have sneaked into the party? Was there any guards?" "No real guards as I could see. And I bet that after the reception was over and the drinks started flowing, that someone could have sneaked in. It would then just be a matter of looking like you fit in." "So it must have been somone from the party..." She turned to the sergeant, "Sarge, you have the guest list right?" "Yeah, I got it." the sergeant said and patted his pocked. "Hand it over to Maro over there." She asked him, "Would you look over it and see if any person on the list besides our mutual friend catches your eye?" "Okay." said and fished up the folded piece of paper, which he then handed over to to Maro. "I doubt I will actually be of some help. If you want suspects you'd be better of asking the hostess." said Maro with a light shrug. He unfolded the paper and looked it over for a good minute. Shaking his head lightly he looked back at Lilly. "I know quite a lot of these people, either friends or barely acquainted. But I don't know anything that would make them suspects in this case." "I think that's about it. We'll contact you if we have any other questions." She bowed her head, "Thank you for your time." "You're welcome. Now I'd like to finish my breakfast in peace." he handed back the list to Amidius and took a sip from his glass. Albecias was the first to leave, deciding he could garner no new information by personally questioning Adrian. He slipped out the door quietly, and exited the front door onto the still drizzly day. Lilly followed him out, she quietly said, "Think he's telling the truth?" "You think I was given a lie detector function when boss infused me with magic?" said Karsh with an annoyed tone. "Honestly, I don't know. He seemed confident enough in what he said. Which indicates that he's either telling the truth or that he's a good liar." "True." She turned to the author and said, "You think he's lying?" "I've dealt with nobles often enough to know that many fancy themselves excellent liars. Whether he is one or not, I couldn't tell. As another member of the party, though, I can tell you that the amount of alcohol flowing through our veins makes discerning lies from confusion or inability to remember difficult. He could have killed her but not remembered, because of his inebriation," Albecias walked as he spoke, brushing past peddlers and vagabonds alike. "You sure know your physiological profiles" She said, praising the author. "I've spent time studying the criminals in our prisons, as well as those of the provinces I have visited. Not to mention tailing law offices in other provinces, such as I am doing now. For a book to be well written, appropriate research must be done. I cannot just make up drivel like some authors. Even my fictional novels have accurate representations of the criminals and guards portrayed," Albecias smiled, the praise warming him like a lizard on a hot day. "Do you know why someone would be compelled to do something this horrific?" "Lust, anger, frustration. Those are my bets." Amidius briefly interrupted. "Insanity. Drunkenness. Jealousy, or any other strong emotion. Why people do things like this will never make sense to those with sane minds," the author said, before stopping and turning to the Spymaster. "Where are we going, again?" "Whose next sarge on your little list?" "Let me see." he said while fishing up the list again and reading the names and addresses. "Well the closest one on the list lives a bit further down the street. A jewelry merchant. I know that because he's been bothering me about supposed thefts that seem to happen in broad daylight." "Have any kind of record?" "Record on thefts? Not really. We only keep records on thefts if its' really valuable things that is owned by high nobility." "I think she meant does this merchant have any kind of criminal record himself," Albecias said. "What the author said." Lilly said. "No. Not as far I'm aware of." the sergeant replied. "So he's squeaky clean? Middle or high class?" "Something in between. Not nobility but he's isn't lacking in gold." "Can we roughen him up?" "Unless he does something to really warrant it, I would say it's ill advised." "****. All right, lead the way sarge."

(continued) The prisoners were secured away for the day while the others took care of the Stormcloak and Forsworn bodies by the roads and near the town. Baldur in the meantime checked up on Ysana, who had a dagger in her hand and almost had to use it when she saw how filthy he and his soldiers were in the new uniforms she just made for them. She made them all soak in the sea until the gore was gone, then rolled around in the snow to rid themselves of the salt on their skin and in their hair, letting their uniforms air dry until they were ready to be swatted and beaten to get rid of the salt in them as well. With his hair and beard brushed and freshly washed, Baldur made his way to the infirmary where Daric, Mazoga and Rebec were, along with Burla and Falgrum traveling behind him in matching fur kilts from their stormcloak officer uniforms. Burla was the first to walk in, curious to the state of the orc woman, but saying nothing at the moment. Baldur however ran up to her and immediately greeted her with a hug. "You're back! Rebec thought you were dead. You smell like it though." Mazoga kept her face straight, though the hug made her feel like her bones were cracking again. Menel wasn't there, something about an errand he needed to attend to, and there were only diluted cure disease potions around. It was bonebreak fever, the healers said, and an advanced case. She gave a weak smile. "See you all were planning some fun while I was away. Glad I got back in time to join in." Baldur said, "Yea, we prepared for a few raiders moving in on our town, but we didn't expect that many Forsworn. There must be a reason so many decided to leave the Reach. The townsfolk mentioned what we already know, which is the war. Maybe something happened in Markarth itself. We'll question the prisoners later." "Where's your bear fur, Mazoga?" asked Burla from a corner, her voice booming. She sounded genuinely curious, rather than antagonistic. She walked over just a bit after her inquiry, stepping into the better lit part of the room and exposing the gruesome scars over her stomach like four deep trenches, likely from the bear she herself killed. Mazoga looked up at her, suspicious about the sudden interest. "I dropped it to fight Forsworn. It might be still out there." Probably trampled or grabbed up by one of the Reachmen. Now she could tell Horkis gro Akthamal that she was a real orc. Only an orc could have such shit luck. Baldur shared a glance with the other two, but ignored the accusation in it. "That's... unfortunate." "What now? Is she one of us, or isn't she?" Falgrum asked. "Well, she's not an officer, but she did pass the trials. So that means she's one of us," Baldur answered. Burla sighed, sounding disappointed, though it wasn't clear if it was because she failed the final test, or because she managed to become one of them in the end. She didn't seem intent on elaborating either. "So, what do we call her? We've got Necro Nords, Draugr Dunmer, but an Orc? What's next, Abominable Altmer? Gods..." "Hows about the Odious Orsimer?" asked Baldur. "Sounds about right... Looks about right, hehehe." Rebec came up behind them and looked from one to the other. "What's going on?" When Mazoga explained, she said, "Well you're not all just going to give up, are you? I'm going out there to look for the pelt." "I'll go with you." Baldur said, but Burla shook her head. "No, I'll go. Just the three of us ladies." "If it's just the three of you ladies, why are you going? Baldur already looks prettier than two of you..." Falgrum joked. "What do you mean two?" said Baldur. He and Falgrum both shared a laugh until they saw Burla's look. "Maz needs to stay here. Look at her. She's more grey than green." The orc was already standing up, however, and would brook no protests. Rebec looked around as they were leaving. "Where's Menel anyway, gods damn his greasy hide. We got other wounded and he's off lollygagging somewhere." Burla picked her nose with her pinky, flicking something at the walls as they walked. "The cute little fat elf? That butter ball high tailed it to the Queen already with some devil magic. Had me suspicious, since he left just a few hours before the Forsworn came after checking on my wounds." "Menel's no Forsworn spy," Rebec said, shaking her head. "That would be too much work for him. I'm surprised he stuck around as long as he did. Probably jealous of Ulfric." She glanced back. "Easy there, Maz. You're almost done with all this foolishness." She took the orc's arm to steady her. Mazoga directed them towards where she remembered dropping the pelt. The civilians' broken cart was still there in the road. There was no pelt, however. They were just about to give up when two of the travelers came back up the road from the village with tools in hand to fix the cart. One of them recognized Mazoga and came over to thank her for helping them. When she told them about the pelt, one of the men said, "We found it! It's with our goods. I didn't want the savages to get it." By the time the women got back to the village, Mazoga's heart was pounding. She didn't want to admit that she wanted to succeed in the trial, but she did. If the farmers had taken the bolt out... There the pelt sat on the top of a pile of trade goods, the homemade crossbow bolt still protruding from the skull. Rebec let out a whoop and grabbed it up to go show Baldur. Baldur and Falgrum sat around kicking their feet in boredom while they watched Daric slumber. Baldur wasn't worried before, but now with Menel missing and forced to deal with the other half rate Nordic healers, he was sweating as much as the little Breton was on the medic table. Falgrum noticed this, mostly because watching Baldur sweat was the only interesting thing going on while the women made them wait. "So. The boy tasted real battle today. May as well declare him a Nord now. Give 'em a name and all. What do you think?" "You mean a moniker? Heh, sure. I think he'll like that. How'd you get yours, by the way? You don't use a shield, so why are you Falgrum Blood-Rim?" Falgrum's face suddenly went grave, which considering his bad eye, gave Baldur slight chills, though he'd never admit it. Falgrum looked at him directly and said, "There was a young boy, almost a man in Morthal, born with a glossy blind eye, who was said to be an orphan. The rumor was that he killed his entire family for no reason at all. Just a whim... like how you decide one day you'll wear a new pair of shoes. No one wanted to take in the boy even before they suspected that he did it. The air about him was all wrong. They had to do something with him though, but no one wanted to take up the responsibility. So, they decided to get rid of him, move him to another town. The boy heard the others talking and staring, and they knew they'd come for him. So, he came for them first. That night, there was a dead body in the street, then another the next, then another. Eventually they realized it was the child, because he stood at the edge of town with bloody hands, staring back with that awful glossy eye. The townsfolk had enough, but they grew afraid, saying he was possessed by the spirit of Mephala or Boethia. So they did what Nords always did when there was someone they needed to kill, but couldn't. They got a giant. They forged a great blade with a forked tongue at the end, and painted it in swirls from cow's blood, then sat it in the middle of town and left. They waited three days until they heard the great steps of the giant coming to claim his prize. Thinking that they solved their problems, the townsfolk came rushing back to see the aftermath of the battle... and they all fell to their knees in awe and horror. What they saw, was the giant, shorter now, because his head was missing, and blood shot so high from his massive body's neck, that they could have sworn that the splatter touched the sky, or so that's how they'd always remember it. Since then, the demon boy with the bad eye was known as Blood-Rim. So the story goes. Could have been a giant, could have just been a really big Nord mercenary, but if you go to Morthal and ask about Blood-Rim, the guards will tell you they still have a bounty on his head for your weight in gold if you kill him." Baldur hadn't said anything for the entirety of the story. Falgrum said it with such solemn sincerity, such grave earnest, that even before Baldur asked the question, Baldur knew the answer. "That true? You were that boy?" Falgrum stood up, brow knit as if Baldur just asked was his wife really murdered. Meeting Baldur face to face so close that he could smell his breath, Falgrum said, "Na, I'm pulling your leg, general. I got that name because I like cutting heads off. Get it? Blood Rim is their bleeding open neck holes." "You son of a bitch, I believed you!" Baldur said, disappointed. "That would have been a great story!" "Ahahaha, it still is! That's why it's a story." Rebec was about to burst in with the pelt in her hands, but stopped herself. Handing the bear fur to Mazoga, she said, "Here, Maz. Your kill, and your honor. I'd follow you into battle any day, but that was always so. Now the rest of these assholes will know what they're dealing with." Burla scoffed in reflex, remembering that she was one of those assholes, doubting the Orc's strength. "I admit, you surprise me, Thorn-Orc. You didn't kill the bear up close, but I suppose cunning is nice. I'd rather fight with you than a grey-skin. It'll be nice not being the only female officer." Mazoga shrugged her thanks. She'd had the sentimental beaten out of her. "Anyway, let's go. Then I'm going to sleep for a week." Inside the infirmary, she showed the pelt to Baldur with a blank expression, prepared for him to disqualify her anyway for some reason. Baldur shared a glance with Falgrum, rubbing his beard as he inspected the pelt. "Hmm. Right Falgrum?" "Hmmm... yea, I'm thinking the same thing. Hmmm..." "Hmmm... Oh and-" "Yea, yea. We should, right?" "Uhuh, come here." Baldur and Falgrum left the others to whisper amongst themselves in a corner, occasionally looking back at Mazoga with concerned looks. Finally, Baldur and Falgrum wandered back over to the women to give the news. "Well..." said Falgrum. "We're in agreement," said Baldur. "Unfortunately, you're going to have to tell Ysana yourself to make a new uniform. Neither of us want to deal with her again today. Oh, and you're in." Rebec was the one who shouted and jumped up and down at this, hanging on Mazoga's shoulder and then releasing her quickly as the orc groaned in pain. Mazoga's expression remained blank at first, but gradually she cracked a smile. "Thanks boss." Without another word, she walked over to her cot and fell into it. Hailing Menel's apprentice, Rebec said, "Give her the best potions you got. I know Menel's got his own stash somewhere. Find them and see that she gets what she needs, and come get me if anything changes with her." The admiral's commanding tone brooked no opposition. Then she turned to Baldur. "I'm going to go help clean up the mess those gods blasted freaks left out there. I'll see you at home later." Baldur hugged her quick and kissed her on the cheek, happy that she could finally stop worrying about her friend. "You have fun with that. I'll be waiting here for a while with Daric and celebrating Mazoga's success with a bottle of mead while you're gone. Get the boy some of that potion too. I'd say he needs it as well, maybe even more."

Mazoga Wilderness near Kyne's Watch Mazoga had stopped counting days. They all were the same anyway. The only thing that mattered was her, the bear, and her work. She had tracked the bear for a long while, and soon she would be ready. Snow bears didn’t hibernate except to bear young, but after a kill the beast would find a cave and sleep for a day or two before emerging again to hunt. In those times, Mazoga watched and worked. One day, she looked up and saw an old orc staring down at her. “What’s that you’re making, friend?†“It’s a weapon.†Mazoga went back to her work without another word. Before these last few weeks, she had liked company, and the days and nights of tracking she hadn’t spoken to a soul. The trials had changed her, though. Now the old man was just distracting her from the task she had to do. The man took a seat next to her at her fire. “Not much of a weapon. What are you going to do with it?†“Kill a bear.†Chuckling, the man said, “It had better be a scrawny one. What are you going to do, tickle it to death?†Mazoga snapped her tusks. One of them was broken now, a little reminder of the fight with Bully. “It’s a crossbow. I’m going to shoot an arrow in the bear’s eye.†She was going to poison it, but didn’t say that. It would ruin the meat, and Baldur would probably disqualify her, but no one had said you couldn’t use it. “Kind of cowardly, don’t you think? A real orc looks his opponent in the eye.†“Don’t care about being a real orc.†“Is that so?†The man regarded her skeptically. “I guess not. You don’t look so good, if you don’t mind me saying. Better eat something. You’re going to need it when you have to run away from an angry bear.†“I’m fine.†Mazoga had been saying that a lot lately, trying to convince herself more than anyone. “I died a while back. That didn’t stop me.†“Heh. Is that so. You think you’re the only one who’s tasted a bit of death?†At that, she looked up, interested in the man for the first time. “Who are you?†The orc stood to his feet. “I’m Horkis gro Akathmal. And since you haven’t got a real weapon on you, I guess I’ll go check my traps and see if we’ve got supper. Don’t keel over before I get back. You might put out the fire if you do.†Mazoga watched after him, her brow knit. Ignoring her frozen fingers, she went back to work then. The task was painstaking. She had found some dried-out whalebone on a beach near Kyne’s Watch, and was building the crossbow from peeled layers of it fixed together with pine resin. The bolt tips would be made of bone, too, and the shaft she carved of wood with her dagger. For the poison, she was collecting nirnroot and imp stool. Her mother, the hunter, had taught her wortcraft and fletching, and as for the crossbow, it was a good thing she had studied the diagrams of them they’d taken from the dwarven ruin in Stros M’kai. The old man was right about how she looked. Bully had broken her bones, and now there was something in them. Time was running out. True to his word, the old orc came back soon with some hares in tow. He set about skinning and cooking them, humming a tune Mazoga didn’t recognize. While they ate, the man said, “If you don’t care about being a real orc, does that mean you want to be some other kind of elf? A Bosmer, maybe, with your archery?†She scowled at him. “That’s ridiculous.†“Well if you don’t want to be what you are, you must want to be something else.†“I’m Mazoga Thorn-Orc. That’s all I want to be.†“Thorn-Orc. What sort of clan name is that?†“If you were from Leyawiin, you’d know.†“What’s in Leyawiin?†“A legend.†“Tell me. I like stories.†Mazoga sighed, not feeling like repeating the tale. The old fart would probably mock it, too. She eventually complied, however, because she owed her grandmother the honor of being remembered. The old man listened intently as he chewed, and when she was finished, he nodded once. “A worthy name. And there’s nothing wrong with bows. I did a bit of archery myself in my younger years. If you don’t mind, I’ll hang around for a while. I’m interested to see if this crossbow will work.†The next morning, the old orc was gone. Mazoga wasn’t surprised. She hadn’t minded his company after all, but didn’t need any distractions, and didn’t care for the skepticism in his tone. It too closely matched her own fears. Two weeks later, Horkis gro Akathmal was sitting at the same fire when she came back, a snow bear pelt over her shoulders. He looked up. “Thorn-Orc! You’re not dead after all. That’s a start. I see your crossbow worked.†“It worked well enough.†She showed him the broken-off bolt, still sticking out of the bear’s eye socket. One wound, that’s all Baldur had said. “Did you at least let him take a swipe at you?†Mazoga plopped down by the fire. “No. I hid on a ledge where he couldn’t get me even if wanted to.†The man groaned. “Is that how an orc does battle?†“I told you. I don’t care how an orc is supposed to be. He’s dead and I’m not. I killed it with my own hand, and the arts my mother taught me. If you say that she’s not a real orc, I’ll have to put you in the ground, so don’t.†Horkis gave her a sly grin. “You’re not ashamed of where you come from. That’s good. Better to bear even shame and defeat together than to turn your back and seek your own glory. Here, I want to give you this.†He handed her a ring. It was very old, the silver scuffed and somewhat blackened. On its face was inscribed a symbol like wings with two downward slashes like fangs. “It was earned as reward for a battle won, and you’ve won a battle here, so it’s yours. Eat something now, then you’d better be off soon to find a healer. You still don’t look so good.†*** "Not good enough. You can do better than that. If you can't, then perhaps I should kill you right here and save us the embarrassment later." "**** you!" "That's **** you, High General, sir." The clangs of steel on steel would have been enough to disturb anyone nearby if not for the songs of winter drowning all else out. The Sea of Ghosts carried the tune of its inhabitants in its winds, as well as the unforgiving cold of the North, both of which filled Daric's being as his reddened hands shook as he forced himself to hold onto the cold steel at his side. Baldur stood in front of him like a specter, unaffected by any of it and waiting for his pupil to make a move before he did. That didn't happen, however. Daric spent the past half hour attempting to strike him in this weather, with nothing at all covering his torso. Impatient now, Baldur ran towards the shaking Breton and slammed his large fist in Daric's little gut. The hit brought Daric off his feet momentarily, and before he knew it, his back met the snow as the Sky's frozen tears tickled his face. Sighing, Baldur took a step over Daric's body, thinking him being out cold since he dropped his sword. "You haven't put a single cut on me, boy. Not even a nick. Even a scout needs to know how to fight, lad." Baldur raised his axe, looking for a spot to wound him to give him his lesson in pain since he couldn't learn his lesson in skill. As his axe fell towards Daric's arm, the Breton's legs came up, sending spinning kicks that caught Baldur's weapon at its side and sent it flying from his hand. Daric made a scramble for his sword and came at Baldur with the quickness of a charging ice wraith. Just before Daric came close to jabbing at Baldur's exposed gut, Baldur's foot kicked up another axe from the snow into his hands, then the Nord fell to his back. Before Daric could get closer, Baldur's boot found its way to Daric's bruised torso. To his credit, Daric held his ground enough to meet Baldur's swing with his blade when he rolled forward, but with the wind kicked out of him, it had no strength, and his axe made a neat red line across Daric's cheek. "Not bad, Daric. Not bad. You couldn't hit me, so you decided to wait until you could take me off guard. Unfortunately, you're still a boy, charging at the first opening you see in search of quick victory. That'll only ensure you receive a quick end." "You cheated. I didn't know you had another weapon hidden nearby," he said as he stood, pawing at his wound. He could not feel it, thanks to the bitter cold numbing his face. "Don't ever let me hear you say that again, Daric. You're not a child anymore, you're a Stormcloak! There's no such thing as 'cheating' in battle. Expect the unexpected, or expect to be killed. Understand?" "Yes sir..." he said, feeling embarrassed now that Baldur had to yell at him. Daric was busy moping over Maggie's departure before, but now he was glad that she wasn't around to see him still acting like a child. Baldur placed an arm over his shoulder and said, "Cheer up, boy. You're definitely improving. Allowing myself to be disarmed was a poor mistake on my part, so be proud. I'll still keep my promise and allow you to go scouting with the men, alright? Give you some time out there without me holding your hand. In the meantime though, lets go see if Rebec's up yet. If we're lucky, she's got something to eat!" "Something to eat? I've never seen her cook..." Don't think I want to either... "She's cooked.. she can cook... I think." Baldur thought about it some and realized the only time he ever saw Rebec cook anything was in Solitude, when she made sweetrolls better suited for slingshots. "Well... if not, then we'll swing by ma's house and see if she can whip us all up some soup." *** Rebec had stirred that morning as Baldur left her side, but it was still dark out and she burrowed deeper under the covers, so tired that it was like her limbs were paralyzed by one of Menel's spells. Her hand moved over her stomach. Was this a good sign or a bad one? If the baby was drawing so much at her strength, maybe it was because it was a strong little Nord. Or maybe something was wrong. While she was debating it, sleep drew Rebec back down, or it must have, because she had the sensation of rocking on a choppy sea. She must be out to sea. A storm was coming on, about to swallow them. As Rebec was about to run to get the sail down, she noticed something white bobbing in the black water. Then she heard a baby's cry and knew what it was. Had she had the baby yet? She must have, and had been so occupied with sailing the ship that she'd let it fall over the side. Panicked, Rebec ran the rail and started to climb, but before she could reach it, the little white bundle slipped beneath the waves and disappeared. NO! The storm rolled over them and Rebec swallowed water as she tried to scream. She woke shouting, every muscle and fiber gripped by panic, sweat dripping from her brow and neck. For a full minute, the terror and guilt and desperation were still just as real as they had been in the dream, and a rush of thoughts crowded Rebec's mind. Baldur would hate her now. She'd let their baby die, she always put the damn ship first. You're so selfish, selfish and careless, you never deserved all this. You know this baby is going to die, just like Jala. It's you. You ruin everything. Heart pounding and limbs trembling, Rebec tried to calm. Reality crept back in, the dim light of dawn revealing the details of the longhouse. She had to piss, desperately. On the pot, Rebec thought about the dream and her thoughts afterward, and felt a prickle of embarrassment. The baby was alright, everything was alright, and Baldur wouldn't hate her. She hadn't ruined anything, not this time. As she finished and stood up, Rebec gave a little chuckle. "This is what happens when you go off mead," she said aloud, trying to chase the last of the fear away. Still, even an hour later when the fire was roaring and she sat writing up her weekly report to Ulfric, a knot of it remained in the back of her gut, like a hint of nausea that wouldn't go away. *** "What is this place, eh? I don't remember this village being here." "Neither do I. It's perfect for us. We can stay here for a while, don't you think? Just long enough to gather supplies before we go back to hiding." "I agree. I don't see any soldiers yet, besides what's on the road in the front. The others should overrun those guys quickly enough. Shh, wait! Someone's walking over there." "I see 'em. It's just a boy and a Nord. Lets kill them. We do that, and they'll be distracted by the time the others get here. Leave the horses and follow me down the cliff. Hey, you two! Hold this rope and lower us down." *** Daric put his Stormcloak tunic back on as they got closer to the longhouse with Rebec, unable to cope with the cold any longer and not afraid to admit it. Even Baldur had to admit he was tired of freezing his ass off and throw on his leather officer coat and bear furs. Both no longer cared if there was going to be food ready and only hoped that Rebec stoked the fires already. "So, Daric. About that Imperial woman. Did you..." "Did I..." Baldur nudged him in the shoulder. "Come on, you know what I mean. Got your mead spigot wet, boy?" Daric suppressed a smirk and nudged him right back. "I'm not telling you." "Come on." "No." "Daric... come on." "No!" Daric said. Laughing, he shoved Baldur away from him and said, "It's none of y-" "Oh quit being such a milkdrinker! I've got a bet against Rebec that says you didn't get any. Now cough up the details so..." In a puff of snow, Daric suddenly collapsed to the ground behind him as he continued to walk. When his head turned, what greeted him was an arrow protruding from the back of Daric's shoulder blade. Eyes bulging from his sockets, Baldur's head darted around madly in search of the attacker. And now, either Baldur was going crazy, or two deer heads were peeking around the corner of a longhouse, stalking him. "You missed and got the boy, idiot." Baldur's attention left the two men with bows in their hands and settled on Daric's still form in the snow like a log. There was no movement coming from him at all. No shaking, not even the rise and fall of breath from his chest. Baldur's vision went blurry with what he realized was tears, stinging his eyes as their heat shocked his face, trickling down his cheeks. "No." "How was I supposed to know he'd shove the big one out of the way. Hurry up and kill the other one." The Forsworn smiled as he notched an arrow to his bow. "No.." Baldur repeated as a trembling hand rubbed at his eyes. "I'll show you how it's done." Their garments were too light and exposing to adequately deal with the cold, even with their furs, but when the man let his arrow loose, it still hit its mark despite the chill seeping into his bones and shaking his arms. "Got 'em! Now that's how you..." "Huuuaaaaaahh! Dariiiic!" The Forsworn watched in confusion as the red faced Nord with an arrow in his side kept running towards him, reaching out for him with his bear claw covered arms. The man was enraged, yelling out curses that were unintelligible and with tears in his eyes. Just like the bear that draped his head, the big crazed Nord was disturbingly quick. Before they knew it, the man was on top of him, ripping out the arrow in his hide before he stabbed it in his neck, then his face, where Baldur used the arrow to gouge the man's eyes out. His friend was taken aback by this brutality, momentarily frozen like the land around him. For a moment, all he could do was listen to his companion's startling wails as his face was literally torn to pieces by this animal in front of him. Eventually he regained his composure and was about to run Baldur through from behind, but before he could, he found a bloodied steel blade protruding from his chest. The blade disappeared just as quickly as it appeared, and the Forsworn man's face planted in the snow before he could see the boy he thought he killed run past him. "Baldur! Help," said Daric, collapsing to the ground before he could reach him. The blood pooling in his mouth kept him from saying anymore, only reddening the snow he laid on before his vision went dark. *** "Got to... keep..." Mazoga's muttering stopped as she heard movement up ahead in the forest, the crunch of footsteps in the snow, then voices. She must be near Kyne's Watch now, the orc judged, but the weeks of tracking left her wary all the same. Pulling out her whalebone crossbow, she nocked a bolt and moved into the trees. It proved to be just travelers, however, heavy laden with packs and a cart they were trying to get up a steep slope in the road. Mazoga considered slipping past them. Barely able to walk, fire shooting through her bones, she was in no shape to push a cart. Sighing, she replaced the bolt and made towards the farmers anyway. If she was going to drop dead, it might as well be here. Just as she emerged from the trees, a lone woman out ahead of the others dropped as if her legs were cut from under her, a Forsworn arrow sticking out of her neck. Then more arrows were flying through the air. The remaining peasants dropped their burdens and began to run, screaming. With war whoops, Forsworn streamed out onto the road after them. "Shit, this is just what I need." Mazoga dropped the heavy snow bear pelt around her shoulders and replaced the bolt. She had just enough time before the Forsworn disappeared over the top of the slope to run forward, get down on one knee, and put a bolt in one of their backs. Before the Reachman was on the ground, she was already up and loading another as she ran. *** "Somebody! Hey! I need help!" Baldur sat in the snow holding Daric's wound, the barbed arrow now removed. Fortunately for Baldur, the arrows were barbed, and didn't do a great job of penetrating his leather coat or the vest under it. Daric however had his arrow's barbs go right through the rivets under his sash, which was what they were made for. The barbs were also serrated, and Baldur couldn't take them out without doing anymore damage to him. "Baldur! Over here!" Falgrum ran his way over to the two in his new uniform matching Baldur's. So too did Huomundr the Sullier, Burla She-Wolf, Hafnur Shallow-Tip, Dagnjorn of Whiterun, Bardok the Impaler, Bjorn Shatter-Wall, Kjisvild Moon-Gazer, Siguroar Twice-Cursed, and finally, Torik, the Dunmer battle mage. Falgrum got to them first, but Torik quickly pushed through the rest. "Out of the way, they're injured!" "Get Daric first!" Baldur said as he stood. "I'm fine, don't waste time on me." "Baldur, the town is under attack. There's Forsworn overrunning our men! We're gonna get overrun if we don't do something." "What? How many are there?" Baldur asked Falgrum. "I don't know, three score maybe more?" While they talked, Daric started to stir under the waves of Torik's golden glow flowing from his hands. "This one will be fine, Baldur. He'll be up soon. He'll have to keep those barbs in him for now until someone can cut them out of him later, but we don't have time for that now. What are we doing, retreating?" Bardok said, "Retreat? **** that, I want blood! People blood. I'm tired of fighting without killing. I need to kill something today!" Dagnjorn said, "I'm in agreement with Bardok. We've been training for scenarios like this right? Let's go cut loose." "Baldur, we're outnumbered. A tactical retreat would probably be best..." "No, Torik. No retreat." Baldur's face was twitching with barely contained anger as he drew his axes from his belt. "These fuckers come to my town, shoot my apprentice and endanger my family? No. They're going to pay now. In blood and flesh. We're going to rip the flesh from their bones! So everyone will think twice about ever coming to our town with ill intent." "Let me come...too..." Daric grabbed Baldur's arm to pull himself up. Looking as pale as the Nords, he said, "I'm good to fight. Let me come with you." Baldur opened his mouth to say no, but his increasing anger and excitement stopped him. "Yea. Alright, if you think you can fight, then I'll let you. But not with us, you'll slow us down. Go, fetch Rebec. Tell her to get her sailors and have them ready to chase the Forsworn into the woods. I've got a plan." From behind another longhouse, another antler adorned head stood by, watching the scene of the Nords counseling near his dead companions. "What are they saying?" "I don't know... I think they're planning on attacking the others." "By themselves?" "Heh, yea. Crazy right?" "Very. The boy and the big one with the sissy hair made short work of Ramon and Stilch though. We should regroup and." "Well well well, what do we have here?" came a voice from behind the two men. They jumped and predictably swung their swords in the Nord's direction, but before they could, the red headed giant wrapped his arm around one of their necks and dropped him with a grisly snap. The man's neck was broken, but he wasn't dead, merely paralyzed. The other Forsworn looked into his milky eye in panic, daring another swing in his direction, only to have the Nord remove his hand with his silver great sword almost as large as he was. Baldur and the others heard the scream and quickly drew their blades. "Daric, go get Rebec and let her know what's going on!" After Daric limped off, Falgrum came from behind the home and said, "Look what we got here, boys!" Falgrum dragged the two Reachmen behind him as if they were mere children, then dumped them both in the midst of the bloodthirsty Nords. The Reachman with the missing hand was losing consciousness quickly, but unfortunately for him, Torik started using his magics to keep him going for the time being. "What should we do with my catch, sir? I've got recommendations." "I know what to do," Baldur answered as he pulled out his dagger. The nordic carved blade's tip moved from side to side before the paralyzed one's eyes like a pendulum that would soon descend and cut into him like the piece of meat he was. "See, I'm a fan of the ancient Nords. And the ancient Nords had many interesting means of execution. One of them was said to steal the power of a man's voice." Baldur patted the tip of his blade at the Reachman's neck. "By stealing their tongues and ripping them from their throat. So what do you say? Let's get Merithic on their asses." The Nords snickered in delight from the frightened man's panicked cries, cracking their knuckles in anticipation of the cut. Baldur and the others paid no attention to the other Reachman as he scrambled away in obvious terror. He was doing exactly what he was supposed to do. Rebec was already out the door and strapping on her axe belt when Daric showed up. She took one look at the arrow in his shoulder and cursed. "Forsworn. Gods damned savages, I'm going to piss in their skulls. Where's Baldur?" Daric was more fatigued than he wanted to admit, but he did his best to ignore the pain running down his arm. "He and the Necro Nords have something planned. He told me to tell you get your sailors ready to fight. He said they'll have the Forsworn in the forests somehow, and we're going to run them over. Didn't say much else, just to hurry and get your men moving." "On it. You get into the fort and get that arm seen to." Rebec didn't stay to make sure he did it, just ran towards the quay yelling "Forsworn!" Daric turned to do as he was told, but stopped just short of running out the door. Baldur said he could fight, but Daric knew the right thing to do would be to get healed properly. The Dunmer cleared him, but they all seemed to be in a hurry, and he certainly didn't feel good enough to kill right now. And yet, Daric was sick and tired of being treated like a boy still. Being yelled at to fetch this or do that, not being treated like a soldier. Daric tried to reach for the arrow, but he couldn't get a good enough grip on it. Every time his finger twitched it, pain would shoot up his arm and through his shoulder again, sending tears from his eyes. Daric was determined not to give the Nords a reason to call him a milkdrinker, however. He'd fight with the arrow in his shoulder if he had to. But, there was still another way. Daric turned his back to the door and creaked it open just enough to stick the arrow through before slamming it shut. He put his Stormcloak sash in his mouth to keep from biting his tongue, then yanked his body from the door as hard as he could. The arrow was successfully removed, but it took almost five minutes of screaming before Daric was able to get up again. He knew he probably wounded himself even further, but at least now he could move his arm normally again. That meant he could swing a blade, which he fully intended to do. Daric grabbed a spare steel axe from within the longhouse and took off in the direction of the fighting, just like the rest of the Stormcloaks, ignoring the blood he felt running down his back. *** The Forsworn indeed outnumbered the small posting of soldiers Baldur ordered to the edge of town, numbering in about eighty men and women to the Stormcloak's twenty, holding back the mob of savages with their shields as best they could. There was a rush of newcomers fleeing the scene into the town, obviously expecting there to be more soldiers in the king's new port that they all heard about. The sight of the bare bones barely adequate security disheartened them all and made them think all they managed to do was trap themselves into a dead end. The Stormcloaks were slowly being pushed back by the numbers of the Reachmen despite cutting into their pathetic excuses for armor almost with ease. The numbers were just too much for them to hold back forever. As the assigned captain took a Forsworn bone spiked blade to his face, and had most of it ripped away, the others were just about to rout until they heard behind them, "Help! They're coming after me, help!" The antler adorned Reachman was bleeding all over the place, most notably from his severed hand, and yet somehow he had enough fear in him to make it all the way to the battlefield, only to collapse in front of everyone in a dramatic display. Shortly after, the sounds of what seemed like wolves, or rabid animals drowned out the sounds of battle. With bloodied weapons and blood smeared faces, eleven bear fur wearing barbarians charged directly towards the position of the overwhelmed Stormcloak soldiers, letting out warcries that split the enemy's ears. One of them with greyish skin stayed in the back and shot waves of frost from his hands, hitting the Nords and Reachmen alike. The Nords were mostly unaffected, but the Reachmen in the front lines found themselves backing away from the bitter cold that now hindered their movement. Even more, they had no way to prepare for the barbarians that came charging past the Stormcloak's front lines, as the frost magic blurred their vision, blinding them, allowing the Necro Nords to savagely stab into the Forsworn as if they were in a trance of madness. "Huoooooaaaaaaaaahhh!!" Falgrum's great sword caught a group of the Reachmen off guard, decapitating two of them with a mighty heave and burrowing into the neck of a third. Before he could be jumped from behind, Bardok the Impaler true to his namesake, ran two of the enemy through with his blade. Baldur's axe flew around in a flurry into the backs of routing Forsworn that were ill prepared for such a strong and surprising counter attack from so few. And with the frost magic slowing their swings down, they were being slaughtered quickly. Baldur's axes came down hard into a Reachman's shoulders, allowing him to pull the man towards him and take a chunk of flesh from his neck in a fountain of spurting blood. This grotesque display was enough to discourage the front lines and make them rout for the next group of fresh soldiers to come. Disheartened, but not afraid, the new soldiers came with blades raised, looking to overwhelm and cut down the blood crazed freaks they saw slaughtering their friends. Before one of them could run away, Falgrum's sword stuck him through the back and into the ground. Before the other Forsworn overwhelmed them, Torik sent another wave of frost magic to mask their movements, allowing Baldur and the rest to maneuver through the enemy lines, cutting whoever got in their way. When the frost magic dissipated, Baldur and the Necro Nords were behind the Forsworn, holding one of them with his arm around his neck. Baldur cut a dagger through his gut and made him watch as his men tore his intestines and other organs out from him. This did the trick. While the others bathed their faces in the man's innards and blood, the enraged Forsworn charged their positions, looking for revenge. Baldur and the others ran to the forest, laughing madly as their bloody footsteps showed their enemies the way. Falgrum slammed his gore covered hand to his chest, barking in challenge to the first that were close enough to greet his steel. His child sized blade cleaved through the first woman's arm, then halved the head of the man behind her, sending his teeth flying in a loud crunch before Falgrum dashed away from the crowd with the others. Meanwhile, the Forsworn who would rather take their chances with the other Stormcloaks found themselves in a much less favorable situation, with over half of their men gone and chasing the Grim Ones into the winter hell that these demons surely came from. Behind the Necro Nords, lines of navy crossbowmen formed up and began sending bolts into the back ranks of the Forsworn. Rebec's crossbow was on her back, because come Sovngarde or Oblivion, she was going to fight her way to Baldur's side. She found herself on the right flank of the Stormcloaks just as a few Forsworn broke away, trying to make for the village, no doubt to use the chaos of battle as an opportunity to burn it. "Men, over here!" Rebec called back to her crew, and brought her own crossbow around. Bolts caught one Forsworn in the leg and slowed him enough for Rebec to run up and hack his spine open. She extracted her weapon and saw a young Forsworn man getting away, almost to the edge of the village. The next moment, Kyne's Talon was sailing through the air, spinning end over end. It hit the man's skull, cleaved it neatly in two and continued on, burying itself in the back of hers and Baldur's longhouse. On the slope above the town, Mazoga heard the sounds of battle just as she crested the ridge, and realized that the Forsworn attacking the peasants were just outliers, probably rearguard scouts for a much bigger attack force. Now half of that attack force was routing, and headed straight for her. She had six more of her homemade bolts, then she'd be out. "Better make 'em count," the orc growled as she took aim at an antlered woman. Daric made his way into the fray, trying his best to ignore the pain in his arm. The bigger adult soldiers made it tough for him to work his way in, but Daric's skinny frame made him perfect for stabbing through the shield wall. Before the Nords up front had to move their hands to strike at the Forsworn, Daric quickly slashed at their face any time their heads poked through. Killing was something he'd yet to grow accustomed to. He still had the feeling of subduing to authority, so the idea that he was now killing people much older than him gave him a rush that made it hard to keep his weapons in hand. When the Forsworn came crashing into the shield wall again, Daric got on the ground and stabbed a man through his knee, then dragged him from under to cleave off his head. He only managed to cut his throat with the axe, but the man was dead all the same. Suddenly, one of the Stormcloaks caught a spear through his skull and fell backwards over Daric, allowing some of the Forsworn to pour in. One of them tripped and fell over Daric, but me managed to lift his sword just in time for the woman to fall on it. Only now, Daric was trapped between bodies while a bunch of soldiers stomped around him, threatening to crush his head while this woman's stomach seeped warm blood over his tunic. Daric once again had to fight back the urge to wretch. Good thing he hadn't eaten yet, this time. The routing Forsworn, hearing their fellows charge again into the Nords' shield wall, began to hesitate. Mazoga took advantage of the confusion and put several of them down. She kept moving, using cover, but a Reachman spotted her nonetheless and charged at her with axe brandishing. Even when the orc put a bolt in his chest, he still kept coming. It was her last bolt. Horkis gro Akthamal's taunt came back to her. What are you going to do, tickle him with it? Drawing her dagger, Mazoga waited until the Forsworn was on her, starting to bring his axe down. She ducked underneath, spun, and brought her homemade crossbow around, bashing the man in the head with it. The whalebone layers shattered, and the man screamed as bits of bone flew into his eyes. Mazoga was left with a jagged spear of reinforced bone. The Forsworn was waving his axe wildly, and by chance caught Mazoga across the shoulder, but as she came around, she jammed her dagger square in the back of his neck. It took several more blows to bring the man down. Mazoga wrenched her dagger free and looked up to see two more Forsworn running towards her. She took a moment to curse her luck. A few weeks ago, no one expected her to succeed in the trials, let alone the solo hunt. Now that she was almost within sight of home, of the ship were she would be captain for the first time, it was going to end. There wasn't even time to grab the dead man's axe. Nevertheless, she wasn't going to go down quietly. As Mazoga raised her dagger to meet the attackers, a streak of green moved next to her, and the next thing she saw was Horkis gro Akthamal thundering in among the Forsworn attackers with a harsh war cry, his sword cutting an arc through them. Horkis broke out in curses and shrieks that seemed unfitting for him in his old age, but nevertheless they came, just as his sword did from the withered body of an old man that should not have been fighting either. First, a wild eyed woman fell to his feet when his sword slipped between her ribs. Then a man had his chest cavity illuminated by the world's light for the first time when his sword met his pecks. The man dropped his sword, but with his last strength tried holding onto Horkis' body, the only resistance he could muster against his foe in his dying state. Horkis rewarded him by shoving a fist in his open cavity, ripping his beating heart out from behind his ribs and taking a bite before tossing Mazoga the man's sword. "You can join in any time you want, my little green Bosmer." Mazoga caught the sword, her mouth still agape at the ferocity the old man displayed. Now that was a real orc. She nodded once at him, and said, "Thank you for your help. Now I've got to go. Those are my friends down there." "Farewell then, young one. I'll be watching. Say hello to the scholar for me, and don't get shown up by these pale skins." There was no time to be puzzled by the old orc's words. Mazoga knew she was in pain, but if she had learned anything the past weeks, it was to feed on pain like sustenance. She ran down the hill, shouting, and carved a path through Forsworn until she was at the Nord lines. Beyond the shield wall, she saw the bloodied faces of the Grim Ones, and wondered if they would allow her into their ranks. If they didn't, she really would be dead this time. *** "Fall back!" Baldur cried. They were slowly but surely leading the other half of the Forsworn away, but now they were starting to circle around them again. Baldur would not let them have their lives so easily, but instead would slowly pick them off until they ran away to lick their wounds, or Rebec's forces came to clean up. The Grim Ones all but disappeared in the world of ice and desolate trees. The sounds of battle could be heard in the distance, but beyond that, the Forsworn could hear nothing but the winds whispering in their ears. The Grim Ones ran in three different directions, causing the Forsworn to split up, now roaming the Nord territory scattered and disorganized, but too angry and pumping with too much adrenaline to back down now. Their leader was clear as day, sporting a large headdress of six deer antlers and bits and pieces of Legion and Stormcloak armor attached to his attire like trophies. With his spear in hand and his muscles like thick coiled rope, this dark skinned man was easily the most threatening of the lot. He crouched as he stepped silently through the snow, even managing to avoid the crunch. A scream suddenly came from somewhere close. It was from the forest, not the battlefield. The Forsworn were certain of that. Periodically a few more screams would echo around, carried by the winds to taunt them. The leader with the large headdress ignored them, but the men behind him was starting to lose their nerve. "There was more resistance here than we planned. First we got these psycho Nords coming out of nowhere, then they got reinforcements from that bitch with the crossbow. Perhaps we should cut our losses and flee while we still have some numbers left? This is pointless." "We're already committed. Our forces are split and locked into battle. They'll flee on their own if they know what's good for them. In the meantime, we can at least hunt these savages down. We outnumber them. It's only a matter of time. Got me? Well? Hey, where'd he go?" The Forsworn to his right was no longer around. Only he and his other soldier remained. The man in question started spinning around, swinging his weapon at an imaginary enemy, thinking the Nords were using invisibility spells or something. Backed up to a dead tree half gone, he said, "Lets just get out of here and regroup with the others later! I'm cold, hungry... this is no way to die." As if he spoke the password, a roar came from behind him followed by a large pale body covered in bear fur breaking through the dead wood and encompassing him. He had an axe through his neck before he even realized what happened. Before the other one could get involved, the Forsworn leader felt a tap on his shoulder, followed by a two note whistle. "Over here, pal." The last thing he saw was a red headed Nord's milky eye before his great sword cleaved through his neck like a hot knife through butter. Baldur stood from his victim's body rubbing his sore shoulder, smirking. "That tree was harder than I thought." Falgrum peered behind him at the hole Baldur made in the rotted tree from tackling it through the hole on the other side already present when they got there. "Hahaha, you should have seen his face. I saw the whole thing from where I was at. Now what?" "We'll keep picking them off for a bit, then meet up with my wife. By now, her men should be pouring through this area soon. Should be easy pickings with the Forsworn split up like this. Lets go, there's still more scum to wipe off the face of Nirn." Falgrum whipped his sword over the ground, making it hum as the blood flicked off into the snow. He followed Baldur close with his claymore over his shoulder, smirking like a Bosmer in a butcher's shop. "It's a dirty job, but someone's gotta do it." The Forsworn's bodies littered the ground, but in one last ditch effort, the Reachmen pushed back hard against the Nord's front line by switching out their own front line with the men and women in the back itching for blood. Daric had to watch from his position under the dead woman in quiet panic as the Stormcloak old folk stomping around him suddenly became Forsworn old folk. For the moment, he wouldn't dare move from under his spot. Unfortunately, the gods made that decision for him when a man tripped over the stacked up bodies and knocked the woman from over him. When the man recovered, Daric prayed hard that he would not notice the little Stormcloak staring at him, horrified. But he did. For a moment, it seemed as though who he was didn't register. Daric didn't realize the blood covering him made it hard to make out his blue sash. Unfortunately the blade going through the Reachwoman was a dead giveaway, literally. In a rage, the Forsworn came at Daric with the agility of a man and the killing instinct of one to match. His bone spiked weapons were in his face so quick, all he could manage to do was fall to avoid them. On the ground, he sent a swift kick to the man's groin, but he recovered and stopped Daric's axe swing with his primitive 'blade'. The man lifted Daric up by lifting his Forsworn sword, preparing to swing into Daric's ribs. Only by Daric's lack of arm-strength, especially with his wound, and the blood that drenched his hand from the woman was he saved. Daric's grip slipped, making him fall and avoid the Forsworn's blow just barely. He couldn't reach his sword in time, so he grabbed the only thing he could, which was a half broken Forsworn weapon on the ground, half stomped on and covered in blood, mud and snow. Avoiding the prick in his hand from quickly yanking it up, Daric swung the thing up at the Forsworn's most vulnerable spot. His groin. The spikes on the weapon hooked and made a large line of splattered blood from under him as Daric dragged his weapon away along with his manhood. He couldn't help it. What he saw made him dropping it non negotiable. Daric's enemy fell to his knees screaming louder than anything Daric ever heard before, aside from the thu'um, as he tried in vain to scoop his mutilated genitals back in, only to bleed out shortly after the attempt. Daric already felt as though he did something wrong, but when the other Forsworn started paying attention to them due to the man's screaming, Daric felt as if his stomach just dropped through Nirn. Placing his foot on the woman, he mustered all the strength he could to wrench his blade out, then he charged towards the Forsworn front line, stabbing a man through the back of his head and running over him to escape his pursuers, leaving his weapon imbedded in the enemy in haste. Being a Breton and covered in blood, Daric almost was killed by the Stormcloaks themselves when he came charging through the shield walls, but another blocked an axe swing with his own sword just before Daric was striked dead. "Shit, my bad lad! I hardly recognized you!" "Keep on fighting, soldier!" commanded the one who saved his life. It was a grey skin of all things, draped in the white furs of a snowbear. A Draugr Dunmer. Torik lifted the little Breton up and blasted him with a wave of restoration magic to patch him up again momentarily. Smiling at him and said, "Baldur would be proud. Here, take my sword and keep fighting." "But how will you-" Just then, a Forsworn man came hurtling over the shield wall at Torik, but was blinded with a wave of ice to his face. When he landed, a grey hand met his chest, keeping him from falling, only to have an ice spike protrude from his back shortly after. Letting him drop, Torik winked at Daric, then moved up to the front, where another Forsworn just pushed through, only to have Torik's hands move in a blur, filling the foe with a flurry of little spikes that made him jerk around until the human porcupine crumbled to the ground and died. *** Rebec had looked up just in time to see Baldur and some of the Grim Ones heading for the trees, drawing off a portion of the Forsworn. "Gods damn it," she cursed. It was a good strategy, but that didn't mean she had to like Baldur being out of her sight. Meanwhile the Reach berserkers on the edge of the attack force kept charging at the village, and one of them got off a fireball that set a longhouse ablaze. It all started to make her mad. Really, really mad. Spying a female quarry, a big Forsworn charged at her, braying. He stopped in shock as the Nord woman let out a bloodcurdling yell and leapt towards him with equal velocity. Their axes met, locked, slid away, then locked again. Despite Rebec's charge and the fury she felt, she took no chances. The weapons sessions with Baldur had given her plenty of practice at countering big, strong dual wielders. She could counter him and might get a lucky swipe in, but so might he if she stayed in one place too long, and he had a strength advantage. Speed would be her friend. That, and surprise. Abruptly she spun away and began to run as if trying to escape. The man came after her, not seeing that she was sheathing her axe as she ran. When she stopped and turned, he spied the rope in her hand and dodged. The rope sailed over his head, and the man gave a bloodthirsty grin. "Nice try, Nord bitch. I'm going to enjoy-" There was a crack, and the man looked up just in time to see a tree branch coming towards his face. Rebec was on him while he was still clawing at branches. Grabbing at his belts with her free hand, she half climbed the man's torso while her off hand brought her axe down, chopping through the branches and into his skull. Rebec rode the falling corpse and jumped clear just as it crashed to the ground. Around her there was a boil of hacking, screaming, and dying men and women. Rebec was covered head to toe in blood. At one point she turned around and came face to face with a similarly drenched Mazoga. She shouted happily, "Maz! You look like shit!" "Nice to see you, too, Admiral." "You seen Baldur?" "No. You go on. We got this." Rebec surveyed the scene. It was obvious that the naval forces were carrying things. No more Forsworn tried to charge the village. More were running the other way, tripping over the bodies of their fallen comrades. Turning back, she said, "Nah. Screw that. Let's sweep 'em back up the hillside and let Baldur's men help finish them off." *** About an hour later, Baldur finally started making his way back to the village, sure that by now, the rest of the Forsworn were either dead or gone. His beard was caked in blood, as was the rest of him, and there was gore and bits of people stuck in the bear furs of his tunic's sleeve, and his bear cloak, but it wasn't anything he wasn't used to. Weary, Baldur stumbled his way home on the main road, still feeling jittery from the excitement coursing through his veins, and sporting a smile on his face, exposing his red tinted teeth. Suddenly, Baldur saw five figures ahead of him and thought at first that it must've been Rebec with a group looking for him. The calls of "Forsworn!" put that thought out rather quick, however. They didn't attack him head on, though. In fact, they didn't attack him at all. They only stared as if waiting for him to speak. Baldur looked from his left and right, then slowly took out an axe. "Put down your weapons or die. You're all my prisoners now." Baldur expected them to laugh, but they actually looked like they were considering it, weighing their options. As they ran their eyes over the blood soaked Nord in front of them, one of them finally dropped their weapons, eventually making the others follow her lead. "Wise decision," said Baldur as he signaled with his head towards the trees to their left. Falgrum came out with his greatsword pointing towards the group, snickering. "Lets get moving, or we'll just cut you down where you stand. Behave, and we may let you live," said Falgrum. For once, they weren't lying. They'd need survivors to tell of what happened here today. *** The mopping up took longer than Rebec expected. The Forsworn were a determined enemy, you had to give that to them. You also had to give them a bolt in the eye. Rebec had given over her crossbow to Mazoga when she noticed the orc's sword swings growing slower. At a lull in the battle, Mazoga suddenly teetered and fell sideways into a heap. Rebec shouted for help and some of the Wisp's crew came running. When they were satisfied that Mazoga wasn't severely injured, one of them tossed her over his shoulder and loped off towards the fort. Meanwhile Rebec took back her crossbow and followed the rest of the Stormcloaks who were pushing the last of the Forsworn back. She had a bolt drawn on the Reachmen facing Baldur, ready to start putting them down if they made a wrong move. Baldur didn't bother trying to tell her to lower her crossbow, not at all trusting his new prisoners. The other Grim-Ones met up with he and Falgrum, so he had them take the prisoners off his hands to the cells of the fort while he ran up to Rebec. Seeing her equally bloodied, he put his arm over her shoulder as they walked, and said while grinning, "Good morning. You sleep well?" "How's anyone supposed to sleep with all this shouting?" she answered, grinning. Caught by exuberance and not caring about the blood, she grabbed Baldur's shoulders and gave him a quick, hot kiss before walking on, crossbow still raised and brandishing towards the prisoners. "Oh, I could use a soak in the sea, right about now," said Baldur to himself. A moment later, a small limp form came strolling over to them from the side until he was close enough to collapse before him. "Daric! Shit, you look like shit! You alright?" "I'm good," he said, picking himself up. His face was pale as a ghost, however, and Baldur knew he wasn't. "Like hell you are. You're going to see Menel, then you're spending the night in the fort after you get cleaned up." Baldur was exhausted, but he managed to muster enough strength to carry the little warrior on his shoulders. (TBC)

Theodore Adrard Evermor Camp Morning Your Majesty King of High Rock, You will be pleased to know that we have been very successful in the north. We found victory at Farrun, and after several days managed to defeat the Pretender's forces, breaking their blockade and relieving the seige on the city. This was three days past. Now, I sit writing this letter on Lord Birian's desk in Jehanna. My forces, bolstered by the survivors of Farrun, surrounded the city last night and set seige. The first push was unsuccessful, but before we attempted a second, a rider came to us claiming to be representative of Lord Birian's wife, Lady Roain. She claims that her lord husband intended to involve her in false plots. He had the intent to frame her so that he could legally dissolve their marriage in favor of one with the Pretender herself. I hope you do not miss the irony of this. Lady Roain opened the gates to us. With that done, Jehanna fell in less that two hours. Most surrendered. With so many prisoners, I had my men build temporary prison camps to hold them until you can offer judgement yourself. Due to the short time frame, I admit that they are less than accommodating. Though avoiding a long stay in these was reason enough for many of the Jehannan soldiers to fall in line and come to your side. At this point, we have even more men than we did upon setting out. Lord Birian himself is still alive for now, and is currently being held on a ship heading back to Northpoint. I felt more comfortable with him there than attended by the skeleton force I intend to leave here in Jehanna. You may also be interested to know that your son has fought well. He did not participate in the final surge into Jehanna, as he had taken an arrow to the shoulder in the earlier assault. Worry not, it is just a flesh wound, and our healers are certain that there will be no long term damage. Unfortunately, not everyone faired as well as your son. Duke Endre's ship caught fire and him with it during the naval battle at Farrun. We never found his body. Sir Vette fell there as well. My own nephew took two arrows in the same battle that your son was wounded in. He lives, but the healers say he will not see morning. He is the eldest of my sister's four, and fought bravely. She will not take the news well. Tonight, I offer my men comfort, food, and rest while in Jehanna, but tomorrow, we march south. Our progress will be slow, as we must push through Gauvadon Forest, but if there is no delay, we should be arriving in Evermor in roughly a week's time. Hopefully you will be there when we arrive. Traven, Lord of Northpoint Theodore smiled to himself, wringing his hands together in cool delight. The war was going perfectly, much more so then he could have ever imagined. Even in a war as planned out as this one was, the gods had favored him yet again. The king sent a silent prayer of thanks up, the grin still covering his face, his mustache curling with his lips. I'm truly blessed, lucky, or both, he thought in between coughs, wiping snot away from the chocolate colored facial hair. Best not get too full with myself. I must remember to commemorate a day of celebration to all the poor bastards lost on this war. Maybe even give their widows some coin. Bah, what am I saying. They aren't the ones with blasted colds. The betrayal of Lady Roain Birian was icing on the cake, complementing the bolstering of Lord Traven's forces quite nicely. As it stood, both armies had gained men since they left, an idea that Theo hadn't accounted for. Now, he could expect even more additions once arriving at Evermor, with some of Lielle's "allies" likely to switch sides once they saw banners of the former sir, now Duke Aric, along with Baron Ysciele's, Lady Birian's and the Imperial Dragon. Theodore shuddered at the thought of the dragon, the recurring nightmare still burned into his mind. His thoughts as to who, or what the dragon was always shuffled around the same people. The Empire itself, an actual dragon, the Nord Skjari, or Arkay. Nothing else dragon related came to mind, and of the four possibilities he felt the Empress' consort and the Empire were the two best possibilities. But, neither of them had any reason to quarrel with him, not so far as he could remember. That could always change, but as of now they meant him no ill will. It was a perplexing case, to be sure. Whatever the dragon represented, he knew he could deal with it in time, as he had a war to focus on. A shuffling of boots outside his tent snapped him away from the fire, which he hadn't realized he's been staring at. Another chilling reminder of the dragon ordeal, but he shook it off. "Enter," he said, before the person could even ask for entrance. In walked Duke Jhared Mon, smiling his unsettling, pale lipped grin. He bowed, flourishing it as if doing so made him more important. If this man wasn't so gods damned good at procuring money, I don't know if I could stand him, Theodore thought, as he motioned for the Daggerfallian vassal to sit. "My lord, I bring news from Skyrim. Stormcloack accepts us into the alliance, as well the trade contract proposal," Mon said with his perfectly fake smile still in place. "What were their conditions? On the trade proposal, that is," Theodore asked. "A forty five percent tax cut. Of course, it will be difficult to convince the shipping families to take such a tax cut, but seeing as our relationship with Leland is so well, I believe we can talk him into doing at least forty, if not thirty five or so," Mon dismissed the tax cut with a wave of his hand, as if it was inconsequential. "We'll have to do better than just him. The families in Wayrest are loyal to me, and I can get them to follow the tax cut, as well as those in Camlorn. That should be enough to placate the Nords, for now. Maybe I can convince Traven, but as it stands I'm not worried in the least about the Nord's feeling being hurt because they got a little less then they wanted. We can make do with whatever deal you work out in Kyne's Watch," Theodore said, sipping from his flask as he finished speaking. "Excellent. I will leave to there tomorrow morning. No rest for the wicked, as they say," Mon said. "Be sure to talk to their High Admiral about joint naval exercises. Our caravels differ from their long boats, but she sounds clever enough to work out some tactics using both. And ask the High General what his plans are for the upcoming war. Nothing too detailed, just the gist. I want to know where my men are likely to be deployed," Theodore commanded. "Of course, my liege. I will be taking Sir Charien of Farrun with me. He is the Merchant Guildmaster there, and will speak on their behalf to get a deal worked out. If that is all, I will take my leave," Mon said, rising and bowing again. "That is all. Safe journeys, Duke Mon," Theodore said, bowing his head respectfully. The Duke left, and Theo shook his head. "How does that match up?" A figure appeared from behind a false flap in the tent, so that he was hidden during the conversation. He had a scruffy, unshaven face, a pair of wide eyes underneath a furrowed brow, and a crooked nose. His uniform was mainly green, with white accents, mimicking the green and white owl sigil of the Mon Family. "Well, all of it really. 'Bout the only part he left out was that he was more than a little rude, I thought. The king didn't seem to like him much," the guard said, bashfully looking at his feet. "Good. Calm your conscience, I need to know these things. My job as king demands it. And for your troubles," Theodore tossed him a bag of coin, which brightened the mans mood. "Many thanks, your majesty," he said before leaving with one too many bows. ** One Week Later "Move those bodies! We need the space for Traven's men," Theodore cried, pointing his sausage like finger at the field of dead. The skirmish hadn't lasted long, much to Theo's thanks. Now, the soldiers loyal to Lielle Rolston were holed up in the mountain city of Evermor, and the siege was beginning. "Your Highness, we have men moving to cut down the trees as you ordered. The towers and ladders should be built-," the young Duke Thierry was cut off by a loud horn's bellow that echoed throughout the valley. "Excuse me, Duke, I must see to our new arrivals. If you will, gather up Estermont, Gondwyn, Wirich, Ottus, and Aric. The barons too, if they're near. Then, along with yourself, meet me in the command tent," the king ordered, then sent his horse on a trot to meet the newcomers. At the head of the army, Lord Traven rode, flanked by the heir prince Roland, Duke Vette, Duke Brolus, Duke Northwode, Duke LaRouche, and a man whose shield bore a tarred and severed head, held by the hair from a fist, and that bled from the eyes. A horrendously gruesome family crest, if quite inventive. Theo could never remember the reason for the brutality of it, but he would be sure to refresh his knowledge tonight before he slept. The man was bald, his head covered in liverspots and lipped by a ring of thinning grey hair, slightly yellow teeth formed in a permanent sort of snarl. "Duke Maul. So you've chosen the winning side," Theodore said to the oldest man of the group, he of the gory sigil. "That I have, my King. Birian was a fool to join Rolston, and I told him as much. Duke Chirditte, the idiot, yammered on about how vile and evil you were, and Birian fell to the old man's 'wisdom'. I switched sides at the first opportunity, as Lord Traven will attest to," Duke Maul said. "And Lord Traven, congratulations on your victory. I am sorry about your nephew, my sincerest condolences to your sister," Theodore said. "Thank you, my King." answered the lord of Northpoint, as plainly as always. "I am certain that your royal condolences will bring much comfort when word gets back to her..." his tired-looking eyes traveled beyond Theo, off towards the city. They snapped back the moment he continued. "And congratulations to you as well. I've already heard bards practicing new songs of your victory at Wayrest." Theodore turned to look over his shoulder, tracing the path Traven's took. "Quite a formidable obstacle isn't it? Our nights will be sleepless, I think, while we struggle to crack her open." "As for bards, I've never been much to listen to their squawking. Yours is the more accomplished battle. Breaking a blockade, relieving a siege, besieging, and sacking all make for a great tale for your grandchildren. Now, let us go to the command tent, where you all are welcome," Theodore said, looking at the various dukes. "Refreshments await us, of course. But I wish to get to our plans as soon as possible." "Of course." responded Traven. He turned in his saddle. "Thonir. Send word through the ranks that we are to make camp here. Keep an eye on the Jehannans. They are not to cross over into the king's camp." "Yes, my lord." replied Traven's Nordic lieutenant before riding off, shouting commands all the way. As Traven's forces set to work, the lord and his companions followed Theodore to the command tent. "Tell, Lord Traven, how did you come by a Nord? I have both an Imperial and a Dunmer in my employ, but they are merely tutors. Your's seems to be a bit more than that," Theodore asked, as he and the Lord-in-the-North rode ahead of the lower ranking dukes. "Indeed he is. Thonir is the Castellan of Northpoint, and one of my chief advisors. My father invited him in after his mother died in the Great War." Traven gave a slight shrug. "I never learned how my father knew this woman from Skyrim, and Thonir never knew how his mother knew a lord in High Rock, but the too obviously were close." "Ah well, my father too had a few friends in various cities, but I'm afraid none of their children ever made it into adulthood. Pity," Theodore said, voice filled with false melancholy. Theodore and Traven continued the short ride to the tent, where they dismounted and gave their steeds to nearby pages. Inside the cozy fire-warmed tent the various dukes Theodore summoned were gathered. He smiled, nodded, or shook hands with each one, until he found himself standing at the head of a table covered in maps. The king cleared his throat after a cough, and wiped his nose with a handkerchief. "Lielle Rolston's forces are holed up inside the city. There are two main gates, one facing this road, and another facing the Bjoulase River. That one leads directly to a bridge, and is quite narrow. Our best chances lie in assaulting the one towards the road, which they undoubtedly expect. So, I will open the floor to whatever ideas you may have." Estermont spoke up first, as expected. "Thierry here is building the siege towers and ladders, so we use those. We also bundle some trees together in a ram, and use that to knock the door down. It'll take a while, but that's the best way." "We could use our mages and archers to set the city on fire," Duke Vette suggested. "Burn it to the ground. Though I think that's an option of last resort." Duke Aric, who had fought against Theo during the Battle of Wayrest, but lacked no zeal when it came to destroying Lielle, chimed in, "What about besieging it? Starve them out. The civilian casualties will be high, but we don't risk losing any men. And we wouldn't need as large a force as we currently have." "That will take a while." said Lord Traven. "I am not against a siege, but it would be good to know what we are up against. Between Evermor and Rolston's forces, how many men are in the city?" Duke Wirich stepped forward. "I've been doing the calculations, and I've estimated they have ten thousand troops to our thirty seven thousand. We hold a considerable advantage any way you cut it." "But you must consider that they will also 'enlist' as many civilians as possible. Forcibly so, perhaps," Baron Eardwulf said. "So," Theodore said, "We have the liberty to take whatever route we wish. My personal preference is the one that costs the least amount of lives, since we need the troops for the Thalmor." "We are in no hurry." said Traven. "Keeping them pinned in the city works well enough for now. No one is coming to their aid. In fact, it surprises me that the Pretender has not already surrendered. Has there been an attempt to make contact?" "No. That is troubling. One would suspect her to give up, if only to save herself. That begs the question, what does she know that we don't? She may have something planned that she believes would swing the war in her favor," Theodore pondered Lielle's next move, before finally saying, a nearby royal spellsword, "I want you to double the look outs and scouts around the camp. Keep an extra eye on Baron Ysciele's forces, and the Jehannans." "I'm worried she may have allies, even mercenaries, we don't know about, in which case we must be prepared. That, or those forces formerly loyal to her may still be so." "We're starving them out then?" the young Duke Theirry asked. "What about the civilians? Do they deserve to die because Lady Rolston is so foolish that she'd rather die then surrender?" "Forgive me Sir," said Traven, his eyes on the Duke, "I do not recall your name. But I am assuming that by now you have seen enough of this war to know that lives will be lost no matter which avenue we take. This is the only one immediately present that presents no danger to our men. And it gives the enemy time to assess the situation and realize that their only chance at survival is to open the gates. It leaves options, as we can at any time go with Lord Estermont's plan and assault the walls." Legate Montrose spoke up. "I don't like it. The King makes a good point. It is troubling that they still have yet to give up. Victory seems so assured, and yet Rolston risks thousands of lives. Why would she do that unless she thought they could win. I am of a mind with Estermont. We should press the attack now before they have any chance to surprise us. Make it a matter of days rather than weeks or even months." Duke Theirry started to identify himself, but was cut off when Duke Gondwyn, still sporting his Theodore styled mustache and bald head, jumped into the conversation. "Let's take it to 'em. I say days, not months, like the Imp said." Theodore nodded, but whether that was affirmation he thought the same or a simple gesture one couldn't tell. "There is another matter I haven't brought up yet. We procured some of the Redguard's explosive powers, as well as several experts in its usage to accompany it. If we did decide to capture the city quickly, we could blow up either gate with it, provided we get close enough." Estermont's eyes widened, and a childish grin stretched from bright eye to bright eye. "I've heard tales of the power of their powder. It caused an avalanche at Pale Pass, and can level entire mountains. Siege engines pale in comparison to what we could do with that." "Indeed." agreed the Legate. "All the more reason to attack now and end this quickly. We have the means." "We can end this quickly, at the cost of blood." said Traven. "I have no qualms with this, but our King has already mentioned that the fewer lives lost, the better. Why not give them a day or two, to ensure that they have no intention of surrendering? If they do not, well, we will still have the powder." Duke Theirry spoke up again. "We may need closer to a week for the siege engines, but if we use the powder then we won't need them. It's your discretion, my liege." Theodore leaned onto the table, his chin resting in his hand. He shuffled through the maps, until he found one of the city itself, in fairly great detail. It was near one hundred years old, but the city had changed only on the inside, and the walls were the same. "I think we should rush the siege engines into development, and use them to assault the main gate, as the expect us too. Then, we send in a secondary force to blow up the Bjoulase River Gate, and storm in from there. The result should be a swift victory. Until then, eyes and ears open. I want any suspicious activity reported back to me. I won't have this Pretender turn the tables on us," Theodore said, rising back up off the table. "Any objections?" "No objections. But a suggestion." Said Lord Traven. "As you know, I persuaded many Jehannans finally bend the knee up north. I'm certain that one of them could just as easily be convinced to carry a message into the city for you, if you would wish to give terms of your own... strictly for the sake of exploring options of course." "I believe that is an excellent idea. Maybe then they'll surrender and we can all go home. Or not. Now, you are all dismissed. See to your men and assign work teams on the siege engines. Lord Traven, if you would stay a moment," Theodore asked. Traven simply nodded and remained while the other nobles exited the tent. The right of his lip curled into a thin smile once everyone else was gone, but he said nothing. "Did I miss a joke?" Theodore said, his lips traced with a grin of his own while he poured each of them a glass of fine scotch. "No, my liege." said Traven as he reached for his glass. "But it warms a lord's heart to know that you're warming up to me." "How do you know I didn't invite you here to kill you? Or banish you forever?" Theodore asked, chuckling as traced the lip of his glass. "Or poison you. People find it so reassuring when the person who may be poisoning them drinks from the same bottle, but I've always thought that if I were to poison someone, I'd lace the inside of glass. No one ever bothers to check that, in my experience." He sipped his drink, although because of the small quantity that meant half of it was already gone. "I suppose I wouldn't be prepared. After all, we are family now." Lord Traven lifted the glass to his lips and took a drink. "Of course, King Rolston was family, and that didn't keep him from poisoning you." Traven smiled knowingly. "But you are not Rolston, are you?" "No, and for that I am eternally grateful. My father may have been a drinker and whorer, but at least he was smart enough to play the game. Rolston would probably have had us sit the war out. He always did despise war, the coward," Theodore said spitefully. "And I for one would never kill my kin. Although, in his defense, is your wife's sister's husband really family?" Theodore laughed, shaking his head. "I like to think so." responded Traven. "I believe that anyone considered family should be treated as such. If more people saw it this way, having a large family like mine would be viewed as a strength rather than a risk." "I can see what you mean, but I find people are only loyal until someone else gives them more than what you can. Loyalty is fleeting," Theodore said, as he sipped the remainder of his drink. "We never got to discuss your views of the world as it stands today. I know, a broad subject, but I want your opinion on Skyrim, Cyrodiil, everything. Start with the Nords first, since you seem to know them better than most." Traven took another sip. "I regret that it has been some time since my last update on the goings-on in Skyrim, or anywhere else besides High Rock, for that matter. Our Nordic neighbors seemed to be doing surprisingly well at the time. Good news if we are to be aligned with them in the next conflict with the elves." "Bad news if they have any designs for our eastern territories. We are on good enough terms with the Redguards that I don't worry about them, but it's no secret the Nords don't respect us. I hope we can change that opinion. This next war brings us the perfect opportunity to do so. Prove our worth. Now, Cyrodiil. Particularly their leaders," Theodore asked. "Cyrodiil..." Traven finished his scotch and set the glass down on the table. "Amaund was about as likable as a nest of aquatic dreugh, but I knew who he was. From what I've heard, his daughter's young, and her only prior experience was leading some elven inquisition." Traven's brow furrowed. "I'm sure you know how I feel about that... As for the Nord she's marrying, I don't know him at all. Apparently he's a mage. Now, mages have their uses, but giving them political power is how you end up with people like Jagar Tharn. If you ask me, the lot of them can keep to that tower of theirs, and let us keep doing things the way we've been. I guess that's one good side of them. Besides your legate friend, they've all been content to stay out of our way. That's a step above Amaund." "The mage is an ambitious sort, up-jumping his station rather quickly. And the girl is young, careless, with the makings of a decent leader if she survives that long. My biggest worry is that they aren't content with our mostly independent rule. It remains to be seen, however. Now, I do have something I would like to run by you. It's rather...strange, I would say." Theodore set his glass aside and leaned over the table, so that his full meaning was clear. "As I traveled back to High Rock, the general I traveled with, Gracchus Ceno, received a letter from the former Spymaster. In it, he said that the mage had bound his soul to the Empress, using a form of very dark magic. I've looked into the practice, and discovered that it's been done before, however it is almost exclusively between people and animals, and even that was long ago. I'm frankly not sure what to do with this information, besides the fact it means he is the real power, and that she is a mere puppet. Which makes their marriage a sham." Lord Traven's eyes briefly flashed with what might've been surprise, but he quickly hid it behind a dry smirk. Most men wouldn't have even noticed the drop of guard, but Theodore was not most men. "What you do with information like that, my king, is lock it up and save it for a rainy day." Traven didn't say it, but Theo could tell from the look in his eyes that this news excited the lord. Gesturing at the entrance flap, Traven asked, "Does Estermont know? Or any of the others?" "Estermont? Pah, I trust him with almost anything related to killing, and not much else. No, they do not. My mother-in-law does, as does my wife. My son, however, I've kept in the dark. I want to make sure he's mature enough before he can be trusted," Theodore said, leaning back in his chair so it balanced on the hind legs, a precarious situation for the large noble. "A rainy day..." he twirled a corner of his mustache with index finger and thumb, staring off into the distance. "Yes, I suppose so. But this alone, while a powerful bargaining chip, is not enough. I've mustered what information I could on the man, but all I found was that he worked for the Synod, he was Dales' tutor. Besides that, nothing more than the rumors of him and the Bathory author, him and the Spymaster, and a possible quarrel with a general. Those I was able to garner from the Black Horse, or it's tabloid edition." Theodore could practically see Traven's mind at work as the clever lord took into account everything he'd just learned. "Not enough..." the man muttered. Finally, he said "I am glad to be the one you've shared this with, my king. Hopefully soon, we can better discuss these matters behind the walls of Evermor." "I too hope so. While the war ahead darkens the days for most, I think I can see a torches beginning to light our path, and it is one I look forward to walking," Theodore said, sighing with a great release of pent up stress. "Our days are bright indeed." "Dangerous neighbors in Skyrim, a deceptive mage running Cyrodiil, and an entire elven empire to the south who would see the lot of us enslaved. All while we fight our own civil war. Heh, your idea of bright is interesting, if nothing else." Traven flicked his empty glass. "I'd drink to it if I weren't out." "You are far to cynical," Theodore said as he refilled their glasses. "All those thing can be dealt with, as long as we play our hand the right way." "Of course." Traven raised his glass. "To bright days." "And a brighter future for our children, and grandchildren," Theo said, clinking his glass to Traven's before gulping down the burning, aged alcohol. ** The next morning Theodore rose early, drinking a potion to rid himself of the slight hangover. He needed to check up on his son, whom he hadn't talked to yet. He dressed quickly in a blue tunic, gold trimmed navy blue cloak, and black pants. His crown was simple, ebony and iron with dark stones inlaid all the way around. Over his neck he slipped a golden medallion, engrave with his family's sigil. His wedding ring, dark ebony with a diamond in the center, slipped on, and a shortsword swung from his hip, in lieu of his greatsword, which he found difficult to wear when dressed up. The sun cast a bright, glaring light, no clouds to dilute the rays. A soft breeze blew the smell of stewing meat across his nostrils, his stomach grumbling at the notion of food. Slipping back inside, he grabbed a sliver of honey ham and a strawberry effused pastry, eating both as he walked the camp. His son's tent was at Traven's encampment, but at the edge closest to Theo's. He was momentarily stopped by a few knights looking to flatter the king, and he welcomed their praises for a few minutes, before setting off again. Duke Thierry stopped him, shuffling him off to the construction area where the siege towers and ram were being built. He told the story of a tree guardian attacking a few of the men, but once they got a few flame spells on her she burned like Dwarven oil. Theodore quickly inspected them, noting that they needed protective wards on the front to keep them from burning. After that, Theodore finally made it to his son's tent. The guards greeted him, but went inside to see if Roland was awake and decent before letting the king in. Standard procedure, if a bit annoying. After all, it was his son. But he digressed, and the guards soon let him in. Roland, right arm wrapped in a bandage, sat shirtless at a small table, with what appeared to be a book in his hand. "Since when have you ever read for pleasure?" Theodore asked, taking a seat across from the prince. Roland lifted his eyes from the page, but only for a moment. "I needed something to do while injured. I can't sleep around anymore, I've never been much for drinking, and I can't play any instrument or sing, so now I read." Theodore lifted an eyebrow, but said nothing for moment. Outside, men could be heard laughing, horses whinnying, tents ruffling in the wind. Finally, Theodore asked, "What are you reading, exactly?" Roland set the book down, finding an appropriate place to stop. "Not The Lusty Argonian Maid, if that's what you're thinking. It's a Magdela Bathory novel." "That reminds me, did you hear the news? It's not quite recent, but poor Count Bathory died in a fire. At his mountain lodge, I believe," Theodore said, wiping away at the snot on his nose. "He seemed like a powerful man from the little I've heard of him from you. Always a shame to lose an ally," Roland said. Another silence followed, before the king asked, "How's your shoulder?" "Sore. It was a damn bodkin point, went right through the chain-mail and armor. I'm lucky it only hit my shoulder, or you'd be down a son," Roland rotated his shoulder, wincing as he did. "Make sure you get the healers to check and clean the bandages. Infection can be just as deadly as an arrow," Theodore said. "How's your cold?" Roland asked. "Annoying. The damn thing won't go away. Hell, I think it's gotten words. Bah, it'll be gone before to long," Theo said with a wave, as if that would get rid of the cold. "'Make sure you get the healers to check it out'," Roland said in the best impression of his father he could manage, both of them laughing heartily. "Oh shut up, before I ship you back with the women. You and your pansy wound," Theo said with a smile. They talked and laughed and drank when the afternoon approached, sitting around and catching up until work finally called Theo away. A scout had found captured a messenger returning from somewhere, and trying to sneak back into Wayrest. Even after being tortured, he still claimed he didn't know who the message was for, and that he only dropped it and a bag of gold off in the ruins of an old fort. He unfortunately didn't survive further interrogation, but the king was alarmed enough to double the watches, as well as send off more scouts in every direction. He would take no chances, not if he could help it.

Metal and ctrl+p and v. Fuck it all see about getting everything pre-2017 on 1.11 tonight.

Hey only Theudofrid cant hold his mead, there are plenty of manly dru-... Semi manl-... Partially manly Druids.

*DRUID

How.....dare you prove wrong... you... you.

Wanted his characters to have the biggest dicks eh? I knew a lot of folks like that back in the shithole of Google+ role-playing.

I brought over the rest of chapter 3 The 1.11 is the only thing I haven't touched yet.

Why was he banned again, being rude?