TheCzarsHussar

Lorgar Grim-Maw Two hours after the fight with Baldur, Haafinger Hold Lorgar crawled his prone body across the ground, barely a small limp. His bruised and cut body was leaking fluids, and Lorgar didn't have time to bandage himself up properly. He controlled his breathing with silent focus, he needed to remain as unnoticeable and quiet as humanly possible. He had beforehand ripped off a majority of his clothing, or what was left it after turning into his beast form. Only his loin cloth, and scraps of his pants remained. Large tree's and dark shadows hid him from view, as did the small bushes. The ambient sound of crickets and other bugs, along with the footsteps of steel boots occasionally broke the silence which was brewing in the forest. There were a ton of Stormcloaks and Haafinger guards sweeping the area for him, Lorgar had Baldur to thank for that. Lorgar, despite his size, could easily move among the shadows and leaves without being seen. Dozens of years leading covert guerrilla operations with his wolf pack had left him with unrivaled stealth capabilities. The moon was still out, occasionally showing it's pale light upon the darkened earth. Pain shot threw Lorgar's head, something had happened during his fight with Baldur...and he couldn't remember anything from the past year or so.. He remembered his burning camp, and dead soldiers....but nothing after that. Random images of people he didn't even know were flowing into his brain at an alarming rate. It's as if his memory was being restored from most recent to least. For example, he knew the key he carried around his neck lead to a hideaway, that once belonged to a group of orcs he dealt with. He needed to find that hideaway, Lorgar needed medical attention and quick. That human heart he consumed during that battle had just barely kept him alive, and only healed half of his many wounds. From what he could tell, he had a broken shoulder, a few broken ribs, and dozens of busies and nasty cuts. Not to mention the massive gash across his chest. Lorgar suddenly heard voices, Lorgar instinctively drew his last remaining combat knife from it's sheaf, and lay flat on the ground. He slowly dragged himself to behind a bush. And let his enhanced hearing do the rest of work, "I heard he was a former special ops commander in the imperial army, lead something called the "Wolf Pack." Said a male voice, most likely a nord. A second voice, female, responded with "Aye, I heard that to. Caused quite a ruckus in Falkreath. His unit was annihilated by General Red-Snow." The male nord chuckled, "Good riddance, ******* Milk-drinkers." Lorgar waited there for five more minutes, listening to boring chatter that didn't concern him, until the two soldiers finally left. He sighed in relief, and sheaved his blade. He got up into a crouch and slowly made his way deeper into the forest, searching for the oak with the red symbol. As he did, so many questions were buzzing in his mind. Why the hell was he in enemy territory? Why the **** was he fighting Baldur? In these memory fragments, why was he being addressed as Saladin? Everything didn't make any sense. I'm in deep shit now... As he passed a fox, whom was running forward, he saw the oak with the red symbol. It was quite large, and was splendid under the moonlight. Many lumious butterflies flew around it, creating an air of atmosphere and ambiance. He got up from his crouched position, and shoved the key into the barely noticeable keyhole, and opened the cleverly hidden door way. Which lead to a hollowed out trunk. He brushed a group of leaves at the floor of the trunk, revealing a trap door. Lorgar closed the trunk door, and lit a match. He opened the trap door using its handle, and slowly climbed down a latter, which lead to a small underground store room. Lorgar wasted no time in grabbing some candles, which were scattered on a box of crates, and lit them. He didn't need to of course, due to his night vision, but light helped the uneasiness inside him. He scanned the room for any remaining supplies, and found quite a bit. He first poured whisky over his body, to disinfect all of his cuts and gashes. The pain was bearable. After cleaning his wounds, he slowly began to bandage them. The clean, white fabric felt good on his cuts. Finally, after all was done and taken care of. Lorgar, decided to go to sleep, and let his memories flow back into him.

Jon Hard-Heart, Samuel The King and Queens Shortly after Jon left the White-Gold Samuel looked around the general's room. Nothing of interest stood out, except an old Imperial Templar helmet. He could honestly say that he hadn't seen one of those in decades. From the stairs he could hear that someone with metal boots were coming up. Probably the general. The meeting he had had with the Empress had gone less than favorable according to his sources. Few specifics, beyond the fact that her puppet status had been brought up. The door behind him swung open. Jon pushed the door in front of him and was greeted by the sight of a man that looked to be in his mid 30s. He was about average height for an Imperial, with dark brown hair that was tied in a rogue knot. Not very well dressed either, with cheap and common clothes. He could even see traces of blood still on his pants along with what he could barely make out as a hole. He had bleed and recently, maybe because of an arrow. When the man turned around he was greeted by the face he had seen on the old Black Horse Currier editions. "You're S after all then," was all he said before he closed the door behind him. "I've heard about what you do. Information. And I need some." Samuel smiled and pulled out the only chair in the room from the table and took a seat. "Of course you do. But all information has a prize." "And now you're here to collect the pay for what you've already given me." "Don't be silly," Samuel seemed friendly enough to Jon, but there was something about him that wasn't right. Why here? Why now? Why such clothes? And why would he warn him in the first place? "I wouldn't have given it to you before the payment was discussed if it wasn't a gift. You've already met Miss Bathory, so I hope the warning allowed you to keep a clearer head. She has a profound effect on the people around her." "Yes, I noticed. Quite charming. Why are you here then, if not to collect?" "You wanted to see me." Jon just looked at him for a moment. One person was supposed to know that. Maybe it was better to let ask, to let this slide. But he needed to know who this guy really was. "How did you know?" "I have eyes and ears everywhere, General. But do not worry, I am not aligned against you," Samuel smiled at him. It seemed genuine. If Jon didn't know who this man was, he'd be persuaded by it. Other than that something was off about him, there was nothing he could read. No emotions, no possible motivation, nothing. Who was this guy? "In fact, I am a huge fan of how you told the Empress-in-Name what you really thought about her. And I am pleased that you saw through the obvious puppet thing. The puppeteer is none other than the Court Mage. Another gift of information from me." "You'll have to forgive me if I don't take your word for you not being an enemy." "I'd say you can trust me in that, but what do I know? I'm awfully biased on that question," Samuel chuckled. "But you can trust me when I say I am not your friend either. I try not to take sides too often, but this is a special case. It is pretty obvious that your plans are headed towards disaster." "Obviously. That would have been clear to anyone who knows anything about anything. Needs to be done though," Jon looked at Samuel. No signs that he could read had come up yet. "But that can all be arranged later. Right now, I am sure you want to know more about the Bathory family." "Wait, what can be arranged later?" Jon was sure he had missed something. "Whatever you need to succeed, naturally. Merchant connections, support among the nobility, all of it. I have enough connections to improve your chances quite substantially. I can't hand you a victory, but I can move it from 'impossible' to 'possible, which I'd say is very generous. And some work to counter the propaganda that is sure to spread once the Court Mage takes enough of an interest in his throne to see how bad things have gone under his dear protegé's leadership. I'll get you started, try to even the odds a little, but after that you're on your own," there was a hint of impatience in Samuel's voice, clearly there because he allowed it to be there. Jon couldn't help but to be a little impressed by how well this man controlled every little detail bout his presentation. "Now, on to the Bathory bunch." "Yeah, sure, Samuel, that is..." "Well, you'd do well to give Darius, Jonus and Magdela Bathory a wide berth in the foreseeable future. They are worst of the worst in political landscapes, though Maggie and her father can be of pleasant company. They play a political game so far above you that you're not even aware that it is there. And your shenanigans that upset the balance of the political landscape could turn them against you. Or don't give them a wide berth. It actually won't matter. If they turn on you, you're screwed. Actually, the more I think about it, the more I recommend getting on Magdela's good side." He got up from his chair and walked right past Jon, stopping for a moment in the doorway. "I'll talk to Miss Bathory and see if I cannot ensure that she gives you a biased judgment in your favor. We need people like you these days. But it will all come at a prize; you leave me, the Bathory's and our friends alone in this witchhunt of yours. Better for both parties and adequate beginning for your payment to us." The door closed behind, but Jon couldn't hear a single step down the stairs. That was unexpected. And equally unnerving and encouraging. If this guy could walk his talk, there was a light in the end of the tunnel. Tired, Jon started to take of his armor and headed to bed.

Jon, Dales, Maggie, Evening Imperial City “Jon! Hey, Jon!†Someone yelled at him as he passed an alleyway. First he thought that the sound came from inside, but there was only what looked like a shady broker of some kind in there that was unlikely to know his name. Turning a little further around, he saw that Hayn gestured at him through the crowd. He had to smile a little to himself, but he wasn’t sure why. “Hayn, good to see you. Anything to report from the camp?†“No, just…†when he caught up, he hesitated a bit, throwing glances around as if he was looking for someone before he gestured for them to enter the alleyway. “Just follow me, we need to talk.†Jon’s eyes narrowed. Hayn wasn’t one for deceit, or at least he’d never deceived Jon that he was aware of. He nodded. After having taken a couple of steps into the alley, the man he had noticed walked up to them. “Can I… help you two gentlemen with something? Something in particular you didn’t find in the market of a… immaterial concern, perhaps?†“What the- no, get out of here,†Jon brushed him off, waving for him to get lost. He had thought that the Legion uniforms should dissuade street dealers. “As you wish, Jon Hard-Heart, but I have something for you for free,†the man held out a note, but Hayn took a hold of it before Jon himself could. The man disappeared in the shadows, leaving the two soldiers alone. “What in Oblivion!?†Hayn looked, to the best extent Jon could read his deformed face, surprised and unnerved. “This is the same note I was going to talk to you about!†“What are you talking about?†Jon snatched the note and read it. Beware the Bathory Family was all it said, singed with a single “Sâ€. “This,†Hayn reached into his pocket and drew out a note. On the outside it looked the same as the one he had just gotten himself. On the inside the same words were written and, more importantly, with the same handwriting. What the hell? “I think I need to talk to the Empress about the Bathory’s then, and if she knows about someone who could know what this possibly means.†*** The royal guard had to break in the door. It had been boarded up, but there was also rubble stacked against it where some of the Thalmor soldiers, abandoned by their justiciar superiors, had made a doomed final stand when legion supporters loyal to Dales Motierre had stormed their compound. The once regal Thalmor embassy in the Talos Plaza District, surrounded by an overgrown walled garden, now sat empty. As daylight finally streamed through the broken-in doors, Magdela Bathory stepped gingerly through and looked around, then cast a magelight spell. "It appears safe, your majesty," she called back towards the door. "Only a great mess. Mind your steps." Dales Moitre, pocked her curious head inside the entrance to the ruined embassy, and started to scan the room, she said in a slightly worried voice, "You sure Maggie? I heard the dominion likes to surround there offices and buildings with magical traps." She focused a detection spell with her right hand, but couldn't find anything. Still... "Oh, the legion would have tripped any of those," Maggie answered cheerfully. "And the looters who came after them. There's not much left. Still, though, such a beautiful structure." The short foyer opened into a rotunda. Scenes from imperial history were painted in the domed ceiling. Maggie had herself intervened with the Thalmor ambassadors who wanted to destroy these and other relics of the empire in the old building. Beyond that was a long hall lined with broken statuary, and stairs leading up to the second floor. Dales looked around the various walls and the ceding and said deadpan "Well, I suppose overgrown plant life, and large mosaics on cracked ceilings might be considered "beautiful". " Laughing, Maggie said, "You must look at the potential. That is why I brought you here, Excellency. I wanted you to see for yourself the scars of war that still remain on our fair city. That, and..." She trailed off, seemingly reluctant to put any further demands on the young empress. Dales eyebrows raised, and her mouth twisted into a smile. as she said, "Yes? You've always been straight forward with me before, dear Maggie, dont stop now." "It's only that you've got so much on your mind. And I do, too, for that matter. The other day, though, I was walking on this boulevard and saw this building. It's crown property and I know the treasury is selling off properties to pay for the military's new reforms, but it would be a shame to let this one go, to be turned into a mansion or razed for expensive apartments." Maggie moved her hand and the magelight blob rose, illuminating the high walls. "Picture this room lined with bookcases, housing books, maps and scrolls from all over Tamriel, and open not just to the wealthy or connected but to everyone. In this age of sword and fire, it's more important than ever that the empire remember who we are, a center for culture and learning for all people." Dales eyes sparkled, "So...kinda like the arcane university, but not dealing with just magical knowledge, and opened to the entire public, and not just the rich?" "Supervised, of course," Maggie added. "I saw something like it in Alinor, only restricted by caste. I would see the poor children of the city be able to read and study as well as the rich, surrounded by beautiful works of art. It will require a great deal of money, but I will petition others in my acquaintance to make a foundation. The empresses features became slightly sharper, and she said "What would our dear friends from the Elder council say about this? Of course a great deal of the funding would come out of the imperial coffers...and attention from me...and more paper-work for me...and less hours of sleep..." Dales shook her head before she could add more things to the list, and gave Maggie a smile, " I think it's an excellent idea countess." "Excellency, there shall be no work for you, only to sign the paper designating the property. When a foundation is established, we will do all the work of raising funds and acquiring the collections. Delegation is the art of ruling." Maggie smiled and glanced around. Her expression grew a little wistful as she wondered whether she would ever see the project begun, let alone finished. Turning back to Dales, she said, "I must leave the city for a while on some business of mine, but I'll arrange for fundraising to begin immediately. Thank you, Excellency. I knew you would have the interests of your people at heart." "Well, then. Good luck with your business, my dear countess." She looked around the structure of the embassy, admiring it's well-made walls, and of course, the cracked ceiling. She gave her one more warm smile, before saying under her breath, "I'm sure you spent quite a bit of your time, on the top floor here, countess." Maggie glanced quickly at the empress, her expression serene. "The residence. Yes, a bit, before I went to High Rock. Not a memory I cherish." She walked slowly towards the long hallway, where there was more sunlight, saying, "Tell me about this new legion which has garrisoned in the city. Deserters, I heard." "Remnants of the 11th legion, lead by former-general Jon Hard-heart. A very...remarkable and interesting soldier. From what I hear, he's transferring his soldiers into Auxiliary units." Dales stretched out her small arms, "General Tullius trusts in him, so I do as well." "Spending a great deal of time in the palace, is he?" Dales eyes narrowed slightly, she continued to smile however, and said in her usual cheerful tone, "Well, I do quite like to know my upper-ranking officers well, so I invited him to dinner a few times." continuing she said, laughing , "Nords do like there meat and mead." "And has he made you an offer of marriage?" "No, and I wouldn't accept it. That, my dear, would very much anger the elder council. And we wouldn't want that, would we?" She asked Maggie, her eyes slightly darkened. "A Nord, but a general. The people do love their generals, and this one stood up to your father, I am told." Maggie paused before a broken statue of Reman Cyrodiil. The head was off, resting against the old soldier's feet. "Tell me, my lady, have you never thought of marrying Skjari?" Suddenly, at that very second, Dales calm composure broke, and she fell onto the embassies floor laughing. She managed to control her laughter after a few seconds, but she was still giggling when she got back up, "Oh Maggie, I didn't know you told Jokes. You should write a romantic comedy sometime." "Excellency, are you hurt?" Maggie helped the empress up and began brushing at her dress. "I'm not joking. Why would I? He is a powerful man and..." She stopped short of saying he was the real power behind her throne, or of what she knew about the empress' will being subject. "Without him, you would not have come to power. If you are both to rule together, why not settle the question of your marriage? You know each other. And you know that he will not make certain... demands of you, beyond the necessary." "Regardless, I don't find it comfortable in more ways then you know." She glanced at Maggie before smirking, "You **** him almost every night, i'm surprised you two haven't gotten engaged." "You seem to get along well enough with him," Maggie replied. "As for me, I do not wish to marry, and since I am not Cyrodiil, that luxury is open to me. You, on the other hand... My lady, this brings us to another matter. There is talk about your manner in certain public events. That you seduced a priestess at a wedding, and she was not the only one you approached there. That female visitors to the palace describe being leered at. I do not ask if these things are true, the point is that the perception out there is that they are. I'm sorry to be indelicate, Excellency. What say you about this?" She blushed heavily, "How did you know about the priestess? And besides....she looked....extremely lonely. And I find it offensive, Maggie, that you would think I would "ogle" random guests at the palace." "Yet the rumors are not entirely unfounded, are they?" Maggie approached the empress and laid a hand on her arm, saying in gentle tone, "When you came to the Imperial City, you spoke of feeling the lack of a mother, and I thought I might play such a role for you. I realize now that I am inadequate to such a task, but take my words in such a light. You must guard your public perception carefully. They already have cause enough to doubt that a young woman with no experience in ruling is equal to your task. Be more discreet, I beg you. You see that even I, who am called a whore by some, choose partners carefully." "Well, if you insist." She took Maggies hand and said, "I will be discreet. Though it's not a big deal. I doubt the people would raise there pitch forks high if they knew there empress was interested in woman." "It has nothing to do with man or woman, though if your dalliances were with men, there would be other problems." Maggie sighed. "Perhaps Skjari has been a poor influence in this matter. Your courtiers have more freedom, however. It's not fair, but this is the life of a sovereign. You cannot give in to impulses as others may." Studying Dales, she asked after a pause, "Are you happy, my lady?" Dales took in those words for a little, and started to stroke her chin. She said "I...suppose. I can help the people far better now, much better when I was simply a princess and an inquisitor. Though...I sometimes feel like I cant make a difference, like i'm merely in a gilded cage." Maggie said nothing for a while, thinking about her own cage and Dales'. Even if Darius were dead, she doubted that she would ever truly be free of him. He was her. Or rather, she was him, as he often reminded her when speaking of his "legacy." And was it so bad after all? Dales did not seem to feel the chains on her. Maggie wondered if the binding was so complete that it took away any sense of desperation at being unfree. From all appearances, it did. Was it so bad, then? Realizing she'd been quiet a while, Maggie shrugged. "Ah, Excellency, we do what we must, regardless. Shall we test the stair? I'll go first." "Hello?" Jon shouted, after he had come through the front door of the embassy. The people at the palace had said that the Empress was here. Hayn had gone back to the camp. The place looked like it needed a woman's touch, to say the least. "Bloody looters," he mumbled to himself. "Jon?" Dales suddenly turned around and called out, "General Hard-heart is that you?" "Yes. I'm in the entrance hall." It sounded like the Empress alright. Good, he wasn't in the mood for a hunt today. She turned to Maggie, "Well, General Hard-heart is here. Shall we greet him?" "Hmph." Maggie sounded annoyed, but it was past time she met this soldier whom the empress called by his given name. As they walked back towards the entrance, she cast another magelight blob and inspected the general while waiting for the empress to address him first, noting his unusual armor. She lightly bowed her head to the legionary, "Good evening to you, general." "Good evening, your Majesty. And you too, miss," he took a short bow in Maggie's direction. After it was done, he reached out a hand to her. "I am Jon Hard-Heart." "General, I assume you wished to speak to me, or something similar? Dales said, eyeing the Nord. "I did," he replied, still holding out his hand in Maggie's direction. "But I want to know the company you keep before I let words that might not be for her ears cross my lips." "Magdela Bathory, General. And if you wish privacy, you have but to say the word. I'll wander on into the house on my own, with the empress' leave." Dales looked at Maggie worriedly, "Maggie are you sure? I can send some guards to escort you, or i can do it. Your safety comes first." "No, I think what I was going to talk to her about can wait for now," he retracted his hand. Why was it that the moment after he had been warned about the Bathory family, one of their number showed up? Didn't matter, with her around, he wasn't sure he wanted to speak with the Empress about it. Or at all. They seemed to be friends. "Maybe I'll stop by your office later on, your Majesty." "Walk with us, General. Surely you aren't afraid of some crumbling plaster." Maggie smiled and gestured toward the interior of the mansion. "I had been wanting to meet you, after hearing of your exploits. I might have to put you in a book, you know. Dashing general defies an emperor. Do you mind if I call you dashing? That armor is impressive." "It is not the plaster that worries me, Miss Bathory, if I can be so blunt. But, by all means, call me whatever you like." While he was still suspicious of her, he decided that he might as well walk with her. "You's be disappointed with what I've been doing while defying the Emperor, as you put it. Mostly living in the Jeralls, making hypothetical plans and visiting Bruma from time to time to get supplies and spread the rumor of a safe haven for political opponents of the late Emperor." "And we had heard that resistance in Bruma was crushed by our absent spymaster, back in his legionnaire days," Maggie said cheerfully. "How interesting to hear that you escaped his notice. Then again, your protest was not of the secessionist sort, obviously. What do you think of the Stormcloaks, General?" They had reached the hallway of fallen imperial heroes again. Sun slanted low through the windows as the afternoon drew on, green from being filtered through the boughs of the tall trees outside in the garden. "Does it matter? Skyrim is no longer a part of the Empire and I doubt that'll change in my lifetime." As they walked, Jon noticed that his eyes were drawn to her again and again, instead of the people he'd normally take the time to admire, the ones who accomplished much and were revered as heroes. Did he really find her that attractive? He hoped not. This was not the time. Especially considering her last name. "You will remain in Cyrodiil, then? Do you not feel an exile, of sorts?" Maggie noticed the general's surreptitious looks and was secretly pleased at them, though her expression remained serene. She took Dales' arm to help guide them both across the crumbled remnants of Uriel Septim II. Tiber Septim's statue loomed largest in the hall. Curiously, the Thalmor had left it alone. So had the looters. "For now. When I feel the time is right, I might return to my ancestral home. As for being an exile, I honestly don't care that much. I'm not here to make friends with people too ignorant to even consider that their view of the north is based on a caricature." Jon's eyes ran over the statue of Tiber Septim. Talos, or so they said. After the stay in the Jeralls, where he had found a collection of old books, he wasn't so sure anymore. One book had made it seem like there was more to Talos than just the first Septim. Then again, he was just a general, not a scholar. "I dont think Maggie's every been up North to Skyrim, have you milady?" Dales asked, attempting to deflect the heat which she sensed was brewing. "Once or twice, in my youth," Maggie replied. She turned to Jon. "The Colovians are Nords, too, in part, so perhaps think of our view as a nostalgic one. The south breeds a certain laxity of temperament, but this makes us yearn for purer, cleaner virtues, for which we have always looked to the Nords. This isn't a bad thing, is it?" "Since when would one be... never mind," Jon sighed, hoping the others didn't notice it too much. "I'm not overly fond of the topic. I don't expect you to understand." "Speak your mind, General, by all means. I am a woman of no consequence and the empress values frankness in her advisors." Maggie left it for Hard-Heart to correct her characterization of him as having become a royal advisor. "Why bother? It doesn't matter. I doubt you'll understand where I'm coming from and I don't like what I'm hearing about where you're coming from. If you want to have a discussion about this, at least drop the patronizing bullshit." He wasn't going to bother correcting her on the adviser deal. In a sense it was true. Both Tullius and the Empress, to an extent, used him as an adviser, though in the case of Tullius, he was mostly telling the old man what to do. Easy enough too, seeing how bad of a politician he was. Nor did he buy into the "no consequence" remark. A Bathory of no consequence? Ever since he had met Darius Bathory, he had been convinced otherwise. A Count's daughter was hardly of no importance. Dales sheepishly said, "Ummmm...nice weather were having?" Maggie laughed. "My, my. A soldier's temperament to be sure. It is rather uncharitable to call a people ignorant and then refuse to educate them. I suppose we'll have to take what we can get and be thankful for your brawn. How goes the hunt for Lorgar, or do you have no involvement?" Dales face beamed with surprise, "Wait, how did you know about Lorgar?!" "I'm not fit to educate you, is all. And in Skyrim you have to change your mind ten or so times a day, lest you freeze to death," Jon replied. His tone was at first as cold as the north, but it was literally no point to it, so it became warmer. There was even a hint of a joke in the sentence about freezing to death. "I don't concern myself with the Spymaster, I have actually important work to do in the city. Tullius told me, at least, something had happened to him. So, instead, why don't we turn this around and you tell me why a Count's daughter decided to become an author and concubine?" "General!!!" Dales crossed her arms and tried to deflate the situation. "What?" Jon looked down at the Breton girl with a raised eyebrow for a moment, before he turned his attention back to Miss Bathory, unimpressed by her reaction. He hadn't used an offensive tone or intended the question to be harmful in any way. In reality, he was a bit curious. "It's quite alright, Excellency," Maggie replied, not ruffled at all. "I asked the general to speak plainly and he favored me the same." Stopping at the foot of the winding stair to the second floor, she paused and turned to face him. "Why should a count's daughter not become those things, sir? I am the youngest child and under no pressure to carry on our line. My role allows me a certain flexibility. There are two kinds of political currency. One is blood, the other is pleasure. The empire has not ruled by its legions alone, but by tempting others to want our way of life. They begin to crave the finer things, and after their first taste, must buy them from us. I have made a study of such things so that I can be useful in them to my family and my homeland. And... " She smiled a little, trying to catch his eye. It would be a real coup to soften this one. Hard-Heart, indeed. "Because they are fun." "Your tongue is like a sword's edge honed by the god-blessed hands of Clan Grey-Mane, Miss Bathory," Jon began, giving her a smile. "I know no better compliment, but..." he laughed. "As beautiful as a sword can be, only a fool would forget why it was forged. You certainly resemble your father in that regard." Maggie turned to Dales. "You see, my lady, he's a perfect charmer." She laughed and took the empress' arm again, beginning to ascend the stair. "Do you know my father, General?" "Not well," Jon kept his smile and a friendly tone as he followed them. "I was stationed at the Valenwood border, close to Skingrad. I met him a few times, though to call us anything more than acquainted would be overstating it." "Will you be returning to the south soon?" "I'm not returning to the south, I'm staying here in the city for the foreseeable future. The Empire needs someone to run the 1st Legion, after all." Jon found his eyes resting a bit too long on Miss Bathory's hindquarters, so he forced them up to the back of her head. "After that, who knows? I guess I'm returning north when I can. "Then we'll have your company for a time. Splendid." On the second floor, they entered what looked like it had been a study, with a sitting room and sleeping chambers further in. The looters must have been in a rush to finish ahead of the city watch's arrival, because there was more furniture and belongings scattered here. However, desks were overturned and bookshelves emptied onto the floor. Maggie cast a light spell here again, surveying the damage. "Animals. This fine oak furniture. I hope some of it can be salvaged." Spying one of her own books on a pile, she bent to pick it up. Affairs of the Justiciar. Maggie had to smile that the Thalmor had owned this one, written about a fictional justiciar who was a composite of Ambassador Tyrian and others she had known. "The looters didn't really do a good job at looting, did they? " Said Empress Dales, her arm still wrapped around Maggie's tightly, she was slightly frightened. "My, my. This place really is run down." "Yes, well, whether or not that will be a pleasant company depends entirely on you." "What's that?" Maggie looked up from her book. "Ah. Well, it would be foolish to quarrel with the legion, wouldn't it? Amaund found that out." She glanced at Dales and added, "I'm sorry, Excellency. I know that talk of your father is upsetting." "It's fine Maggie. "Those who forget the past are bound to repeat it"." Nodding, Maggie turned and approached Jon, holding his eyes. "You see, then. How well we get along depends entirely upon you. Upon what you want." There was nothing particularly suggestive in her words or manner, but the intensity of her gaze was certainly not casual. She waited a moment, testing the waters, then turned to look at Dales again. "I should say we've seen enough of dusty ruins, no? I'll have your clerk pull the deed for you to sign over to the library foundation, Excellency. You have my thanks. Now I suppose I should leave you two to return to the palace alone, since you have matters to discuss. I have some other errands in the city." Dales smiled and gently pulled her into a hug, "good evening to you milady. Good luck with your buisness" "What I want is to purge the Elder Council of its corruption," Jon had raised an eyebrow again, at her intense stare. "And undo the damage done in the early days of the Septim Empire, when the coffers were empty. And," he continued and lowered his brow again. A slight, barely noticeable blush was found in his face. Anyone short of Miss Bathory's keen eyes would likely have missed it. "I do think I want to get to know you better, Miss Bathory. See what all the fuss is about." Maggie returned Dales' hug, then turned to the legionnaire. "Why, General. That sounds like an invitation. I must be away from the city for a time, but when I return, I shall take you up on it. I know just the place where we might get better acquainted. One of your countrymen has opened a little restaurant called Uncommon Taste, inspired by some culinary manual in Skyrim, I'm told. The city's elite will be slow to patronize a Nord establishment, but perhaps we can start a trend. I do that, now and again." She gave him a coy smile and turned, taking the empress' arm and leading her back down the stair. After she had parted ways from the entourage, Maggie considered doubling back to try to spy on the pair's conversation, but decided it was too risky in public, and went on her way. There would be time yet to see what the general was up to. Or, the business with Darius would end her, and palace intrigues would no longer matter. "Well, Your Majesty, she is certainly an... interesting specimen," Jon had followed them down and out of the embassy, walking with the Empress back towards the White-Gold. "I wonder what she is really about." "You can never tell with Maggie, she's very mysterious." She said smiling, she continued onward towards the massive tower in the center of the imperial city. She said to the Nordic General ''Was there something specific you wished to talk about general?" "Yes, I was wondering what you would think of these." Jon handed her the notes he had been given by Hayn and by the stranger in the alley. Maybe she had a clue who this S was and why the Bathory's was specifically noted in an never ending list of pariahs in the nobility of Cyrodiil, so why where they so special? "S...S...S..." Dales face suddenly turned dark. She started to scratch her chin, and said, "S... this might be far fetched, but there's a very illusive information broker by the name of Samuel that i've had the pleasure of meeting. You might recal, he's the one who murdered general Marius." "As I understood it, that was a subject of debate," Jon raised his eyebrow again. He felt he had to do that a little too often for his own liking. Told him that he didn't know what to think about people. "Doesn't matter though, because if he did it, the arrest you made would turn out to be nothing more than an advertisement on a major scale, in his favor. Arrested by the Empress herself, then walks out of jail a couple of hours later. I'd be careful with making too such confident statements about who did what to whom, unless you saw it yourself and can verify that no magic was at play." Samuel? It would make sense, to an extent. A very powerful information broker would be a reasonable source, if one should happen to take side in the conflicts of the city. Jon rubbed his forehead. He needed to get in contact with this man. If there was something with the Bathory's he needed to know, he sounded like the one to know. Jon was also sure that he should have been able to make tht connection himself, now that it was pointed out, but that was commonplace with every riddle. The answer always seemed to obvious, once you knew it. As if able to read Jon's face, Dales spoke in a dark tone, "Never trust that man. He's as likely to help you, as he is to kill or hinder you. If you go seeking information from him, watch yourself." Jon smiled, somehow a bit triumphantly. "If he's as likely to to go either way, the odds are improving for me. Chances were always that you and the rest of the White-Gold staff would turn on me the moment I dared utter a word of my plans." Dales teasingly smiled, "How do you know we aren't? Right this second, me and dear Gaius could be collaborating to put you into chains, and us pretending to help you is a sick joke? "Maybe you are. Doesn't make a difference to me before the endgame. My chances with Samuel seems to be a good deal better than with you anyway, if it is 50/50." They had reached the palace and was greeted by some young looking Imperial with a nervous grin, who opened the gates for them. Once he was out of ears range, Jon continued. "I want to ask you something of dire importance, if I have your leave to do so." She laughed, "You were very blunt a few seconds a go, my dear hard heart, dont stop now. Shoot." "How do you plan on maintaining the Empire without Skyrim? The Legion has taken a major hit from it, even before counting the long term damage it will do to recruitment and soldier standard. Say whatever you will about the Nords, but my people maintained the Legion for centuries and thus much of the legal and hierarchical structure of the Empire. Without Skyrim, how long do you think it will take before Colovia becomes a hotspot of infighting and the Nibenese are powerless to unite the Cyrods?" "I asked that same question to Tullius you know?" Dales said, turning around to face the nord, "He didn't have an answer. He simply said "I suppose it'll leave the heavy work to imperial like me huh?"." Dales stretched out her arms, "The legion has always been a multi-racial force, say what you will about the empire policies towards other races in terms of maybe region or social, but you cant deny anyone can get very high up in the legion's command staff, regardless of race. So, I think we'll have to rely on everybody equally now, the Bretons, Orcs, Imperials, and all the other loyalist races. Nords from Bruma, Dark Elves from Cheyndial, everybody will play there part to preserve the empire, regardless of Skyrim being absent." She stared at him with determination burning in her eyes, "I will not rule as the final Empress to the once glorious empire of Tamriel, I wont let the spark die out due to some hardship. We will survive, regardless of the odds." "You sound like you're either too naive for your own good, or too stupid." Dales chuckled, "I wouldn't say i'm naive dear general. I did commit patricide for the good of the empire. after all. And I did witness quite a few horrors in Skyrim. Is it stupid or naive to be hopeful, dear general? Too expect good and hopeful results instead of cynical ones, like you do?" She looked at the general, with slight disgust, and annoyance, "You talk down to me, I know, and i've been very tolerant, as I always am to my other officers. But you underestimate the determination the legion and the people, which you left and ran away to Bruma to hide out." Her calm starred at the nord well above twice her height "You skulked in the shadows of whatever mountain you hid in, and didn't have the balls to stand up for your beliefs. You didn't join the Stormcloaks, or go out on your own. You just sat there, waiting for change to happen by itself." "You're a little girl in frilly dresses, just getting away from the description as aloof, inept and easily distracted by people who know you and know of you. It couldn't be more obvious that someone is pulling the strings behind your 'rule'. You're a figurehead, conveying the stance your puppetmaster holds. Talking down to the messenger is not the same as talking down to the one who sent it." Jon turned around and started to head in the direction of the entrance, but he stopped for a few more seconds. "And you'll have to forgive me if I don't take you very seriously, but you are not an Empress in anything but name. If you were, you wouldn't need to remind people of that. Even I have a better history than you there, earning the loyalty of my men and now giving your precious Gaius commands on how to do things. It took me one conversation to be offered the position as the head of the 1st Legion. It took someone pulling your strings to get you your throne. Don't bother me unless your Master wants to convey a message. I have important work to do, as you are well aware." ** With that, Jon had walked out the gates of the White-Gold. It felt good, to let the "Empress" know that he wasn't so blind as to think she was actually in charge. Not that she was in much of a position to bully him anyway. He had 5,000 troops in the city loyal to him alone. Not enough to take the city from the outside, but from the inside it was a threat no one could ignore. What the Empress did next would determine his path of action though. If her Master proved uncooperative, his efforts here were wasted. Ironically, her saying that he should have joined the Stormcloaks wasn't a bad alternative. it wouldn't be the first time Ulfric had accepted large numbers of Legion veterans of mostly Nordic blood into his army. And they sure seemed to be more on top of the situation than these snow-backs in the White-Gold. "Hey, General," a familiar voice said. Jon had passed by the alley on his way back to the King and Queens, where he had rented a room. It was the same man who had given him the note warning him about the Bathory family, if the clothes and voice was an indication. "I've got more fo-." "First, I got something from you," he interrupted the man. "I need to talk to this S. And quickly." The man just smiled and held out another note, opened so he could read it. General Hard-Heart, I will be paying you a visit at the earliest convenience. S ** Empress Dales didn't even bother to chase after the general, or even cared, Very big mistake, my dear Nord. Very big mistake. Dales decided to head out for a few drinks at the Tiber Septim hotel, she hadn't had a night to relax in a week.

Roland Adrard Camlorn Castle Night The silken sheets were covered in sweat, leftover from Roland's escapade with his favorite sleeping buddy, Tanya. Tanya was the youngest of his mother's handmaidens, a beautiful girl of only seventeen. Her father, a very prominent shipbuilder, used his fortune to get his daughter a place in Camlorn's royal household, hoping she could find her place among the nobility. So far, the place she found more often than not was Roland Adrard's bed, much to both of their continued amusement. Of course, she was not the only young lady to frequent the bed of the youngest member of the royal family. A score of females, ranging in age from sixteen to thirty-six, had visited the young man at some time or another. Most usually made one or two trips, but there were a handful who made numerous evening calls. One was Tanya, another the cook Maria, and Jacqueline the maid. Sometimes, he could even talk all three into sharing his bed, and those nights made for the best in his memory. The other nobles' daughters who journeyed to Camlorn had also been known to bunk with him from time to time. Such was the life of an upper Breton noble, full of fine food, free sex, and the best tutor's and trainers father's septims could buy. It was a happy, pleasant existence for Roland. But this night, he stirred in his sleep, something amiss in his dreams. ******** A steady drizzle poured on the heads of the mounted Camlorn guardsmen. The sucking sound of the horses hooves pulling out of the mud complimented the pitter patter of the raindrops. Occasionally, a sword would clink, or maybe it was someone's chain mail. Captain Vette, an average sized Breton man who formerly served in the legion, lead the armored troupe. Lord Theodore Adrard's orders were very specific, they were to take out the bandits who recently took up residence north of Camlorn. Their raiding, while small, would undoubtedly grow, so it was best to take care of the pests before they became and infestation. The camp was up ahead, obvious from the sudden increase in tree stumps, and sawing that could be heard in the distance. Captain Vette turned around to order his men off the road, but his eyes narrowed as he saw a figure, also on horseback, approaching from the south. He waved his hand as his men split, fifteen on ether side of the road while he waited for the traveler to approach. Roland, bouncing in the saddle on his black stallion, his quicksilver and steel chain mail clanking underneath. Over the top, a brown leather tunic, and on his shoulders a cape hung, with the family insignia, a bull's head, in the center. Personally, neither Roland nor Theodore liked the bull's head, but it had been in the family for years so it stuck. Roland slowed down his horse, and rode up to Captain Vette. "I...uh wanted to join. I figured it was time I actually fight someone," he puffed his chest out at the last remark. "And what did your mother say?" a soldier quipped back. Several laughed, and Roland's face got visibly red, and his chest deflated. Captain Vette smirked, but waved off the laughter. "Alright, I think you can join." Turning to the rest of the men, he started to speak again. "We'll split up, half approaching from the north, the other half from the south, that way they can't flee on the road. On my order, archers will fire and the rest of us will move in for mop up duty. Any questions?" No one said a word, so the right half rode around in a wide arch, careful to avoid any sentries as they rode first east, then north. Roland stayed with Captain Vette in the southern group. Minutes passed, and Roland grew anxious, fingering the pommel of his sword. Finally, an owl hoot sounded, and Captain Vette hooted back. He turned to the four archers in his group, and ordered "Fire!" The arrows flew through the air, whistling from the feathers on the end of the shaft. Across the encampment, another set of arrows cast off. Of the right fired, six hit their marks, and the same number of bandits fell with a scream. Captain Vette raised his spear, and yelled "Charge!" Roland unsheathed his sword, not having a spear, and followed the charging guards. Captain Vette had the lead, his horse snorting and neighing, it too exhilarated by the thrill of battle. His spear, pinched under his armpit, wobbled as he rode. A lone bandit stood ready, as most still scrambled for their weapons. The bandit, a Breton male wielding a large round iron shield and axe, crouched to avoid the spear. His spear raised, Captain Vette quickly tried to readjust, causing the steel spear head to glance off the shields edge and into the bandit's shoulder, instead of his chest. With a horrendous grunt the bandit fell, the force behind the spear enough to penetrate his armor and due him in. Across the camp, which had the beginnings of a wooden palisade and walkways, the northern group had begun their assault. The bandits were now armed, although at least seven on the twenty total ha fallen before they'd reached their weapons. Roland rode towards an enemy, who was armed with a sword as shield. His bastard sword in his right hand, reins in the left, he parried the first lunge from the bandit. "Fight me like a man, coward! Get off yer horse!" the bandit yelled. Wheeling his horse away, Roland looked to see the rest of the guards sweeping the floor with the bandits, and only one casualty to speak of. The young man dismounted, gripping his sword in both hands as the bandit approached. The bandit circled, eyeing his prey. "Young'n, too bad eh? Hate killin' kids," the ruffian said. "I'm not a child," Roland said, very similar to a whiny kid. "Harhar, just like a kid..." the bandit said, lunging with a swipe attack. Roland blocked it, parrying the blow away from his left arm. "Not as young as I thought!" It was Roland's turn, feinting a blow to the shield side leg, which work perfectly as the bandit opened his shield to block the attack. Roland pulled back, using a technique his trainer taught him, and sliced the right leg across the inside of the calf. The bandit yelped and hopped away, licking his wounds. "Ya bugger, you hit me. Don't make me tell yer mommy!" Roland fumed, but breathed deeply. "Control your emotions, don't let them control you," his tutor, Cruttus Mido, always said. The bandit, ready to fight again, feinted a blow of his own, only to instead punch Roland in the midsection with his shield. Roland attempted to readjust his block, but only got enough of the shield to prevent his falling. Instead he stumbled, but gained his footing. "That it?" Roland asked with a smirk. Aware of movement all around them, both the bandit and Roland, stopped. The rest of the guards, except for one who lay on a makeshift stretcher, had surrounded the two. The bandit wouldn't leave here alive, regardless of who one the duel. "So lets see it boy," Vette said, several others nodding as well. Roland breathed in deep, readying himself again. The bandit, however, looked around, his eyes frantically going from one guard to another. "This...this ain't fair. Me an' him, no one else!" Looking back to Roland, he charged, shield raised and sword pointed out in front like a spear. Roland rolled to his left and deftly swung to slice the the back of the charging man as he rolled up. "Urgh!" the frightened bandit screamed, as blood soaked his leather armor. Roland adopted a defensive position, ready to block any blows an let the man bleed out. The bandit had other plans, and he again bull rushed, this time his shield down intent on pummeling Roland. Roland waited, holding until he sidestepped at the last second, the shield hitting him but not too hard, allowing him to thrust his sword deep into his ribs. The bandit fell down, sinking in a pool of his own blood. Roland stumbled, the shield causing mor damage than he realized. He fingered his shoulder, the pain excruciating. Captain Vette walked up to him, patting him on the shoulder. "Good work. Your dad would be proud." Turning to the rest of the men, he said, "Lets pack up and move out. Someone strap Leo to his horse and we'll get going." Roland smiled, until someone bumped him on his uninjured shoulder. It was the soldier who earlier made the mommy comment. "Nice work, even for a kid," he said, smirking playfully. ******** Roland woke up, smiling at his dream, he thought killing someone would haunt him, but it just made him feel more like a man. His partner, woke up, sensing him waking. "Everything alright?" she asked seductively, grabbing the part of him which also made him feel like a man. Roland crawled on top of her, kissing her gently and smoothly, ever the professional. "Perfect, now that you're awake," he said with a smile, and slid inside her, beginning to make love for the third time after, his first kill.

Baldur, Daric, Brund Blue Palace Noon The dysfunctional dynamic duo Brund and Baldur turned out to be a rather effective combination when it came to training the men. Brund's brutality was kept in check with Baldur around, so fewer men were sent to the infirmary, and Brund made sure to give the men more than a personal drive to do what they were told. Baldur was better at spotting out weaknesses of individual fighters and was better able to show the men what they were doing wrong and how to fix it, and Brund's years with the Legion taught them the discipline that the Nord soldiers were known for. Baldur knew how to teach it but Brund was a reminder of what happened if they didn't learn it. Whether either of them wanted to admit it, they worked better together rather than by themselves, now that they weren't busy trying to outdo each other. Or rather now that Brund wasn't trying. For now. Before training had begun, Baldur made sure to go with Rebec to see Suri and Vignar off as he promised, which again made him a bit late to training, but Brund again covered for him. Being so close to family where you worked as a soldier made it tough to act like one. But now it was time. After training from around six until noon, Baldur and Brund ordered the men to rest for the day. They both had other duties to attend to, so they made sure to run them extra hard to make up for it. They had been worked hard for the past couple of days anyway and it was beginning to show in their performance. Brund had to sift through reports from the Reach and issue orders to various guerrilla bands while Baldur had to pass on his requests to Ulfric on fort repairs around Skyrim, recruit reports and reading through what Brund was doing just to be aware of it. Brund too had to do the same for Baldur's activities. Baldur had Daric, who apparently recovered faster than he thought and showed up to training the next day, in his office in the Blue Palace. Daric sat patiently in front of Baldur's desk in a wooden chair, waiting as he read through various reports and wrote notes on them or put his signature down. Daric thought it odd to see a man in full armor writing like Baldur was. Daric was sporting a nice shiner on his eye from the fight yesterday, and was sporting some braids in his hair before Baldur had them taken out. He said he didn't look old enough to not look girly with them. And yet Daric to everyone that saw him looked a bit older than before. The bright open look he once had now replaced with one that was disillusioned and knew better now. Although it could have just been the bruise over his eye. Daric idly leaned back in his chair and patiently waited before eying the sweetroll Baldur had on his desk. Daric reached for it when he thought Baldur was too absorbed in his reading, but Baldur proved he was always self-aware when he suddenly picked up his bear helmet from off the desk and slammed it over the plate, shrouding the sweetroll in darkness as if the treat was consumed. Daric jumped back and almost fell backwards in the chair. "Never get between a bear and his food. Lesson number one in how not to die." the general said, chuckling slightly behind his papers. Daric let out a nervous laugh, then went back to leaning in his chair until a thought came up in his head. "Uh, general sir?" "Yes, Daric?" "Why is your sweetroll plain? Don't you like it frosted?" Baldur stopped his reading and put the recruitment report down, then looked at Daric with a stern face before sighing heavily. "I used to. I used to love having my sweetroll frosted. But then...someone came in my life and ruined that pleasure for me forever. Now...now I can never look at a proper frosted sweetroll the same way again. That's all I'll say. Speak no further on the subject." Baldur went back to reading his paper while Daric was left with an extremely confused look on his face. He couldn't see it, but Baldur was silently laughing behind his paper. Thoroughly distracted with thoughts of Rebec, Baldur while still reading lifted up his bear helmet and grabbed the sweetroll, thinking fondly of last night. The memory sent butterflies to his lower gut as he eyed the treat and finally took a bite. Besides, it's sweet enough as is. Believe me, kid. "What was that, sir?" "Huh? Oh nothing." Baldur cleared his throat, not realizing he said that out loud. "Anyway, I brought you here to discuss your future in the 'cloaks. That and you may be in the cloaks due to special circumstances, but you still need supervision as much as possible, so you can hang out with me for a bit. Being in the cloaks means you get supervised by us. For now though, consider me your guardian while I'm in Solitude. When I leave, your guardian will be whoever is commanding your unit. Which brings me back to my original point. You're not a frontline fighter. I'll be assigning you to a scout and guerrilla warfare unit. That way you c-" "What? Why? I proved myself yesterday to all the men! You said I was a man and a warrior and a Breton can b-" "Enough! Don't mistake my kindness for weakness. When I'm speaking you listen. Clear Daric?" The Breton lad was visibly disappointed, but he did his best to not show it by looking from Baldur down to his feet. "Yes sir." "Good. Now, you are fourteen. Your style has shown that for now while your body is developing you are not strong enough to be of use on a shield wall in the front lines, or with a berserker unit with two handed weapons like Brund is fond of. What you are good at is running, evading and making quick judgment. You're like me when I was your age, although I admittedly was bigger and had more strength. What that means is that you are perfect for spying on the enemy, hiding and sabotaging, and being the eyes and ears of the Stormcloaks. Ulfric will tell you himself that this is an important job. So when you are done with basic training, I'll send you to a unit trained for that and that is what you will be groomed for. Understood?" Daric was worried that Baldur was going to stick him into an unimportant role, but from what he described, it sounded even more interesting than being used as a grunt. "Yes sir, understood sir." "Good, now what do you say we go and speak to the King, eh?" "We're gonna speak to Ulfric Stormcloak?" asked Daric more nervously than excited. "Yep, the man himself. Getting bored of these reports and it’s important that you see the man you serve. Let’s go." Daric wasn't really looking forward to the visit. He wasn't sure what to think of the man. He had heard so many different contradictory accounts of the man and had no real idea of what to think. But he complied and followed Baldur out of his office to the throne, ready to see for himself. *** As Baldur and Daric walked into the palace throne room, Brund was already there, listening to Ulfric and Galmar discuss the Empire. "If you ask me, Ulfric, I say we let those bastards rot in Oblivion. Why should we waste more men on them when one of the main reasons we left was because they wouldn't bleed for us? And they're not in a position to do anything about it if we don't help." Ulfric had listened to Galmar as he always does, taking in what he had said with careful consideration. "Hmm, a good point. But we do need them to fight with the Dominion, like it or not. Their position at our border leaves an important meat shield between the Dominion and Skyrim. Which means that we can take the opportunity to thin their ranks in Cyrodiil rather than in our own land." "Eh, true. But we should be careful not to go and thin our own in the process. Nord blood spilled on Imperial soil is blood wasted. And if we are weakened, they could take that opportunity to try and retake Skyrim later! We should let them choke I say while we move into the Dominion on the main land." As Galmar said this, the court, being all of two people, Galmar and Ulfric turned to watch Baldur and Daric enter from their right, coming from the hallway. "Ah, Baldur. We were just discussing this little 'alliance' you got us into. What do you think about it?" asked Ulfric. "I picked up on some of what was said. I agree with both of you to an extent. We're going to need Cyrodiil for two reasons, one of which is keeping the fight from our land. Another is to move into Valenwood. I think we should stick to Valenwood though, and for now leave Elsweyr alone." "Why not the land of kitties?" asked Brund. Ulfric was surprised to hear him address Baldur without hostility but was wary that it wasn't just a challenge under a guise. "We should leave them alone because of the reports the Imps sent us through Marius about "purges". The intel was bare and vague, like all news coming from there, not to mention its Imperial intel, but we heard the Dragonborn mention the Blade woman saying something of the sort, and I had a friend of mine from a long time ago tell me about them before. There will be people there that may help us if we go in. There won't be a chance of that in Elsweyr. Not unless we find out something to this nature is happening there as well. There's also the question of how to go about this invasion. We can either invade by land or sea, but the sea won't be reliable for an invasion with Alinor at its back, and the naval war is likely to be a brutal one. We need to go by land where we have the advantage as well as sea. Which means we'll be cutting through Cyrodiil to get there. We'll likely be defending Cyrodiil just to protect our supply lines for the invasion into Valenwood." "Now, actually Baldur, the land invasion isn't necessarily a requirement. Rebec will probably agree with me on this. With the combined forces of Hammerfell and Skyrim on the sea, we should be able to protect our invading ships rather well. And Cyrodiil, who will be in the waters by default to defend Anvil's ports. There's an island right off the coast of Cyrodiil that we can get to from Hammerfell and we can invade from there into Valenwood." said Ulfric. "That I did not know, actually. If we did do that, then we possibly could do what Galmar said if we wanted to. Brund made a good point on that matter." Brund looked at Baldur suspiciously, thinking naturally that Baldur was patronizing him again. "Oh did he? What was that?" asked Ulfric. "I think we should make an effort to keep the Empire weak. We have them right where we want them. Weak, splintering, distracted and unable to invade us at the moment. That shouldn't change. They can't attack us, and they're strong enough to keep the Thalmor busy while we grow in power." said Brund, still wary of Baldur and eying him from the corner of his eye as he spoke. Daric looked around as everyone talked, and never felt more out of place in his life. Ulfric stood up from his chair now and walked to the center, standing in front of the dysfunctional dynamic duo and Baldur's protégé. "I agree with you, Brund. We need to take steps to fight the Thalmor, but at the same time make sure the Empire stays in the dying state that it is in. As such I think we should do a combination of both plans. We don't necessarily have to protect Cyrodiil as a whole to protect our supply lines. If we have to, we can move through Hammerfell and run past Chorrol and Skingrad to get to Valenwood. The Imperial City and so on should fend for themselves. If it is taken and our Pale Pass is endangered, then maybe we can see about sending support. We'll see but that is the direction I think we should go. What say you, Baldur?" "I agree, High King. We are not friends with the Empire. I doubt they'd jump at the opportunity to defend our land if attacked. Time to show them we aren't fools. We agreed to help fight the Thalmor. That's exactly what we'll do. And we'll never forget what they've done or what it means to be a Stormcloak. Northern men hunted in their homes, held down by southern brothers, Nords fight Nords from land to shore, steel clashes, clangs and sings, Betrayal under the guise of peace, a time of mourning mothers, Price paid by we who push out those, who deny our true high King. The right of those to hold rituals, of he who has risen, For this we shed crimson and soak the ground, fair snow turned red, Men of the drake drown us in dread, in our homes do they make prison, Free we'll be from forsaking foe, or free in land of dead, When with axe, face down they lay, Kyne's sons tall will they stand, With savage spirit we strike and slay, with Shor's strength we stroke, Our own masters will man be made, drake cast from this land, That is the creed of those who cry, "I am a Stormcloak!" "Here here!" Cried Galmar. "We've freed our land but that doesn't mean our job is done!" Ulfric's face was beset with determination and fury. Ulfric brought his fist to his chest then unsheathed his axe, raising it to the air. "Now we must make sure ALL threats are tended to to make sure Skyrim stays free and that we remain the masters of our own fate! Never again will we allow foreigners to dictate to us how we live. Never again will we be forced to pit father against son for the sake of our brethren. Never again will we fear walking out of our homes and wonder if we'll ever see our loved ones return! Never again will we forget what it means to be free!" "RRRRAAAAHHH!!!" Galmar, Brund, Baldur and even Daric all pulled out their weapons and gave their battle cries. Baldur with his two war axes, Brund and Galmar with their hammers, and Daric with his wooden practice swords. Daric's eyes were wide with excitement, and his blood was rushing. Ulfric had a way of getting people caught in the moment, and his little speech had made a lasting impression on him. Ulfric finally noticed the young recruit and wanted to laugh at the sight of him with his wooden sword, but made himself not do so. "Baldur, who's the boy? Rebec know about him?" Baldur raised an eyebrow at Ulfric's statement. "Oh, he's not mine! He's a recent recruited soldier from the militia in Falkreath. "Baldur I know we need as many men as we can get, but you'll understand that I have to question your judgment." "Don't worry, sir. This boy is Daric. He's proven himself. Right, Brund?" Brund didn't want to give anything away, wishing not to bring up the fight with either Galmar or Ulfric. "Yes. The boy is getting along well with the other recruits." admitted Brund. Galmar and Ulfric shared a look of confusion. Galmar walked next to Ulfric and leaned in his ear. "Lost a bet. I bet." "Sounds familiar." said Ulfric laughing slightly, referring to himself. "Okay then, carry on." Baldur nodded his head and was about to turn away when Ulfric called out to him again. "Oh, by the way. What’s this about a Kingdom wide warrant for a Lorgar Grim-Maw? And you called for more security around the city and palace? Why?" "I got a letter from someone in Cyrodiil saying he's a criminal and may be looking to escape into Skyrim. I've dealt with him before." "So, are we in the business of helping Cyrodiil take out their trash, Baldur?" "No sir. I agreed to help kill him because the one who requested it is working with us. Witchie the mage, and he believes he can be a threat to Cyrodiil. I don't think it’s good for them or us to have Cyrodiil weakened before the war. That and the man and I are on no good terms. Remember the weeping widow shrouding his face before I left to Falkreath? That's him." "Ah, I see. The one who killed my men in my palace. I also remember you mentioning he shot an arrow at Rebec. That part of your reasoning too?" "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't looking for an excuse to get back at him for that." "I see. Well you'll have no complaints from me. Put him in the dirt. You really think he'll be foolish enough to come here?" "No, King. But it wouldn't hurt to be safe. In case he or would be Thalmor assassins try to take your life and so on." "Okay, then. Carry on. Galmar, you and I need to discuss...that matter." Galmar looked confused at first, but he knew what he meant eventually. The matter of the new Queen. There was a reason why Elisif had lacked an appearance lately, but Ulfric knew until the time came to replace her that she'd need to make an appearance every now and then. Galmar walked back and called into the hallway for Elisif's court to come back into the throne room. It was clear Ulfric didn't like them to be around during such conversations. He still did not trust them. As Baldur and Daric were walking towards the door of the palace, Daric looked up at Baldur and said, "So that's our king huh?" "Yep. What'd you think?" "He uh, break out into little speeches like that often?" "Yeah occasionally." "Huh. Well, at least he's good at it." Baldur started to laugh, recalling when he met him and how he had the same reaction as well. "Hey, run back to my office and get my helmet, would you? And the rest of my sweetroll. Afterwards, we can go for a drink while I go over some more paperwork. Bring my satchel too. Sound good?" Daric cracked a smile and gave him a nod. "Yes sir!" *** Lorgar, no…Saladin stuttered about as more images flashed into his mind, he put his hand too his head, and kept the pain within him, not wanting to disturb the other patrons, he went into a curled ball, and let the random flashes of him in different apparel and locations enter into him . He had just entered Solitude hours ago, scaling the wall with a grappling hook, while avoiding the guardsman. The defense's and guard patrols had stepped up, and he spotted a warrant with his name on it in Dragonsbridge. No doubt Baldur's doing. Later, he rented a room at the Winking Skeever Inn, Lorgar thought he was here for business, but deep down, Lorgars motivation for being here was eluding himself. Like the day before, the same pain was once again assaulting his brain. It passed, after a few minutes, but not before another flashback assailed his vision, **** A man clad in heavy imperial-wolf armor was standing over a table, with a blank face about him. He was currently reading some kind of report, most likely related to rebel activity in the area. He had a massive axe strapped to his back, and he wasn’t wearing a helmet, allowing his snow-white hair to move somewhat freely. Just as the officer was about to move, a legionary entered into the tent, and crisply saluted the man, which he lazily returned, “Sir, Tribune Angelos told me to inform you that Attendant Lilly Rumanlus has been sent back to Cyrodiil, along with all her personal possessions.†The messenger said. The officer’s face changed little. “What’s her medical condition?†The messengers face grew slightly pale, and he coughed slightly. “Tribune Angelos says she’ll likely never come out of her coma, and even if she does, she’ll never be able to walk again…†The officer’s face continued to remain blank and emotionless. “That will be all.†The soldier hesitated a second, he looked genuinely concerned for his CO, before saluting and leaving the tent. If the soldier glanced down to the officer’s hand, he would have seen them in a tight ball, shaking, and his gauntleted fingers digging into his palm. ***** The vision ended, and Saladin was once again in control of himself, though shots of pain erupted from his body, as well as a wagon full of cold sweat fell down his body. Saladin’s eyes filled with clarity and understanding, as he silently stood on the ground. Just then, the door to his room opened. The man who stood in the doorway was an imperial, by the name of Corpulus Vinius. His eyes filled with shock as he saw the downed man, and rushed to assist his patron. “Sir are you all-“ The man voice cut of as the formerly downed man rushed towards him with a dark grin on his lips, before plunging a black ebony blade into his neck. The man’s blue eyes filled with surprise and terror, as blood began to pour from the massive cut. The man only lived for a second, as he fell to the ground. Saladin stepped over the corpse, and left the inn threw the back door, and into the dark streets. He melted into the shadows of an alleyway, intent on finding his prey. **** Baldur spent most of the day powering through all his reports in the Winking Skeever. Daric asked Baldur a few times if he could read some, to which Baldur replied no because it was sensitive information, and if he asked too much, he'd start to wonder if he was a Thalmor agent. He was kidding. If the Thalmor wanted info on anything, it would be future actions in the Reach to prolong the fight. So far the Forsworn had gone quiet and into hiding, and much of the war so far had been in the shadows. Ambushes and hunting through barrows and caves for where they were hiding. Baldur let Daric read those as they were predictable and lacked any important info. Eventually the two finally decided to call it a day. Baldur actually managed to get more done than he normally would by having Daric give him a summary of the less sensitive unimportant documents that he apparently found intriguing due to the parts about military engagements. Baldur was finally caught up on everything he missed over his break, so the general directed Daric to the barracks through the courtyard. "Ah, good. I managed to get done before it got too late. Rebec should be home by now too." he said, as he started to walk from the barracks now. Baldur now made his way home, which brought him back to Solitude's courtyard. It was dark, but the moons were out with small wispy trails of orange in the sky, which Baldur was now taking the time to admire. "Admiring the night Baldur?" Said a quiet, yet deep, cold voice to Baldur. In the streets corner was a man. His form was illuminated by the pale light of the moon. His height was tall, and by the looks of him, quite built. His choice of clothing was a black longcoat, which was layered with chainmail underneath He sported dark leather boots and gloves. He also wore a dark cloak and hood, which was up, the hoods head had the image of a purple wolf, showing it's fang. On his back was a massive greatsword, clad in strange runes which glowed red, while the blade itself had a faint white glow very similar to the moonlight which shined down upon the man, along with a pitch black greatbow. At his side was a shortblade, which had a gold handle. The blade of the shortsword was in its sheath, so it was impossible to tell it's material or color. The man gave off a strange vibe, which could only describe as "dark.†His face was cloaked by an unnatural shadow. Baldur's eyes shot down in the direction of the mocking voice, his head still pointing at the sky. As the man walked towards him, Baldur only said one thing as his brow knit. "Lorgar." Baldur suddenly noticed how quiet things were, and he wondered if it would be quiet enough for him to try and call the guards. He didn't have time to worry about personal honor. He couldn't allow him to get away. But he remembered the guard placements, and there weren't any close enough to his location. Not without his war horn. It was almost surreal to him, seeing this man here again after so long suddenly in this place of all places. "History has a way of repeating itself it seems. Been a while since I last saw you here. So. What the hell are you doing here and what are you doing that would cause the Empire to want you dead?" "That's what happens when you plan to gut the Empress." Said Lorgar, his hand began to scratch his chin playfully, "Funny, you know for the last week or so, I’ve been asking myself the same question, first it was "Business", the next day it was 'to ask for help from my favorite Nord general'." Lorgar stretched out his arms into the air, before yawning, "I was half-right the first time. I couldn't be here to ask help from you, not after my arrow pierced your whore of a wife's hand and crossbow." Lorgar laughed, a spill-chilling mad laugh, "I have unfinished business." Baldur's face went from curious to completely sober and blank. He was aware that letting words get to him was a bad idea, and he held his temper in. "I think you're aware of what happens when you piss me off. Legions for instance. They tend to...disappear. Unless you wish to...disappear, I suggest you keep my wife out of this. And don't flatter yourself. You scrapped her hand, it didn't pierce it. Seems like you need some practice. I'm interested in why me helping you kill the Empress after our agreement in Falkreath even crossed your mind." "Pathetic, and worthless cohorts tend to disappear around you, general. I make Jarls...vanish." As he said that he dramatically made hand gestures, small circles. He continued, "Your "agreement", as you put it basically to let Cyrodiil do all the heavy lifting, while you Stormcloaks sip you mead back at home, am I wrong?" He laughed again, " Regardless, I initially justified myself, by telling myself it was for "good of the empire" that I remove the mages puppetress, but in actuality, I just want to see the empire, and everything around it crumble in chaos and anarchy when Dales is murdered...that would be...such a sweet sight..." Baldur looked confused under the pale moonlight as he listened to Grim-Maw speak. Something clearly was different about him. Very different. "Yes, the Empire does all the heavy lifting, which is....right, nothing. As usual. Both of our sides are building up forces readying for war. And call me crazy, but I think an elite force of legion warriors feeding the crows trumps a crazy paranoid Jarl that was a step into the grave already. If you didn't kill him, his own nerves would have done it for you. And I can call you a lot of things, Lorgar. But a traitor isn't something I'd have imagined...What in the hell has happened to you?" "Lorgar is gone, only Saladin remains." Lorgar, said, with his voice suddenly becoming serious and the atmosphere around him thickening. He psychotically laughed, "I'm just so happy you got to my "elite" fighting force before I did, I would have punished them severely if any of them survived you, show them how worthless they were, you see?." He suddenly started to shout "YOU ******* SEE?!" "Yea, I see perfectly clear." Baldur slowly pulled out his axes after placing his bear helmet on his head. "You've gone skeevershit crazy. Makes sense. Was it the illusions? I noticed a change in you initially from that day as well when you came into Solitude. Now you've gone even further off the deep end. Makes sense to me, Lorgar." Though Baldur couldn't see his face underneath his hood, Lorgar's face twisted in anger and utter rage, he snarled as he charged Baldur while violently saying "DONT CALL ME THAT!!!" In a mere instant, Lorgar had drawn his massive runeblade, and put all of his momentum in a downward slash at Baldur, after closing the distance between them in a dash of speed. Baldur wasn't expecting the sudden burst of speed, but his reactions had gotten better from the last time they met, and he managed to block the blade over his head with his axes. When he did, a loud clang was followed by the crackle of lightning and some other magic Baldur didn't recognize. A red aura clashing with the lightning of his weapons. "An upgrade I see." He said as their two weapons were shaking as they were locked. "You just said you would have killed your men yourself. And that you were going to kill your precious Empress. How do you not see that you are insane? Perhaps you think that I'm to blame?" Lorgar smirked, as he pushed forward with his greatsword against Baldur's axes. "You merely brought out what was already in there, THIS IS THE REAL ME. Without that Skaalish bullshit." Suddenly, Lorgar switched into a one-handed block position with his greatsword, while drawing his shortblade with his free arm, slashing at Baldur's thigh. Baldur didn't have another option but to kick his leg up and block the slash with the metal on his boot. Afterwards he took advantage of the lessened pressure from Lorgar's sword above him and jumped to Lorgar's left to swipe at his unprotected side. Lorgar ducked` under the attack gracefully, and unexpectedly and very quickly backed away from Baldur, He sheathed his two blades in an instant, before melting into the darkness of the alleyway. Baldur couldn't hear a sound from the alley, as if his boots were enchanted with a muffle. Baldur's eyes darted from the left and right of the courtyard, looking for Lorgar, but his eyes found nothing. Remembering Lorgar's talent with arrows, Baldur took out his shield, sheathing his axe as he did, and braced himself for his next attack. "Figures! Once a coward always a coward! You mentioned the Skaal? I think I remember reading on them once. Some tree loving sissies, right? That explains quite a bit!" "Quite right, they are." The voice came not from the front, side, but from Baldur's rear. An ebony arrow came whistling towards Baldur's leg from behind. When Baldur heard Lorgar's voice, he spun around and was lucky enough to have the arrow hit his shield, since he was just about to raise it, which would have allowed his leg to be hit. "Close. If you wanted to kill me like a coward, you should have tried it earlier before you approached me. What's a tree lover doing out of Solstheim?" said Baldur, still not seeing Lorgar. "The bloodlust of Hircine called me to the battlefield I answered." Was the simply answer, as an ebony throwing knife came towards Baldur at lighting speeds. Lorgar took the opportunity to charge Baldur at the front head on emerging from the shadows, putting as much force he could muster into his strike. The dagger skidded off the top of Baldur's shield and bounced up, almost hitting the top of his helmet. When Lorgar came at him, Baldur mimicked Rebec in their duel and got to his knee to better brace for the block, while his axe soared towards Lorgar's nethers. "Not to me, Baldur." Lorgar, before impacting on the Stormcloak general, made a last second side step, going away from Baldur's cunning "Nether-chopper" and attacking his right side with a quick slash. He parried the slash with his axe and swiped at Lorgar's jugular with his shield. Lorgar was just barely able to avoid being flattened by the shield; Lorgar quickly repeated the same retreat he did beforehand, melting into the shadows of an alleyway. "This again? Tell me, if you were intent on killing your own squad, why are you here trying to kill me? If you really want me dead....why?" asked Baldur, ready to block more incoming projectiles. "I need no reason. I just want too." Unlike before, Lorgar's mastery in archery really showed, as two arrows were launched at the same time, one aimed for the chest, while the other was launched towards his shoulder. As Baldur raised his shield, being aware of his pattern of talking first before attacking, the first arrow smacked into his shield as expected. The second one however found its mark and buried itself in the leather under his metal shoulder pad. Baldur was lucky to have been wearing this armor and not his officer armor. The arrow hit the overlapping leather and just barely got through, enough for Baldur to feel pain. He ignored it however, and pretended as if it didn't hit deep enough. With his hand holding the axe, Baldur snapped off the arrow, being careful not to show himself wincing. "You just want to? Listen to yourself; you don't 'just want to'. You didn't want to kill your men. You're here because you're going crazy and you want me to pay for it. But if that is the case, you should be killing yourself. It was you who let yourself get caught by Boldir. If you were in my shoes and you had a Witch King at your disposal, would you have acted differently?" "SHUT UP!!!" Lorgar emerged from the darkness, this time with his hood down. His brown hair flew freely around, His face looked like he was literally ready to rip Baldur's arm off. "NO MORE TALKING!!!." Lorgar charged at Baldur, with wolf-like speed, and slammed the edge of his sword at Baldur, with in-human strength. Baldur blocked briefly, then disengaged, remembering that his strength was like Brund’s and Boldir's. Rolling back before going at a distance, Baldur paced around the edge of the circle of moonlight that served as a kind of ring for the two. Except now clouds were starting to pass over, occasionally shrouding them in darkness for a few seconds. "No, let’s talk. You need to stop acting like this and remember who you are. You're here trying to kill me out of revenge, yet all this will do is make those men's deaths meaningless. Everything you're doing I mean. If you keep trying to cause trouble for the two allied forces, then you're gonna get the Empire destroyed. Then their deaths won't matter for shit, because the commander they died for would have spat in their faces and destroyed the Empire they loved so much!" For the briefest second, Baldur could have sworn he could see Lorgars eyes soften, but it was only for a second if it at all, since the fury came back Lorgar, once again went into a one-handed style with his greatsword, dragging it on the ground. However, it didn't appear to be a disadvantage, as Lorgar dragged the blade with ease, and could still use it with ease. He circled at the edge of the moonlight, following Baldur's footsteps, with his own muffled ones, "Everything is meaningless. You try to make a difference, you end up dead or worse." Lorgar snarled with glee, as he drew the distance between them, dragging the greatsword as he charged towards the Stormcloak soldier, Lorgar brought it down with all the strength he could muster onto Baldur, before using his shortblade to slash at his left arm. He laughed manically, "Killing for its own sake is the true reason I fight, not for ideology, loved ones, or any other foolish concept. Everyone is ashes in the end!!!" His laughter grew as he landed even more lighting blows with his two blades, "WHY THE **** SHOULD WE CARE WHEN WE DIE, WHEN IT'S GOING TO HAPPEN ANYWAYS?!" Baldur Blocked the attacks with his shield, and danced around with Lorgar, parrying and blocking blows occasionally, both men giving no quarter. "I don't know about you, but I don't fear it because we Nords go to Sovngarde. But there are many men in history who have tried and made a difference. Look at this alliance for instance. We've stopped our meaningless killing and pointed our blades at the real enemy. What you are doing here is cowardly. Hiding from your mistake by pretending to be something you are not." Lorgar moved at supernatural speeds, occasional slashing or attempting to stab the Nordic general, who always managed to block or dodge. It was vice-versa with Lorgar as well, he avoided, and parried all of Red-snow's attacks. The moon and the bright green auroras created an atmosphere of dread. "THIS IS ME, THIS IS ME, I'M SALADIN, LORGAR'S DEAD!!!" The furious Skaal screamed, with a furry of blows, Lorgar continued to press aggressively , before bringing down his blade in a large arc towards Baldur. Baldur Shook his head and sheathed his shield, bringing out his other axe to block the blow. The two weapon's enchantments once again started to clash and crackle from excitement, both seeking to reach the flesh of their foe, the color of red and blue illuminating the dark courtyard. Nothing's getting through. He's completely lost it. *** Back at the Blue Palace, Brund Hammer-Fang finally woke up after falling asleep on his pile of paperwork. Turns out, running a war was harder than it looked. Brund made his way out of the Palace now, the cool air soothing Brund's numb cheek, which got that way from sleeping on his desk. Brund's mind was...quiet. Since the events of the duel. What was there to say? Baldur won, and once again showcased his leadership skills. Which made it hard for him to be angry, because to be angry, he'd have to think of a reason to be upset. His reasoning before was he wasn't deserving. Even he was starting to see this was bullshit. Baldur was just proving to be the better leader. And there was nothing he could do about it but admit it and move on. That or just murder him. But he couldn't do that. Could he? Brund played around with the idea for a while but eventually cast it aside. It would be too obvious that it was he that did it. As Brund made his way to go to sleep in the barracks, Brund heard loud clangs in the air. For a legion veteran of his age, it was quite obvious what the noise was. Somebody was fighting. "Hmm, someone dueling at this time of night? Maybe a robbery gone wrong?" Brund didn't really care, but if it was a robber, he could take out some internal frustrations on their ass. Hopefully it was a mer. Brund unsheathed his hammer and ran for the direction of the noise. When he got there, all he saw at first was a brilliant display of red and blue. When he looked closer however, he could make out a familiar shield and cape staring at him. It was Baldur, he realized. "Baldur's fighting someone....maybe..." Thoughts started forming in Brund's head for a while until finally he made a decision of what he would do. If he killed him here, he could blame it on this person he was fighting....Brund ran towards Baldur's back, hammer raised over his head. Baldur in the meantime was struggling to hold back the attack. The power of the magic in their weapons was causing them to vibrate at an alarming rate. Suddenly Baldur started picking up the sound of someone large running towards them, and when Baldur saw who it was...he froze. "Brund!" Baldur watched as Brund made his way towards him and almost saw it happen in slow motion. There was nothing he could do about it, but watch as the fanged hammer flew towards his face and.....black. "Baldur, move! NOW!" Baldur was caught in a trance at first, thinking Brund was about to betray him, but he quickly snapped out of it and did as he was told, rolling out from under Lorgar's weapon as Brund came in and swung his hammer down towards his head. Lorgar's head would have been split right then and there, if not for his enhanced reflexes, which allowed him to sidestep and avoid the attack. However, he wasn't quick enough to avoid it completely, as it hit him in the shoulder, causing bones to break and snap. Lorgar let out a small yelp of pain as he backed away from the duo. Brund's surprise attack had somewhat worked. Brund wasn't happy about the miss, even if the attack did land. He wanted him dead and he wouldn't be happy until that was the case. "I don't know who you are, cur. But if anyone's killing Red-Snow, it’s gonna be me." "Don't I get a say in who gets to kill me?" said Baldur jokingly. "By your cape, I can tell you’re a general. Ah, that makes you Brund? Correct?" Lorgar laughed, that hit to his shoulder had caused massive damage to his arm, rendering it limp and currently useless. With his right hand, he wielded his greatsword, dragging it along the floor. He suddenly shoved his shortblade into his mouth, and used his wolf like teeth to hold it into place, as he snarled and charged the pair. Using his greatsword to slash a wide arc against the two Stormcloaks. "This guy is suicidal, Baldur." "He's Crazy." "I'll show him crazy. RRRAAAHH!" Before Lorgar could reach them both, Brund charged forward with his hammer at full speed to meet Lorgar's blades. Baldur in the meantime waited for the two to clash so he could attack from the side. Lorgar dove away to the side from the charging Nord, before he could land his hammer flow against him, and slashed at the man's rib with his greatblade. "The Brund that a certain Stormcloak deserter told me was an arrogant buffoon, an asshole of assholes." Lorgar said mockingly, somewhat unclear due to the blade in his mouth, but clear enough the two men could understand him. Brund let the momentum of his swing help him pivot out of the way, while Baldur came from Lorgars right to swing an axe down towards his head. Lorgar...used the blade in his mouth to somehow block Baldur's attack on his head, positioning it so it could just barely stop the man’s attack, while using his other arm to bring down his greatsword on Baldur's leg. Baldur used the other axe to block Lorgar's second sword. As Lorgar's terrible dog breath was flying in his face, Baldur shook his head and grinned. "Brund IS an asshole of assholes. Blocking my axe with a weapon in your mouth? You really are a mad dog. One that needs to be put down...." As he said this, Brund was already upon them, up in the air bringing his hammer down towards Lorgar's back. Lorgar sidestepped from Brund's hit at the second, in an attempt to have Brund accidentally hit Baldur with his oversized hammer. Baldur didn't have time to dodge, so he bent forward, letting the hammer hit his shield on his back. "Watch it, Bull. You meant to do that!" "Hehehe, maybe I did, maybe I didn't." Baldur shot him a venomous look, showing he didn't find it funny. "Oh lighten up, Red-Snow. I'm only kidding. Look, I'm not going to pretend that I like you. But, I respect you as a rival, and one day I am gonna kill you, one on one. But not now. Not til our duty to Skyrim is over. Until then..." Brund raised his right arm in an L shape with his fist clenched pointing to Baldur. Baldur raised a weapon at first, thinking he was going to hit him, but when he realized that wasn't the case, he just stared at him in disbelief. "...brothers?" said Brund. Baldur was still staring until he finally brought his arm up in a similar fashion and bumped it against his. "Brothers. Ulfric's been talking to you hasn't he?" "Heh, yea. The bugger's a persuasive one. Now unless you plan on dropping your pants, let’s kill this mongrel!" Baldur was still shocked from the turnaround, and still wary that it wouldn't change suddenly like before, but for now he put that aside and charged Lorgar's position along with Brund. Lorgar had backed away, the battle was starting to get to him. That nasty wound in to his shoulder hurt like hell, but that wouldn't stop him. He met the two Stormcloak soldiers with a slash to the right of Brund with his greatsword, and downward sweep towards Baldur with his teeth quenched blade. Baldur let his armor do its job and let the sword slash hit his chest while he striked at Lorgar's already injured shoulder. He didn't get too close, in case Lorgar countered, but close enough to at least slice open a wound and send electrical currents through his body. The sound of blade hitting flesh was heard, as Lorgars eye filled with surprise, A nasty current of electricity went through Lorgar's shoulder, which caused him to be thrown to the ground. The pain form the axe and lighting enchantment was bearable...the pain from a sudden and unwelcome flashback was not. Lorgar eyes became deluded, and unlike before, he blacked out in an instant. *** In a city of stone, politics, and wealth, shadows lurked . Two districts in this city were filled to the brim with many gardens, of various flowers and fauna Inside one of the two districts was a man. He was clad in clothing as black as the void, and the atmosphere around him was just as cold. This man had just been just reassigned into the 6th legion, and would begin the long march to Skyrim tomorrow. It was quite late out, around Eleven PM, most of the other soldiers were in bed, drinking, or whoring, not this one. The moons were out, blanketing pale moonlight across the city, illuminating some of the darkness. The man took great care to walk into the moonlight, letting it fall down upon his shadowed clothing. His hooded face, as if covered by a miasma of darkness, was non-visible even in the moonlight. The man himself didn't know the exact reason why he walked, he had never before taken pleasure in just a normal stroll...but something drove him on. Finally, as if he walked for an eternity, a garden suddenly filled his vision. It was filled to the brim with white and red flowers, mostly roses and lilies. The dark man continued down the path which appeared, deeper into the garden. A faint fragrance assailed his smell...he couldn't even imagine why...but the fragrance reminded him of the moon The path ended at a small clearing, which was filled with the same red and white flowers. At the edge of clearing was a small pond, which water was so clear, you could mistake it for silver. A gizbo was at the edge of the pond, and inside was a small female sitting on a wheelchair. She had brown hair, green eyes, and was just staring at the lake, admiring it for being pretty to the eye. The dark mans, who usually showed no emotion, hand suddenly quenched, the sight of this girl drove him into an emotion he couldn't describe. He ran up the steps to see the girls face, and was greeted with a sight he had though gone. This girl was supposed to be dead. The last time he had seen here had been over three years ago, she was covered in bandages, and the medic saying she would be asleep the rest of her life. Though he didn't saying anything something stirred, at the sight of a fellow person joining her, and despite the fact this man would be terrifying to most, she smiled. "Hello mister, want to look at the lake and the moon with me?" The man didn't respond, so she took that as a yes, she turned back to the lake and the moon, and started once again to admire them. Something was off with her voice and her speech pattern...as if she talked and sounded like a child...the man remembered...brain damage. It made sense. At the sight of the girl’s condition, utter raged filled him. His hands quenched, and dark thoughts began to burn inside him. How dare they turn her into this. How dare they. HOW DARE THEY. the dark man would return the favor. He would. Their children, wives, there elderly would suffer for this girl. He would kill all of them. All of them. As he began to turn away, a pale face filled his vision. The girl. Her eyes were curios, as if she didn't understand why he was so sad, or so she thought. Little did she know, this man was going to commit atrocities for her. She decided she wanted to make him happy, so she gave him a warm child-like smile that could piece a heart of ice, and put something in his hand. The dark man’s eyes filled with surprise as it was a doll. It was simple, but it was well-made. But for some reason, it felt powerful to him. It had a deeper meaning, the man said, in a shaky voice. "Why me?" The girl's put on a face, similar to when a child doesn't know a math question. "Hmmmm...I don't know. mister...something just telling me I should. I want you to have it." She smiled again, before her face became more serious, and completely different than before. Her green eyes were like spears that shown luminous under the moonlight, and dug into the mans...Lorgar's void-like soul, she said, "Lorgar remember...remember..." ***** Lorgar...Lorgar...Lorgar...Lorgar...To Brund and Baldur, Lorgar had just fallen, and this was a perfect opportunity to finish him off. An opportunity Baldur wasn't about to pass up. The general didn't waste time with words. Instead he immediately rushed forward to kill Lorgar. Baldur jumped on Lorgar's chest, pinning his arms down with his knees, and then he sent his axe straight towards Lorgar's skull. Lorgar's eye's opened, the fury was gone and replace by clarity. He moved his head to avoid the axe being dropped down on him. He said silently "Baldur....", and then, said with a ear splitting howl, "GIVE ME BACK MY WOLF-PACK." Lorgar put all of his supernatural strength into his arms, broke through from Baldur pinning his arms, and pushed him, which would send a man flying backwards. Brund had only time to say 'shit', when Baldur was thrown back, and smacked straight into him, bloodying his lip as Baldur's bear helmet smacked into his face. When the two finally scrambled up, Brund was visibly pissed. "What in the **** was that?" Baldur hadn't said a word, and instead answered Lorgar's demand by slicing a line over the stone ground in front of him with his axes and brushing his boot over it like he was going to charge. "You want them back? I'll do you one better and send you to them!" It wasn't like before, like how Boldir described his terrible wolf-persona. Baldur could see Lorgar was in absolute control of himself, as he began to circle the two Nords, greatsword drawn. He in an instant, threw off his black cloak, throwing off its shadow. Lorgar's face was once again visible. And he was smirking, revealing his fang-like teeth. "My soldier's wait for me, in the afterlife, but I'm not going to join them yet, Baldur. I realize, I never crossed the line. It wasn't my fault, you were the one who mutilated and extinguished my men, not me. You were the one who tortured me, with illusions. It wasn't my fault. I though the darkness inside me, was brought out by me, my life. but it wasn't. It was caused by your cruelty and disgusting behavior." Lorgar said, accepting at long last, he wasn't to blame for the death of his men. He drew his sword it a line, and pointed it at the man, "My wolf persona, and my original personality, are one in the same now. Two sides on the same coin." "So are my nuts, but you don't see me bragging about it." said Baldur. Turning to him, Brund called out angrily. "Can we kill this guy now?" "Not yet. Something's different. We need to be careful. The man's a freak." "What do you mean a freak?" "He's a werewolf." Brund turned to Baldur and was ready to burst out laughing until he saw how serious he looked. "Wait, you're for real? A werewolf. Like, fur in the ears, lick your own balls, eat your own turd, half wolf man? Hircine bitch? This isn't one of your bard spins?" "No, he's a real life werewolf. Didn't you notice the teeth?" Brund turned back and looked to Lorgar's mouth. He noticed the teeth, but something like that was just too ridiculous to even consider. "Lorgar, you say that it’s not your fault, but my fault. Yet I wasn't the one who made you walk straight into enemy territory. I didn't hold a sword up to your head and say 'Hey, let’s go see the new enemy leader and have a chat.' What did you expect would happen? I'd just let you go without getting the information I needed?" "Your nuts cant tear a man apart in seconds. Well if I recall, I was waving a flag of parley, so yes, I would have. You always have a choice." Lorgar said circling the two, "I would choose your next move carefully Baldur." He said, as this time, he closed the distance between the two of them with astonishing speed and grace, and slashed at Baldur with the same force as a werewolf’s claw, but with the speed of a dagger. Baldur jerked back out of instinct, but Lorgar cut him across his cheek anyway. Baldur rolled back and braced himself for another attack. Brund was about to charge, but Baldur shook his head and told him not to. Not yet. "Parley my ass, you're in enemy territory ambushing our men and you had one of ours in your custody alone with Thalmor nearby, and you think we're going to just let you walk out? If you don't see how stupid that is, then you are a bigger fool than I ever imagined. That was war, not a damn tea party. You want that? Alinor is that-a-way." said Baldur mockingly, pointing his axe where he knew the gate was leading outside the city. Lorgar slashed at his exposed arm, the one that was pointing to ehem "Alinor" with lighting speed. "Your right, war isn't what I pictured it to be, were soldiers treat each other as equals, regardless of whatever side there on. I still thought after the civil war, regardless of each atrocity committed by both sides. I kept true to my ideology, and it cost me everything. It was stupid of me to think there was decent civility on your side." Baldur moved his arm just in time, then paced back a bit, then signaled with his head for Brund to circle around to his side. They needed to keep a tight formation to fight Lorgar now, since he was starting to rile up his wolf blood. "You're damn right. And you're stupid to think there's any on yours. Your people have men assigned specifically for torturing. We both do what is necessary, and that is what we'll need to defeat the Thalmor. And this isn't a party, and we're not just soldiers. We Stormcloaks are also farmers, fishermen, merchants and traders, blacksmiths and hunters. Ordinary men who took a step out of their lives to fight for what they believed in. We weren't just doing a job, we were fighting to protect our families and land. When everything you know and love is on the line, you say **** being polite and you do what is necessary to protect what is yours. Now enough talk!" Without further ado, Baldur and Brund both charged Lorgar next to each other so they could protect the others back if they needed to. "Have at you...farmer." Lorgar said simply, as he counter- charged them, he matched Brund and Baldur blow to blow with daemon like-speed, and put supernatural strength into every counter blow. He was fighting two masters-in close quarters combat, and holding his own. His blows, while forceful and destructive, were fast and highly controlled. He side stepped a flurry of blows from Brund, before bringing his greatsword into a two-handed position, ignoring the wound on his shoulder, while dropping it down upon the older Nords left shoulder with a cry of rage. The strike caught Brund off guard and was about to go straight into his skull, but Baldur seeing that he had the helmet and a better chance of survival pushed Brund out of the way at the last second. The greatsword skidded off the side of Baldur's head and slid off his shoulder pad, which left a ringing in Baldur's ears from the hit to the side of his head. After the save, Brund followed up with a swing to Lorgar's back leg while he was distracted with Baldur. While he heard a crack, Lorgar didn't even move a second, he merely turned around, grabbed Brund's arm with his gloved hand, and began to crush the hand holding his warhammer. He dropped his greatsword, and used his freehand to grab Brund by the collar, and slowly choke him. After a few seconds Lorgar threw him a small distance onto the ground hard. Brund rolled backwards after the throw, but he shrugged it off. He looked down at his gauntlet and saw that Lorgar actually was able to dent it with his grasp. He checked his collar too, but luckily it wasn't damaged. "Heh, looks like this armor is perfect for fighting werewolves huh? Baldur!" Baldur got his meaning and ran towards Lorgar, spinning while swinging his axes to make Lorgar back up, and kicking up Brund's hammer in his direction as he did so. Brund caught the hammer in midair and charged Lorgar again. As they ran towards him, Brund ran low to the ground towards Baldur, and Baldur rolled over his back, switching sides to keep Lorgar guessing where they'd come from next. When he landed on his feet, the pair were upon him again and they both swung their weapons at the same time. Baldur jumped in the air to avoid Brund's hammer and swung to the right. Brund swung low to the left to avoid Baldur's axes as they both swung in a spinning combined attack. Lorgar used his shortblade to block Baldur's axes, while twisting his greatsword into a one-handed fighting pose, blocking Brund’s war hammer, "I really expected more from two general's in the Stormcloak army. But as usually, all bark and no bite." As Lorgar said those words he smirked, "You should have really wore a different armor, as Nordic carved was originally designed by the Skaal tribe, I know all of its weak points." and suddenly, he threw his face forward while he locked the two Nords weapons and sank his fangs into Baldur's arm, the part which was made entirely of leather, just below the shoulder pads. Baldur felt his fangs pierce his arm, and cried out in pain, but used the opportunity to strike at Lorgar's arm again in the same injured spot. "Great, now I'm gonna need to visit the alchemist after this..." Brund disengaged and swung his hammer at Lorgar's exposed back. Lorgar brought his greatsword back up just in time to block the blow from Baldur while pulling his fangs away from the man’s arm, before sidestepping Brund's attack. As he did, he grabbed onto Brund's blunt warhammer, and attempted to crush and warp the heads shape. "Sorry, bud. That's solid Skyforge Steel. That's not going to break." As Brund said this, Baldur wasted no time and charged Lorgar one more time. Except this time, Baldur faked like he was going to charge him and instead did something else. "This fight has gone on long enough." he said, wincing from his injured shoulder. Baldur just before he got into striking range threw both of his axes. One at Lorgar's chest, and the other at his head. He was going to have to choose which to block. Lorgar, due to only having his greatsword out, only had time to block the axe from splitting his head, which, wolf-powers or not, would most likely send him to the hunting grounds. So the axe soaring into his chest hit the mark. With a thud, the axe went into Lorgar's chest area, embedding itself in his flesh. Lorgar fell to one knee, and bent over. He began to cough out blood before....laughing. It wasn't a laugh of madness, but a laugh from his primordial psyche, something that wouldn't come from a human’s mouth, making it all the more terrifying. He picked up the axe he deflected from the ground, and removed the one sticking from his chest. He said, with an in-human voice, that was more like a wolf-growling, "Wrong move Baldur." He backed away slowly, melting into the shadows of an alleyway. Baldur knew that certain alleyway was a dead end, why would he want to trap himself? They could pursue, but Baldur was effectively disarmed. Baldur looked at the blood on the ground that trailed into the darkness, and wondered what Lorgar's next move would be. Baldur pulled out his shield and rolled quickly to his right, keeping his eye on the dark alleyway as he grabbed one of Lorgar's ebony daggers off the ground. "Well, this isn't my axe, but it will do." "Why'd you throw your weapons anyway, fool?" "Excuse me for thinking that an axe to his chest would kill him. Werewolf or no werewolf, he can't last too much longer with those wounds. Careful and stay behind me. He likes to throw projectiles from the shadows." "Stay behind you? What do you think I am, a scared calf?" "I think you're a man without a shield. Now just listen unless you want a dagger or one of my axes in your face. Besides, last time he was injured, he started to lose himself to his blood. He may be going even further into his werewolf state. Come on, lone wolf. You have something that belongs to me." Baldur knew it was going to be bad if Lorgar fully transformed. But so far there was nothing they could do but wait and hope he lost enough blood to fade out before that happened. "Move, Brund! Or you're g-" Baldur looked down and noticed Brund had his war horn on his belt unlike himself. "Brund, you idiot, you had a war horn the entire time?" "What, oh, yea. What about it?" he asked "Damnit, when you saw me fighting earlier, why didn't you use it?" Brund thought back and remembered his plotting. Guards were the last thing he wanted initially. "My mind was...preoccup-" Baldur interrupted him and took the war horn off of his belt and blew, filling the night air with the long mournful call to arms. The guards on the walls and on the battlements all turned their heads towards the inside of the city. They knew the protocol. They were to stay on the walls so the enemy couldn't take advantage and come in. Instead, they all pointed their arrows inside until they could make out where the enemy was. The guards near the palace however all came rushing out immediately. The Necro Nord men also happened to be the closest still on patrol, and they wasted no further time rushing towards their location. When they did, they all lined up next to Baldur and Brund. Twenty men strong with shields raised and swords pointing. "You took your sweet time getting here, men." "Sorry about that. What are we looking at? The city's going into wide alert." "The criminal Lorgar is here. He's a werewolf. He's in that alleyway and it’s imperative that we kill him. Also, he has my weapons and I want them back. As you can see from the blood he's injured, but he's still dangerous." The men were all silent for a time, wondering if what Baldur was saying could possibly be true. "A werewolf...sir?" "YES, a werewolf." said Brund. "Now shut up and lift your shields." "Yes sir." "And no heroics from any of you. I don't want any deaths. Let’s kill us a wolf." said Baldur. "Yes sir. The other guards in the barracks should be here in two minutes." said a Necro Nord next to Baldur. An ear splitting howl erupted from an alleyway that would cause the minds of lesser men to burst in utter and absolute terror. In the shadows of the alleyway, the assembled men saw one thing...a large red glowing eye. It floated in the darkness and advanced upon the twenty two soldiers, until something entered the moonlight from the alleyway. It was black, hairy, and massive easily 10 or 11 feet. It was wolf-like, and walked on all four of its muscular, and long limbs. At the end of its arms, were massive, jagged, and void-like claws. It had one pupil-less eye of darkness, while it's other eye glowed bright, crimson red. It's mouth, was filled with large black fangs, which looked like they could shred through plate mail. It let out another howl, this time louder and more terrifying then the last. As the creature before them arose from the darkness as though it was just birthed from its womb, more guards came rushing in from behind, about thirty in total. When 'Lorgar' let out its wolf call, the already shocked men were further startled from images of the beast all tearing them apart, as if from some kind of spell. Half the guards that just came in ran back in the opposite direction, their minds overcome with fear. Baldur and Brund, along with the other Necro Nords and guards had the same illusions in their heads, and the regular guards were looking back like they should run too. Before the idea got too far, Baldur shook his head to shrug off the effect and called out. "Grab your balls and act like Nords! It’s an overgrown dog, nothing more! Necros, first in the front...." "Last in the back!" The men all started slamming their weapons to their shields, and their bravery instilled steel into the hearts of the other guards as well, and they reluctantly raised their shields and approached the Necro Nord's back. The image of death was still being shown in their minds, and one of the guards was breathing at a high rate, and sweating intensely. "I didn't sign up to fight no ******* werewolf. Look at that thing! Its huge!" "Shut your trap. If you die you get to go to Sovngarde." said one of the Necro Nords he was behind. The wolf, tasting the utter fear in the air, snarled even more, flashing it's black teeth to the assembled guards it howled in an odd way, as if it was laughing....it spoke...the dam thing spoke in a guttural tongue. Black gibberish from the hunting grounds. "Okay, on me! We're not waiting for it to attack, it’s one of him and a group of us. Shields up, charge!" Without waiting to see if the others followed, Baldur ran towards Lorgar with his shield and ebony dagger. The Necro Nords charged behind him along with the other guards. More guards started pouring in now behind them with arrows drawn, and took aim for the creature that towered over Baldur and his men. "This is where you die, Lorgar!" The arrows started flying before they reached the wolf. The thing...jumped over all the arrow fire and Baldur along with his Necro Nords, before it had a chance of hitting him. He landed behind the Phalanx of shields and spears, and before any of them could even react, let loose a massive sweep with its claws across the backline of guards. As the group of guards were knocked down, the Necro Nords walked over them, jumping up fearlessly at the creature showing disregard for their own safety. Baldur took the dagger he had and chucked it at Lorgar's bleeding hairy chest while the men were being swiped away. "You dropped this!" After he did, he picked up a sword from one of the knocked down guards and ran with his men, who were stabbing at the thing's legs. "Not even you'll live from this, creature." Baldur ran forward and jumped off of a kneeling injured Necro Nord and leaped at Lorgar's shoulder, looking to stab him while the men swarmed on him from below. "Lorgar" turned his fur was like plate-armor protecting him from most of the damage coming from the puny steel blades, it's blood red eye starring directly into Baldur's face in midair, who had a sword drawn at him. In an instant it swiped it's claws towards Baldur mid-air. Just before Baldur was swiped at, Baldur stabbed the sword down, striking right into the beast's claw before he was knocked back and landed hard on the ground. When Baldur got up, he looked down and saw shallow claw marks going over his armor. "Shor's bones, thank the gods for Eorlund." As he said this, another volley of arrows was launched from behind to Lorgar's back. The arrows hit this time, causing Lorgar to howl in pain. The thing that saved him from certain death was his hardened skin, but he was still in condition to fight and cause damage. The thing smirked, showing it's dark fangs to Baldur, and as the Nord was on the ground, he charged onward to trio of Grim-ones, and swiped the first two away, causing massive damage, regardless of their Nordic armor as they flew away into a wall. The last one defiantly drew his sword and attempted to strike the wolf-thing, but Lorgar merely blocked the swords blades with his void claws, the strike was so hard, that his claws raddled and broke the sword in half, the wolf took the opportunity to dig his massive black fangs into the man's exposed neck. He brought him up by his neck with one of arms, barely still alive, before plunging his hand into the man's chest, ripping out his heart with his claws, and messily shoving the organ into his mouth. The black wolf was now covered in crimson, and his wounds began to mend after consuming the man’s heart.. He turned towards a stunned group of guards who watched the grisly scene, and howled once more in their direction. He broke off from attacking the group of soldiers, and jumped onto a roof, and ran on all fours into the night leaving behind a scene of carnage. Baldur looked around and saw lots of blood over the stone floor. From the looks of it most of it was from the wolf and the man he killed. "Guards! Come and take the injured off. And have this one's remains prepared for burial. And someone get my axes from that alley." After the activity started to burst around them, Brund walked up to Baldur with an angry glare, but it was a look from still feeling the adrenaline of battle. "Looks like you weren't kidding. That was a real werewolf alright. Almost killed him before that one got...eaten." Baldur took a look around and saw a lot of the men were shaken up from the sight of the man's mangled flesh. His armor straps were torn away to get at his chest where an empty cavity lay. "Good thing we had the Necro Nords to take the brunt of the punishment then. From What Boldir told me happened in Falkreath, it could've been much worse. Make sure the men get curing potions. Have one sent to my house as well along with a healing potion." As Baldur said this, a guard came from behind him with his axes in his hand. "Here's your axes, sir. Do you still have my sword you picked up?" "Sorry, guardsman. It’s still in that thing's hand." Baldur found it hard to call it by Lorgar's name after seeing it. The guard shook his head reassuringly. "No problem, sir. It was an honor to have you use it." Baldur took his weapons now and holstered them, walking off visibly angry. Baldur lost another man and had several injured including himself. And still that freak got away. Still, could have been worse. Now let me get home. Once again I'm late.

Catia, Milly The Laughing Fox Midday Catia sighed heavily as she looked over the ledger. It had been only a day since Gracchus left, and yet she already longed for him. To shake off the sorrow, she decided to go check out what was going on downstairs. The old wooden staircase creaked even as her light steps were place upon it, but the noises stopped as she reached the ground floor. A few patrons were seated here and there, and Ena manned the counter as usual. Catia looked around, hoping for a familiar face. Just then, the door to The Laughing Fox opened up, a patron hurried towards the front desk. Though she was wearing a green hood/cloak embroidered with white and black flowers, you could tell be her frame she was female. She had just got out of the rain, and put up her hood, revealing a pale and glasses filled face. Her eyes were the most unique part of her, having rare Lapis Luzuli eyes. It was Milly, Lorgar Grim-maws wife. She said nerviously and shyly to the person at the desk, "Excuse me...may I talk to Catia?" Catia hurried over to Milly, hearing the undertones of sadness in her voice. "Milly, what is it?" she asked frantically, placing her hand gently on the countess' shoulder. Even though they had only met recently, Catia considered her a friend, although not a very close one. She glanced around nervously, and her voice betrayed terror, ""May I speak to you alone, please Catia?" Catia nodded assuringly, grabbing Milly by the hand and leading her up the stairs from whence she just came, the stairs moaning and groaning even more under the weight of two people. Once at the top, Catia and Milly entered the parlor, Catia choosing to sit on the coach. "So, what is the problem? It sounds urgent." Milly took a seat on a leather chair, before taking off her glasses. Catia just noticed, but her left eye was bruised, making it a un-wholesome purple. She also rolled up her sleeve, showing large dark bruises along her slender arm. She said with a downcast and depressed voice, "Pentiulas Occutlus soldiers came to search Lorgar''s officer and the mansion...they weren't...gentle..." Catia used her hand to cover up a gasp, shocked at the bruises. "I'd heard that Lorgar left, but, but for this to happen...why didn't you report it? You are a countess after all." She smiled sadly, "I'm merely the wife of a disgraced soldier, they wouldn't even listen to me...if they could even hear me squeaking." Catia reassuringly placed her hand on her friends shoulder. "It'll be alright honey. You can stay here, if you want. We had a patron leave recently, or you can take the spare bedroom up here, next to Gracchus' mother." Milly started to cry, before pulling Catia into a hug. She was quite small for her age, and looked defenseless. "Thanks Catia...thank you so much..." Catia embraced her back, not hugging very tightly due to Milly's small frame. "I would love for you to stay here. Do you have any stuff you need to move?" "Just a little." "Alright, you gather your stuff and being it here, and I'll have the spare room ready for you. With Gracchus gone I'll need some company anyway," Catia said, trying to sound optimistic. She snuffled, before nodding her head and leaving Catia's embrace, "All right."

Everyone?

(REBBA Continued) "Of course I know about those heathen Dunmer gods. The Dunmer go on and on about Vivec and some other guy they say saved their people or whatnot. And the old stories talk about that devil Vivec and how he tried to defeat Wulfharth and got shouted back to Morrowind for his trouble. I didn't know about the... Alm whatever, or how you connected that to us. I suppose it makes sense, now that you explain it. You and Boldir and I seem to get into trouble a lot, but that's not much different than the gods, and at least up til now we got ourselves back out of it, too. Except Boldir's not your right-hand man anymore, he's Vignar's." "Boldir will always be my right hand man, regardless of who gives him orders actively. The other guy you're talking about is the Nerevarine. Heh, remember that? Also, Vivec, or Vehk back then before they took the role as guardians of the Dunmer people wasn't shouted back to Morrowind, he and Nerevar, their General sort of defeated Wulfharth. Nerevar was the person Nerevarine was reincarnated from according to them. When he and the "Demon Cheftain Ysmir" fought, he grabbed his shouts until his neck bled and gave his shouts to Vivec who sealed them in some kind of box thing or something and placed it over his head. When Wulfharth spoke, the shouts drove him mad and he was forced to run off. The Nords in that battle did a lot of damage, but they ended up losing. Even a lot of their most powerful tongues." "You shouldn't listen to Dunmer lies," Rebec answered sagely. "They're just as good at horker shit as we are, except worse, because you can't even understand what they're saying half the time. That's probably why Wulfharth went mad, because he listened to them and tried to make sense of it all, and you'll do the same if you keep at it. As for Boldir, maybe, but he's his own man, too. You won't be too disappointed if he decides not to move up to Kyne's Watch with us, will you?" Baldur didn't answer at first. The thought never even occurred to him really. Even now he couldn't imagine living so far from his best friend. "I don't know. I guess with our family I'd eventually get over it, but Boldir's the only real friend I have besides you and Ulfric. And Ulfric is different, being my King. It was better when he was just a Jarl. And you're right, even the Dunmer regard Vivec as a liar now, since the Tribunal lost their divine power and they were no longer gods. But it's still nice to hear both sides. Somewhere in between both tales is the truth. For Barfok's sake, I hope he was lying. He is called a "warrior poet". Sounds familiar, heh. Except my tales are true. You know who Barfok was?" Rebec tried to mentally sift through years of Vigge chatter, but came up empty. "Is that a Nord name? Sounds a bit like Rebec, which I guess is Atmoran." "Well, she is a Nord, but the Dunmer have their own names for our people, so I'm not totally sure. Like Hoag Merkiller. They call Hoag "Hoaga the Mouth of Mud". You know about him I'm sure, being a famous war chieftain. Anyway, she was a very powerful tongue. With her ability I'm not sure how she wasn't the one in charge. She apparently had the power to sing events into existence, like battle victories. The elves seem to think that she had wings and had a "lick encrusted spear", whatever the hell that means. I hope it doesn't mean what it sounds like...anyway, I was skeptical on the winged part, but maybe she was another direct child of Kyne like Morihaus. Even as powerful as she was though, Vivec killed her. I haven't heard any contradictory accounts of the battle, so...I don't know what to think. Can you guess how she died?" Rebec had a little smile on her face as he talked. She liked hearing Baldur tell stories, even if they were horker shit elven fantasies about how many Nords they fried with their fire magic and other devilry. "Let's see. Vivec started reciting recipes for netch omelets and bug pie, and Barfok the Winged Wonder choked on her own vomit." Baldur tried to stifle his laugh, but couldn't. The imagery was too silly. "Hahaha, no. But you're kinda close." "She didn't eat the bug pie, did she? Because that would be disgusting." "I think that would have been preferable to what happened to her honestly. Apparently, according to the elves....he uh, put his "milk finger" in her mouth to keep her from singing. And I guess killed her by some other means afterward. I had one Dunmer tell me the milk finger did kill her. Not sure which is true if any. Oh, and Vivec is a hermaphrodite. You don't even want to hear where he says he came from. His 36 Lessons are....well...lets just say people who say Nords are good horkershitters didn't read those lessons." "Milk finger?" Rebec looked confused, then started laughing. "Hahahaha! Oh, that's a good one. Some elf was so fond of his spigot that he decided it must be a deadly weapon. Very creative, that one." "Yea...that's one word for it. Maybe later when we're not trying to conceive, I'll tell you about his meeting with Molag Bal. And when I'm not eating." Baldur threw his apple core off the cliff, not looking to see if it hit the water or the stone overpass below. Rebec rooted around in the basket and got out some bread and cheese. As she ate, she looked down at the shipyard and picked out where the workers were putting together the frame of her ship. Gesturing with her bread towards it, she said, "It's strange, building this one, knowing I'm not really its captain anymore. Not for long, anyway. Maz doesn't talk about it much, but I can tell she's excited. She's a good first mate but deep down nobody likes to be ordered around." "Yea, it's strange to me too. I can't help but feel a bit guilty about that. This ship, its made for you. Its perfect for you. Its even going to have a part of your mother in it. And you're leaving it and sailing because of me. Hard to get used to." "Don't you feel guilty about that, Baldur. I know I... It's hard for me, you know that. But I want a child with you. I'm afraid to think about how much I want it. That's why I'm giving it up. For our family." Rebec drew her knees up and rested her elbows on them, sitting a while silently. "My childhood wasn't like yours, but there was one thing that was hard. Every time one of my folks sailed away, I wondered if they'd never come back. You'll understand first time we hit a hard storm on the open sea. There's no more lonely or helpless feeling, and you realize how crazy it is to put some sticks and pitch between you and Kyne's wrath and expect it to turn out alright. I don't want our kids to live with that every week or every month. Now and again, maybe, but not every week." Baldur wanted to talk more about their kids, but the subject of their childhoods made him want to switch the subject. But he wasn't sure how, so he tried busying himself by grabbing some food from the basket. As he went ruffling through it, Baldur found Rebec's cigarettes inside. "These the same as your fathers?" "Hm? Oh, yes I guess so. I got him doing that." She chuckled. "Light one up if you want. They're elf ear and canis root. Calms the nerves. When you were captured, I... well, never mind that." Rebec fished out her lighter and demonstrated striking the flint to light the cigarette. She took a little draw herself, then handed the lit cigarette to Baldur. Baldur sniffed at the stuff suspiciously and realized he smelled it before in Rebec's hair sometimes or her clothes. It was always faint though. Remembering that helped with the smell. It was a strange smell, as it didn't smell good necessarily, but he liked it somehow Regardless. Baldur placed it in his mouth and took too big a draw and was caught in a fit of coughing. "Ach, this is supposed to be relaxing?" Laughing, Rebec answered, "It does if you're not green at it. Take another puff, and don't draw in so deep this time." Baldur eyed the cigarette, squinting his eyes at it as if the thing had a mind of its own and chose to try and choke him. "This reminds me of when your niece tried to kill me by putting fire in my food back in Falkreath...here it goes." Baldur took a light draw on it, too light to do anything just to test it. After he saw that he didn't die again, he took a few small draws and closed his eyes, holding his breath in for a while before exhaling the smoke. "Okay...not as bad as I thought." He said as he laid back on the blanket, looking at the clouds pass over as he drew again, letting the smoke drift up towards them. Rebec looked down at him and brushed at his hair fondly. "You don't really want that general job, do you? You should have it, but it's a lot of headache. Let Brund do it if he's so keen." The feel of Rebec's touch in his hair while he stared at the sky made him feel like he'd float up and away if he wasn't careful. Perhaps that was the cigarette going to work though, but whatever it was, Baldur felt blissful. With Rebec was the only time where he could just relax and not be so strong. Baldur turned his head towards Rebec's hand before he spoke. "I don't know why, but I feel like I have to take it. Not much will change beyond more paperwork. And I guess public opinion. I can handle the paperwork and the responsibility. Especially with you with me. I just don't want to deal with fallout if things go wrong is all. People love you when things are going well, but its another matter all together when they're not. But I can handle it. Its fine. You'll be with me, so that will make it easier. Now lets not concern ourselves with that. It's about time I recite another poem for you isn't it?" "You're changing the subject, but it's a good one, so I'll let you." She smiled down at him, then reached for the book and handed it over. Baldur was happy she let him do so. Work wasn't something he wanted to be thinking about at this moment. Not this one. Baldur had his place in the book saved with a hawk feather made into a quill, which stuck out the top of it a bit. "Alright, I think this one may be my personal favorite. Its a bit ironic considering I have you all dressed up, but know that even though I love seeing you all spit-shined and finely pressed, my favorite Rebby is the everyday one I met in Falkreath. Okay: What is True Beauty? Beauty is neither a bauble, nor trinket, no necklace, no jewelry I’m sure, 1 Beauty is nothing that man can make, meld, mesh or procure, Like turbulent tides, twisting typhoons, the treacherous untamed sea, True beauty is a wild beast, unbested, unbound and free, Like lightning that illuminates the late night sky, and whose thunder lingers behind, 5 True beauty is a man crushing force, comparable to the storm voice of Kyne, Something that men will obsess and stress, at the sight once their eyes behold, It encompasses the spirit and seizes the soul, and makes all mortal men fold, We can’t imitate, doomed to derate, our attempts demonstrate our flaw, Endlessly carving, creating and slaving away to remake what we saw, 10 Feeble is our foolish attempt, a folly for it’s not enough, For real beauty is unrefined, a rare diamond found in the rough, Nature has proven this to be a fact, the forest, the fringe, you see? For real beauty is as nature intended, undiluted, and so is she, My woman won’t wither, won’t age, show wear, her grip around me won’t unwind, 15 For her beauty’s not merely superficial, her magnificence remains in the mind, She’s very much like the vistas of the world, the envy of all she has known, For beauty is not something you can enslave, it is not something you own, But fear not for I’ve found an alternative that brings forth light to the day, For you may not be able to own such a thing, but I have found another way, 20 Like decaying dead men who feed the ground, baking under the sun, If man graciously gives himself to beauty, then with it he can be one, My love is not unlike the unchained waters, the uncontrollable sea, I willingly drown within that is she, I’m in her and she now fills me, Enveloped in these warm waters called love, I sink in this womb endlessly, 25 And now with filled lungs I can proudly proclaim, “This truly…is beauty.†While Baldur read, Rebec took the cigarette out of his hand and settled her head on his lap, looking up at the same clouds he had been before. Taking little puffs, she found that just listening to what Baldur did with words took away the strangeness of thinking he was writing about her. When he finished the poem, she smiled up at him. "I didn't realize it until you showed me this book, but you're a real bard, Baldur. As fine as any I ever heard. A real warrior poet just like the stories say we had since Atmora." Baldur cradled Rebec's head in his lap and looked into her eyes for a while, staring at the blue which reminded him of ice, like that of Atmora as she mentioned. Which was fitting, as they froze him in his tracks every time he peered into them. Baldur realizing he was staring without saying anything smiled and held her head and upper body close to him, brushing aside her hair and brushing his fingers over her face as he did. "Its only because of you. You inspired me to do more with this gift. You make me string these words together in a way I never would have otherwise. No tavern wench or night of drunken partying would have brought this about. I didn't realize just how lonely I was in life until you and I got together. Not the first night. The night we spent in the tent where we just shared the same bed. Just having you with me filled something I didn't know needed to be filled. Companionship from someone who truly loved me. You're the best Shield Maiden a Nord could wish for. And you may never understand fully why I'm so infatuated with you. But you don't need to. Just know that I am." That left Rebec without anything to say for a while. She pinched out the cigarette and tossed the butt back into their picnic basket. Still reclining, she finally said, "All these years I thought the best I could ever do was keep the ship going for the next run and keep the pirates and tax collectors off my back. If what you say is true, the gods gave us both something we weren't even looking for. Thank you, Baldur. This was the best gift anybody ever gave me." Thinking on that, Baldur chuckled briefly, then lied down again with Rebec still on him and looked to the clouds once more before closing his eyes in peaceful contented bliss. "Considering all I've ever been gifted with was a sword and a prostitute, I suppose it wouldn't mean as much for me to say the same about what you've given me, even if it is true." he said. Rebec shifted up so that her head lay on Baldur's chest, and she decided not to talk anymore for a while, just to rest there like that in a blissful half-sleep with the rise and fall of her husband's chest like the rocking of a cradle. There's nothing I wouldn't do for this man, she thought, reaching up to clasp his hand lightly. Some time later the shadow of a hawk crossing her face woke Rebec up. She watched the bird sail lazily above them, then sliding up the blanket, she woke Baldur up with kisses, first gentle and then more insistent. Not since she was a girl and it was mostly the novelty did she want to just hold a man and kiss him for minutes or hours on end. Baldur drifted off shortly, but not too long, as he wished to take in as much of the moment as possible. He always hated how quick things went by with them when he had to sleep during their time together. As Rebec laid her sweet kisses on him, he made sure to savor each one, making himself appear asleep so she wouldn't stop. It wasn't long before he couldn't contain a blushing smile, however. "I wish you woke me up like that this morning too. Although if you tried, I'd probably just keep my eyes closed so you wouldn't stop." It took her a moment to remember the morning, which seemed very far away. Recalling her harsh tone, she smiled sheepishly. "Sorry about that. When I think of you with other women, the crazy switches on in my head." Fingers playing on his cheek, Rebec stays close, still indulging her longing to kiss him now and again. Finally she lays back on her side, resting her face on her hand. "Do you want to tell me about the whore and sword?" "Hmm? Heh, why'd you want to hear about that? Although I do like it when you act jealous. It's cute." Baldur turned his body to face her beside him as he grinned. "Its the same with me imagining you with another, not that you give me any reason to. But anyway, I was drunk when it happened. I don't even remember being with her. Hell, she probably just took my father's money and walked out for all I know. I told you before I didn't remember being with my first. And the sword, well. It wasn't special or anything. Imperial longsword. I had the drake scorched off as soon as I left the house." "I was more thinking why your father sent you to a whore when you were fourteen," Rebec said. "It seems unusual, especially with the trouble he had with your ma." Baldur raised a brow at the question, as he didn't seem to understand it. "I...don't know really. I never thought about it. Didn't ask. All I knew was I was given some gold for revelry and to have a good time. I remember it made me loathe mother even more though. The thought that she left me to do that. Maybe that was the point." Baldur started thinking further on it, and how his father looked when he did it. "His face wasn't smiling or kind, I remember that much.....I guess even that wasn't an act of kindness after all." Baldur's brow nit in anger at the thought that his father may have been brainwashing him into hating as he did. The thought made him sick, that he could be so stupid. When she saw Baldur's expression change, Rebec was sorry she'd asked the question, but figured maybe it was better for him to talk it out. "He was good to you, though, wasn't he? He never... you know. Beat you, or anything?" Baldur looked down from her eyes in shame, eventually closing them as he stayed silent. He thought back to how easily he told Daric about his father and how he wasn't ashamed then. Probably because Daric was the same and could relate. He also remembered he wanted to tell Rebec and share it with her, but he wasn't sure how to bring it up, and seemed pointless to do so. But now she had asked, and he promised not to lie if she asked something of him. "During training. It would get pretty brutal. Especially when he was drunk. Which was a lot. I..." Baldur struggled for a while to get the words out. They made him feel weak, which was the last thing he wanted to feel in front of his wife, but still he made himself speak. "I remember crying a lot, bloodied and bruised in nothing but my loin cloth. I remember being cradled up in the snow...just like this after being knocked down by a wooden sword or a fist, or boot. Pretending...that she was there holding me. It was weak. Pathetic. I was a milkdrinker. I was eleven the last time I did this. I remember because I made the mistake of telling him I wanted my mother. I told him I didn't want to fight, and that I wanted to be a bard instead. He didn't like that. He told me I'd be a warrior if it killed me. Then he threw me a real sword and told me to pick it up. I refused. That's when he came at me and forced me to pick it up to defend my life. I of course failed, and he made me hit the ground again. That's when I finally said it. I wanted my mother. Then in his anger, he told me, as crudely as he could that my mother was a whore. Then the image of her holding me crashed as I imagined her leaving me for something like that. And I snapped. Like in Rommulas, I went insane for a minute. Caught him off guard. Had him pinned and I could have killed him. He wanted me to. Told me to. But even as cruel as he was, he was the only person in the world I had, and I couldn't. I failed him again. And I paid for it." Baldur's face twisted with shame and embarrassment. When the words started coming, they just kept coming and they wouldn't stop until it was all out. He hadn't told Daric all of his abuse in detail like this, and when he did now, he could feel all the emotion of that day as if it just happened. Baldur started to tear up, so he turned, ashamed of being ashamed to let Rebec see them after he told her so many times not to be. Baldur waited a while before he continued. "That day when he told me those lies, it was like I lost my mother a second time, except it was recent and not something that happened a long time ago. She was in my dreams and my thoughts when I was sad, and suddenly after that, she wasn't. When I fought my father the second time for real in his fort, he said the same thing. To kill him. I didn't hesitate that time. If I knew the truth, about him and ma, I wouldn't have killed him. Not even for the Stormcloaks. I pity him, now. He was a sad sad little man. Would have been worse to let him live. But maybe it was better this way. So ma didn't know how small he really was. That may have been worse than telling her he was dead. And that I killed him." Rebec sat up, and her expression went from disbelief to cold anger to dismay as Baldur told his story. She still had hold of his hand, and rubbed her thumb along his fingers as he spoke. There were tears in her eyes, too. "Gods, Baldur," she said hoarsely. "I didn't know it was like that. I'm so sorry, my love. If that bastard was in front of me now, I'd kill him for you all over again." She quieted, looking down at lap, then said, "When I told you about losing Jala, it hurt so bad, almost like it was happening all over again. In some ways worse, because I had to see you hurt, too, and I thought I was ruining what we had. But it freed me, telling you. I'm glad you told me about your pa. Maybe it won't be like that for you, but maybe you can start to forgive yourself, and him. It sure makes more sense now, what happened with him later on." Baldur sat up, looking at the ground for a while, not with sadness or anger. It was a neutral look. Eventually he layed his head down in Rebec's lap, looking up at her as he thought more on her words. "It's fine. I already forgave him after ma told me the truth. Sort of. It made me hate him even more at first knowing all of it was a lie, as far as why they were separated goes anyway, but as I said, I understand it now. It doesn't make it better, but it makes it hard to be angry when I pity him so much now. Like kicking an injured dog. I hadn't thought about this in a long time, especially not after getting with you. Not until Daric. As for me...well. I'll always feel bad about it, but I understand I couldn't have known. But it's fine. I don't think I can ever tell Ysana about all of that though. Not for some time. Anyway, maybe that was partly why I felt so attached to you. Maybe what I was missing was really my mother, even though I hated her, and you replaced it with something else. Thank you for that." Stroking his hair, she said, "That you turned out like you did, that you're such a good man, that's why I didn't have any idea he was like that. That was all you, then. Maybe some of your ma's influence when you were a baby, too. One thing's for sure, you're going to be a much better father than he was. How you are with kids like Daric, that's proof of that." All the talking about his past made Baldur feel exhausted, but part of it was sitting there cradled up in Rebec's lap as well, feeling like a new born babe, exposed and vulnerable, but safe. Baldur sat up now and kissed Rebec deeply as he held her tight to him. "And you'll be a wonderful mother, despite what you may think. I was going to take us somewhere in the woods to camp, but I think this spot will do nicely for the tent. Or we could just bring the sheets and furs and sleep under the stars again. The auroras would look amazing over the sea." "This spot is just fine," Rebec answered, still holding him close. Anywhere in Tamriel would have suited her as long as Baldur was there. "And I vote for no tent. No sense covering up the sky when you're on its rim." "Good, that suits me just fine too. Stay here, I'll go get the stuff." Baldur gave Rebec another kiss, then one more for good measure just in case, then walked off for the stuff. The afternoon sun was starting to sink lower by this time. Baldur took his time walking off to get the bed supplies. He was looking forward to it getting dark, as he once again had plans for how he thought the night would turn out. When he finally did get back, the sun had started to set to the left of their location just over the Blue Palace rock formation. "Quite the sight eh? This spot really is perfect." Baldur placed the bed sheets down and sat near the edge of the cliff to watch the sun fall. Rebec had paced and sipped mead while she waited, watching the work in the shipyard below and the few boats that were coming in and going out of the harbor. The trade routes were getting back to normal now and out of habit she couldn't help but think about the profit she was missing out on, but the sight of Baldur coming back up the slope reminded her that her life was different now and she could let such things go. As Baldur settled in, she cracked open more mead for both of them, and brought one of the blankets to lay over their laps. "It's like you own the entire city," she agreed. "I never thought much of Solitude, but from a distance she sure is pretty." They sat together, not talking much, until Masser rose in the sky behind them and began crossing overhead, leading Secunda in its trail. The few clouds that had been in the sky earlier cleared away as if for the show. It was finally dark, but not so dark that they couldn't see. The stars and the auroras were on full display, reflecting in the water along with the moons as well. From this height and view it truly was a sight to behold. Baldur had thought about how perfect the day had gone, even with the mention of his pa at the end, and he wondered just how many of these kind of days they'd have. Looking to Rebec again in the moonlight, Baldur had no doubt there'd be many more to come. Baldur placed his hand behind Rebec's neck, and brought her closer to him gently, but he stopped just before kissing her, frozen again by those Atmoran blue eyes of hers, caught in the moonlight brilliantly, transfixing him as he looked into them. "The sky seems to be admiring you. Putting you on display. Perhaps it found two of Kyne's missing stars." From any other man, Rebec would've thought it was a joke or a ploy to get her in the sack, but she knew Baldur meant what he said. The look in his eyes was what really made her throat catch. "I like what I'm looking at, too." She didn't mean the aurora. Baldur wanted to make some kind of joke or say something silly, but at the moment, he couldn't. Now wasn't that kind of moment. All the feelings he worked up earlier just made him too serious, and at the moment all he could reflect on was just how much he loved his wife. "Don't you ever leave me, Rebec. Please. I don't know what I'd do if something ever happened to you. Or if we ever separated." Baldur finally brought his lips to her, kissing gently, causing their lips to tug slightly as they pulled away. Then he scooted closer to kiss at her neck like he loved to do so much, slightly tugging at her skin as he did. "Heh, the thought of me being with some tavern wench again like you thought before, after being with a goddess. Absurd. You're the best I ever had. I ever tell you that? And that's not just love talking." It was too dark to see it, but Rebec actually blushed a little, from pride if nothing else. "It is love, though," she said. "Not that you're flattering me, I mean because it opens you up inside. Goes without saying no man ever felt like you do. And I know you wouldn't really lie down with a tavern girl anymore. Worrying about it is my way of saying that you're mine and being apart even for a few hours is hard." Baldur couldn't hold back a smile now from her claiming him, and he didn't bother trying. His hands started wandering now as the fever began overtaking him again, and one drifted down to the inside of her thigh on the dress as the other held her up by her back as he kissed his way up to her ear to whisper. "Oh, so I'm yours now huh? You think now that we're married that you own me Red-Snow?" Said Baldur, smiling mischievously, remembering when she said those words to him. Baldur moved his hands slowly up her thigh until he found what he was looking for, rubbing gently and steadily at the dress once he did. He could feel the fabrics of her dress running smoothly along the special under garments she was wearing under his fingers. His other hand was on her back working at the strings. Smiling at his turnaround of her words, Rebec's hands started wandering as much as his were. Snooty elves and a fat pouch of gold were worth the price, since the fine fabric of his new clothing let her hands slide and feel the contours of his body in a way armor couldn't. At last her breath caught and she had to stop as Baldur's touch became too intense. Between labored breaths she said, "I do own you. Me taking your name, that was... new management." A cry cut off further words, and she held on to his shoulders with a fierce grip as though she might lift up if she didn't. Baldur's hands had worked off the bindings of her dress on her back finally. In his triumph, he grabbed at her hair with his mouth and playfully tugged at it while still rubbing. Looking down he saw the thin cloth of his pants did nothing to hide his excitement. Baldur gently pushed Rebec down as he lay over her, staring into her eyes. He was enjoying the feel of their clothing and hadn't wanted to remove everything just yet. He let her feel just how excited he was, rubbing his hips to hers as he kneaded her bosom. "After tonight, I'm gonna make that permanent. May have to change the words around in that poem. Don't worry about staying quiet, there's no one around. I won't let you anyway." "Just the hawks." One of these still flew across the moons' surface, but Rebec hardly noticed, holding Baldur's eyes with her own. She slid her leg along his, shifting and arching to massage him as her hands ran along his back. Even if she was coarse and as tough as any man elsewhere, here she really did feel like a goddess, and free of herself. Abruptly Rebec pushed on him to roll him over and pinned him there with one hand while the other shrugged the dress off her shoulders. She lifted it over her head, then straddled him, savoring the look in his eyes while she pulled at his laces. When he was free, she played a while, caressing him. Then she slid her hands up under his tunic, stretched out along his chest and resumed kissing, savoring the mixture of friction from their clothing and the warmth of bare skin. Baldur could feel Rebec's excitement run through her lower coverings as she straddled him, which for him was the final straw. He wouldn't be able to play much longer before he had to have her. Baldur placed his hands on her backside, kneading at it over her smooth cloth some more before he sat up and continued to do so while kissing her. He gave her a soft tap there before breaking off. After he did, Baldur took a few steps away towards the cliff and got to his knees, waiting for her to walk over. Brought short by Baldur abruptly leaving, Rebec stared after him in confusion, then got up and followed. Kneeling against his shoulder, she asked, "Is something wrong?" Baldur looked up at her as she leaned against him and smiled. Then he tugged at her lower garments, pulling them down slowly and lifted her right leg over his shoulder. "Not at all. I was just wondering if you were afraid of heights." She laughed and glanced back at the cliff. "Shor help me, right now I'm not afraid of anything. Have to get my senses back for that." "That'll be a while off." he said as he pulled her waist to him to show that he could put his tongue to other uses besides singing. Then without warning he stood up while his hands gripped her backside, lifting Rebec high in the air by the cliff's edge. He then lifted her other leg over his shoulder while still making poetry of another kind. Whooping and laughing in between short gasps, Rebec braced her hands on Baldur's head, which both urged him on his task and let her throw her own head back to see the stars and moons above her. They seemed almost close enough to touch, and the floating sensation he caused in her was never more like flying. After some time, which Baldur wasn't sure how much, he finally put Rebec down on her feet after he thought she was ready to go further, but only temporarily to take off the rest of his clothes. He was too frantically excited to bother undoing his boots, so he just pushed his trousers that were dangling all the way down. He then pulled Rebec to him and lifted her up again to his waist, letting her wrap her legs around him. He held her there for a while as he looked into her eyes smiling. Then looked down to her breast coverings and removed those. "You're right. It is love that sets you apart. Partly. It helps. Its the difference between sex and an almost spiritual experience. The one time I can feel like our souls intertwine." He tortured her a little longer after that before he finally brought himself into her slowly, still staring into her eyes. Rebec had impatiently helped him shed their fancy clothes, and settled herself again in his embrace. Even if they were still newlyweds, they had worked the awkwardness out and were practiced at this. She didn't answer his statement with words, too ready to get on with experiencing what he talked about. As her body took him in, she held his eyes, wanting to see her own sensations mirrored back in his expression. Rebec wasn't the only one who wasn't going to be quiet at that time. He didn't bother trying to keep his breathing down as she gyrated on his hips, hanging on him like a sail. Baldur faced the cliff and bent over slightly, holding a hand to support her back as they let their voices carry into the night. Eventually Baldur started losing his senses, oblivious to anything but her and had to back away from the cliffside some in case he lost track of where he was. Suddenly the urge to be as close to her as possible overcame him and he squeezed her to him tightly, feeling the friction of her nips pressed to his chest as she moved and was grinding against him. Rebec held Baldur tightly, almost comfortingly, even as she let herself go. When she was satisfied, she urged him on, knowing he was close. After the storm had abated for both of them, she leaned back and held his face in her hands and found his eyes again. "You outdo yourself, Red-Snow. In more ways than one." Baldur still held onto her after they were done, and brought the furs close to the edge of the cliffside. Baldur laid back, head facing away from the edge with her still over him and placed the sheets over them both as he laid her head down on his chest. His heart was still racing but started to finally recede, yet even so he still felt as though their spirits were locked together. "As do you, Miss Red-Snow. My little snow bunny." Thinking on their time still, Baldur tilted her head up and locked his lips to hers. "So, who belongs to who? I couldn't tell, heh." "I think that's a draw," she replied languidly between kisses. "As it should be." After a while Rebec laid her head back on his chest and looked up at the sky as they had earlier, only now ribboned with stars. It was odd to feel so small compared to Nirn and all the Void, and yet to feel so full that it all belonged to you. Sometimes she'd approached that feeling steering her ship, but it was never as satisfying as this. Baldur too was looking at the sky, admiring its beauty in wonder. He thought about the whole day as he and Rebec lay there silently for a while, and he let how it ended inspire another song. Holding Rebec tightly to him, Baldur brought his lips to Rebec's ears and began to whisper in them a song like he did the last time they slept beneath the void to lull her to sleep peacefully. "As I lay beneath the heavens on high, night long settled into the sky, Star spangled void spread randomly, vast as the dark deep wavy sea, My eyes wander 'round worriedly to look in alarm, wondering why is the sun in my arms, Wayward celestial wandering sphere, why have you walked down from heaven to here? Your warmth rushes lonely winter away, your presence brings heat even when it’s not day, You brought light into night and now I must say, now and forever with me will you stay? Dependent on you to defend me from cold, my grasp you have settled, into my hold, Dangerous is it, I say please don’t go, for surely my spirit will descend into woe, I shelter you now and keep your heat with me, all to myself holding you selfishly, And if the world freezes from missing thee, and thus the world dies…then so let it be." Rebec had a little smile on her face as he recited, and turned to show it to him when he finished. "You keep writing such fine love poetry, you're going to forget how to write war songs. Which is just fine with me. Your ma showed me the Nords always knew about love, too. Didn't need the Bretons to tell us what's what." "Wow, I forgot I used to worry about being made a Breton over this...ha, look at me now." Baldur kissed her smiling face and closed his eyes now, feeling at peace. "Daric showed that's not such a bad thing anyway. And love and war aren't so different. They both make me feel alive and mad, and like war my love for you will never end." "If this here would be Unslaad, then I wouldn't mind at all." Rebec kissed him back, savoring the pleasantly bruised and achey feeling he'd left her, still prickling with energy from wanting him back. "We should try to sleep some," she said, knowing it was vain. Baldur felt himself stirring again and he started to laugh. "I think so too but it seems its not time yet. You're still talking after all. Means my job's not done. One more go?" Laughing, Rebec said, "I tried." She rolled to her back and stretched out. Touching his arm, she said, "I love to see you work." Baldur needed no further notice and gladly complied with the task of putting them both to sleep. Baldur tickled her belly button with his tongue before he pressed in then leaned close to her. Baldur grunted lightly before he gripped at Rebec's shoulders from the back as he pushed into her repeatedly. In the midst of this, Baldur kissed at Rebec's ear and whispered in them before nipping at her lobes with his teeth. "You're not asleep after this, and you're in big trouble." When Rebec could finally talk again, she looked up at Baldur and said with a sly smile, "Who really needs sleep." In between breaths Baldur started to laugh and he grabbed her head by both cheeks and kissed her fiercely. Looking down at her and shaking his head, Baldur said, "By Shor I love this woman!" Then he continued afterward, long into the night. After all, who really needs sleep?

Rebec, Baldur, Brund, Daric 6 a.m. Solitude Baldur's new protege woke up that day with a grin on his face, and a flutter in his chest. The mark of a new man. His new experience had been a frightening one...at first. But when he got through it, he felt like he could conquer the world. That was the feeling that Baldur had warned him about. "Remember, confident, not cocky. Confident, not cocky." said Daric, as he got from his bed in the Winking Skeever. But Daric couldn't help but feel a little cocky after the night before. Daric started thinking back to the night and couldn't help but laugh. Daric started hopping up slightly on his feet and shadow boxing in his excitement, then he tried doing a round house kick in the air, which ended with him stubbing his toe on the dresser when his foot came up. Daric started rubbing the back of his head and looked around the room as if someone saw his embarrassing mishap. Once he got over his screw-up, Daric put on his Stormcloak gear and made his way out to the courtyard for training. Except he didn't make it there. Daric made it about halfway to the courtyard before he stopped in the street to look at his hands. He started thinking back to his training with Baldur, and his heart started to race in anticipation of the duel that was to go on today. He was excited, as his shaking hands showed. Today he had become a man, and he wanted to prove it as soon as possible. At that moment, Daric's mind was set, and he changed course for Baldur and Rebec's house. Rebec was up early and puttering around, waiting to see if Baldur would get out of bed before she had to go to the shipyard. He'd come in after midnight, which wasn't unusual during the war, but in Solitude made her wonder. For all that she never thought about Toki being with other women, the idea that Baldur might be hanging around taverns without her meant he could go back to looking at the tavern girls. It was an irrational worry, she knew, but she couldn't help but think about it. The notion made her want to go yank the covers off her sleeping husband and kick him out of bed for an interrogation. She resisted the temptation and started putting on her boots for her own day of work. The shipbuilders told her she didn't have to be there watching their progress every minute, but Rebec disagreed. Baldur hadn't stirred from sleep, being a somewhat heavy sleeper on top of exerting himself for the better part of the day after not doing so over their break. Baldur's sleep was dreamless, but noisy due to his snoring. The mead he had with Daric before he left hadn't helped either. Normally sleeping in after taking up a position would have been unacceptable, but he knew Brund would have muscled in on his spot anyway, and Baldur had it in his head that the recruits could benefit from the both alternating every now and then to get used to different commanders and training methods, so he didn't make a mental note to wake up early from the previous day anyway. Baldur subconsciously noticed the feel of Rebec's body heat being absent, which made him roll over to her previous spot and grab the pillow there before he continued to sleep. Soon after, Daric had approached their door to knock, but Baldur was still too deep in sleep to hear. Daric is met at the door by a crabby admiral, who takes him for a messenger due to his youth. "What?" she asks impatiently, holding her hand out for the message. Daric's confidence sank a little at the sight of the Admiral and her tone, but he quickly straightened up and gave her a head nod after placing his fist on his chest. "H-hello, Admiral Rebec. I came to tell General Red-Snow something. Is he still sleeping? If so, I can leave a message." Rebec's hand dropped and her brow lifted. She gave Daric a once-over. He was obviously no Nord, an imperial or Breton, and still wet behind the ears, but he was wearing a Stormcloak uniform. The quiver in his voice was unusual. Green recruits were usually trying to impress her with their bravado. "He's sleeping. Is this important? It's about time he got out of the sack anyway." "Yea, I'm supposed to duel today, and he gave me some gold t-...well I took a break in our training, so he was going to push the duel back til later, but I wanted to tell him I'm ready to fight at the original time." Daric was a little nervous still despite his confidence, since all eyes would be on him from the recruits, but he got through it and made himself wear a stern face, looking Rebec in the eye. "Duel? This has something to do with Brund, doesn't it? Gods damn it. Those two mongrel dogs are going to go at each other until one of them is put down, and it's not going to be Baldur." Realizing she shouldn't say such things about the command in front of a recruit, Rebec stopped, then sighed. "Alright, wait here." On the way upstairs she shouted, "Baldur! There's a..." Milk drinker. "Young lad here to see you. Something about a duel. Get your ass out of bed." Baldur's face grimaced in his sleep from Rebec's cries, not being used to her yelling, which gave him an uneasy feeling as he slowly woke. He still felt groggy, as he only had about four hours of sleep, so he didn't bother suiting up first before he went to see what all the fuss was about. Walking to the door in his night clothes, Baldur rubbed at his eyes before speaking. "What's going on now?" he said tiredly. "Hello, General Red-Snow. I wanted to say that I'm ready." said Daric. Baldur blinked a few times to clear his vision, then looked at Daric skeptically. He seemed a bit different from the night before. They ended up training longer than intended, as Daric was finally starting to show progress. He didn't leave to the tavern til one. He seemed better off then, more sure of himself, but now he seemed older. Then Baldur remembered why, which caused him to grin from ear to ear. "Hehehe, so I take it everything went well? Remember what I said about b-" "Yes I know, confident, not cocky." He said as he grinned along with Baldur. "I'm serious though sir. For better or worse I think I-, I know I'm ready. I'll make you proud, I promise." said Daric who was giving Baldur as stern a look as he could. Baldur was still a bit skeptical, but he could see a big enough difference in the boy from yesterday compared to today to trust it. The look in his eyes were familiar to him. "Okay then, Daric. We'll start around eight or nine. Go with the other recruits and train with them until then." Daric nodded once to Baldur, then Rebec who suddenly looked even prettier to him all of a sudden since his late night endeavor, then ran off with the rest of the men. He stopped for a minute when he thought back to what Rebec had said. About Baldur and Brund. He was about to turn around and ask, but thought better of it and continued on instead. Rebec watched the exchange between Baldur and Daric skeptically, hands on her hips. When the young man was gone, she regarded her husband, warning herself not to sound shrewish. The warning didn't take. "Where were you, eh? Out carousing with young recruits all night? Surprised a tavern girl didn't come looking for you this morning instead of... whatever that was." Baldur regarded Rebec, studying her before he spoke. He had to admit he liked it when Rebec acted jealous, but he wouldn't have liked it if she came home late either. Especially when hanging around the docks. Still, he couldn't help but smile a little. "After that book, you really think I'd go to some cheap wench over Rebec the Hull-Breaker? Come on, Rebby." Her flinty expression wavered, and the corner of her mouth drew up a little, though he wasn't off the hook yet. "You could still look at 'em." Obviously she didn't even like the thought of that much. "So what were you doing if you weren't feeling up tavern tarts? And why is a snowback boy getting you out of bed for a duel?" Baldur chuckled a little at the thought of him looking at other women. Rebec wouldn't likely believe him if he said it, but he couldn't look at other women the same way he did before. Naturally as a man his eyes of course occasionally settled in the usual places, but not consciously, and not to fantasize. Even his nightly fantasies involved her. Safe to say, Baldur was thoroughly whipped. "I was training him. Brund and I have a little bet going on. If my protege can beat someone of his choosing in the batch of recruits we got, he'll lay off and stop being so...Brund. If his fighter wins however, I'll back him up for the position of High General." Rebec laughed and pointed toward where Daric had stood on the doorstep. "You... were training... that boy... to defend your generalship? Shor almighty, Baldur, why didn't you pick the little snotnose kid at Bits and Pieces? I think he'd have a better chance." Baldur's face grew serious and his brow nit a little at Rebec's joking. He had grown fond of the boy he realized, and a bit protective of him. "Give the boy a chance, Rebec. He's stronger than he looks. On the inside I mean. That's where it counts. He'll win. You'll see." She shook her head, still skeptical, but took a step towards Baldur. He looked adorable with his hair sticking up from sleep, and taking on a lost cause to get back at Brund was just like something he'd do. "It's a wonder stray dogs don't follow you home at night," she said, putting her hands on his waist and grinning in spite of herself. "And all the beggars, too. He seems eager enough. Hope Brund doesn't pick a woman as his protege, though. The boy seemed scared to death of me at first." "Oh, I'm sure that won't be a problem..." said Baldur as he embraced Rebec tightly in his arms, holding her close to his chest. "I helped him out with that yesterday. To get some confidence. Gave him some gold to gain the confidence of a man." Rebec's tense stance melted away, but as she realized what Baldur was saying, she pulled back. "You're handing out gold to recruits for whores? Have you lost your mind, Baldur?" Baldur started to laugh but held it back and tried to adopt a serious face. "No, not recruits. Just this one. Believe me, the boy needed a confidence boost, and it seems to have paid off. Besides, he's fourteen. My father did the same for me at that age. Was about the nicest thing he'd ever done. The only nice thing he'd ever done." Rebec appeared surprised about what Baldur said of his father, but decided to ask about it later. "If you say so. I'd think a good night's sleep would do him more good than getting his mast oiled, but what do I know. Looks like you better get dressed and on with it. Are you going to be out until all hours again?" "I don't know, I don't think I'll be up that late, but I'll probably run them for the better part of the day. We'll see. I still have another two or three hours for the duel, so I'm gonna get some more rest. You coming to see the fight?" "I was going to spend the day at the yard, but I think I have to see this." "Alright, then, should be fun. Well, my nerves are a bit rattled, so I think I'll just get ready now and give the boy some last minute advice. I'll be ready in twenty minutes." Baldur sighed nervously, but he gave a reassuring smile to try and hide it. He wasn't at all nervous the day before. He and Daric had worked out a strategy, but now that the time had come, Baldur wasn't as sure of himself. He was more nervous for Daric than he was for losing the bet. Baldur hadn't really cared much for that. Rebec could see that Baldur wasn't as confident as he'd claimed, and maybe another wife would've said something comforting. Instead she said, "You're right to be worried. Anyway what's done is done. I'll let you get on with it, then. Got to go crack the whip. I turn my back one second and those shipwrights are sneaking off to work on other projects." She leaned up to kiss Baldur, and with a pat on the arm grabbed her satchel and crossbow and headed to the door. Baldur waited at the door to watch Rebec leave before he went to put his forehead on the wall with his hands behind his head. "Oy, Baldur what did you do? I hope Daric is really ready and not just looking to get this over with like I am. Screw the position, I just want him to win for his sake." Baldur took a few more deep breaths then headed up stairs to place his armor on. Baldur downed a mead to settle his nerves so he could look confident for Daric, then combed his hair and beard after washing them both. After a few bites to eat, Baldur finally got over his nervousness for Daric and made his way out. *** Brund hadn't gotten much sleep either that night, thinking about the duel. He wasn't at all nervous, but he sure as hell was excited. Baldur could tell that as soon as he reached the courtyard. The men were interested in the duel as well, but not as interested as the two Generals were, since the reason behind it wasn't known. They mostly thought it was just an attempt to strengthen their weakest member. When Baldur arrived, the men weren't training like he expected them to, but Daric was, doing push ups to work out his nerves. Baldur was about to walk over to him when Brund stepped in his way. "So Red-Snow! Ready to face the music?" Smiling confidently, Baldur walked past Brund without looking at him. "Need a few words with my protege. Maybe you should do the same with yours." "Words? Ha! He'll need more than that. Hope you trained him long and hard Baldur, hahahaha!" Brund and his protege hadn't done anything special the night before. He didn't feel any need to. Who would? His fighter was four years older than Daric was, a good deal taller, and unlike Daric, he was a Nord. Brund figured there was nothing to worry about, and so did his fighter. Baldur saw the recruit staring at the two with confusion. He was another crop haired Nord boy of eighteen years, good muscle build and he had a scar across his face showing he fought before. He also looked pissed at being matched up against Daric of all the recruits. It was a one sided looking fight if there ever had been one. Despite that, Baldur and Daric ignored his looks as well as the others, and started doing push ups as they spoke, Baldur wishing to work out his nerves as well. "How you feeling, Daric?" "Good." "Remember to envision that the Nord over there is your pa. He and all the rest of these guys think you're a ***** milk drinker. Let them continue to think that when you fight. Then, I want you to do what we practiced and fight like you're trying to kill him. In fact, try to kill him, and you'll do just fine. Strike when he least expects you will. Like a snake. And stay light on your feet. Your speed is your advantage. Dodge, fake out and move around. He'll get frustrated. And if all else fails, go for plan B at the right time. Got it?" "Got it sir. And Baldur?" "Yea?" "Thanks." Baldur looked up at Daric for a second, then smiled confidently, for real this time. "Don't mention it. Put that bitch in the dirt and show them what a Breton can do, Tiber Septim." Daric laughed slightly as he continued to do his push ups. He was starting to grow nervous, but having Baldur Red-Snow, the Unkindled's confidence helped him a lot. After switching to sit ups and talking a little more with Daric about strategies and tips, Baldur and Daric stood back on the wall, staring at Brund and his chosen fighter as they waited for Rebec to arrive. *** Rebec was jumpy, too, for a different reason. The shipbuilders had her plans and they knew what to do, but she still wanted to watch every peg go in herself. Her life, Baldur's life, and her crew could depend on it being done right. She was concentrating so much that she nearly forgot the duel, but seeing a Breton sailor walk past reminded her of Daric. Cursing, she took off on a run for Castle Dour, to find the four men staring each other down. "I'm here," she said to Baldur, out of breath. After a moment she smacked Daric on his shoulder. "Good luck, kid." You'll need it. Baldur looked at Daric, who was glancing at the both of them, and Baldur signaled with his head to walk forward. As he did, Brund and his fighter moved to the center of the courtyard, and the men followed the group and made a large circle around them. There were a lot of murmurs, snickering and laughing at the fight. It was hard to take seriously, as a lot of them already saw the Breton in action before, but a lot of them didn't know Baldur had coached him. The ones that did still viewed him as a lost cause regardless. Baldur was glad that their laughter was audible. The look on Daric's face showed that it was making him angry, which was exactly what Baldur wanted. Brund didn't bother trying to keep the smile off of his face, which raised Daric's suspicions again on the point of the duel. Clearly Brund had something in stake over the fight. But it didn't matter to him what the point was. It did however make him want to win even more. Baldur signaled for some of the soldiers to bring over the racks of practice weapons over from the stone wall behind the group. When they brought it over, Daric wasted no time in making his selection. Baldur knew a part of his problem was that he was being forced to fight in a style that wasn't his own. Sometimes, people just couldn't fight a certain way, and a front line soldier Daric was not. He would be better suited as a scout or used in guerrilla warfare. Because of this, Baldur made him ditch the sword and shield route, and instead he practiced fighting like the Forsworn, and used two swords. He also selected a wooden axe in case he lost a weapon, then placed it in his belt, letting the crowd see his weapon selection before he placed it in his belt. Brund's fighter selected a warhammer, as Baldur expected he would. It wasn't much of a surprise that Brund would have his recruit fight in his style. Baldur had somewhat did the same with Daric and his two swords, so it was symbolic. A fact that was not lost on Brund. Brund and his fighter made their way to the center of the ring now and waited for Baldur and Daric. Daric had rushed off to meet them, but Baldur grabbed him by the shoulder to stop him. "Wait a second. I have something for you." said Baldur. Daric turned around confused, when Baldur took out a small container of blue paint from his pouch on his belt, then removed his right gauntlet. Baldur tilted Daric's head back and brushed his hair aside, then placed a swirl design on Daric's right cheek like his. "Win or lose, Daric, you are a man today, and a warrior. Fight like one and give him all you've got." Daric wanted to smile, but he thought better of it with all the people looking at him. Instead, he gave Baldur his tough face and nodded before he walked away. Baldur put the warpaint on him to further help his confidence. It helped to feel dressed for war, and warpaint made you feel like you were a new person. Baldur walked back over to Rebec, and Brund walked over with him past Daric. As he walked by, Brund made Daric jump by sneering at him and letting out a loud grunt, which made him laugh of course. Baldur's face showed he didn't appreciate that one bit. Brund of course noticed, and chuckled to himself as he stood opposite of Rebec at Baldur's side. "So Rebec....Your husband told you what a fool he was yet?" "He didn't need to." Rebec smiled and elbowed Baldur playfully, then turned and shouted to Daric, "Rip his guts out, kid!" She eyed the other opponent's war hammer and shook her head, mumbling, "At least he won't die a virgin." Daric was deaf to almost anything else but the beating of his own heart. His face was somber and grim, while his opponent was still confused looking, then he started to snicker. "Listen, kid. This is stupid. You continue with this, you're gonna get hurt." Said the Nord boy. "What's your name?" Asked Daric. "Farin. Farin Heavy-Hand." Daric looked at the wooden warhammer, then the boy's large fist and smiled, thinking the name was appropriate. He hoped that heavy handed meant he was slow as well. "I'm Daric. Haven't earned a surname yet." Farin hadn't said anything in response. He just wanted to get things over with. "So...do we start, or d-" "BEGIN!" Said Brund, interrupting Daric's sentence. As soon as he did, Farin lifted his wooden warhammer over his head and brought it down in an instant. Daric was caught off guard and just barely dodged the attack by jumping backwards. "Okay....so not slow. Great." Said Daric wide eyed from the shock. Farin didn't give him time to recover as he charged Daric with his hammer at his side. Daric remembered what Baldur taught him, just barely, and rolled forward at an angle to get behind him. Farin saw it coming however, and spun around to deliver a quick uppercut with his hammer. Daric saw this just in time, and dived back to avoid the blow. Afterwards, Farin swatted downwards again to Daric's midsection, but the Breton rolled away just in time. But instead of rolling away completely after the hammer fell, Daric rolled back, going over the head of the hammer and striked at Farin's arm. Farin was almost caught off guard, but Daric wasn't fast enough. Farin countered Daric's little maneuver by lifting his warhammer and throwing Daric up off the ground, throwing him in the air some before landing roughly on the ground. Daric scrambled up quickly and took a crouching posture so that he could evade easily. Farin charged Daric once more, swinging his hammer horizontally so Daric would be forced to back up and lose ground. Occasionally Daric would run forward and strike lightly before falling back and evading again to test Farin's reflexes, which were more than good. So far Farin had Daric on the ropes, and he was backed up to the edge of their circle on more than one occasion, but his small size allowed him to roll past Farin. The next time he got backed into a corner however, Farin stuck his warhammer out and tripped Daric's feet, which made him land on his stomach. Daric rolled over, but not quick enough and was forced to try and block Farin's warhammer when it dropped towards his head. Daric held his wooden swords up criss crossed and caught the hammer just under the head, but the strength of the older boy pushed his arms down and slammed his elbows into the ground as he just barely held the warhammer away from his skull while Farin beared down on him. Brund licked his teeth before saying, "Yesss, finish it!" Daric's face was turning bright red trying to hold the hammer off. His elbows felt like they were going to crack as they were pressed into the ground, but he finally got relief for them, unfortunately because Farin lifted his hammer for a second attack. Daric stared wide eyed at the rising hammer, and out of fear and instinct sent his boot straight into the boy's crotch. Farin recoiled, but forced himself to ignore the pain. His recoil however gave Daric enough time to scramble away and get back into his stance. By this time Rebec had a hold of Baldur's arm and was squeezing it hard. In the back of her mind she thought it would be a good thing if Brund got the High General job, if not for Skyrim and the men then for her and Baldur. However the scrappy little Breton was fighting with heart and so she hated to see him lose, or worse. Baldur's mind was focused on the fight and he didn't notice Rebec's grip. He caught Daric's glance a couple of times. He was looking at Baldur waiting for a signal. As Farin pressed the attack, Daric looked at Baldur to say "Now?" Baldur subtly shook his head to say no. Daric was panting hard, but it was just for show, as was his look of fear. Now he was purposefully barely dodging attacks to look as if he was tiring out. Farin however was starting to get slightly fatigued, but he was more frustrated then anything else. "Fight me like a man!" He called. Once again Daric looked at Baldur as he striked at Farin after a swing. Farin blocked it with his Hammer's pole, then he managed to smack Daric in the chest with the pommel of the weapon. Daric staggered back and looked back at Baldur again. "The General can't save you! Fight!" Said Farin. Daric ignored him and kept evading. Some of the soldiers were starting to grow restless. Some of them even booed. "Come on you ***** milkdrinking Breton! Fight!" Daric was about to dodge Farin's incoming horizontal swing when he noticed Baldur flicking his tongue around like a snake. That was the signal. Baldur had him practice this over and over, since he figured Brund's fighter would use a hammer. Farin swung his hammer directly towards Daric's stomach, but he was expecting him to dodge again, so he hadn't put a ton of strength behind it. That on top of being fatigued helped greatly with Daric's quick maneuver. As soon as he saw the incoming swing, Daric flipped the script and dashed towards it instead. When he did, he spun around swinging his weapons and caught the hammer in midswing behind the head, which whipped the hammer out of Farin's hand as Daric came back around in a circle to strike at Farin's chest. Farin hopped back however, then kicked Daric backwards once he was disarmed. Daric scrambled up and kicked the hammer away however, leaving Farin weaponless and extremely embarrassed. "WHAT THE **** WAS THAT! GET YOUR ASS IN GEAR GODSDAMMIT!" Brund made no efforts to hide his anger. He couldn't believe what he just saw. Pissed was an understatement for what Brund was at the moment, and Baldur was loving every minute of it. Catching the looks being exchanged between Daric and Baldur, Rebec began to suspect that the boy had a plan, and a smile crept to her face. It was much the same when she fought men. In battle, no matter how they might feel otherwise, they could easily slip into their instinctive feeling of superiority. "What did you cook up, Red-Snow?" she asked, keeping her voice quiet enough so only he could hear. However when the boy disarmed his opponent, she let out a whoop and cheered, especially enjoying Brund's anger over it. "Grrr, shut up! Everyone shut it! Farin, you idiot, don't underestimate him because he's small! Finish him!" Brund's face was turning red rapidly, and Farin's embarrassment was quickly replaced with fear. Baldur leaned in over to Rebec and whispered. "Want me to spoil anything or would you rather be surprised?" "Let me be surprised," Rebec whispered back. "I like to watch you work." "Very well, then." said Baldur as he smiled. Daric was smiling too, albeit with a grimace from the big kick to his gut. Baldur made sure to remove before it cost him, however. "Remove that smile, Daric! Confident, not cocky!" "Don't worry, I'll do it for him, General!" Said Farin, who too was visibly pissed now. Farin tried to run past Daric to get to his hammer, but Daric moved in front of him and blocked his path. Farin tried the other side and Daric did the same thing. This went on for about a minute, which caused even more laughter from the crowd. Even Brund had to hide a smile from the comical look of it. "My my, this is starting to get embarrassing, Brund. If this were a real war, your man would have been dead by now." "Well this isn't, and if it were a real war, your boy would have been dead when he was pinned on the ground." Countered Brund. Rebec leaned in to whisper to Baldur, "He's right about that. Your boy's lucky in addition to quick." She didn't show her doubts to Brund, though. He wouldn't get that satisfaction. "That may be. Or a fellow soldier would have come in and assisted him while he was down. He managed to get up fast enough on his own though. May not have been necessary. Who knows. I guess we'll just need to see who wins to make further judgement. Although duels are nothing like actual battles." While Baldur was still talking, Farin took a page from Daric and faked a run to the right. As soon as he did, Farin ran straight for Daric and planted a huge right hand into the boy's face, laying him out on the ground. Daric managed to avoid some of the punch by falling backwards at the last second and going with the hit, but it dealt enough damage still to bloody his nose and he made him drop a sword. Daric's adrenaline helped him to ignore the pain, and he hopped up to his feet, albeit a bit wobbly. When he did, his vision was a bit faded, but he could see just well enough to block a sword strike going directly to his face. Daric wasn't as quick this time, and was just barely blocking the attacks. Farin brought his sword up, then came down to meet Daric's wooden sword, but when he blocked it, Farin punched him in the gut, then gave him a huge left knee in his stomach as well. Daric's adrenaline may have helped block some of the pain, but he felt the wind leave his stomach all the same. "Come on you ******* *****. I'm gonna make you pay for embarrassing me, I promise you! Come on, you Breton bitch!" Daric was holding his stomach, but he wasn't given any time to recuperate. He remembered what Baldur said, and decided to make time by keeping at a distance. Farin didn't make it easy for him, however, and Daric had to exert himself just to stay out of range. Daric was slowing down now, and Farin could see he was starting to fade. Running forward towards him in a full sprint, Farin came at Daric faster than he was able to avoid and was forced to block his strike as Farin jumped in the air and brought his sword down. When he did that, Daric took out his axe and was about to strike at Farin's midsection, but the attack was too powerful, and it knocked him down. Daric once again just barely got away from Farin's follow up attack, but he tripped as he scurried off to get away. "Ah, now that's more like it! It's over!" Said Brund. To everyone who was watching, it did seem to be over. Daric hit his head on the ground rather hard, and appeared to be just about to fade out. One more push was all Farin needed, and it would be over. "Baldur, if you've got something up your sleeve, now might be the time to bring it out," Rebec said. She winced at the hits the boy was taking. "Or else you'll be sending him to the medic and not to the arms of a tavern wench." Baldur was inclined to agree, but it wasn't time just yet. The advantage of superior strength was showing as Daric put an arm over his bleeding nose and bent over from the pain of his gut. His adrenaline seemed to have faded a bit, and the effect of those hits were starting to show. Farin pressed forward now and decided to finish things. Baldur turned to Rebec as the two continued to fight and started whispering in her ear. "During our time training, Daric told me about his father who is a Nord. He told me his father was an abusive prick who continuously got on him for being weak and a Breton. Apparently the idiot didn't know the mother being Breton would make him Breton, but he also said his parents were drunk when they conceived him. Go figure. I asked him why in the hell his mother hadn't done anything about him. Daric said she tried, and his father responded by beating the hell out of her. She was too afraid to go to the guards about it, and he made them believe they wouldn't have done anything because they weren't nords, which of course wasn't true. The beatings on Daric started when he finally had enough and he attacked his father when he was hitting his ma once again. He got the beating of his life, but he didn't care. Seeing his mother drop from his punch just made him lose it. That sound like any story you ever heard of in history before?" Rebec was watching the fight while Baldur told her this story. At his question, she glanced at him, confused. "A Breton who got beat on for not being a Nord?" "No, the last part. You'll understand." Baldur finally decided it was time to go for plan B. Unfortunately for him though, Daric wasn't looking to him now, and he was seeing double. Baldur could tell something was up and cursed his luck. "Damnit, he's not looking at me....Daric! Pretend he's your father! J has fallen!" Daric finally turned to see Baldur. Daric look confused and had trouble understanding what the hell it was he was talking about due to his head injury. Finally it dawned on him however, and he readied himself to execute the plan. Baldur was talking about Jofrior, mother of Finna. Daric shook his head to clear his vision, then turned around and started to run away. Farin came running for him with his sword raised to put in the finishing blow. To the recruits who were watching, they thought Baldur's words had the wrong effect and caused him to run from Farin in fear. However this wasn't the case. Daric started thinking about all the hits, all the crying, the insults and bitter nights he and his mother had. Working himself up and imagining he was running from his pa. Daric started to shed tears at the memory, and he almost forgot where he was. But then he remembered the first time his pa hit his mother, under the influence of alcohol as usual. He envisioned the rage building up inside of him, the unadulterated hate, and he put his father's image on Farin running right behind him. "You're done, this is o-" "AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!" With burning tears in his eyes, Daric spun around on his feet, and with all the strength he could muster, Daric launched his axe at the quickly approaching Farin. Baldur had given him some basic tips on how to do so, but it just wasn't enough time to learn how to do it properly. However, Daric didn't need to know how to do it properly. It was wood, and it served its purpose all the same. The wooden axe flew from the Breton boy's hands as he fell backwards from turning on his feet too fast, and the top of the weapon smacked Farin directly in his right eye. The big Nord let out a cry that made him sound Daric's age, and he was forced to drop his weapon to cover it in pain. Daric clumsily got back up to his feet, then charged Farin, still seeing his father. In his rage, Daric brought his sword that was still in his left hand up in the air pointing down to stab at Farin's chest diagonally. Farin had at least enough sense to block the attack by grabbing Daric's wrist before he could land the blow, but Daric dropped the blade from his hand and grabbed it with his other hand before it dropped, then stabbed Farin in the gut. Luckily for Farin he was wearing chainmail, but the stab still hurt like hell even though it was just wood. Farin bent over in pain from the hit, then Daric smacked him across the face in his rage with the sword and sent him crashing to the ground. Daric, against all odds had won. But he didn't know it. The duel was done, but Daric was still in battle mode, and he smacked Farin over the face twice more, bloodying him before Baldur finally came in and grabbed him before he did more damage. Daric was kicking and flailing around in his arms while the rest of the men were all dead silent. Even Brund. "Let me kill him! Let me kill the bastard! Let-" "Calm down, Daric! That's not your pa, calm down! Calm down. You did good, boy. Damned good! Easy does it now." Finally Daric calmed down, and fell back in Baldur's arms as he sat him down on the ground to rest. The recruits were still quiet, in shock of what they just saw yet again. Rebec stood gaping along with the rest, though she was more prepared for the turnaround than the other onlookers had been. She realized something as she watched Baldur with Daric. Remembering how Baldur had said that sending the boy to a whore was what his father had done for him, she wondered if the rage the Breton obviously had for his father was like what Baldur had felt. She didn't know that much about Ulrin, even after all these months, and thought maybe it was time to ask. For now, though, it was the conflict with Brund that needed addressing. Walking up to Baldur's side, she glared at Brund. "You got something to say? Or you going to tell me that you still don't see it?" Brund was still staring at the spot that Farin had dropped. For once Brund had nothing to say. "Hey, someone go check out that other boy's pulse. Make sure he's okay." said Baldur. No one moved at first, but eventually Brund shuffled over and put his foot on the recruit's shoulder to kick at him lightly and see if he'd move. Farin let out a small groan, then turned his head. His swollen eye was clearly visible, looking like a sweetroll was rising under his eye. "He'll live." said Brund, absent of all emotion. The recruits all started murmuring now and eventually a cheer broke out. From there, more cheers came out and the recruits all started to applause and whistle out, making random comments on the fight. "Holy Kyne's teets, did that just happen?" "Man, I need some one on one training with the General!" said another recruit. Baldur started tapping Daric on the cheek to wake him up since he dosed off. "Hey, Tiber, stay awake alright? You might have a concussion. Stay awake. Someone come take him to the infirmary!" Daric started to laugh, but it turned to a cough instead. Rebec grinned. "Tiber. Well, I guess Talos had to start somewhere. Good work, lad. I honestly can say I didn't think you had it in you. Do you want a mead or a healing potion? Both? We'll stand you one, either way." "Just mead...would be fine...thank you High Admiral Rebec." Before Baldur could say anything to him, two recruits lifted him up off the ground and carried him away. The recruits were still all talking frantically about the fight, and probably would be for a while. Baldur put his hands up around his mouth and yelled out. "In celebration of Daric's win, you all get the day off! Free mead for everyone!" The roar of approval was deafening, and some of the recruits started hopping up with their fists raised until Baldur called out again. "Okay, okay, quiet! I was just kidding. Get your asses in formation and get ready for training!" All the sounds of disappointment echoed around him now as the men walked off with their heads downcast. Baldur couldn't help his snickering. The men already had a break from the duel anyway. Baldur made his way back to Rebec now and put his hands around her waist. "I told you he'd win didn't I?" "Yes, don't look so smug," she answered, smiling. Rebec didn't like to play kissyface in front of the men, but in some cases it just had to be done. She made it quick and hot- to give Baldur something to think about that day besides training Breton mead-drinkers- then released him again. "I should get back to the harbor. Oh, Vilnur's boat is done with its refitting, so they're planning to leave tomorrow. Don't make any plans for the morning since I'm sure you'll want to see them off." "Right." said Baldur with his eyes still closed from the kiss. "You know, today's a beautiful day, don't you think? Maybe we could take the day off?" She wavered, not wanting to take any time away from getting her ship built. They had talked about this, though, about how they would force Galmar to let them take some time off. "I guess we could do that," she said hesitantly. "What have you got in mind?" "First step is you getting into that dress...with the uh, special garments that go with it." Baldur started chuckling at the thought. "After that, I don't know. Maybe we can find someplace nice to just sit and talk. Take a lunch and relax together. Then we'll see from there." "The dress, really?" That thought made Rebec uneasy. In Solitude people knew her, and she still felt like she might look ridiculous to anyone who was not in love with her. She did secretly like it, though, and she couldn't resist Baldur's sad-eyes if she refused. "Alright then. Hopefully it still looks okay even without your ma around to fluff and primp me." "Okay then." said Baldur with a big smile on his face. "Hey, Brund, you don't mind covering for me do you?" Said Baldur to Brund a few feet away. He hadn't responded, as he was still deep in thought. "Hey, Brund!" "Huh? What?" he said. "You got the recruits for the day?" asked Baldur. Brund thought about protesting, but he remembered his part of the deal, and he had in fact lost. Brund struggled to say the words, but he got them out. "Yea....sure." Brund said reluctantly. Baldur didn't waste any further time, and started to walk away after he grabbed Rebec's hand. "And so you don't feel alone, I think I'll dress up too. Pay a visit to the Radiant Raiment." "You just want those elves to see me in the dress," Rebec said, grinning. She cast a glance back at Brund, a worried one, wondering to what lengths the bullish general would go to prove he was better than Baldur. Turning back to Baldur, she asked, "So who was the person in history you thought Daric was like?" "Oh, that. I was talking about Finna, the girl who killed the Snow Prince. He's not really like her, that was just the clue I gave for our plan. His little story about his father reminded me of how Finna lost her mind when her mother was hurt, and she ended a superior opponent's life with the throw of a sword. I figured if all else fails, a good axe throw would put someone down on their asses." "Good plan." She thought about asking about his father then, but decided to put it off. They were near the house anyway. "Alright, I'll go change and you decide where we're going to go after we get you kitted out. No need for you to put on any 'special garments,' by the way." Rebec laughed, then thought about the snooty elves outfitting Baldur's nether regions, and that took the humor out of it. "Alright Rebby, I'll wait here. Don't keep me waiting too long!" Baldur's lips sported a mischievous grin as a thought came to his mind. "I could always come up and watch. You know, make sure everything's all on proper. And all that." "No, thank you, I don't need any 'help.' Besides, you're an expert at taking them off, not putting them on. It's a wonder the teeth marks didn't fray the stuff." Rebec laughed and left him in the foyer as she went up the stairs. Half an hour later she emerged again, nervously tugging at the dress to make sure it was where it was supposed to be. She had also tried to do her hair and put on some makeup like the Dibellans had done, and had done a fair job, though the lipstick was a little smeary. "This thing makes me feel like an Argonian out of water. You sure it looks alright?" "Eh, it's okay I guess." Said a grinning Baldur. Her face fell until she realized he was kidding. Punching his arm, she said, "Watch it or I go put on my leathers. Come on, general. Let's go get you some fancy duds." She was suddenly looking forward to seeing the look on the elves' faces. Baldur made sure to take his time walking through the city with Rebec, enjoying very much the looks that they, or rather Rebec was getting in her dress, and him having her hand in his. Baldur made no efforts to hide his looks at her on their walk. Rebec made even the "higher classed" in the streets look like commoners. Baldur wished he could go and show Rebec off to the people in the Bard's College, but that trip would be much too transparent. The sun had risen to almost full height, signifying noon was approaching. The sun had caught the gold trimmings in Rebec's red dress in a way he had not seen from before, exposing even more intricacies of her dress. Whatever it was that Baldur was going to get, he knew it would never look nearly as good as that, even if he was dipped in gold. Rebec just looked too damn good in it. The dress was practically made for her. The elven women were not outside the shop this time as the two made their approach to the door. Baldur was about to step in, but thought it better if Rebec came in first. "Okay, your highness. After you." said Baldur, bowing playfully next to the door. "Bottle of mead says they try to fake how it's not that nice a dress after all," Rebec said. Inside, one of the snooty elves was behind the counter with her back to the door. When she heard someone coming in, she turned, saying, "Ooooh, what a de-" Her snide remark cut off as she saw Rebec. The Altmer at first looked like someone had dropped a pile of dog dung on her shoe, but then she stepped forward and began pinching and prodding at the dress, inspecting its stitching and fabric. "Hey, watch it, sister," Rebec protested as the elf poked around at her. Ignoring the warning, the Altmer turned Rebec around and looked at the back. Finally she declared, with obvious reluctance, "Well, it's not bad. Might I ask where you got it? Certainly not from a Nord shop." "You're right. This was from no Nord shop. But my mother makes these regardless, and she's a Nord. She's quite talented. Close enough, right?" Baldur said, appearing genuinely curious to the question. He actually had no idea if his mother had made the dress or not. But the elf didn't need to know that. "Reeaally." The Altmer sounded very skeptical. "And where does your 'mother' live?" "Worried about some competition?" Rebec asked, enjoying the shopkeeper's discomfort. "My mother lives in the city of Bruma, so you don't need to worry about being outsourced. Now, if you're done looking for inspiration from my lovely wife's dress, may we purchase something?" Baldur's expression was devoid of any laughter or any sign of enjoyment from the conversation. He had incorporated an air of snotty entitlement, presenting the question as a demand rather than a question, saying it nonchalantly as if these altercations were something the two encountered often. He learned the look from Erikur. And of course, Samuel. "Hop hop," Rebec added, also mimicking the same demeaning tone. The Altmer rolled her eyes and turned to some racks. For a while she stood mumbling to herself, something about "hopeless," but finally decided on three outfits which she laid out on the counter for Baldur to look at. One was a dark blue tunic with Nordic style stitching, mustard-colored hose, and a gold chain belt. The second was a Breton style with dark brown breeches and white silk tunic. The last was an imperial noble outfit with a light blue velvet tunic with gems sewn in as decoration, and dark blue trousers. "You'll be wanting some shoes, as well," the elf said, eyeing Baldur's soldier boots. "I prefer some nice boots, or do you not have the latest in gentlemen footwear?" asked Baldur, eying the shop in search of a pair. He knew there were dress boots because he saw nobles wearing them before. The woman huffed, insulted at the question, and pulling a tape measure from her pocket, crouched down to measure Baldur's feet. Rebec leaned around to keep an eye on this process. "You'd better try one of those on to see if they fit," the Altmer said as she stood, gesturing at a back room. She went in the other direction to get the boots. When she was gone, Rebec whispered, "Bruma?" "I figured they'd know anyone who was anyone in this business in Skyrim. Couldn't risk getting called out, hehe. Be right back." Baldur left to the back room as he was told with the blue Nordic outfit, naturally. As he was stripping off his armor, he realized he probably should have put on something lighter so he wouldn't have to lug the armor back home, but it was what it was. Once Baldur had stripped off the armor and placed on the Noble clothes, Baldur took a step out, feeling completely naked and exposed, but the feel of the fabric was quite comfortable. It was light enough that he almost felt like he wasn't wearing anything, but he figured that was because he wasn't used to wearing clothes outside of nightclothes. "So, how do I look?" As Baldur asked the question, the door behind the two opened to reveal the other altmer woman's sister. She was dressed in blue quilted noble's garbs and her hair was put in two pigtails falling back down her back. When she stepped in she was looking at Baldur with a smile. Not in admiration of him, but in admiration of the clothes they had made on him. When she noticed Rebec next to him wearing a dress clearly not from their shop, her smile faded. "Hello, Nord woman. Your husband looks ready to visit the Blue Palace. No need to thank us." "Don't worry, I won't." Rebec looked from the Altmer woman back to Baldur. "Kyne's teats, you look fine. Do you like the blue? I bet they have different colors if you want something else." "No, no. This is fine. As long as you like it." The Altmer shopkeeper rolled her eyes at Baldur's statement mainly because of his lovey dovey smile, then called out to her sister when she noticed Baldur wasn't wearing any shoes. "Endarie! Hurry up with this man's footwear!" Endarie returned with several pairs of boots in her hands, and exchanged a knowing look with her sister. She laid the boots out for Baldur's inspection, then gestured at Rebec and said to her sister, "Bruma." The way she said it made it sound like a big joke. Endarie's sister Taarie let out a smile that was subtle in nature, but not subtle enough for Baldur to not notice. As Baldur compared the boots, Baldur put on a look that said he wasn't quite pleased, but they would do. "Yes, Bruma. Beautiful for anyone who can appreciate the snow and the way the color of red pops in the veil of white." Baldur wasn't thinking of the dress when he said this. "By the way you said the name, I take it you women haven't had the pleasure of visiting, which would explain why the boot selections are...less than adequate. No matter, these will do. Luckily no one of note lies within these walls as of late, so only my wife and myself will notice the difference. I believe these will do. Do you agree, love?" Baldur held up a pair of black boots with a hint of dark blue in the leather. The top of the boots folded over and had medium sized V cuts. "I suppose," Rebec nodded, giving Baldur a sly grin when the Altmer weren't looking. "Why'd you lot come to Skyrim anyway if it's so terrible?" This was directed to the sisters. "As if I'd tell you that," Endarie answered. "Will that be all? Seventy-five septims, please." Rebec sputtered. "Seventy- Gods almighty, we stumbled into a bandit cave." "Is that humor? Seventy-five septims." "You do have the money...don't you?" Taarie directed the question to Baldur. Godsdamnit, now I wish I didn't give that fifty over to Daric...whatever, my pay's coming in a few days. Damn snooty elves. Baldur didn't show his hesitation, and quickly grabbed his money pouch from his armor on the ground in the back room to keep up the visage of having a stick up his ass. Baldur fingered out the appropriate amount, giving five coins extra for a tip. He didn't deal with people like this, but he read enough books to know this was customary of places that considered themselves fit for high society. "There you are, 75 Septims plus a tip. Don't spend it all in one place. Unless you wish to visit my mother in Bruma of course, but she doesn't sell to just anyone. Bye bye now." "Finally!" Endarie declared. Rebec shot the elf a dirty look and went to help Baldur collect his armor. "Let's take this back to the house, then where do we go?" "First, we get some supplies. Things for a lunch, your book, then I'll have a soldier pack us up some tent gear and have a horse waiting for us at the gate for later tonight. But before that, there's a place I've been wanting to take you for quite some time. I think you'll love it. Depending on how adventurous you're feeling." "The adventures I think of wearing this dress aren't my usual," Rebec answered with a sly grin as they walked back to the house. "But since you got dressed up fancy, too, I guess you don't mean we're going horker hunting." She found it hard to stop looking at him, and nearly ran into a couple kids running by playing tag. Suri was at the house when they returned, packing up her things. As she came out and saw the pair, she whistled. "Look at you two! I almost wouldn't recognize you. Big occasion?" Baldur put his arm over Rebec's shoulder and kissed her on the cheek. "Every day's a big occasion being married to your aunt." Suri tilted her head and appeared to analyze this statement, then shrugged and smiled. "Are you coming to see us off tomorrow? It's strange. I am looking forward to going home, but then, I don't want to, either." "You'll come back for more visits," Rebec said, consoling her. "When we're in Kyne's Watch, we'll be even closer to Hammerfell." Baldur put a hand over Suri's head and ruffled her hair. "Yes, I'll be there. Brund will cover for me I'm sure. Then after that I suppose I'll need to keep up an appearance with the recruits, or I'll be a hypocrite when preaching about punctuality. I was hoping you'd be staying with us. I was looking forward to training together and learning some Yoku. But I suppose there will be other times." "Papa wants to get home. You wouldn't want to be away long from auntie, right?" She grinned at Rebec. "Especially with the war and all, my mother was quite worried about us both. There are political troubles at home, too, which maybe Papa or I can help with. We'll train together when you both come to Hammerfell. Alright, I'd better get back to packing. I've got souvenirs from all over Skyrim, crates of them." Rebec went to their room to gather up her things, then started making up a lunch basket, tucking some bottles of mead and her cigarette pack into the corners. Baldur walked outside after placing his armor down by the door, making sure to keep his axes with him just in case. While outside, he had a random soldier go and prepare a horse for the two to take later on in the day with the camping gear on its side. Baldur had to convince the man he was who he said he was by reciting the Stormcloak oath due to his clothes. The soldier was still skeptical, so Baldur had to yell at him to get him moving. The authority in his voice was enough to do so. Afterwards, Baldur walked back inside and got his book to take with him, which was all he needed. Then he sat down in a chair and waited for Rebec as he read over a few pages to see which one he wanted to resite to her today. "Alright, master bard, we're off." Rebec handed off the lunch basket to Baldur, which was heavy with all the mead required for a Nord's day off. "Lead on, since you're being all mysterious." "Alright, lets go. I've wanted to take you to this spot for a long time." Now that Baldur wasn't lugging around his armor, Baldur finally started enjoying the feeling of being in some clothes for once, and this time they were actually fitted for him, unlike at Vigge's. To him, he still didn't compare to Rebec, but that was as it should be. He was just glad to at least look the part now along with her. Nothing made him prouder than to see the citizen's looks as they walked by as his arm was locked with hers. He hoped that some of them had read the book recently so that they could see the woman it described, but he didn't get his hopes up for that. Baldur was leading her to the city gate, and when they approached, Baldur took out a bottle of mead and put it in a guard's hand. "Here, give this to a boy named Daric in the infirmary." "Hey, what do I look like, a messen-....General? Admiral?" Baldur didn't take time to explain and was halfway out the gate when the guard said this. Once they were out, Baldur lead Rebec past the archway that lead out of the city under a watchtower and battlement overpass, and stood just outside of it nearby a khajiit caravan encampment. Baldur turned to the left and pointed to some step-like stonework with flowers planted in the middle of them. "Ok, almost there. Follow me." Baldur left the street and climbed up over the stonework and made his way up some rocks behind it. Her nervousness already gone, Rebec started to enjoy the looks she got in the dress, and even the gaping of the guards who recognized them. The women were eyeing Baldur, too, but that just made her proud. "Give me a hand here," she said as they started climbing up the stonework. Her sandals were comfortable but not as steady as her boots. On the way up, she said, "That Khajiit tent reminded me, I wanted to show the cats that liquor we got from Ness and see what they can make of it. Nobody knows moon sugar and skooma like the cats." "Sure, we can do that. See if the stuff is addictive. If it's not..." "Giantess boobs. Alright, fine." she said. Baldur grinned at first, but it receded when he remembered Rebec's little skooma den incident. "Actually, nevermind. I'd rather we be rid of the stuff for good. Anyway, lets continue." As Baldur walked further, it didn't take long to see what it was he had in mind. When they took a few more steps up the rocks, it revealed a large vista of all of southern Skyrim along with the docks and all the ships coming in and out of it. Baldur kept climbing higher and higher until he finally found a nice flat spot that they could sit at next to a tree and a flat dirt patch beside the cliff. He placed the basket down along with his book inside and waited for Rebec to come next to him to see the view. You could see all of the marshland and snowy areas south of where they were as well, along with the strange land formation that the Blue Palace sat on. Baldur took a deep breath as he took in the view. It was hot out today, but the cool air from the sea made it a non issue. Rebec stepped into Baldur's arm and gazed out at the vista. "Shor's bones. I've never been up here. Makes you see why they call us the sky's rim." "That it does. I've been wanting to bring you here since after you were first released. To see if you wanted to try something together. Back then it was a fleeting thought. I hadn't really understood what I felt back then, so I brushed the idea away. Then in Falkreath before the capture, I wanted to take you here to ask you to marry me, but that didn't work out either. So now I finally got you up here. Come, lets sit. You can watch your ship's progress from here too." Rebec spread out a blanket and sat down on it, shifting around a bit to find a comfortable way to sit without wrinkling her dress. "It was about the same with me back then, I guess. Maybe I was thinking about you, too, only I half didn't know it, and I didn't want to. Not without knowing what happened to Toki, and thinking about how badly I messed up everything with him." Baldur dug in the basket and grabbed two meads, passing one to Rebec, and then he placed an apple in his mouth while he opened up his. After he did, he took a bite and thought back to those days, only some months ago. "Yea, we've come a long way from then. Now here we are, back in Solitude. In completely different circumstances. One thing hadn't changed though, which is Boldir not being here. Seems like REBBABO's always split up. At least physically." "Seems strange," Rebec agreed. "Of course, I'm used to long absences. Comes with being a sailor. Maybe you'll get a letter from him soon." "Yea, maybe. I still haven't explained that whole thing to him, the REBBABO I mean. Heh, I'll be surprised if he asks. You never asked either actually." "You said it was some elven nonsense. Better not to ask about such things." She grinned, sipped some mead, then put the bottle aside and laid her head on his shoulder. "Go on, explain it to me. You want to, I can hear it in your voice." "Huh, oh me? Oh I don't know what you're talking about, but if you insist..." Baldur was clearly lying and didn't try to hide it. "As for the nonsense part, you shouldn't be so quick to dismiss it. The way I see it, as long as people don't try to push their beliefs on me forcibly, then I have no problem learning about it. It's different with the Imperials and their Imperialism, but I digress. Anyway, it's simple. In Morrowind, the Dunmer used to follow these three individuals who were powerful living gods. I'm not sure how they got that way, but they used their divinity to help the dunmer, once Chimer people. They were the Tribunal. ALMSIVI. ALM, was Almalexia, SI was Sotha Sil and VI was Vivec. They embodied certain traits of three Daedra Lords that the Dunmer people worship, and were said to be anticipated as the Dunmer's guardians. There's Boethia, Azura and Mephala. I think Almalexia was anticipated by Azura. I forget the other two but I think Boethia anticipated Vivec. Which makes sense since he's...uh...special. Boethia as I understand it switches between male and female often. Fitting. Or was he anticipated by Mephala? Oh yea, he was anticipated by Mephala. Huh, too bad. The gender switching thing would have made sense that way. Almalexia was anticipated by Boethia, which leaves Azura for Sotha Sil. Eh, anyway, as I see it, you me and Boldir may not be living gods, but you follow Kyne mainly, I follow Shor, Boldir doesn't follow Tsun, but the way I see it, he's my right hand man, so if I were Shor, he'd be my Tsun. So we're like the Nordic Tribunal." Rebec lifted her head to shoot him a skeptical look at talk of switching between male and female, but put it back down and finished listening.

Eduard Laenius, Kaye, Kalendal- The Feed Bag, Early Evening It's time. Everything's in place. Sar has effectively duped Kalendal into either believing he can beat Kaye, or that he is a wimp if he doesn't challenge him anyways. Or maybe not. But the vine says that Kalendal will be here soon to challenge Kaye, and then the rest will be history. I have the poison and the note. Kaye should arrive within minutes, Kalendal not far behind. I just need to be perfect. That's all. He had ordered a small meal, as he waited for the Grand Champion to arrive first. Eduard was positioned somewhat close to the door, in order to be able to execute his plan. It was all a matter of time now. He sat in relative silence, snacking on the rather underwhelming dish in front of him. As usual, The Feed Bag was jam-packed. Now, as Kaye entered the room, he could see many people looking up excitedly. Many were longtime fans and friends who he knew personally by now, and had made their own habits of coming here in similar patterns to his own. He smiled and nodded before beginning to make his way to one of the few tables left in the building, it was his usual spot, and was purposely left open for him out of respect, which he graciously accepted. His friend Lioda, followed him in and whistled. "Think we can find a seat?" she said, chuckling. She knew all too well that their usual spot was open. The pair slowly made their way towards the table, with Kaye shaking hands and making jokes with the people as they went. After they'd taken their seats, they began to go into their usual discussions. It was almost a ritual by now, starting with Lioda inquiring about recent events in the arena, then moving on to city news, which then tended to lead to some sort of argument. "So I take it you saw the Champion's last fight?" "I did." "And?" "It was impressive. Like I've always said, he is very deserving of his title." "Impressive? It was amazing! The way he killed Brimwuld? You're still not worried?" "I'm not Brimwuld. He didn't stand a chance against Kalendal." "Most of the gamblers would beg to differ. He was a fan favorite, and many were hoping he'd go on to kill you as well." Kaye chuckled. "He wouldn't have lasted long enough as Champion to challenge me. Teris would've challenged him and torn him apart within a couple minutes. He's the better swordsman, and is a decent mage to boot. Not that it matters, Kalendal is better than either. And I'm better than him. I think that things will stay as they are for a long time unless he challenges me, then Teris will get his shot at Champion after all." Their food arrived just as he finished speaking. It was the usual for both. Venison, with some fruit and bread, and a mug of ale to wash it down. Kaye smiled at the waitress and thanked her before turning back to Lioda, ready to change the subject. "So I'm guessing that you know about that General taking a shit ton of men out of the city? Took 'em right across the bridge and went north. Came back with even more than he left with." Eduard watched as his victim sat down and received his food. As expected he had ordered enough food for the plan to work. Kalendal was reported to be less than two minutes behind Kaye, so it was nearly time for him to execute the plan. Kalendal hadn't gotten much sleep that night, as he was thinking about his challenging Kaye. Kalendal had almost quit from the Arena altogether, but he was recently convinced to stay. Sar told him that he could finally repair the bad image of his people in the city if he won, which Kalendal was a tad skeptical of at first, but it made sense. People looked up and respected the Grand Champion. And with Kalendal's new leaf, people would pay attention and see through him the face of the Altmer people of Cyrodiil. This was his chance. Either he fought and won, winning respect for his people, or he died and paid for his past mistakes in another way. Whatever happened, Kalendal would soon have a resolution. It didn't take long for Kalendal to spot Kaye in the small place. Kalendal remembered thinking about how he'd do this. With anger and bravado. But none of that would happen today. Instead, Kalendal stepped forward to Kaye and waited for him to stop his conversation respectably. As Kalendal had entered, Eduard had already began moving to seal his fate. He had quickly maneuvered himself into a position in which as soon as the men began to talk, he could slip the poison into Kaye's drink, and the bottle and note onto Kalendal. He patiently waited for the conversation to begin. "-flailing it around!" Kaye made a purposely clumsy sword swinging motion with his hands. "That's right about the time when the guards had to put that crazy bastard down. Poor girl. I heard she was part of the palace staff. She must've been terrifi-" Kaye halted his story when he noticed that Lioda was nervously nudging her head to the side. He followed it and saw Kalendal the Spiteful himself standing before them. The Altmer's face gave nothing away, as it lacked the usual frown that it practically always wore. It made him look different enough that Kaye, just for the briefest moment wondered if it was not a lookalike trying to pull a prank on him, but no, it was definitely the Champion. Kaye immediately collected himself. He wasn't entirely sure what was going on, but h had a good idea. This would be the day that he finally challenged him. "Hello Kalendal." he gestured at the empty chair to the side, between him and a nervous looking Lioda. "Feel free to take a seat." As the conversation began, Eduard was quick to make his move while the crowd assembled. He weaved by a couple of people watching closely, and used a device Jon had built to discreetly insert poison into Kaye's ale. The device was mainly leather, and was small enough as to be discreet. It had a hollow metal tip coming from a cylinder shaped handle, where the poison was stored. When he pushed on the side of base, the poison would ooze out of the hollow tip. He figured it'd be a while before Kaye took another sip, so it was a good enough time. At the same time, as he appeared to be trying to get into good position to see what was going on, he planted the poison and the note onto Kalendal before he could sit down. Now he melted back into the crowd and waited. Kalendal was still a bit unsure of himself. Not of the fight, but if killing a man, or attempting anyway was really the right way to go about his new way of life. Whatever the case may have been, it was too late to back down now. Except it wasn't, Kalendal "realized", since it truly was too late, due to the poison, but he of course didn't know about that. If not for that poison, Kalendal very well could have swallowed his pride and gone back home. Even now. I'm still riddled with pride. Kalendal pushed the thought out of his mind and took his seat next to Kaye. The Redguard Grand Champion regarded Kalendal thoughtfully. He had eaten with a few Champions before, usually multiple times up until they finally challenged him, but this was different. They hadn't made it clear that they hated him. He shrugged and hollered to a passing waiter. "Hey Geildun! Would you get this man a drink and some grub?" He turned back to Kalendal. "So what's going on, Kirkham?" "I'm sure you know, Kaye. By now. But first, I aught to apologize to you. For..."hating" you. For no good reason. I don't know if my being held back had anything to do with my race, or if it really was because the Blademaster thought I wasn't ready, but whatever the reason, it had nothing to do with you. It was silly of me to try and put that on a fellow contender. But anyway, yes I've come to challenge you, not as someone who hates you, but as a fellow contender and someone who respects you and your skill. For better or worse, I'd be honored if you accept my challenge." Kaye looked into his eyes, this man was being completely sincere. He felt a small tightness in his gut, a ping of sadness he supposed. As was to be expected, as this changed Kalendal could've made a good friend given the time. But he clearly was ready to see this fight through, whether he was ready or not. When the waiter brought Kalendal his drink, Kaye looked over at Lioda. Her face was grim, as it had been the last time he'd been challenged by a Champion in front of her. It had been an Orc named Grozgul, another skilled battle mage and a good friend. He nodded a few times slowly. He has changed. "From one man of honor to another, I accept." Kaye turned and grabbed his mug, raising it high into the air. "Here's to the fight then. May we give the arena the greatest spectacle it has ever witnessed!" Kalendal let a smile slink over his face, although he had a very bitter feeling in his stomach. All this time he could have just been friends with Kaye and he had squandered it. Now he'd either kill him or he'd be killed by him. "Aye, for the Arena!" The two Champions of the arena raised their mugs to their lips and drank. There was a silence in the room as they did, as many others had turned to witness the spectacle, and even raised their own mugs as well. The infamous hatred of Kalendal the Spiteful was finally quelled, and now he was sharing a drink with the beloved Grand Champion. Whatever was to happen at the fight wasn't important. This little moment was going to be remembered right along with the fight itself. It was a joyous occasion to be sure. Once he'd downed his ale, Kaye wiped his mouth and grinned. "So Kalendal, I suppose I ought to know when we're gonna be making history eh? Anything but this Loredas, I'm busy that day." Eduard listened in, and looked at the rather happy expressions on many of the people watching the two share a drink. Their happiness would be short lived however, as their was going to be a rather unfortunate turn of events. Figures. He just started figuring things out for himself. Now he's going to go prison. Collateral damage I guess. Kalendal started stroking his long wispy white beard, his common trait when contemplating. He had planned on making the match the very next day before, but now it was enough for him that it would happen. And he wanted to enjoy the sights and live his life before he possibly left the world. And in case Kaye died, he'd like to give him that chance as well. "How about...next Lordas? I'm in no rush to start." Kaye nodded. "That will work. In the meantime... In the meantime we... We can" Kaye inhaled deeply. His throat suddenly was feeling incredibly raspy, and it was growing difficult to breath. "What in the?... I... It's kind of hard to..." Unexpectedly, to all but Eduard, Kaye suddenly slammed his fists down on the table before he began convulsing and coughing up a storm. "Can't...ouhhgh Breath!" His voice sounded guttural and low, like he had to force the words will all his strength. Lioda was the first to respond. "Healer! Someone! Get over here and heal him!" She pushed the table aside and brought her own hand to his neck, casting the only weak healing spell she knew. The circle of golden light surrounded Kaye's neck, but it didn't seem to help. He was still convulsing, only now he couldn't even get a cough out. She put her free hand on his shoulder, trying to steady him. "Come on buddy, come on! Damnit! Someone get over here!" She desperately pleaded. "Bring some water... Or help! Or something! Anything!" Kalendal's face was captivated by confusion, but he didn't let it last too long. Outstretching his hands, Kalendal used a stronger healing spell for Kaye, the one he used on himself in matches. To his dismay however, it wasn't working. "Kaye, what the hell is going on? Is he allergic to something miss?" "No! And definitely not on here! We come here all the time!" Lioda frantically grabbed Kalebdal's hand and pushed it closer to Kaye's neck, as if that would help. "Come on, Kaye!" "This can't be happening...This is some kind of joke, right? Blademaster playing some stupid joke on me?" The moment was too incredibly unlucky for Kalendal to take it as anything but. The minute Kalendal starts turning over a new leaf and challenges Kaye, even starts to like him and he dies? No, this was a joke. Kalendal even started to believe it, and almost chuckled until he saw the signs of authentic death on the redguard. "This can't be. This isn't how I wanted..." "Kaye!!!" Lioda began hopelessly pounding on his chest, with no idea what she was doing. It was, of course, useless, and as she did, the convulsing began to slow. "No... No no no no no!" The Grand Champion's eyes rolled back in his head, and all struggling ceased. His Nord friend buried her teary eyes onto his shoulder. "What the **** Kaye? What the ****?! How could this have happened?" She just stood there, mindlessly sobbing, wishing that they'd never come to this damned country. Kalendal just stared dumbly at Kaye's body, still in disbelief that this was happening. Kalendal didn't say a word, he just stood there in shock, wondering why the gods had chosen to do this to him. Perhaps he couldn't have beaten him, and the gods wished for him to be Grand Champion? But why? Becoming him this way wouldn't help his people. Eduard watched intently as the poison took effect, with lethal results. Looking through the shocked crowd, he spotted a man doing what he had hoped. He ran out the door, screaming for the guards. They would be here any moment. And as if they were just waiting outside, a pair of guards arrived almost instantaneously. The stunned crowd barely moved for the two, who had to push their way to the scene of Kaye's death. As they got there, one approached the body. "What happened here?" Kalendal opened his mouth, but the words wouldn't come out at first. "H-he was...choking or...something...and he...died, but how...how? I-I don't." Kalendal had killed many many people in his lifetime, but this death out of all the mutilations, mauls, decapitations, disintegrations, incinerations, and impalings...this death was the most unsettling. How someone so mighty in life could die with a wimper like a weed or a sick babe was beyond his understanding. Kalendal wasn't the only one thinking this way however. The guard had more of an idea than Kalendal about how the Grand Champion had passed. "I see. Who all was near him at the time of his death? Just you and the girl?" "Aye, just me and the girl. I came to challenge him in the Arena. We had a toast, then we drank some mead an-" "Drinks, you say? Valvius, search them." On command, the other guard first approached the woman. "Empty all of your pockets," he ordered. Kalendal immediately handed over his gold pouch and his satchel, knowing this sort of thing was procedure, and not worrying about anything. He was more interested in what the girl had in her belongings. The girl complied with the guards orders, emptying the contents of her pockets onto the table. He sifted through them, before grabbing a bottle. "Lex, could this be it?" The other guard walked over, and studied the bottle. He then shook his head, and put the bottle back on the table. "No. That's definitely not anything. Just a potion." The guard finished sifting through her belongings, and then turned his attention to the things that Kalendal had turned over. First he dumped his gold pouch on the table, unsurprisingly releasing gold. He then emptied his satchel, and began looking through it. He picked up a small bottle of a colorless liquid, with a note attached. "Hey, I believe I've got something." The two guards studied the bottle for a second, before turning towards Kalendal. "Sir, you're going to have to come with us." "Wait, why? For what? A potion in my pack?" Asked Kalendal, who was starting to grow worried. Oh no...these bastards are gonna pin this on me somehow. Me being an Altmer sure doesn't help... The guard wasn't enjoying what he believed to be acting. "Save your showmanship for the Arena. You're going to prison. And then once we have an alchemist show this is poison, you'll be locked up for the rest of your days. Now, let's go. We don't want a struggle here." "Poison?" Lioda looked up at the elf with red eyes. "You poisoned him?! You coward! You damned coward!" She prepared to throw a punch at him but her arm was grabbed by one of the guards. "Let us take care of this miss." "Poison? What kind of bullshit is this? How could I have poisoned him, I was sitting right in front of this woman here when he received his drink! I just issued a challenge to him to fight in the Arena!" "We will be asking the questions around here. Now, I implore you. Come with us. We don't want to cause a bigger scene here." "This is bullshit, why aren't you arresting her too? How do you kno-" Kalendal thought back to how the girl seemed so desperate to save him, and stopped mid sentence. "No, no it wasn't her." Kalendal started to tear up. Despite his change of heart, it seems the gods found it better to punish him, perhaps for his past transgressions. That was fine, Kalendal could deal with that. But what he couldn't deal with was that this was going to create even more animosity against his people, and they'd blame him for it despite his innocence. No one would believe it. And his change of heart would just be seen as a way to get close to Kaye. But there was nothing he could do. Except not make his people look any worse and go away with dignity. "Look, this smells like a setup. Maybe Thalmor, but I'll go willingly anyway. You'll need shackles. I'm a mage." The guards appeared relieved. Neither of them was looking forward to facing such a deadly man. They weren't sure how many guards it would take to put him down, but they would be the first two to die. "And shackles we have," said the guard, as by now four more guards had entered the establishment, with the suspect being so dangerous. "Alright men, let's get him out of here. Lex and I will stay behind with the body, and finish cleaning this mess up. Watch yourselves, he is as deadly as they come." "I won't do a damned thing. I'm an Arena combatant, and until the next Great War, that is where I'll keep my fighting. After all, I'm innocent." Said Kalendal, but he knew it was pointless. As Kalendal expected, the guards didn't listen to his rather truthful words. They just approached him with the shackles, intent on taking him away. During the entire scene, Eduard had remained silent. Although he did go along with some of the occasional gasps. It was a boring affair, but one he needed to see through. He was rather disappointed at the way it turned out. Not in the execution, which went as planned. The way it all went down just put a slight damper on his otherwise flawless job. It was taking a bit longer than he expected, and he figured his food was probably getting cold. Not that it was any good in the first place. But still, it was another expense, one that he was rather disappointed about. He watched as the scene began to wrap itself up. Kalendal wanted to close his eyes and avoid the looks he was getting from the people in the crowd, but he made himself stare into their eyes, to show there was nothing to hide. As the guards started pushing him along to the door, Kalendal stopped and turned around one more time to address the crowd. "Know this as I am falsely accused and likely to be charged with this crime. Whatever you think of me shouldn't reflect what you think of my people. We are not like the Thalmor, and we despise them as much as you do. I'll serve my time, but not for this crime. But for others in my past. So in that sense, I suppose this arrest isn't completely unjust after all. Good day to you, citizens of the Empire." The guards were in no mood for speeches, but let him do so since he cooperated. They wasted no further time pushing him out when he was done however. Eduard was relieved the entire scene was over. The girl was left sobbing near the table they sat at, while the guards began to clean up Eduard's mess. He stood with the crowd a while, before going back to his table and finishing his meal. It was unsatisfying, just like the rest of his day had turned out to be. It was a job well done, but Eduard didn't feel satisfied. That's where his paycheck would come in. After he finished his lackluster food, he left the eatery and decided to take a walk through the city.

Boldir Iron-Brow Whiterun, Hall of the Dead Late morning Boldir paced back and forth, tightly gripping the axe at his side and occasionally looking over his shoulder into the long and dimly lit halls. There, the corpses of Nord dead, from the slowly rotting bodies of those who'd died in the past year, all the way to the bones of some of Whiterun's more ancient inhabitants, lined the walls. The musty combined stenches of the underground and decaying bodies filled the nostrils, and could bring a tear to the eye of someone unaccustomed to foul smells. Boldir hated coming down into these crypts, especially this particular one. Bad memories aside, he'd heard his share of rumors that the dead had actually walked in here before, that the place was cursed. The thought unnerved him, and he couldn't stand having his back to one skeleton-filled wall for long. Despite how everyone around him didn't seem to mind, Boldir knew that this was not a place for the living, and he didn't want to spend any more time down here than needed. Next to him, three men stood gathered around a long wooden table, upon which laid the corpse of an unidentified Dunmer. The same one whose skull Boldir had buried his axe into the night before. Standing tallest of the three was Boldir's second in command, Burik, and next to him, arms crossed, was Jarl Vignar. Across the table from them was a young red-haired guard named Jeral. Jeral was the only guard on the force Burik had been able to find who claimed that he may have seen the would-be killer before. Also, Andurs, Whiterun's old priest of Arkay, sat on a bench a ways off, down the way they'd come. He'd insisted that he remain down here with them. "Well you've either seen him or you haven't boy, which is it?" Vignar looked pissed. He'd expected the execution to cause a stir, but he hadn't thought that the Battle-Borns would be fool enough to outright harm Boldir's family. He'd figured that his position, and more importantly, his ties to General Red-Snow would be more than enough to dissuade this course of action. The young guard looked nervous, like if he messed up here, he'd be killed himself. Being in the Hall of the Dead probably didn't do much to cheer him up. "Sir, I really can't tell! I mean, he kind of looks like the one I saw, but It's hard to tell. The Dark Elves all look the same to me." Burik snorted, causing the Jarl to glare at him. "Hehehe... Sorry, sorry." He straightened up and glared at Jeral. "I see where you're coming from, Jeral. We don't see all that many Dunmer here, given their low population in the city." He looked at the others in the group. "All this man knows when he sees a Dunmer are red eyes and gray skin. He wouldn't have given the thought at the time to remember anything else." The young guard quickly nodded in agreement, glad that someone understood. "So," Boldir said, everyone's eyes began following him back and forth as he paced off to the side, "You saw this elf that may have been him in Belethor's shop? Do you remember what he purchased?" "No sir. Belethor might though." "I can go check." He said, more out of desire to get out of the tomb than because he thought it was important. "He would be open by now." "No need Boldir." said Vignar. "You are more needed h-... Damnit man, will you quit that pacing?!" Boldir reluctantly quit pacing and made his way to the table with the body. He crossed then immediately uncrossed his arms, opting to bring one hand back to his hilt, and rested the other on the table. He just managed to stop himself from casting another glance back down the dark, dead-filled hall behind him. The dead aren't coming back! I need to stop being so fidgety before the others notice. "As I was saying, You're more needed here than there Boldir. It doesn't matter what the elf bought from Belethor's. I doubt we can link it back to anyone." "Then I don't see what we're doing down here. I know exactly how to deal with this situation." Boldir said it a little more angrily than one probably should when addressing a Jarl. He glared at the men in front of him, not in the mood to hide his feelings on the subject. "Really?" Asked Vignar with a tone that suggested a rising anger of his own. "And how is that Commander?" "You know damn well how." Boldir looked at Jeral, who stared down at the Dark Elf's corpse. He was trying to make it obvious that he wanted to stay out of the argument that he had no place in. Vignar also looked at the guard, then nodded. "You can go, Jeral. Return to your duties." "I'm on the night watch... sir." "Then return to your sleep!" Burik said loudly as he turned and hurried out. "Gods above, it shouldn't be that difficult." Vignar waited for the sound of a door closing above before he looked back to Boldir. "You know we can't arrest Olfrid without proof, and believe me, I'd be the first person to agree if we could." "Who else would give a damn about Idolaf? Who else has the money to hire someone so expensive? We all know that it was Olfrid." Vignar nodded. He was no fool. "Of course we know. But there's not a thing we can do about it without proof. What does it say about us if we arrest people on assumption?" "It shows that we aren't idiots who let criminals walk away! You know, when Olfrid learns of this man's death, he won't be worried in the slightest. He knows we won't act!" "What would you have me do? Bust in and arrest him? Hold him prisoner while his family tells everyone that we lack proof? It's no secret that my family and the Battle-Borns hate each other, and we're already executing his son. How do you think that this will make us look? The people will see it all as a grudge move. I can't afford to let everyone think that I am abusing my power like that." "And I suppose I'm supposed to wait until someone attacks my wife again? Or Mila?!" Boldir was truly angry now, but mostly because he knew that the Jarl was right. There was nothing effective that they could do within the confines of the law. He'd given Thulik the same lecture when he'd tried to stab Idolaf. It was an awful feeling, that the only real choice they had was not safe for his own family. "They will have nothing to gain from further attacks after Idolaf is dead..." Vignar paused, then looked at Boldir sadly. There was no point in lying to Boldir and pretending like that was enough. "But we both know how deep a grudge can go with these people... We will step up on the guard patrols in the Wind District, especially near your home. I'm sorry Boldir, but that is the best I can do." Boldir had a string of curses prepared on his tongue that would've made Rebec proud, but he held them in. Vignar wanted to help, and he was doing all that he could. "I know it is. Forgive me. For now, I'll just be happy to hurry and kill Idolaf, then get out of here for a spell, enjoy our time in Riften and... and just put all this business away for a while. Just a while." Burik looked at his Commander thoughtfully. He and Boldir were friends in the sense that he occasionally got to see Boldir's lighter, less serious and strict side, something that most guards never got the chance to witness. Now the big Nord looked exhausted, like he had suddenly grown old and weary, and wanted nothing more than a break. It was strange, but Burik knew better than to take it for weakness. He wasn't married, but he imagined that he'd feel the same way if someone he loved, perhaps his mother, was in danger and all he could do was wait. "I'll be sure to keep the Battle-Borns in line until you get back, and have someone keep an eye on Olfrid especially. Anything looks shady, and we'll look into it. Can't have him sending anyone your way while you're on vacation." "Thank you." said Boldir, relieved that he at least wouldn't have to worry about that on top of the dangers in Riften. He looked at Vignar. "This man deserves a raise." Now that he wasn't feeling quite as angry, Boldir accidentally allowed himself to remember where he was, and without thinking, briefly glanced over his shoulder. "Why are you being so damn shaky Boldir?" laughed Vignar. "You aren't scared of the dead are you?" "Of course not. I'd be in the wrong line of work if I was." Vignar chuckled and reached over the corpse to slap Boldir on the shoulder. "Indeed, my friend. Indeed." He turned around and looked to Andurs. The old and gray priest looked right at home down here with his large unkempt beard and the dark ovals around his eyes. If the men didn't know any better, they could've mistaken Andurs for one of the dead himself. "I suppose we'll be going now." "Thank you for letting us use the halls to deal with this business." said Burik respectfully. "Of course." The priest's voice didn't at all match his appearance. He had a strong voice. One that would fit a man half his age better than it did him. "I'd imagine it's easier than carrying the damn body all the way up to Dragonsreach." "I'll send a few people to take it off your hands first thing." said Boldir as the three men began to head out. "I'd rather take care of this myself. Scum in life or not, it does not matter. Arkay holds no grudge over who the man was as he carries the soul through its cycle of death. It is the same for me. I will bury him, and give him the basic rights that all men, mer, and beastfolk deserve." Boldir stopped just in front of the priest, eyeing the old man. He spoke quietly, so that Vignar and Burik wouldn't hear him as they left the hall. "That elf there, he tried to kill my wife. He drew blood from her. Would've burned her alive if I hadn't shown up. You think I should give him the honor of a Nord burial?" "With all due respect Commander, it is not your place to decide. I am a priest of Arkay, and it is my duty to carry out the will of the god of life and death whenever I can. The departed soul is not truly the same as the being that it was in life." "And I care about as much for this man or his soul as I do for the unburied dead Imperials at Romulus." The priest looked taken aback. The Battle of Romulus was common knowledge, but the fact that none of the dead were buried was not. Still, that would not stop Andurs from defending this elf. "You would deny this man his divine-given rights out of spite?" "I've got more reasons for this than spite, priest, but if we're being honest here, that would've been enough for me." Now, Andurs's old face took on a look of understanding. "You do not believe in Arkay, do you? That explains a lot." "I'm not particularly devout." Boldir left it at that, as he had never given much thought to this particular god. Whether he was real or not didn't much matter to him. "You, of all people, should be." The priest said in a sly voice. "After all, he protects you from those undead you fear so." Boldir looked taken aback. How does he know that? Was he paying that much attention to me? He quickly collected himself and took on a look of defiance. "I don't fear the undead." he growled. "And if I remember right, it was my axe that protected me from them down in Korvanjund, not your dead god." Not in the mood to continue this conversation further, and suddenly more anxious than ever to get out of this place, Boldir turned and walked past the priest, making for the exit. Just as he reached the stairs leading out, he turned and spoke back into the dim halls. "My men will be here to collect the body in a few minutes." With that, he left the crypt behind and made his way back into the rain outside, thankful to finally be out of that dreadful place. After he'd left the hall, Boldir went and collected a group of guards and sent them to collect the Dark Elf's body, as he said he would. He gave them clear instructions on what to do with it after retrieval. The guards looked skeptical at first, as they had no idea why Boldir would have them remove a body from the hall just to dump it in the Tundra, but they did not question their Commander's orders. Once he was done with them, he made his way up to the Skyforge, to speak with Eorlund. As usual, the blacksmith was working at the forge. He was hammering away at some steel. It wasn't of shape yet, but from the looks of it, the intended piece was to be a hammer head. Boldir waited patiently for his friend to find a good stopping point, as he knew that interrupting Eorlund was a bad idea. After a few minutes, the blacksmith looked over the heated metal, then set it aside into the cooling oil, causing steam to shoot forth, then turned to look at Boldir. "You're here about the axe, I'm guessing?" Boldir nodded. He'd told Vignar that he'd prefer a battle axe for the execution. The Jarl had said that he could borrow one from his brother. "It'll definitely make this cleaner." "Well here you go." Vignar grabbed a huge Skyforge Steel axe from a weapon rack he had set up by the forge. "Fitting that Battle-Born falls to Gray-Mane Steel." Boldir took the weapon. It was heavy, with a lot of weight directed towards the blades. This weapon wasn't designed for fighting. It was made solely for the purpose of execution. He wondered if Eorlund had made it especially for this occasion, or if they'd owned it for longer. The lack of any notable wear suggested the former, though with the rarity of executions in Whiterun, the latter still made sense. "Thank you. I'll get it back to you after the execution." Eorlund Gray-Mane didn't answer. He just nodded and turned back to his forge to retrieved the hammerhead, which he began to heat again. Alright. Thought Boldir. Now I suppose it's time to start getting ready. He breathed deeply, wishing, not for the first time, that he'd just allowed Thulik to stab Idolaf when he'd tried, and let him face the heat for it. Would've saved a lot of headaches. He pushed the thoughts from his mind. The past is the past, and there's no changing it. I need to focus on real matters now. He headed down the steps and made for Dragonsreach. *** Afternoon Whiterun, Wind District center Thulik stood amongst the crowd as it quickly assembled in around the center of town, the flat ground of the city circle held onto a lot of the rainwater, and so many of them stood in puddles. The large statue of Talos glared down over them, and at its base, Boldir Iron-Brow stood along with Idolaf Battle-Born and Heimskr, the priest of Talos. None of these men bore any expression that Thulik could make out. Among the crowd were many notable people from the city. All of the Gray-Manes except for Thorald and Vignar were present in the crowd, though Vignar was still watching. He stood farther back, up the hill at Jorrvaskr. What surprised Thulik was the notable lack of Battle-Borns present. Jon, Idolaf's brother, was the only one to be seen. Surely they wouldn't all skip out on- Even as he wondered, Thulik spotted Olfrid down the road. He was standing alone, arms crossed and wearing a scowl, far apart from the rest of the crowd. He looks more angry than sorrowful. Thulik thought. He hasn't come to terms with the fact that he can't do anything to stop this. Money doesn't solve everything Battle-Born. "Idolaf Battle-Born," Boldir's deep voice easily carried over the already quiet crowd. "You have been accused and convicted of the crime of terrorism against Skyrim. Under the law of High King Ulfric Stormcloak, and the command of Whiterun's Jarl, Vignar Gray-Mane, you are sentenced to die on this day for betraying Skyrim." His voiced was as stern as Thulik had ever heard. If anything, no one could say that Boldir didn't take these kinds of matters seriously. "You are the traitors." Battle-Born growled, but he said no more. His fate was sealed, and Thulik figured that Idolaf didn't wish to go out whining to deaf ears. He was given his chance to leave for Bruma. He has no right to complain. Boldir motioned the priest of Talos forward. "Heimskr, give this man his last rights." "As we gather today to prepare this man's soul for Aetherius, may each of us remember as we do, the glory of Talos Stormcrown of ancient Atmora. For it is his power....and his glory that has granted the good people of Skyrim...OUR FREEDOM! But even though this is the case, and the Imperials have finally come to their senses, we are brought here today to punish the actions of one who was banished for betraying his people. But, even though you betrayed your brothers, and your god, Talos still loves you! For he is all knowing, and his love for man is so strong, nay, so INCOMPREHENSIBLY overwhelming, that no matter what we do, he will still cherish us all. So as this man's transgressions spit in the face of us all, may we strive to be like Ysmir, the unstoppable breath of Winter, and wish this man's soul reach Sovngarde Shor willing, even if we don't think it deserving. In the name of Talos, the TRUE god of man, and in the name of Shor, may the honor you lacked in life be displayed in death. So that your soul may join the honored dead. With the word of he who is INCONCEIVABLE AND AAALLL KNOWING! The word of HE WHO ROSE FROM THE DUNG OF IMMORTALITY, I...HEIMSKR, prophet of the almighty, bless you, my child. May Talos... guide you." The priest was breathing heavy by the time he was done. Had it been anyone else, those watching would have been stunned by the unexpected rant that borderlined preaching, but the people of Whiterun knew Heimskr. It was just his way. Sometimes he'd even divert completely unrelated conversations into a sermon. Once he'd finished, Boldir nodded solemnly then put his hand on Idolaf's back. He didn't have to force him though, as Battle-Born knelt on his own, and laid his head on the chopping block, eyes staring blankly at the wet ground. At that moment, Thulik saw Boldir mutter something incomprehensible. Whether it was just to himself, or directed at Idolaf, he couldn't tell, but it didn't matter, as shortly after, the massive battle axe went high in the air, and then came down again. For a couple seconds, blood sprayed high into the rain before it began to slow, then it simply poured like it was spilled from a jug, and the already rain-soaked ground below him quickly became red. Idolaf's now bloodsoaked head was caught in a small box below the block, which one man came to collect, while four others, all dressed in black mourner's clothes, collected the body on a wooden stretcher, presumably to be carried off to the Hall of the Dead. For the most part, the crowd was silent. All of the Gray-Manes left as a group, and many others quickly followed in suit. This wasn't Windhelm or Solitude. Executions were rare here, and many of the people of Whiterun treated those sentenced to die with more respect than in other cities. Thulik looked around the departing crowd, noticing that the only child in it was a young rough-looking girl that he'd seen many times before begging throughout the city. He wasn't sure what Boldir's daughter looked like, but at least he could assure himself that neither she, nor the Battle-Born boy had witnessed the execution. It helped ease his mind knowing that that was one thing Boldir may now have an easier time dealing with. He went over and took a seat at his favorite spot under the Gildergreen. Time that I leave this city. Get back to Greymoor. He felt a little cheered up at the thought. Whiterun was nice enough, but it wasn't for him. He had no friends here, save maybe Boldir, and that was a big maybe, as the man was clearly avoiding him. Thulik didn't even know who his wife and kid were. I may be off duty for now, but perhaps the fort is a better place to spend my time. He nodded to himself. With Idolaf dead, and Boldir leaving, there wasn't much reason to stay. The sooner the better. *** Iron-Brow Residence Just after the execution Carlotta massaged her temple with a tired hand. She'd thought a good way to spend the free afternoon trying to teach Mila how to heal, but the girl's lack of desire to learn it, coupled with her own lack of skill in the matter had made the task an impossible one. When that didn't work, the two had found themselves playing some board game Boldir had brought home and taught them how to play. She forgot the name of it, but the objective was to maneuver your various pieces to take the opponent's king piece. Carlotta wasn't all that bad at it, but she wasn't great either. Mila was better, but then, she got way more into it.. More than once, while Boldir had been out, Mila had expressed her boredom. She wanted to go out and play with her friends, whom she'd hardly seen at all since the Silent Moons incident. Carlotta knew that keeping her here away from them all the time was a harsh punishment, but after today, it wouldn't be necessary. She mainly didn't want her daughter to witness the execution. Fortunately, they'd be leaving tomorrow, and that would at least buy time for the whole business to blow over. Once Boldir had returned, he'd headed straight upstairs with few words. He'd said that he'd be leaving again soon, as he had a little bit of business left. Carlotta played the rest of the game half there, as she was interested in getting upstairs and seeing what Boldir was up to. "Come on ma," Mila said. "You're barely trying. Don't just let me win, make it a challenge so I have something to brag about!" Seven turns later, Mila was smiling in triumph, completely forgetting her previous statement. "Beat ya! Beat ya! And I'm only thirteen! I bet I could beat Boldir too!" "Yep. Try him some time, tell me how you do. And maybe I'll get you next time huh?" Carlotta smiled and patted her daughter on the shoulder, then made her way upstairs to find Boldir sitting at a desk, reading a wrinkly old piece of paper. "Whatcha reading?" She asked. "Huh?" Boldir turned in his chair, and she saw that his satchel was sitting open on the table in front of him. "Oh, nothing important, just a letter from a man I met a while back. It's not much, but you can take a look if you want." Her husband handed the paper over to her. She tried straightening it out before reading it, but to no avail. This paper had been wadded up for a good while. Dropping her attempts, she just held it under the light of a window and read it as is. Boldir, Just wanted to tell you that mercenary work is treating me well. ~Eduard She looked up, slightly disappointed with what she'd read, as she'd expected a bit more. "Good to know mercenary work is treating our good friend Eduard so well." she joked. "So who is Eduard? What is important about this letter?" "It's nothing important love. Eduard is just some asshole merc I met down in Falkreath. Killed a friend of mine. As for the letter, he wrote it to me just after he did it." "That's awful!" "I suppose. It was a Redguard named Jodun. I think I told you of him. He's the one that gave me that flute." "You did... So why are you looking at this now?" Boldir looked distracted, as if deep in thought. "Because Eduard gave me an idea." *** Alfhild Battle-Born Late the next morning Alfhild hadn't slept well that night. She'd spent the better part of it lying awake, wishing that she could cry. Her husband had been locked up, sentenced to die for days, with no one allowed to go and see him. To her and her family, he might as well have died the moment they'd locked the cell. as much as she hated it, she'd used up all of her tears during that time. Now, all she could manage was to lay in bed and feel awful. What was the point? It wouldn't bring him back. It didn't even make her feel better. She didn't care. It felt right, laying here in mourning. It felt like the only natural thing to do. Her only comfort was Jon, who had stopped by several times in the night and sat by the bed, not saying anything, just holding her hand. The gods know Olfrid won't do a damn thing. It was true, that Olfrid hadn't spent any time with the family since the execution. Instead, he'd gone straight to the Drunken Huntsman, and even now, the next day, had yet to return to the house. She herself hadn't gone, opting to stay with Lars instead. The boy knew what had happened of course, but he didn't want to watch. Secretly, she was glad. It had given her an excuse not to have to watch the scene. Idolaf was dead, and watching him die would do nothing for her but drive the point farther home than it already was. Strangely enough, her son Lars hadn't cried. Not when he'd been taken, and not now that he was dead. It was odd, as the boy had never been hard like his father was. Her thoughts were interrupted by a pounding on the door. Groaning, she stood up. Damnit! What could this possibly be The pounding continued as she slowly made her way to the door. "I'm coming damnit!" She opened the door to find one of her farm hands, a woman named Gwendolyn, standing there with her hand raised, prepared to knock again. "What is it?" She asked irritably. "It's at the farm M'lady! You have to come see!" "Just tell me! I'm not in the mood to go down there!" "Ma'am, I can't find Master Olfrid, and it's best if one of you sees for yourself." For the first time, Alfhild noticed that the woman wore a fearful expression. It's time I left the house anyway. "Fine. I'll come, but you better not bother me anymore after this." "You'll understand when we get there, I promise." Gwendolyn lead her back out of the city and to their farmstead to the east. It took them every bit of a half an hour to get there, but when they did, Alfhild understood that this was indeed a serious matter. She eyes wide, she inhaled deeply. "Who could do... Who is this?!" She took a few steps forward, to get a closer look. In front of her, just on the other side of the house from the city walls, was a dead Dunmer, stripped down to not but a loincloth. He was strung up by his arms onto two poles, but what caught the eye were his wounds. There was a very deep gash at the top of his head that went straight through the skull, and there were trails of dried blood coming down from both eyes. Buried in the elf's chest was an iron dagger, which had a note pinned onto it. The note read: Olfrid, Try something like that again, and this will be you. ~B

Gracchus, Theodore, Dales, Jon The Imperial Palace Morning Gracchus and Theo were dressed in simple garb, something suitable for the long journey they were about to set off on. The Imperial general wore a blue collared shirt and brown pants, while the Breton lord wore a brown button up shirt with A white vest and black pants. Theodore's massive greatsword was strapped to his back, and Gracchus had his brand new cavalry sword in his belt scabbard. The guards eyes them wearily as they walked the grand halls of the palace, but none made a move to stop them. Gracchus was somewhat downcast, his face solemn. It was to be expected, of course, as leaving ones spouse would put most in a sour mood. Theodore was in a much better mood, ready to see his wife, son, and homeland again. Eventually they found the meeting room, and Gracchus knocked loudly on the door, his mood reflected in the rough, uncharacteristic way he did it. "Have you talked to any of your contacts in the East Empire Company yet? Their support is vital, and cannot be overstated. We need them in case the Council decides to take you out of the picture." Jon looked at the Empress with a serious expression. She had been a lot more cooperative than he had been willing to believe, making this a lot easier from the start. More than just a sliver of a chance of success then. Still, she had to be watched. If she turned on them, they had to be ready for it. "Yes I have, Miss Rommulas was all for the idea. She say's she would stay in touch while she arranged everything." Dales said, she was turning her head around nerviously, "Hmm, that seemed... easily achieved," Jon raised an eyebrow. All of this seemed a little too easy so far. Either he was in luck and there was more hatred for the Council than he had hoped, or something was not quite right here. But for now he was willing to trust the Empress, she was not in a position to turn down his soldiers. Notcing his expression change, Empress Dales eyebrows also raised, "Dont get any doubts, if this plan of yours it to succeed, we have to trust one another." Looking towards the door, he nodded, but appeared to be distant. He was sure he had heard someone outside of the door. "I thought I heard knocking..." Dales opened the door, slowly and peeked to see who it was. It was General Ceno and General Theodore. "Oh, Gentleman, it's you. Please come in." The two generals walked in, and both bowed to the Empress. Gracchus turned to see who her company was, and his solemn mood was soon replaced by one of shock and happiness. "Jon? Jon Hard-Heart? It's been years since I've seen you. Good to see you found you're way back. My colleague-" Theodore cut in, preferring to introduce himself. "Pleasure to meet you general. I am Lord Theodore Adrard, of High Rock." He of course had heard the whole conversation, listening intently as they talked in the room, but no one need know that. "Gracchus," Jon smiled at him, but offered his hand to the lord from High Rock instead. "The pleasure is mine, Lord Adard, though I am not a general anymore. I deserted the Legion when the late Motierre took the throne." "Not yet anyway." Dales said, with a coy smile, she turned her head towards Gracchus, "Now, was there anything you need gentleman?" Theo shook the man's hand, and said, "I would apologize, but it seems our majesty has something planned in that regard." Gracchus returned the former general's smile, before answering the young empress. "We came to see if you had any last minute request or orders regarding the trip to Hanmerfell. You may not be aware but Lord Adrard here will be accompanying me, safety in numbers and all that." "Yes, well," Jon let go of Theo's hand and looked at him, but kept the smile. How much had they heard? What of importance had they heard? Had they heard anything at all? "It is either me or the son of a councilman. I'm sure you can see how my resume would land me the job instead of some young pup." Theo nodded, and decided to play along. It wouldn't hurt to see if Jon would trust him with the information he had just heard anyway. "Son of a councilman? Pricks think they can shove their children into any position, and because they sit on the Elder Council they must be wise and their suggestions heeded." "Is this the famous Breton political sense? Leading me along to reveal something shady? I am sorely disappointed." "Now, now. We shouldn't make fun of the elder council behind it's back, save if for when you see them." She said, grinning, "I do, remember the little "proposal" you made me, dear Theodore, the one in which I turned down due to consideration to the fancy little council.. I wish to reconsider." Theodore burst out in a hearty laugh. "Hahahar, it seems we are both playing the same game, sir. Trying to see what the other knows without revealing what we know. And Nords are supposed to be barbarians!" Turning sharply to the Empress, Theodore raised his eyebrows. "Do you now?" "Yes, we are supposed to be. In the provincial bias of people who have never been in Skyrim," Jon chuckled, ignoring the princess before he turned to Gracchus. "I heard you've been in Skyrim lately." Gracchus mostly ignored the political chit chat, hearing but not listening. He was a general, first and foremost, and cared little for the political side of things. "It was pleasant, when everyone wasn't trying to kill me. Which wasn't often when I was there. I was thankful for the way in which it turned out though." "I do." She said, she leaned in and whispered into the generals ear, "As long as you know, I rule the empire, he'll be little more then a puppet. He listen to whatever I tell him. Doesn't do anything unless I say he's aloud too." While the two talked, Theodore listened intently to what the Empress had to say. "I assure you, your highness, that he will listen to your every word. I would like for him to learn the ways of battle though, and having him serve in that capacity might win over some of the Cyrodillic wanting crowd," he replied in just as low a voice. "Rushed into command too, from what I heard. Must have been a difficult transition, suddenly having a lot more to keep tabs on." "It was a struggle the first few days, but I managed well enough. Overall, it was something that I'm glad happened, otherwise my life would have been completely different. The gods awarded me a chance, and I took it," Gracchus replied. "I dont mind. I'll let him win glory or whatever he wants, as long as he know's who's bitch he is, he can frolic for all I care." She said, with her voice as low as a whisper, "Also, make sure he doesn't mind his wife having many other lovers and quickies." "May I have the honor of meeting the potential spouse to the Empress?" Jon had made sure to listen to the political chatter even when distracted by Gracchus. It was pretty obvious, given her lack of a husband and the nature of what they said, that their families might be joined. "And if necessary, I can train him myself when I have the time. I am a fairly skilled warrior. In case you don't want to wait too long." Theodore lightly laughed and whispered back, "As long as he is awarded the same amount of lovers, I doubt he'll care much. He has never been found wanting for companionship. As for the who's bitch he is, just know that while you are the ruler, he may provide some insight as well, so don't complexly exclude him, I implore." Raising his voice and directing it at Jon, Theo said, "It's not the fighting I'm worried about, so much as the leadership. I'm not sure he knows the tactical side of things yet." "I was a Legion General," Jon pointed out, with a slight rising in his chest. Theodore place a large hand on Jon's shoulder, in a friendly manner. "I would be honored if you would council him while he's here. He'll need someone too." "Yeah, becuase Tullius would laugh if we asked him." Dales added. Gracchus laughed at the assertion of Tullius teaching anyone. "That's about as true as anything I've ever heard," he said. "He needs friends when in the city. And with the less than favorable disposition of the Council towards the Empress, I'd be more comfortable having those friends be Legion. More trustworthy, at least from my biased perspective." "I appreciate the sentiment. He'll need friends, you're right," Theo said. "Hmmmm, you raise an interesting concern, dear General, the elder council most likely will try to get there greedy fingers on my groom to be. Turn him against me with lures of power and wealth." Dales said, with her face growing slightly pale. "And he'd be a valuable friend for me in the future. Make no mistake, Lord Adard, I am not doing any of this for altruistic reasons," the Nord smiled again. "He listens to me, and won't disobey when I tell him to ignore them. His constitution is sound, and he'll make a fine emperor I believe. Although, I might be a little biased, just like the Jon," Theodore said with a smile. "Hopefully." Gracchus looked everyone over, before deciding it was time to leave. "Well, we have a long journey ahead of us, so we best get going. A pleasure to see you again Jon, and of course you as well Empress." "Yes, Gracchus, it was nice to see you again," Jon reached out his hand. What role would he play if he returned to the Imperial City before the martial law was in place? He could be a valuable ally, having another general was always good. But if he supported the Elder Council, he'd have to be taken out of the picture one way or another. Gracchus shook Jon's hand, and smiled. The two men left, and upon reaching the city streets continued west to the stables, where they had horses waiting on them. Gracchus, on Lil Ceno, and Theodore upon a large black horse. Along with that four mounted Imperial soldiers, two swordsmen and two archers, and four mounted Breton guards, two archers and two swordsmen.

Jon- Dawnstar Inn, Evening Jon was just finishing up with some magical training when an associate knocked on the door. He opened it from the table. "What is it?" "Good evening." "Just get to the point, my friend. It's easier that way." "Right. Well Wraith has been spotted in Dawnstar. At the inn, more precisely." "Is he now? I'll have to go check that out." "Be careful. He's dangerous." "He's not a threat to me. Besides, we are friends of sorts." "Whatever you say, boss." "Right. Now, Dex will have your pay. If you'll excuse me, I have things to do it seems." He got up, and left the house after his associate. He made his way to the bar. It was an odd time for him, as he was a morning drinker. What are you doing around here without telling me anything? You're more respectful than that. It's been a couple years. Something must of happened. He entered the bar, looking for his man. The man jon seeked was in the corner of the inn, sitting on a table talking to a large and muscular nord. The man was hooded, and due to the shadows in the corner, most of his face was cloaked in darkness. He was an imperial, medium in build, and medium in height. The hair he could see was brown, and of short length. He was clad in some kind of dark-red leather armor, along with what appeared to be a scarf covering his mouth. It looked somewhat similar to the armor that the Dark Brotherhood was depicted to wear during the third era, but was different in many ways. He wore a black cloak around it, and as mentioned before, which had a hood attached to it. He wore two services badges, one with a five-fingered crimson hand, while the other depicted a wolf howling, which was red in color. After a few more seconds of talking, the hooded man handed the nord an exact copy of his wolf badge, and told him to be on his way. Jon found his man pretty quickly, seeing him hand a large Nord a badge with a wolf on it. He decided to waste no time. He took a seat right next to the man. "Long time no see Wraith. Years, as a matter of fact." He hated using alias'. But he was respectful enough not to use the man's name in public. "Jon." Wraith said quietly and calmly. He took a piece of parchment out of his pack, and began to write a name down on it. Careful observations of the paper, showed there were 13 other names written. Jon didn't even look down at the paper. If Wraith wanted to explain it he could. "You didn't think to stop by and say hi? I'll be honest I'm glad, I'm not much for conversation. Now, what did you recruit the Nord for?" "I'm a busy man, no time to drop in for social chats." Wraith put down his quill, and brought his head up to the man, "Maybe I just needed some extra help for a job?" "You didn't need him for companionship, that's for sure. What kind of job would require you to get help? And if help was what you needed, why would you go to an upstart like him? He's got some talent, but he's a rough man." He then remembered the badge, a wolf in red. He had a hunch now, based on same new information about an underground operation. He'd hold his tongue though. The hooded man simply yawned, and started to stretch his arms, bored, "Quite right Jon, bringing him along would only get in the way in my usual work." He took another thing from his pack, a leatherbound book. He hastily scribbled something in it, before yawning once again. "A large job. Very large. Not your normal type of work. Not anymore, anyways. I'd imagine this isn't your operation. You're recruiting. High up in the chain of the operation then. That badge, a wolf. It corresponds with news of a recruiting system that's been sweeping through some of the more known bandits and mercenaries. You sure you want to talk about this here? We could go to my place, you know. I may be able to help, depending on what's actually going on." Wraith, or as how Jon knew him, Lucienus. Rose from his chair, and wrapped his cloak around himself tightly. Out of the darkness, his face was visible, having aged not a day, since they last met. He said, "I suppose, I shouldn't waste an opportunity like this. Lead on Jon." He finally looked his vampiric friend in the eyes, before leading the man towards his home. On the way there, he continued the conversation. "I would have thought I'd be the first man you'd come to see in Dawnstar. Maybe you hadn't heard about me coming here yet? Whatever the case maybe, it doesn't matter." He stopped at the door to the house. "Come in, Lucienus," he said quietly, even though no one was around. He led him inside and pointed to a chair. "Take a seat. I'm more curious than you might know." Lucienus kept his cloak on, and took a seat in the corner of the room. He said, in an emotionless voice, "I didn't know you were here, until later. But, as I said, I'm a very busy man, and have many responsibilities to attend." "I've noticed. So, what predicament where you in that made you decide to join this group? Bloodwolf, I've heard it's called?" "The man in-charge saved from execution in Bruma. Bastards knew what I was, and were waiting with silver weapons and anti-magic poisoned arrows." "How'd he get in to get you? Did you see his face?" "He bribed the guards, and smuggled in a weapon and a key to my shackles. I did the rest my self. He goes by the name of Saladin and his face is usually cloaked in darkness, but unlike most in our little group, I know his true name and identiy, benefit of being chosen second-in command." Jon ran his fingers threw his hair. "Face cloaked in darkness, you say?" A wolf, darkness... Alias..." "So you were made a recruit, with your execution being the alternative? Saladin. That's not a real mercenary. At least not one with any credentials. It's new then. You say you know his real name? Second in command? I will ask you if I may know his identity, though the chances are slim. It won't be long before I find out myself, as you have come to know over the years. More importantly, I'd like to know what the Bloodwolves are being formed for. I can't lend any of my men to you without a purpose. When my men do something, it's my name on the line too. And I'm not ready to fall yet." Lucienus chucked dryly "Well, a little a secret for our friendship. Ideology and motive change like the wind, as does my commanding-officers motivation and personality. His mind is split between clashing persona you see. The one dominant right now, wants to see everything burn. Melo-dramatic if you ask me, however, I've noticed his physce being pushed and pushed. As if his shattered mind is gathering the fallen pieces, and forcibly smashing them back together. He tries to hide it, but I can see he's reverting back to his original self. Knowing it's just a matter of time before he's finally fully sane, i've made...arrangements to meet certain...long-eared clients. By the time we meet, my CO will have abandoned his foolish scheme, and will once again be focused on business." Jon made the connection as soon as he heard of the personality dilemma. He had heard something about that from someone. Not Eduard. Maybe it was from the book. He couldn't exactly remember. He was going to take a shot. Lucienus was never too dangerous to Jon, there was no reason for that to change. Besides, surely a friend as old as he knew that he wouldn't be able to catch Jon. So he took a calculated risk. "Lorgar Grim-Maw." "Brilliant as ever, you never fail to impress." Lucienus said, with a large smile forming, revealing his fangs. He continued, "If you know the name, Lorgar, you know it's connected to political stupidity. But, unknown to most, his military record is absolutely stunning. During the Bruma riots, he put down 8 rebel cells singlehandedly, and fought alone in Falkreath, without legion reinforcements for three months. He's a veteran of forty years, and is a excellent tactician. Very good credentials for leading a mercenary unit. "It's almost sad he was put in a political role. The Empress failed him in that regard. Failed us all. As for his military record? Unknown to most, like you said. I know of his record. Like you, I believe he is very fit to lead of a unit. The only flaw on his record is the loss of his unit to the Stormcloaks. But he was outmatched, so the outcome was expected. His survival instincts were remarkable. But from my sources, they aren't natural skills. As you've said, he isn't stable. As in, probably not the best time to lead a unit. You were saying something about long eared clients. Thalmor?" "The VDF, the Valenwood defense force, is hiring many mercenary units, to prepare for the imperial/Stormcloak invasion, which is coming eventually. Normally, mercenaries are treated like canon fodder at the border, however, when I mentioned my CO's name, and our various credentials, to my...very-long silver haired clientess, she became...very interested. She assured me, the dominion would be putting the Bloodwolves in a tactical, and very...rewarding position in Valenwood. So I arranged to meet her, with my CO in four weeks from now." Jon was taken aback that he was going to attempt to thrust Lorgar on the Dominion's side. Maybe he was going to back door them? "You do know Lorgar is a legion dog, to be quite literal. He isn't a traitor, from what I've heard. At least the sane part of him isn't. I trust you already know that. Anyways, what is Lorgar's current plan, as pointless as that information is." "Unkown to Lorgar, Empress Dales Moitre has ordered his arrest and effectively fired him from his position." Lucienus stretched out a bit, "I...left that part out during our last conversation. And from what he told me, he's personally recruiting." "Unknown to Lorgar... Right. You're old enough to know you're treading dangerous water, so I'll spare you such a tedious speech. But I will say this. If Lorgar turns back to the legion, which is a very real possibility, in trouble or not, you will be in trouble. My reports lead me to believe he is nearly unstoppable in physical one to one combat. At least at full strength he would. I will not have my men participate in this scheme, as I have no desire to work with the dominion in any capacity. I don't do much war work anyways. If you need any help getting out of a jam, I'll be here. Other than that, I'm afraid I can't really help you here. Except I can help you recruit men. After all I was, and still am, the best mercenary recruiter around these parts. I'm surprised Lorgar didn't come to me. Probably knew I wouldn't help him." "I was old before your great-grand dad, and i'm almost as old as the daemon of thousand face's himself, Jon. I don't need a lecture. I've analysed Lorgar's personality and behavior, i've done quite a bit of research on him with help from...my contacts. I know the way he thinks. He cant go back to the legion, he's done too much. By now, they would have searched his mansion and found documents linking him to a plot to kill her majesty, . I also know quite a few dark secrets about her majesty and her court mage, confirmed by Lorgar himself. He's not going back, he just dosen't know it yet. He'll view his employment under the dominion as a way to pay the bills nothing more. " Jon was already aware Lucienus had covered his bases. He simply smiled during his explanation. "Of course, of course. I just like to see your mind work. The mind of a man living for around half a millennium is an interesting thing. It was more for myself. And the court Mage, you say? Would you indulge me, for old times sake? I'll pay you back with a for sure group of recruits. Rock solid. About 75 members strong. Nordic based, but with an influx of Redguards. They are up and coming, but I've seen them first hand. And you know how harsh my judgement is." Lucienus smiled, "He has a binding spell over he majesty Dales, a spell that binds her to his soul forcing her to obey his will. The most noble intentions are often twisted into something vile, Lorgar's original motivation was to find away to save her majesty, that has been warped. I'm somewhat familiar with the magic, and I also know he isn't what he's telling everyone, or so my contact's tell me." "No one's ever who they say they are it seems. The court Mage needs to be taken down it seems. No one who is binding people to run the Empire could have that great of intentions. But that's not my place. We're mercenaries. Just adapt to the environment, like we always do. You know I've thought of becoming one of you?" Lucienuis gave Jon a predator like smile, once again revealing his fangs "I could, turn you right now, if you wanted. You know, some idiots think you get tired eventually, but you know, what? I never get tired, cheating Arkay every day, spilling endless blood on the battlefield,becoming an eternal angel of death, slitting the throats of corrupted nobles never gets tiring. The gold really does help as well.The more blood you taste, the more you want to spill." "You see that's been my only problem. I'm not in it for the blood. I'm in it because I'm good at it, and it's what I know. I don't wish to spill the blood of others on the battlefield as a primary motive. I don't care about defying Arkay. It's just an interesting idea. So maybe another time. When I've had more thought. Sorry to get you all excited. Now, about this group. They are located near Markarth, just outside of forsworn danger. Although I've heard they may be in peril soon. So if you want to get them, you would have to speak with them soon. They are good. Not great, but I guess they would suit your needs." Jon only gave this group up because he knew a critical weakness in them, one that was impossible for any outsider to know. But that weakness couldn't be toyed with by just anyone. So unless Jon had a reason to screw Lucienus, he wouldn't. The group was as good as he said. So he wasn't lying at all. Nor did he appear to hide anything as he marked the group on a map. Lucienus face went back to normal, as he put his map back into his pack. "Well, as fun as it has been talking with, I must really be going. I'll of course, arrange for those recruits to reach the gathering area. If there's any weakness in them, our trainers will weed it out." And with that Lucienus got out of his chair, and walked towards the door." He waved his hand as he left the building, "Goodnight, Jon. Maybe next time, I can introduce to you Saladin" "They have weaknesses, as any group. One of them is quite odd, but only those extremely close would know it. I believe you understand me. It's a protective measure in case Lorgar ends up attempting something different. I can't have him slaughtering civilians or anything like that. I'll let your trainers have the fun of figuring it out. I'll be seeing you." Him knowing they had such an odd weakness shouldn't make them any less viable. Especially since no normal enemy would ever be able to figure it out. And it was an uncrackable weakness to the group, so there was no way of ironing it out. They'd figure it out. Besides, Lucienus should have been expecting such a thing. It's the way Jon has always worked. Lucienus smiled, without saying a word, he left Jon's house. He headed to a desolate area, filled with the skeletal remains of tree's. A man was waiting for him, "Her assassin is almost near him, sir. As you said. Reports from the imperial bank show a great deal of money left Homunal Akney's account very recently. I managed to narrow down the list." Lucienus frowned, "We cant do anything about it soldier, Colonel Saladin is too far. He'll have to deal with her himself." The soldier, who was clad in in a bear fur, and wore dark leather armor, had the same wolf service badge as Lucienus. He did a crisp salute, before heading into the oppose direction of the vampire. Lucienus muttered, "Good luck Lorgar."

Gracchus, Catia The Market District, Imperial City Midday It was a pleasant day in the Imperial City. The clouds above, large and fluffy, stopped just enough sunlight for it to be a cool day. Coupled with the slight breeze, it was perfectly comfortable. Under this setting Gracchus and Catia meandered the Market District, hand in hand. A more smitten couple didn't exist in the Imperial City that day. So joyous and in love were they that, on more than one occasion, they slipped off into a discreet alleyway for some time to themselves. The recent marriage of the two only sealed the bond that had grown over the ten years they had known each other. There was something about that day that bred love. Maybe it was the rain the night before made the flowers all the more radiant. Maybe it was the way the sun glinted off the White-Gold tower. Maybe it was memories of the first night they'd spent together as a married couple. Whatever it was, the couple embraced it, hands clasped and walking the Market District dressed as if they were nothing more than a regular middle class couple. The newlyweds reached their target store, Furniture and Finery, owned by Catia's friend Erina. The smell of stained wood and pleasantly musky animal furs filled the warehouse-like room. Erina approached Catia, hugging in a friendly manner. "What brings you too here today?" the smiling shop owner asked. "Gracchus surprised me, and we're building a new house outside the city, so we need some new furniture," Catia replied. While the two conversed, Gracchus walked the floor, occasionally sitting in a chair or on a couch to gage it's comfortableness. The couch he sat on now peaked his interest, so he motioned for Catia to join him. It was wooden framed, the base being large oak pillars, while the cushions were wolf fur stuffed with cotton. "What's the price on this one?" Gracchus asked Erina. "The couch alone is around one-hundred and twenty septims, but it's part of a whole house set, and Catia said is what you are looking to furnish your new one. I think I could cut you a deal, one-thousand off the entire set." Gracchus stroked his goatee, thinking over the offer. "What does the set include?" "Side tables, a low tea table, area rugs, candle holders, beds and bed linens, and a kitchen table. Basically a whole house's worth of furniture." "Okay, we also have a library and map room, I guess you could call it an office. Is there furniture for that too?" "Yes, I can get my carpenter to make the shelves for the bookcase, as well as desks for maps and such." Gracchus looked at Catia, who looked like she was thinking it over. Finally she answered. "I think it's perfect. What's the cost?" "Well, normally it's around eight thousand septims, but I think seven thousand will cover it. Consider it a wedding gift. Would you like to make payments or do you have it all right away?" In answer, Gracchus pulled out seven pouches of one thousand septims each. "I think that should cover it," Erina said, and whisked the money away to her safe. Their business concluded, Gracchus and Catia left the wood and fur filled store for the streets of the Empire's capital. Crowded, less than usual, a mass of people still moved like a living river down the roads. On the way back to The Laughing Fox, Catia stopped at a market stall to pick up her order of chicken, specifically chicken wings. Tullius attending the wedding had seriously drained their supplies. The chicken now in her leather satchel, Catia turned around to find Graccjus standing there, a bouquet of flowers in his hand. The red roses, yellow tulips, and white daisies made for an excellent display of color and passion. Catia, usually not one to blush, did so at the random display of affection. Her cheeks reddened, she planted a light kiss on her husband's lips. Together the headed back home, towards the tavern that meant so much to them over the years, but would be their home for only a little longer. On walking in, Ena greeted them with a rare smile. "There's a man looking for you, Gracchus. Over in that corner." Ena pointed to the back right corner, where a man did indeed sit. Gracchus walked over to the table, and introduced himself. "General Gracchus Ceno, at your service. And you are?" The man was young, around 20 years old, and sported dark brown hair. He was quite muscular, and it could be inferred that he worked hard. "It's an honor sir. I am Hakar. My father, Iven, sent me to get you. Your sword is ready. So if you aren't busy, I'd like you to come with me." As he stood up, it was pretty clear he was eager to ask Gracchus something. A smile crossed Gracchus' face, genuine and sincere, giving off an air of warmth and friendliness. He clapped the young man on the shoulder, just as he would a good friend. "Pleasure is all mind. Haha, I don't think I've had someone honored to meet me in a while. If your father is as good as I hear, I can't wait to see te sword." Watching the lad's movements as he stood, Gracchus noticed that something was a little off. "Is there something you want to ask me?" the older man asked. Before he could remember what his father had told him, he responded quietly. "So you know Eduard?" It was apparent that he realized his mistake as he asked, as he winced at his own loose tongue. Hopefully his dad didn't find out he told. Gracchus nodded, then answered. "I can't say I've known him long, or even that well, but I've always known that friendships forge on the battlefield are as straight and true as an arrow shot by the worlds best marksman. Which, I would say Eduard ranks up there with the best of them. Good with tactics too, and he's always seemed like a very good man, as far as I've known him." He motioned for Gracchus to follow him, before continuing. No reason to hold back now, he figured. "Other than my dad, he was my childhood hero. He saved my life you know? My ma too." Gracchus waved at Catia as he left, and she returned it. He followed Hakar back onto the crowded city streets. When he revealed why he asked about Eduard, Gracchis was shocked momentarily. Usually men brag about saving lives. Of course, Eduard wasn't really one to brag. "Did he know? How did that happen?" Hakar laughed. "Yeah, he knew he saved us. My father made sure of that. He insisted that he didn't want a reward back then, but my father insisted that he could ask for anything. Never saw him again after that, but a letter came around asking to make you a sword. So I guess this sword is that anything. My dad knows more about what happened. I was almost ten when this all happened." He knew he was going to be in trouble, telling Gracchus this much. But he didn't care at the moment. He was being honest about his knowledge of the story. He didn't remember much, save that Eduard slipped through an entire clan of bandits to save him and his mom. Why he did that, and why they were captured was unknown to him. "Sounds like a very heroic thing he did. Not surprising, not at all. I may have to ask your dad about it." He was about to speak, but held his tongue on that matter. He wasn't going to tell a general what to do. "Yeah, like I said, he knows more than I. Speaking of which," Hakar pointed to a house with a forge near it. "This is our home." Just then, a large bearded Nord stepped out of the home. "Ahh. You must be the General! I've been waitin' for ya! My names Iver. I see you've met my boy Hakar. I hope he hasn't been a bother." He said the last line with a stern look, almost as if he knew Hakar had dropped the ball. Gracchus brushed off the sternness with a wave of his hand. "No trouble at all sir! It's nice to talk to some younger people, all my friends nowadays are just as old as I. The name's Gracchus. So, lets see this sword." As Gracchus waved, Iven seemed to be at ease. He smiled once more, before responding. "Right! The sword. I'm quite proud of how it turned out. If you'd just follow me right over here, I'll show it to ya." He motioned for Hakar and Gracchus to follow him just inside his house, where the blade was displayed on the table. Once Gracchus was inside, he couldn't miss it. It was obvious, to Gracchus anyway, that the sword was of the heavy cavalry variety. The full basket hilt was covered by a layer of gold, with two emeralds on either side of the mammoth tusk grip. The emeralds were actually bushes, as the hilt was carved depicting a forest scene, complete with a smiling fox. The pommel was a wyvern-like dragon's head, miniature rubies making the eyes fire red. It wasn't purely a decoration piece, though. The blade, sharp as a razor, was double edged, and light enough to be easily wielded using one hand. Picking it up in his right hand, Gracchus noticed the grip was perfect, edged so as to prevent slipping. Neither front nor back heavy, it was balanced to perfection. Three and one half feet long, it would be perfect from both foot and horseback. "I...it's perfect. I feel as if I was here giving you directions to how I would want the sword built. Thank you, sir. And I think we can both thank Eduard as well, eh?" Iven smiled, and glanced at Hakar. As he had suspected, his son wasn't able to contain his excitement. "Thank you very much for the kind words. It means a lot, 'specially coming from someone like you. And yes, I guess that is true. I owe him quite a bit, that much is for sure. Any friend of his is a friend of mine. Glad I could help out. How much did Hakar say about him and his connection to the family?" Gracchus saw the glance, and decided to stick up for the son. "Oh, whatever he told me its because I pried it out of him. My nosiness gets the best of me at times. All he said was that he saved him and your wife from bandits, and that you knew more than him." Iven knew what the general said wasn't the case, but if a general was going to stick up for him, so be it. Besides, if his wife heard about him scolding Hakar for something like this she'd probably wring his neck. "I see. Eduard was always a mysterious one, so I wasn't sure he would want mention. But since ya already know, I don't see any harm in telling you. My son is right, he saved both of 'em. Said it was some type of message against those bandits. He went through their camp, leaving only death and confusion behind. He was a mercenary then. I didn't hire him though. Although I would of. He's damn good." Gracchus listened intently to the story. It sounded like Eduard all right. Effective, but good hearted as well. "Don't scold your son too bad for it. He meant nothing by it I'm sure, just a little slip of the tongue. Anyway, that sounds an awful lot like the Eduard I know. He's as good as they come with a bow." Iven nodded his head. "That's true. He was probably the best I've seen. He was a hunter or something like that. He was almost 21 when this all happened. I couldn't tell what rescuing my family had to do with his goals, but I'm forever grateful. Anyways, I'm glad you like your sword. It was rewarding work. You're free to go whenever, I don't want to bother ya. Probably a busy man." Gracchus laughed heartily at the busy comment. "I'm probably the least busy man you'll meet. It seems if you risk your life enough for a country they tend to give you a lot of free time. Especially if you live as long as I have." Gracchus walked toward the door, standing with it open. "You know, if you're ever in the Elven Gardens District, stop on by the Laughing Fox. I'm always looking for good company, and if you tell the bartender I sent you she may give you a discount. Thank you, and have a nice evening." "I'm always up for a good drink. I'll see if I can't stop by sometime. It was a pleasure, general. Have a good evenin'." He waved at Gracchus, and smiled. With that Gracchus left, returning the wave and smile as the door closed behind him, his new sword already strapped to his belt.

Baldur Red-Snow Solitude 6am Baldur decided that while it wasn't required of him to bother with training new recruits that he would do so anyway. There was still no word from Ulfric on whether or not he was the new High General, but Baldur wasn't exactly worried. He figured Ulfric was just trying to punish the two for letting things get out of hand. Whatever the case may be, it was still best he figured to busy himself with something, in case Ulfric really did somehow go with Brund. A new shipment of recruits came apparently five days before he did. Galmar had already assigned a captain to train them, but Baldur would be taking his place. Normally Baldur would have been in a sour mood waking up this early again, but Rebec made sure he received plenty of rest the previous night. The man was ready to work. On his approach to the training area in Solitude's courtyard, Baldur could already see the new recruits now doing push ups outfitted fully for war. The captain was calling out "down!" "up!" "down!" "up!" as he watched them work. The recruits would repeat the word along with him as they followed his orders, which filled the morning air with their calls and grunts of exertion. The dark was already receding as the sun started to fully rise just as Baldur walked through, making his way to the captain. Baldur stood next to him for a while as he watched the recruits work. The captain was a little shorter than Baldur, had slightly darker skin, black and grey long hair flowing under his bear covering on his head, and a scowl that made it unmistakable that he was a man who gave orders. "Good batch of recruits you got here." "Down! Up! Yea, most of 'em are. 'Cept I got a few rotten eggs in here that'll need some whippin into shape. See that one oer dere?" Baldur took a look at where the man was pointing at until his eyes rested on the sore thumb in the crowd of men. He was off pattern with the rest of the men and was very short as well. The height of a boy, not a man. "Yea I see him. He's very small. Like a twelve year old." "Close sir. He's fourteen. But he's smaller cause he's a Breton." Baldur shot the captain a confused stare soon met with a grin. "A Breton you say! Now that is interesting. That can't be much fun for the boy. Considering we use Bretons as the punch of our jokes all day every day. Boy's got stones to deal with that all day." "I guess so. Anyway, why ya 'ere, sir?" "Oh, right. I'm here to relieve you of your duties." The captain's brow nit now and he crossed his arms as he faced Baldur. General or no general, he didn't like people muscling in on his command. "May I ask why, sir?" he said, trying poorly to mask the anger in his voice. Baldur kept his face stoney at first, but then caught the captain off guard with a smile. "Normally, no. But I'm in a good mood today, so whatever. I just want to have the feel of being directly involved with my men again is all. I won't take your command though if you'd rather keep them. It'll only be temporary anyway. A few weeks, maybe less." The captain's expression softened at his answer. He thought Baldur was trying to say he wasn't doing a good job. "No sir, that's perfectly fine. I'm sure the men can benefit greatly from some time wit the commander of the Grim Ones. Have at it. I could use a break anyway." "Good, I'll take good care of them." Said Baldur. Afterwards, the captain nodded his head and made his way off to the barracks. The recruits all stopped in their activity, wondering what was going on. Baldur took a step forward to address the recruits. "Okay milk-drinkers, I'm General Baldur Red-Snow. I'm going to be your new trainer. I'm not making any speeches, because you mudcrabs need all the time I can give you to get into Thalmor killing shape!" Without further ado, Baldur, in full Nordic Carved Armor, general cape attached and weapons holstered, as well as having his shield on his back and his bear helmet on started not only doing push ups, but he was even going at a faster pace than what the recruits were, even with all the extra weight. And he hadn't even started sweating. "Hey, did he say he was Baldur Red-Snow? The Unkindled guy?" Said one of the nords over the head of the Breton boy to another nord. "Yea, that's what he said. Not quite what I expected." The Breton boy stayed quiet, ignoring the talk of the other recruits. He knew that was Baldur. He saw him before. The nord recruits at first were just watching Baldur until some of the leaders in the group finally got down and started doing push ups as well, not wishing to let the general embarrass them by going faster than they could in full heavy armor. When Baldur saw the men finally getting to work, he started to chuckle to himself, but didn't let them see. He knew Nords couldn't let themselves be shown up in such a way. "That's it men, keep it going. Don't stop yet, or word will get out how you let your commander whoop your asses in push ups in heavy armor! Not the best way to start your military careers!" ****** Brund Hammer-Fang 8am Solitude Brund woke up in a pool of sweat that morning in his barrack quarters, early at around five. The previous night at dinner with the Skyrim leadership kept his mind active all night, restless and in eternal struggle, with of course Baldur. Not good for his mood. His nose was broken a tad from before, but he took a healing potion and set it back in place himself. Not very pleasant. Brund didn't even bother taking off his armor that night. His blood was too unsettled, his nerves to agitated from the urge of battle. He was starting to think about finding some wood elf or something to take his anger out on. Or some whore. But it would have to wait. He had duties to attend to. Brund was still going through paperwork and talking things out with Galmar about the fighting in the Reach area, but he decided to let the paperwork wait for now and get the talking out of the way first. That and he wanted to see if he couldn't fork out Ulfric's decision sooner rather than later before he had to head back down to the Reach. Then there was also the problem with Honmund, who was told that he'd have to wait til after the Forsworn were dealt with to get an answer on being made a Thane. Brund didn't have to walk very far from Solitude's barracks to hear the troops. Brund decided that he'd take the opportunity to get some of his anger out on them. Teach them a lesson in brutality. He was of course enraged further when he saw Baldur in the front of this group, blocking his chances. "Baldur!" he called out as he made his approach. Baldur looked up from his position on the ground doing sit ups in Brund's direction to his left. Sighing as he closed his eyes and got up, Baldur said. "Okay, men. Take five! Go get some water from the well." Most of the recruits could be heard sighing in relief as they ceased their activity. Baldur never actually ordered any of the men to start doing drills. He just started doing them himself, and they followed suit. He wasn't going to order them to the second time either. Not until the sparring and formation drills started. Leading men by example was well and good, but the soldiers needed to realize that when they're given an order to follow it as well, even if their commander doesn't or wouldn't do it themselves. Baldur removed his helmet, revealing his dark blonde hair made even darker from the sweat of two hours of exertion in heavy armor, then approached Brund who was waiting for him. "Brund, what is it? I've come to work, not argue with you." "Well good, because I've come to work too." "Well, these aren't the only recruits in the area is it? And don't you have paperwork to go through with the war?" "Aye, that I do, but right now I wanna make sure these men are in fighting shape." said Brund dishonestly. Baldur picked up on it however. "You mean you're bored out of your mind and you thought you'd take out your frustrations on the recruits, is that it?" Brund stayed silent for a bit and started to frown aggressively, but took Baldur by surprise with a laugh. "Hahaha, yes. I think they could use a little roughening up. You're likely going soft on 'em. As usual." "As usual? What, you think I went soft on the men under my command? Including you?" said Baldur confusedly. "You could've been rougher." "Really? You don't need to whittle men down to the bone and degrade them to get them ready for battle you know. Beating them into a pulp doesn't make them a better warrior. Some pain is needed to be sure, but there are other ways of going about it as well. Better ways." "Is that a challenge?" said Brund tauntingly. Baldur raised an eyebrow, wondering where Brund would have gotten that idea from, but he shrugged his shoulders and sighed again. "Sure, why not. What did you have in mind? I'll say beforehand that me beating you again won't prove that I'm a better leader." Brund surprisingly didn't show any anger at Baldur's words and instead just chuckled and shook his head. "No, I suppose me ripping your arms off and beating your head like a drum wouldn't prove anything. Any suggestions?" said Brund. Baldur put his finger on his chin and started to rub it as he thought. He wasn't sure how exactly he could prove his point to Brund. At first. Not until he started thinking about a book he had read. The Armorer's Challenge. Brund's armor reflecting light in his face reminded him of it. "Yea, I have a suggestion. I'll take an apprentice, and I'll let you pick him. And you can pick any soldier from our group. Any one. I bet you that I can train that fighter in a days time, and he'll be able to beat whoever you pick." It was Brund's turn to rub his chin now as he contemplated the challenge. "Okay, and what's in it for me if I win? Do I get to kiss Rebec on the cheek? Hahahaha!" "I was gonna say I'll support you for the position of High General, but if that's w-" "Wait, wait I was kidding! Hold on a minute...." Brund's brow knit deeply in concentration at the choice. "I was kidding. You'll not lay a finger on my wife. I'd kill you first." said Baldur factually. "I know, hehehehehe. I was just kidding myself, Baldur." Brund was lying again. "And what do you want in return? Me to support you if you win?" "Nope, I just want you to stop being so difficult and work with me as brothers. From what Galmar said at the dinner last night, I can tell this attitude you have with me is something that they are aware of, and I can tell you now, it isn't good. We need to work together for the good of our people. Promise that no matter who gets the position, you'll stop showing me such animosity, "Son of Kyne". That's what I want if I win." Brund's face twisted in confusion, not from the reward he asked for per say, more from how it made him felt. It started making him question why he disliked Baldur so much. Partly. But then he remembered him and his arrogant wife last night, and the position Baldur held and how he got it. He hated taking orders from someone so much younger than he considering what Brund had been through, and he'd be damned if he was going to do it again. Brund shrugged off his feelings of doubt and nodded. "Deal." Baldur stuck out his hand suddenly, which made Brund flinch and raise his fists. "Take my arm to seal the deal. This is a promise on your honor as a Nord. You go back on this, and you're no better than Emperor Mede II." Brund slowly lowered his fists and stared at Baldur's arm for a moment, looking at it as if it was a snake, ready to strike at him at any moment. Eventually, Brund snapped out of it and grasped Baldur's arm by the elbow joint as Baldur did the same. "Deal." "Good. Then lets get to work. Take up my position for now as drill instructor." Baldur started stripping off his armor in front of Brund, which of course caused a spell of bewilderment. The men behind him who had already received water and didn't wait for the others to get theirs to start drilling again too looked at this curiously. "Um, Baldur? What the hell are you doing?" asked Brund. "I'm gonna put on my old Stormcloak chainmail and sash and join the men. I want to get a first hand taste of your instruction, see if you're doing the Necro Nords proud. Maybe I can learn something from your years as a Legate eh?" Baldur tapped Brund on the shoulder and ran off with his chest piece in his hand to get some standard issue armor from a chest by the stone wall in the courtyard. Brund looked at the spot Baldur patted him at on his shoulder with another bewildered look on his face an called out to him. "Don't patronize me, minstrel!" With that said, Brund made his way back to the rest of the men. When Baldur came back a few minutes later looking like a standard recruit, a lot of the men sat there staring at him in the crowd of soldiers. To them it was like a king stripping down their noble clothes and walking among the commoners. Very strange sight to see. Even among all the recruits it wasn't hard to make out where Baldur was with all the chatter surrounding him and hands getting stretched out to try and shake. Brund just shook his head at the sight and grunted in disapproval. They are not our friends Baldur. They obey us or suffer the consequences. This is foolish. Meanwhile Baldur was enjoying the feeling of being a normal soldier again even if the other men didn't treat him like one at first. Baldur eventually stopped his chatter when he saw Brund step forward and his men followed suit. "EVERYBODY SHUT UP!" said Brund. His voice made some nearby birds up on the battlements fly off from the harshness of the sound. The men had already quieted down however when they saw Baldur stand to attention, which made Brund's statement seem silly. No one dared laugh though. Baldur had spread the word among the men that Brund was a hard ass's hard-ass. The Breton boy from before was standing next to Baldur now. He kept looking up occasionally to take a look at Baldur's face from next to him. Baldur caught him looking once or twice. He thought it odd, but he put it out of his head. The boy didn't look like he belonged at all in the group of recruits. Not even a little. It wasn't just his size. His hair was dark brown and long like a Nord's but it was too wavy. Too pretty like a girl. His nose looked delicate and fragile. His brown eyes were wide and sparkled like a child eager to see the world, for he had not yet been taught the harsh realities of life. That's what his eyes and overall appearance said, but that was not true. "Listen up! I'm going to be organizing you lot in groups of eight. In those groups of eight, you are to get into a circle and alternate duels nonstop! The duals end when one man is unable to continue. Now, first eight from the left, go get your practice weapons. Move!" Baldur watched silently as the men carried out Brund's orders eight by eight then walked over to wherever he had them move. The Breton lad ended up being in his group, and Baldur was automatically designated team leader. Baldur decided that knocking the men unconscious as quickly as he could have wouldn't be the best of ways to train the men, so he held back a bit as he fought them to give them some instruction. Baldur of course selected two wooden axes and a wooden shield slumped over his back. The nord man he was fighting now appeared to be about twenty years of age and had selected a wooden great sword. He was clean shaven and his hair was cropped. Baldur figured his father or mother must have been in the Legion. Baldur used his axes to parry the greatsword strike by hitting at it when the Nord made a swing on him. He kept the distance close so that the swings wouldn't be too powerful for him to block. "You're not using distance. You're making it too easy for me to close in on you. You're using a greatsword. Use distance to your advantage. Otherwise...." With that, Baldur dashed forward and locked his axehead onto the nord's sword base and pulled it out of his hands as he spun around and hit him in the head with the base of his other axe's pommel. The Nord crumbled to the ground and was immediately pulled to the outside of the circle. The man was fine, just stunned by the hit and needed some time to rest. But not much as Baldur held back to avoid a head injury. This went on for a few hours, the Breton boy receiving most of the attention as he was the weakest. The other recruits were growing frustrated as the boy didn't present much challenge. Baldur was watching him, taking notes of what he was doing wrong. As was Brund who was lurking nearby. Brund came up from behind him and placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. "I think I found your student, Baldur." Baldur ignored Brund's chuckling as he watched the boy duel. He was using a sword and shield, fighting another boy with a sword and shield. The Breton seemed hopeless however. He had the sword knocked from his hands several times and was knocked to the ground twice as much. The only reason the boy lasted so long is because it didn't take much effort to hit him down. Eventually Baldur looked at Brund from behind and nodded, accepting the boy as his student. "Deal. I'll start immediately." "Too bad. We were just getting to the fun part after this. Maybe next time, Baldur." Baldur ignored Brund's words and turned back to the recruits. "Men!" The other seven recruits stood at attention and the two in the middle walked back to the circle. After they did, Baldur stood in the middle of the circle and held his axes out to the left and right. "Whoever knocks me out is free from drills all day and gets four tankards of mead on me. Come!" The men didn't need any further notice. They came closing in on him from all sides, although he noticed that the Breton hesitated. He was his first victim. Running forward, Baldur lifted his foot and kicked the Breton down, running over him to get from the confines of the circle. The Breton boy took the boot to the face and was out cold. The others spun around and came at Baldur randomly. First, two men came at him with a wooden greatsword and a battleaxe and swung at his head. Baldur ducked under and swept them off their feet simultaneously by hooking their ankles with the bottom of his axes. The other four had swords and shields and closed in on him, but Baldur rolled forward and got behind one of them. When he did, he swept him off his feet too and punched him between the eyes to lay him out with his axes still in his hands. "Thats two. Five more." The two men that he put on the floor earlier by sweeping their feet started to get up, but the other three went without them and charged Baldur. Already he saw one of them making a rookie mistake and charged with their shield lowered to his side so they could see. Baldur wasted no time and threw his wooden axe right in the middle of his face, stunning him and making his butt hit the ground hard as he sat down to recover. When the other two charged him, Baldur ran towards them and kicked his legs out into their shields. One of the men let the shield hit his face, which put him down. The other was just stunned. Baldur landed on his feet and pulled out his shield from his back, then delivered a shield smack to the back of the sitting man's head. "That's four. Three more." Immediately after, Baldur parried an incoming battleaxe swing with his shield from the man who just got up, and then he blocked the greatsword by hooking it with the under part of his wooden axe in his right hand. Baldur slapped the man's battleaxe away with his shield, then ran forward towards the man on his right with the axe running along his greatsword. When he got past his striking range, Baldur knocked the blade to his side and butted the man in his nose with his forehead, knocking him down. The other man tried to swing at Baldur's back, but he pivoted in towards him and blocked the battleaxe with his shield, then smacked him in the head with his wooden waraxe. The other fighter with the sword and shield came forth now, as did the man with the greatsword and charged Baldur from both sides. "That's five. Two more." The man with the greatsword was charging in with his sword sticking forward like a spear. The other man had his shield raised. Baldur shook his head in disapproval and sidestepped the attack at the last second. The greatsword slammed directly into the other Nord's shield. Afterwards, Baldur put his axe and shield in the air and brought them down, knocking the recruit's greatsword and shield down to the ground along with Baldur's weapons since he dropped them so his hands would be free. Then the general brought his hands behind their heads and ran their skulls together, knocking them out flat. "That's seven. Party's over." Brund watched the little show with moderate interest. When it was done, he just rolled his eyes and moved on, unlike the other recruits nearby who had stopped their duels to watch Baldur in action. Before the ass kissing could start, Brund called out to all the men. "Ok, duels are done! Make your way to the city gates! We're going on a run outside Solitude. Then, we'll go practice shield wall bashing on uneven terrain. MOVE OUT!" Baldur picked up the Breton boy by grabbing at his back and gripping his blue sash. Then he dragged him away to the water well while the other men tried helping out the men he fought. About twenty minutes later, the men were gone, leaving Baldur and the boy in the courtyard alone. ******* A fit of coughing was audible from the young Breton boy due to Baldur dumping a bucket of water over the lad's face as he lay on the ground unconscious. As he woke up, he started looking around frantically as if he was still in a fight, but set his eyes on Baldur who was chuckling in front of him. Baldur put his hand out for him and stood him up. "You alright there, boy?" "Y-yea. Wh-where is everyone?" "The others went of to train with Brund. Lucky for you, you get to stay with me for now. What's your name?" asked Baldur. "Daric Mastercroft." Baldur raised an eyebrow at the name, not being what he was used to hearing. "General, sir? Why am I here?" "You're here, Daric because of two reasons. One, because someone thinks you're too weak to help. Two, because clearly, that someone isn't me. I've decided to give you some one on one lessons. Then tomorrow, you'll demonstrate what you've learned in a duel. Ready?" The boy looked up at Baldur blankly for a while, disappointed that someone had picked him out as weak, not that he was surprised. After a few seconds, Daric gave Baldur a weak nod. Baldur sighed briefly and walked ahead. "Follow me, then. Your lesson begins now." ****** Baldur didn't want to admit it, but he knew. He may have been a bit in over his head. Daric wasn't just weak, he seemed to lack even the most basic knowledge of how to fight. Things that your father would have taught you when you were a young lad of eight. How to properly grip a sword, how to stand, how to properly parry, and so on. Baldur covered these topics with him, but it was clear he had just learned it. The only way Baldur was going to get the boy ready to fight tomorrow was continuous rigorous practice. And that so far is what Baldur had given him. It was now six during the day and Baldur hadn't seen much, if any improvement. The boy was lacking something. Heart, anger. A spark. A cause, goal. Will, confidence, you name it. "Come on, boy, fight me! Hit me already!" Baldur effortlessly parried Daric's sword thrust to Baldur's midsection, and Baldur made sure he paid for it by hitting the boy in the gut with the wooden axe, knocking him to the ground. "If this were a real fight, your guts would be draping the ground in full display for the world to see." said Baldur. Daric laid on the stone floor drenched in sweat as he stared at the orange sky. Baldur let him stay there for a while to rest. But not for too long. After about two minutes, Baldur threw another bucket of water over the boy which made him quickly stand up. "Again!" the boy sat face first in the freezing snow in nothing but his loincloth, body bruised badly, arm bleeding. He turned to his left and looked at his bruised knuckles from punching a tree to toughen his hands. The hands now struggled to grab his sword before the yelling man began his onslaught once again. The boy finally reached his wooden sword and managed to get up. He quickly brushed his dark blonde hair out of his way, and turned around just in time to see a man that looked like Baldur with cropped hair send a fist flying towards his face, which landed him face first in the snow again, next to a pile of his own blood. "Sir?" Daric had called out to Baldur several times after he splashed water in his face. Finally Baldur snapped out of his trance and shook his head. "What? Oh, right. Okay, Daric, lets get back to it." Daric raised his wooden blade and pointed it to Baldur along with his shield. Baldur did the same with his axe and shield, and looked into Daric's eyes with the fury he'd give any enemy. Daric's eyes were more neutral. "Okay...... ********** .....begin!" Ulrin didn't give Baldur time to get up. The big Nord legionnaire ran towards the eleven year old boy and jumped in the air, sending his feet to Baldur's chest. Wide eyed with fear, Baldur rolled away just in time to avoid his feet, then he swiped at his legs with his practice weapon, but Ulrin parried it with his and kicked snow over his face before hitting him in his ribs. Baldur stood up, holding his side with tears trailing down his face. As he hobbled away from his father, Baldur tripped over a large rock sticking out of the snow, cutting his foot a tad. Ulrin shook his head and tilted it back for another swig of mead. "Always be aware of your surroundings, fool. Look around! What do you see?" Baldur obeyed his father's orders reluctantly to observe. Baldur could see the walls of the city of Bruma, his modest dark wooden snow covered house behind his father, snow covering everything around them, and of course, the rock that he tripped over. Baldur took note of the rock, as well as the six empty bottles of mead that lay randomly in the snow in Ulrin's proximity. "Begin!" Baldur didn't have time to react when his father charged him again, swinging his sword towards his face. Baldur lifted his weapon to try and parry the blow, but Ulrin was too strong, and Baldur too hurt. The wooden sword ended up smacking Baldur directly in the face after knocking Baldur's out of his hand. Ulrin finally dropped his mead bottle and picked Baldur up over his head. "Fight, you *****, fight me like a man!" said Ulrin as he threw Baldur into the ground. Afterwards, Ulrin sent his boot into Baldur's gut several times, leaving the young Nord crippled from the pain and curled up in the snow. "Weak! Weak, weak, weak! What kind of Nord are you, Baldur?" Baldur put a hand over his rib, wondering if his father had broken it or not. "How are you going to ever call yourself a warrior at this rate, eh?" Said Ulrin as he picked up his mead bottle again and emptied it. "Pathetic. You won't make it in the Legion fighting like this." "I don't want...to join the Legion." Ulrin spun around and looked back at his son, blinking hard to see in his drunken haze. In his anger, Ulrin cracked the mead bottle over his head, then walked over to Baldur and placed the sharpened end over his neck. "What did you say to me? Hmm? What did you say?" "I said I don't want to join the Legion. I hate you, and I want to go my own w-" Ulrin cut Baldur off by punching him in the chest after throwing the broken bottle away. He followed it up with another punch. Then another. The more he did it, the more angry Baldur's stupid little tears angered him, and the more he did it, the better it felt. Finally Ulrin stopped, but only to pull Baldur up by his hair and stand him up on his feet, which he was barely capable of doing. "I'm gonna make you a warrior if its the last thing I do, boy." Ulrin unsheathed one of the Legion blades at his side and threw it at Baldur's feet before drawing the second. "Pick it up." "No." "I said pick it up!" Ulrin raised his blade and forced Baldur to pick up the weapon to save his life. The adrenaline gave Baldur some strength to fend off Ulrin's attacks for a while, but it wasn't long before Ulrin once again bested him and knocked the blade out of his hands. "Pick it up! I'll make a warrior out of you if it kills you!" "I don't want to fight!" said Baldur. Ulrin raised his eyebrow and tilted his head. He had never heard such words from a young Nord boy before, and the fact that it was coming from his son enraged him to no end. "Well then, milkdrinker. What is it that you do want to do?" "I want to be a bard. I want to sing and travel the land." "What? A minstrel? No son of mine is going to be some pansy singing bard!" "You sing! I heard you last night, singing something. I couldn't make out what you were saying, but I heard you singing. And I heard you sing before." Ulrin was taken aback, as he didn't know Baldur knew about his guilty pleasure, but he was thankful that Baldur hadn't heard the words of the last one he sang. Wandering wayward shooting star, like a woman from afar, Beauty as great as the big blue sea, far from my grasp, far from me, Heat spreading henceforth as my sore heart beats, continuous pain, yet it repeats, I run you through my mind even though that this hurts, to keep your memory, may it never disperse, Some day I hope to see you soon, shining face bright as the noon, Even though all I'll likely see, is you free, forever running away from me. The song was a result of Ulrin's drunken self pity, He knew all too well that it was he that ran away, but he didn't acknowledge it. And now he was pissed for Baldur bringing it up again. "I-, that's different. I do that because it helps. When thinking about your mother." "Its the same for me. That's what I want.'" "**** what you want, boy!" It was Ulrin's turn to drop tears now as he grabbed Baldur and pounded away at him after he knocked him to the ground. Baldur coughed up blood in the snow now, and started to weep. "Are you crying again? Really? Get up!" called out Ulrin angrily. "I-I want...mother." said Baldur as his body started shacking as he wept, sitting in the cold exposed to the elements, absent from the warmth of his mother's love. Ulrin couldn't believe what he just heard, and started to laugh at his son. "Hhhahahaha! What was that? You want your mother? Aww, isn't that sweet! Well your mother didn't want you! She didn't want me either! You know what she wanted?" Ulrin walked away to pick up another bottle of mead that he sat in the snow to get cold. This would be the seventh. "You know what she wanted? To live on her back while strange men shoved themselves in her all day! That's what she wanted! Your mother left you to get on her knees and s-" "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!" Baldur with fury and tears in his eyes let his anger fuel him as he reached for his blade and charged his father. Ulrin was forced to drop his bottle and brace his attacks. Ulrin was taken completely off guard as Baldur savagely slammed his sword at him over and over again. Even while enraged, Baldur was still thinking on his feet as his father taught him. Ulrin started to back up towards the rock that Baldur had tripped on, and when he did, Baldur charged at him and slammed into his chest, causing Ulrin to trip backwards over the rock and drop his weapon. As he lay there with his son pinning him down, Baldur repeatedly assaulted Ulrin's face, then took his sword in his hands and placed it up in the air pointing down to Ulrin, both hands gripping the hilt. Ulrin just stared at the boy, unwavered. "DO IT. DO IT Baldur! DO IT!" Baldur stared down at him, unsure of what it was that he meant. "Do it. Kill me." said Ulrin again. Baldur despite his hate couldn't. He shook his head fiercely, unable to kill the one person in the world that he could call family. Ulrin, angered that Baldur lacked the conviction to kill him, pushed him off and started assaulting him once more with his boot. Baldur lay in the snow as Ulrin put a finger over his bruised face from Baldur's attack. "We have a lot in common son. You're too weak to kill me.... ****** ....and so am I." said Ulrin as Baldur laid over him now as a grown man of thirty eight years. Donned in Imperial legion wares with a broken sword in his hand in his father's fort. "Hahaha, looks familiar doesn't it? I'm not worried. Just like when you were a boy, you're to we-" "Shut up! Shut up shut up shut up!" said Baldur as he drove the Imperial pommel into his father's face repeatedly. Baldur knew that his father was broken. All these years he just wanted to die. He only trained Baldur because he wanted him to do it. It was only now in the present that Baldur realized thanks to Ysana that Ulrin wanted him to do it because of the guilt he felt for taking him away from his mother. Why he had started to think of all of this now, Baldur didn't know at first. But then he knew, Daric had reminded him of himself. Daric just needed to find something that got him angry. "Come on Daric, fight me! Fight me like a man, Daric! I'll make a Nord out of you yet...." said Baldur as he put Daric on defense. "Stop saying that! Why do all of you Nords think that to be strong, I have to be like you!?" as he said that, Daric to Baldur's surprise actually started to press the attack. Baldur actually had to think as he blocked his blows, and after Daric's anger started to subside, Baldur ended the session by pivoting around him and smacking his back with his shield, knocking him down to his knees. "That's enough for now, Daric. Let's take a break." "No!" Daric got up and charged at Baldur again, but was promptly put down with a boot to the face. "I said lets take a break. I need to talk with you about some things." Baldur left Daric on the ground to go to a table next to the chest where he put his Nordic Carved armor by the wall. The same one he got the standard issue armor from. Next to it was a pack he had a soldier bring him filled with mead and dried meats for supper for the two. Baldur walked back to Daric now and placed the pack by his feet. "So, Daric. Why did you join the Stormcloaks?" said Baldur as he took out two meads and some meat for them both. Daric stayed quiet for a while, still not quite believing that he was sharing a drink with Baldur Red-Snow. "I joined...to be honest, I just joined to show my father I could do it. That and to get away. I was in Falkreath. I was there for the siege." "You were at the siege?" asked Baldur. "Yea, I saw your little display with your back. That's how I got in. I joined the militia and then General Brund recruited me to the Stormcloaks after you left. My father is a Nord. My mother is a Breton." "Oh, your father was a Nord? That must have been tough growing up." "It was. It was Nord strength this, Nord strength that. I think he expected me to come out more Nord than Breton. Most people know though that the race is determined by the mother. He didn't take that well. I was...kinda his punching bag." "Right, the baby's spirit looks to the mother it's in for guidance, and because of that it takes a shape in her liking." said Baldur, remembering a theory he read up once. Daric wasn't sure if that much was true, but it sounded right. "Well, Daric. I gotta say it took stones for someone like you to join, but you need to get angry and gain confidence if you want to be a soldier." "What's there for me to be confident in? I'm not a Nord." Baldur looked to Daric confusedly, and slapped him upside his head. "What was that? Didn't I hear you get pissed off at that talk earlier, sonny? That's your father talking." "But he's right. Bretons aren't known for being good fighters." "Boy, listen to me. That is horker shit. I'll let you in on a little secret that isn't so secret. A wise woman once said that making up horker shit stories is what we do. And then we make up horker shit about the horker shit he made up. Yea, Nords are known for fighting. Doesn't mean Bretons can't be good fighters if that is what they want to do. Have you ever been to the Reach? Heard about the Forsworn?" Daric looked at Baldur and slowly shook his head yes. "Ha, see? Bet your father wasn't thinking about that. As for the horker shit part, not every tale of glory we tell is likely accurate. For instance, and take this to your grave. Talos. You ever read the Arcturian Heresy?" Daric's eyes widened now as he looked at Baldur. As a Breton, he most definitely had read the book, but most people dismissed it as nonsense. "Well then, I don't need to say anything further." said Baldur. "You mean, you believe it? That Talos...was a-" "A Breton? Well, I'd be lying if I said I did, but I'd also be lying if I said I didn't think it possible. I at least think he had some Breton in him. He has a Nord name according to the book. Hjalti Early-Beard. But he may have just taken a Nord name. Who knows. Point being, one of the most powerful men to have ever existed, and a Dragonborn no less....possibly was like you. And he was a good warrior and general." Baldur ruffled the boy's hair, which made him smile, as did the thought that he could possibly be like the great Tiber Septim. "Besides, I saw some paintings of him in some books. He didn't look very Nordy. " "Does that bother you, sir? Talos possibly being a Breton?" "Bother me? No. No it doesn't bother me. I worship the god, not the man. The man was a prick. Nord or Breton, it won't change that. Besides, he was Ysmir, like Wulfharth. Who Shor chooses to take the form of is none of my business." Daric smiled a bit before drinking some more mead, enjoying the moment. It was strange, but in the brief time that he was around Baldur, even earlier in the day, he seemed more fatherly to him then even his own father. "So you really think I can be a warrior, huh?" "That I do, boy. That I do. You aren't too different from how I used to be when I was a kid." "What? Really?" "Really. I was a complete milkdrinker. My pa used to whoop my ass and beat me to a pulp. I'd just sit there in the snow, crying. And when I stood up, my defense and attacks were too weak and lacked the will to be effective. I uh, don't talk about that much with people. Not even my wife. Low point in my life. I just tell people my father was strict. I suppose I aught to eventually though. Maybe next time if it comes up. Not really important, but I like her to know as much as possible." "How is Admiral Rebec anyway?" asked Daric. "She's good. She's good. She's overlooking her ship's construction right now. I may get a scolding from her tonight though, as I don't plan on going home till around two. Gotta get you ready." "So...what changed? When you were...like me." "I got angry. You just gotta find something that makes you angry. Like your father. He makes you angry with all the Nord superiority talk and his abuse, so envision him when you fight. And confidence wouldn't hurt either, boy. You gotta have confidence but not be cocky. Fine balance. Kinda like how you feel after laying with a woman. That feeling. No, that may be too confident..." Daric turned his head and started scratching his hair at the mention of laying with a woman. Baldur noticed it, unfortunately for Daric. "You...have...been with a woman, right Daric?" "I-I never, I mean I didn't have time to..." Daric started blushing all over his face, and Baldur put a hand over his shoulder and shook him as he laughed. "Ahahhaha! Oh that explains quite a bit! Oh that just won't do boy, that just won't do. Tell you what, I'll convince Brund to push your duel back to later in the day tomorrow. Take this." Baldur placed fifty gold coins in Daric's hand. "What do I do with this?" asked Daric. "What d- Ugh, boy. Go to the Winking Skeever tonight, and find yourself a tavern wench on me. I'd go and save myself some coin and get you one for free, but I don't think Rebec would appreciate it, even though its not for me." Daric looked up from the coin to Baldur to see if he was serious. When he saw that his face was stern, he started to laugh and wished at that moment that Baldur really was his father. "You are the strangest General that I have ever seen, you know that sir?" "Heh, I'll take it as a compliment. Can't have you going out on the field of battle without knowing the warmth of a woman. That's a confidence one is almost required to have if you ask me. Now, it's not time to go and screw whores yet. First, you owe me another two hours of training. Then you can fall into bed with as many wenches you can squeeze out of that fifty gold coins." Daric smiled mischievously before he spoke. "Ah, see that is something I as a Breton know a thing or two about. Negotiation." Baldur let out a good natured laugh before he finished a few more bites of meat and got up off the floor. "Okay then, Daric. Get angry and show me what a Breton warrior can do. You up for it?" Daric got up enthusiastically and raised his practice weapons with a new set of determination in his eyes. Baldur could tell, this time wouldn't be like before. "I'm ready General Red-Snow."

Skjari and Maggie Arcane University Afternoon Maggie had heard that the secretary of the Arcane University had finally, after many notes sent over to the palace, convinced the court mage to give a guest lecture to its students. Curious as to what Skjari would say, she pulled some strings and was allowed in to attend as well. Maggie had herself, prior to her exile to High Rock, taken instruction at the University. It was useless but necessary to maintain the pretense for why she knew magic herself. At least it gave her some opportunity to observe the cloistered world of young practitioners of the arcane, fodder for her books. The University was much diminished from its earlier years, having suffered from the dissolution of the Mages' Guild and the eternal strife between the Synod and College of Whispers over treasure and talent, and later by the Thalmor's interference. All of its few privileged students appeared to have turned out to hear the Nord mage, however. Maggie slipped in to the back of the lecture hall, ignoring the stares, and listened to the chatter around her as she waited for the lecture to begin. "A Nord, of all things," one older student snorted. "A handsome Nord," a female student added. "Oh you would care about such things, Adra." "He's Synod, but no one knows who he studied under." "Fought the Thalmor in Skyrim." "A battlemage, then. Maybe we'll hear something useful." "You and your warmongering. Mages should devote ourselves to research." "Yes, why not be entirely useless." "I heard he has some knowledge of illusion, as well. But what of alteration?" "Bugger alteration. Conjuration is a lost art!" "You mean forbidden art, mostly. You're just inviting a lot of scrutiny by practicing it." Others, elven students, were leaning in and whispering. It was not soft enough to prevent a vampire from overhearing. They were talking about the empress' crackdown on unrest in the Niben Valley, which had fallen disproportionately on the elves. It was hard to be Bosmer or Altmer in the empire these days. From the other side of the room, Maggie overheard her own name, and the word "mistress." Her unofficial role in the palace was hardly a secret. She wondered if she should have stayed away from the lecture for the sake of Skjari's reputation among the other mages, but decided he probably would give a toss about that. When one of those discussing her caught her looking at them, she gave him a sweet smile and waved her fingers. He blushed and turned away quickly, and the conversation dropped off. Suddenly the door to the lecture hall burst open and in strode the court mage, wearing his nordic noble's clothes, these with base color blue and decoration in red a gold along light brown fur trimmings. As always he had his stalhrim sword in it's sheath at his side. He walked up to the small lecture podium and showed it into the wall at the other side of the room with some magic. Then he turned towards the class and took the posture more similar to that of general addressing his troops as he looked over the class with a casual gaze. "My name is Skjari, Skjari Snowstrider if anyone here want to be picky on formalities." He spoke in a voice that was slightly strict but mostly casual and filled with indifference. "But I prefer to only be called Skjari. I have not prepared any subject for this class so I'm simply going to let you choose the subject. So any suggestions?" There was a burst of chatter, some of it disapproving, some curious. No one spoke up at first, but finally one of the professors stood up and said, "Tell us about this competition you've announced." "You mean the mage tournament? I don't know much about it. If you want to know more you should just find and ask the arch-mage about it as it's held by both the Synod and the College of Whispers. I only know that it's mostly about hoarding magical artifacts as each contender must submit such an artifact as an entry fee." "And how are our students supposed to do that?" the man asked, causing another stir of conversation, and arguments between Synod-leaning students and their Whispers rivals. "Gentlemen and ladies!" Another professor stood up, silencing the crowd. "What will the court mage think of us? Skjari. Please tell us about your recent battles with the Thalmor and about how the College can aid in the empire's defense in what is surely another Great War to come. What if the Thalmor have regained knowledge of dawn magicks?" At this, Maggie's attention piqued. She had been reading of the same subject in Skjari's library, during her short time at his northern fastness. As the man hinted at that these students would actually be able to fight Skjari stared at him in disbelief for a second before responding. "Yes I was in the battle with the Thalmor in the north. The Legion had agreed with the Stormcloaks to turn on the Thalmor and have the Thalmor charge the Stormcloaks and then have the Legion charge the Thalmor from behind, catching the Dominion army in the middle. I was among the other battlemages preparing a spell. When the imperials charged I summoned forth a big monster that helped tear through the enemy and providing a good distraction. Then I proceeded to throw various ice and the occasional lightning spell. But as a nord I was a bit too eager and soon found myself somewhere in the middle of the fray. Nothing I hadn't dealt with before and I obviously survived as you can see. The rest of the battle was mostly slaughter. And about dawn magic, I don't really believe they got dawn magic. But if they have, dawn magic draws it's power from the light of Auriel. And what is the opposite of light?" He asked the class. There was relative silence. The younger students appeared confused, while some of the older ones cast nervous glances at each other. Finally a dark-haired Breton woman stood up. "You mean Shadow Magic. There is no known practice of it in accepted mage circles. Do you mean to tell us that you are a Shadow practitioner? Is it possible that another Great War might create another Umbra'Keth creature?" The turn of discussion was not what Maggie expected, but she felt a note of warning at what Skjari might say. His words would reflect on Dales' administration, and if people believed the court mage was practicing dark magic.... "No, I'm not practitioner. I have only heard about it's basic concepts. Though you people asked for a way to counter dawn magic and I gave an answer. So lets hope my beliefs are correct and that the Thalmor are only faking that they have knowledge of dawn magic. If not and things turn dire because of it, well alternate approaches to magic might be needed to be explored if one does not wish to return to the time when the elves were the thrall masters of this land. I'm sure you all remember how kind the Thalmor were, less than a year ago." He replied calmly. The silence grew uncomfortable. No one in the empire had been unscathed by Thalmor scrutiny, but the magic community had been riven by it. Some had openly supported the Thalmor in hopes of gaining access to the justiciars' knowledge, and these now feared exposure and ostracism. Maggie's nervousness was allayed, and she smiled slyly. From what she had read in his library- chronicles by his former royal scribes about his wars against the elves- she suspected that he was lying about not knowing Shadow Magic. What the University didn't know wouldn't hurt it. A young man stood up. "Tell us about this creature you mentioned. What sort of daedroth was it?" Students leaned forward eagerly. Since the Oblivion Crisis, conjuration had been severely limited. "It's a creature of Hircine. It probably got some fancy daedric name but I simply call it a frostwolf. It has the general shape of a werewolf but is about twice as high and it has snow colored fur. It's flesh is partially made from ice and snow. Bloody hard to conjure up but can be really devastating for your foes." "And are you a worshiper of Hircine?" a professor asked. Maggie knew that that was a trap. Skjari would see it for sure, so she wasn't worried. Nearby she heard Lorgar's name mentioned. There were increasing rumors about him, as well. If it got out that Dales' court was full of daedra worshipers, that would be a problem. "No I don't worship any daedra. I find that summoning and worship of daedra does not mix well as when one summons a daedra one should control it, not bend your knee to it. Which brings me to the safety of summoning: when you summon daedra, one either controls it or one does not. You do not make deals with it, you do not make any compromises with it, you enforce your will upon the creature. Daedra are, by their nature nature, malevolent creatures and should not be dealt with carelessly." His tone had grown more strict, signaling that he was quite serious about the subject. A young student stood up. "Come now, Lord Skjari, that is merely repeating back to us the carefully sanitized official pablum that we've been hearing from White Gold for the past two centuries, while any real magical progress is forced to the margins in quasi-legal twilight! This is no way for an empire to conduct its research! We must be freed of these shackles if we are ever to..." "Will you shut up?!" A professor stood, screeching in alarm. The University was in a precarious position without the Mages Guild and Mage Council to plead for it, and its officials had been under threat of closing for a long time. Others joined the chorus, taking one side or the other, and soon the whole auditorium was on its feet, and pushing and shoving began. Then the crackle of lightning fire sounded with a loud clap, and the shouts turned to screams. Skjari couldn't help but to put his face in his palm as the people started to squabble. But when he heard lightning and a scream he had had enough and conjured up a loud roar of a dragon. Then quickly proceeded to summon two frost atronachs, one at each side, each so tall that they had to duck in order to not go through the roof. The dragon roar had gotten everyone to stop with whatever they were doing and freeze up and look at Skjari and the large and rather intimidating atronachs helped them to stay that way. After a few seconds of silence the court mage spoke up with a voice filled with a mix authority, anger and impatience. "First of all, heal up whoever was hit by the lightning bolt. Second, I want the one who threw it to get up here with me. Now!" The room grew colder and colder as he spoke, not cold enough for one to see one's breath but cold enough for any non nord to feel discomfort. Maggie had scrambled away and cloaked herself during the fighting, but lingered if only to see what would happen. No one responded to the court wizard's demand. The injured mage was gasping in pain, but a restoration colleague soon had him put to rights. Some had fled the hall during the fighting, the others stood looking at each other or at Skjari. "My apologies, Lord Skjari," a professor began. "This is not unusual in our troubled times, I'm afraid. The students are sometimes... passionate about their studies. We will initiate a thorough investigation and the guilty parties will be removed from the University forthwith." "How about if the guilty steps forth and admits, they will not be removed from the university and I will decide the punishment?" Skjari asked, going back to his more casual voice that still had a hint of impatience. "I... that seems rather unorthodox..." the professor began. "It was Catullus Vana, I saw him!" "You miserable little cur, you wouldn't know a lightning spell from the gas you blew after dinner!" The speaker was a slight, dark-haired Nibenean. He turned from his accuser to look back at Skjari. "I fired the lightning bolt, and I don't care who knows it. This place isn't a university, it's a knitting salon for losers who come here hoping to secure cushy spots in the Synod or College and gain political favor. You are wasting your time here, court wizard, and so am I. So go ahead and kick me out of the University. Then I can take myself off somewhere where proper magical study is being practiced." "And what if i showed you some 'proper' magic?" Skjari asked with hint deviousness in both his tone and the little smile that crept upon his face. "Go ahead, this lecture was boring me to tears anyway," the Nibenean answered. He then stood back with arms crossed. Skjari quickly raised his hand and sent a ball of frost against imperial rebel. The short mage was caught off guard and he tried to get up a ward but wasn't fast enough before the frost spell hit him and then enveloped him in a shroud of frost, like a small blizzard swept across the surface of his skin. When the frost cloak dropped it revealed the imperial completely frozen and covered in a thin layer of ice. "He'll be alright. In a couple of hours the ice will have melted away and he will wake up with a headache and stiff muscles. In the meantime I think I will teach you some of this 'proper' magic. And later you can then tell him of what he have missed due to his indiscipline. Hands up. Pick a school you wish for me to teach you in." Skjari said, sounding a bit amused of what he had just done to the little disrespectful and cheeky imperial. The remaining audience mumbled apprehensively, but slowly, their hands came up in readiness. Appearing amused, Maggie played along, as well. Nervously someone asked, "How is this different from the normal frost spells, court wizard?" "Depends on what you consider normal. But nordic magic isn't like the elven magic, or elven influenced magic, you will usually find. It lacks the elegance and is instead more rough but mighty. I have a theory that nordic magic at the core came from the old dragon cult as I think they were the biggest practitioners of magic. Especially the dragon priests were one of the most adept among nord mages. As such the nature nord magic became closer related, in a sense, to that of dragons and their thu'um." "And you know this... dragon magic?" the student asked. "It's not really dragon magic, dragon magic is the thu'um. Nordic magic just tries to imitate the power of the thu'um. And yes I know nordic magic." "Teach us, then," a female student from the back said. A few others chimed in to agree. "Hands up again. Pick a school for me to teach you in." Almost all the students in the class raised their hands, the ones who didn't were all elves as they probably didn't like how he had depicted elven magic. Skjari looked over the class and then pointed at Maggie that had her hand raised. "Maggie, what school do want?" Ignoring the titters and whispers around her, Maggie replied, "Illusion, I think, Lord Skjari. Something subtle." "Do you mean something like this?" He dismissed the atronachs and then conjured up two illusions of himself, one at each side of him. Then the two on the right disappeared, leaving the one the left which spoke up. "Or did you have something else in mind?" The students chattered excitedly, someone calling out that it would be useful to send your double to boring classes for you. Smiling, Maggie said, "Something like that. Are you going to teach us the spell?" "Lets start with something simple like an object. Just how to materialize your illusion so it looks believable and realistic. Then we will move on to how make the illusion behave realistic and believable. Creating an illusion of a real human will take practice as you must copy every muscle and skin complexity and lots of other details to make it really believable. Now shall we begin? And move Mr Ice Statue to a corner so he wont be in the way." Skjari first used a simple book as the object for the practice and taught the students how to make a stiff copy of the book and how to get the details of the book right like texture of the books surface how light reflects on it and so on. Then came the hard part and getting the book to behave realistically as one opened the book and turned it's pages or simply dropped the book on the ground. For once the students were attentive and eager, though an argument did break out at one point over whether the spell could be considered illusion or alteration. At least it was settled without any further lightning fire. Maggie spent the time wondering if she could create an illusion of herself strong enough to fool someone. It would be very useful... with someone who wanted her dead, for instance. While the other members of the audience were occupied, she cloaked herself and made her way unseen to the podium. At Skjari's side she asked, "Do I get a private lesson today, master?" Skjari leaned towards where he heard Maggie's voice come from as much as he could without looking too suspicious and whispered. "Why not? When and where do you want it?" "Come to the archmage's tower when you are finished, and knock thrice on the door marked 'Imperial Orrery.' No one can stop you, it is the court wizard's right to use the orrery. I'll meet you there." Skjari nodded subtly and then went to help someone that had a little trouble with the spell. And apparently some of the female students wanted help a lot more often than any of the other students in the room. After a few minutes Skjari got too irritated on some of the students, especially the elven ones, so he declared that the lecture was finished and left without another word as he headed to the arch-mage's tower with determined steps and straight for the door Maggie mentioned at which he knocked three times. The door opened and a hand pulled Skjari through into the stairwell. Maggie stood on the stair above him. Laughing, she put his hands on his shoulders and leaned down to kiss him. "That was most entertaining. They'll be trying to produce fake homework for the next year. Did the little lightning mage thaw out yet?" "He's only melted around halfway. He'll be out late this evening. Now about this private lesson..." He brought his arms around her waist and pulled her body closer to his. "Do you want to start directly or do you want a small break to clear your head?" He asked with a small mischievous creeping up on his face. "I have something to show you first, Professor. No, not that. Come on." Maggie took his hand and led him up the stairwell into a dark dome. It was pitch black, but smelled of cold metal and there were the faint outlines of a large dragon made of dwarven metal. She sang a few atonal notes, and the eyes of the dragon lit up, there was a sound of mage fires lighting, and a few seconds later steam began pouring into the pipes and the mechanism awoke. The dragon moved as if to lift into flight, but instead separated into arcs of twisting metal with spheres at each end. There was a large sphere at the center, and eight others which took their places in orbit around it. The groan of the metal pipes settled into a quiet hum as the spheres slowly circled. Meanwhile, the dome had turned into a star canopy, a deep blue field with light blue and white points for the stars. Arms around Skjari's waist, Maggie looked up at the orrery mechanism. "The eight planets, dead gods, circle around their mistress Nirn, while the stars pierce the Void with the light of Aetherius. I was reminded of it by the star field in your home." She watched it a moment longer, then turned her face back to his and began kissing him, her fingers ruffling through his hair. Backing up against a console, Maggie let him lift her up, and held his shoulders as he entered her. The sound of the dwarven gears hissing and pumping and the slow dance of the spheres rotating above their heads provided a mechanical rhythm for their own. When they were finished, at least for the first time, Maggie held Skjari a while loosely in her arms. "I made a promise to you, Skjari. I wanted to show you the Lover Stone. The timing is not the best, but I keep my promises. We should go soon. Tomorrow night, if you are not otherwise detained. I prefer to travel in darkness. Does it suit you?" "Suits me just fine," he said before right before he brought his lips to hers. "Your head clear yet?" He said with a slight smile, sounding both a bit amused and mischievous. Between kisses she answered, smiling, "Quite. And yours? You've had a strenuous day, shaping the young magic-inclined minds of Cyrodiil." "My head is not quite clear yet. We should do something about that." He said as he put his hands on her hips and brought her on top of him. Maggie slid around nimbly, marveling as she did that she was honestly eager. Since her early years, she had been trained to be no more alive with a man than the dwarven machines. To do otherwise was too risky. And yet this stoic Nord mage had made her feel something exhilarating. As she moved on him, she thought that it was something like freedom. Her seductions were practiced, and it satisfied her superiors that Skjari was powerful enough to warrant her attentions, but Maggie knew the truth, that she was with him because she wanted to be. She was more passionate than usual, and when they were done, lay against his chest. The melancholy thought crept in that this was no real freedom, either. Outside the brief moments when she lost herself, the cage around her was still closed. Raising her head, Maggie looked at Skjari in the dim light given off by the orrery stars. "After this trip, I will have to go to Skingrad for a while. I'll be honest with you. I may not return." "Why not? You going into exile?" He didn't sound worried, only curious and slightly disappointed. Maggie considered telling him the truth, but decided that it was better for both of them if he didn't know exactly what she planned. For all she knew, he could warn Darius, considering him a better ally than she was a mistress. "My father may have another assignment for me. If the Thalmor do not catch up to me first, I hope it is not the last we see of each other. I should like to see your Skyrim home again. Perhaps more of Skyrim, someday." She sat up then, adjusting her dress and beginning to re-tie the laces of her bodice. "Will you do me a favor before we leave? Check your Tower scrolls again, and write on them the phrase..." As she recited a list of numbers and letters, the orrery pieces suddenly stopped their motion, then re-aligned and stopped again. Glancing up, Maggie laughed. "Yes, Dibella in perimundus. That is what the code corresponds to. I'll write it down for you back at the palace. It is the code for Gedras Moren, an old friend of mine in the spy network. I hope he's still alive and that you'll find a recent message from him. I wish to meet him while we're in the Nibenay." "I'm still working my through the address book. I don't remember his name, so he's probably one of those that I haven't tried to contact yet." He leaned in towards her and whispered in her ear, his voice was soft but an underlying tone that suggested at cruelty. "And your father is starting to irritate me." Maggie smiled sadly. "He's starting to irritate me, too. If you lack for company and are tired of Dales' maids, some of those young mages would oblige you. In the meantime we will have a few days in a lovely, if troubled, part of Cyrodiil, and I do still want that private lesson in your unique brand of illusion magic. Now we should leave before a busybody secretary comes to investigate the strange noises from the orrery." "Maybe. Or we could let them watch." He chuckled. "But you're right. Lets get out of here."

Darius, Tullius Afternoon Imperial City, Gaius Tullius breathed in a moutful of air, as he softly closed his eyes and enjoyed the warm of the steaming water. His body was submersed, and the steam fell across his heavily muscular body, which was covered in various scars. Regardless of his age, Tullius had the body of a legionary. He was in the "Steaming Mundas", a bath house located in the Talos Plaza district, It was the one in which the wealthy and privileged would frequent. So no worries about being raped as Tullius would say. Unfortunately for Tullius, the bath house was separated into two parts, one for the men, and one for the woman. So Tullius couldn't see any "Junk". Darius entered the bath, expecting it to be empty. Instead, what he found was none other than general Tullius enjoying himself. Someone hadn't gotten the memo, it seemed, but he'd let it slide. This time. Choosing a spot as far away from him as possible, Darius let himself into the water and closed his eyes. It's the old count himself... Tullius's vision spotted the count of Skindgard. He had chosen a place far off from the old legionary, despite the two of them being the only ones in the bath house, which somewhat offended him. What was he? Too stuck up to hang around with somewhat not of the nobility. But regardless, Tullius had meet the count before, and he didn't seem like that kind of person, so somthing must have been off. Tullius was willingly to give the man his space, but soon remembered Jon's words, they needed this man. Tullius gave Darius a curious look, wondering if her should approach him or not. Great, what now? The curious look didn't go unnoticed, even if Darius' eyes were closed. What sort of inane question or proposition stirred in the generals mind? Probably something to do with the sudden return of one of the other generals. Or about how to get this or that noble to do something for him. He hoped Tullius would just ask his question and get i over with, the stare was annoying. Ah screw it, As intimidated as he was, if Tullius could face down a shouting nord while surrounded, he could face down some noble at a bath house. Tullius reluctantly, got out of his sitting position, and swam across the large bath to the count. Tullius bowed his head, he wasn't good at these things at all, "Ummmm...greetings milord..." Tullius said akwardley "Please be brief, I came here to get away from all the politics that comes with my position for a moment," Darius didn't even open his eyes and spoke in a dull, bored and monotone voice. The outlines of Tullius' body was clearly visible to him though. Centuries of magical studies had left him with some advantages. Effortlessly detecting others was one of them. Tullius eyes became wary, decades on the battlefield had given Tullius a sort of instinctive warning system, and it was telling Tullius somthing was really off with this man. He gulped in, and gathered himself, "Just a few questions milord, what's...ummm...your opinion of the elder council." Now that could be interesting. Darius opened his eyes and raised an eyebrow. "My opinion on the Elder Council? What, you want revenge for them not being all that helpful to you in the civil war? If so, forget it. You'd have lost that war regardless. The Dragonborn made sure of that." Yes, I know about that greatbrained dragon-whore born/idiot won the ******* war for them, that's what I get for trying to lop off its head.... "None of the sort milord....as you know, the Elder council has been trying it's damm hardest to...diminish the power of the legion, and the Empress, while trying to give power to itself over and over again. The elder council was at fault for Titus II death, the decline of the empire, and more. I'm just...curious were you stand on this matter." "They're an incompetent collection of rich daddyboys who had everything handed to them by their parents and think they are entitled to rule the Empire however they see fit," Darius exaggerated, letting Tullius know that if he didn't chose his words very carefully, he'd renounce what he just said and turn it all back on him. "What's your point?" hink...smart...think...smart... Despite being part of a very rich merchant family, Tullius was never groomed with social courtesy, as he joined the legion at a very young age, but he still had a very limited knowledge of how to word things carefully, "Well...I've also been pressured to give control of the first legion to some elder councilors son, who previously only received the position of Legate due to his family ties. This stuff happens quite often, naturally ability is frowned upon in the higher standings of society, while the councilors are given everything on a silver-platter, and as you said due to there parents connections. Is this fair to you?" "Is it fair that an Emperor, or a Count for that matter, can rule over a people who were never given a choice in the matter? My subjects were never asked, so, even if I try to do right by my people, is it fair that I am the ruler of Skingrad because my father was? Life is not fair, general." "But, from what I hear, you have the naturally ability to lead, and your run your countie very well. You deserve position, these sons of "politicians" don't, they have no ability." Tullius continued, "As you say, life isn't fair. However, if you dont try to change the social standing, nothing will get better, and will stay the same. "And you want to reduce the power of the Elder Council on the Imperial Legion, but you," Darius laid his head back down on the pool edge and once more closed his eyes. "Or, more likely, the one you're taking orders from, are aware that trying to do anything against the Elder Council without support from the rulers of the significant counties, and the Empress, though I doubt that will be a problem regarding her issues with the Council, is futile." Your right, we wouldn't be able to do anything with support from her majesty. The one, as you say, i'm taking orders from is soon going to be general of the first legion, given his position right infront of the elder council." His face changed to his regular voice, "I'm a soldier, not a nobleman or politician, I don't have the patience to dance with you in conversation, I can tell you right now that Empress Dales supports whatever were planning, the man who orders me, told me we needed you. Do you want to hear more." "I think it is high time that you leave me to bathe in peace, general." Tullius mockingly bowed, before putting on his towl, and leaving the bath, he said, "Good day to you, count.". And with that, the general lit a cigar as he left the room. A new player in the game. Interesting. I wonder if it is general Hard-Heart. Darius continued to lay at the edge of the bath for a while longer, mapping the possibilities of what this might lead to. The only conclusion that occurred was to remain neutral until they had got their little project going. If they could get it started without his help, there was a chance it was worth supporting. And there was another matter on his mind: Who had sent the assassin after Samuel?

Skjari Imperial City Afternoon The sky was clear except a few clouds dotting it here and there. A strong north wind blew across the land as Skjari made his way through the city streets, but due to walls and buildings in the city, he only felt a cool soft wind. The probably soon to be new spymaster, Lilinien Quentas, had arrived in the city only a few days after the offer for the position of spymaster was sent to her in Chorrol. She had arrived yesterday and now Skjari was making heading towards the Quentas family manor in the Talos Plaza District. The manor was what one would expect from a family in their position, big, delicately decorated and elegant but not garish. As he made his way to the main entrance of of the manor he spotted the gate leading through a stone wall to the garden on the backside of the manor. Skjari remembered the night he had used the garden as shortcut back to the palace and how he had met the now Lorgar's wife. He couldn't help but to wonder if she had or ever would tell her husband that his enemy had gotten to her before him. But those thoughts dissipated as he reached the large wooden double door that was the main entrance of the manor. Why he had decided to meet her here instead of his office was partly to give her the feeling of home field advantage, but mainly because he wanted to get out of the palace. The palace had grown boring as of late, he drew a small sigh as knocked hard on the wooden door, hoping this meeting wouldn't bore him. A woman in her late twenties answered the door. She was skinny, but not overly so to look like a skeleton, She was medium height, and had a very generous chest size. She looked very akin to Lorgar's wife, having a similar face and the same unique Lapis Lazuli eyes which looked like the depths of the ocean. Unlike Mily however, her hair was a splendid platinum color, and she kept it long, unlike Millies Golden medium length hair. She wore a green dress, embodied with black and red roses, and had silver earings shaped in the image of the moon. She graciously bowed, before grinning and saying "You are Master Skjari?" Skjari gaze had trailed downwards when she appeared and he quickly looked up from her bosom to her face as he was about to speak. "Yes, I'm here to speak about your new position, or rather trial position for the time being, as the spymaster. May I come in?" "Please milord, follow me." She lead the man inside the mansion, which was as grand inside as outside. It was filled with expensive furniture presumably made in Chrorrol, and servants busily worked and did there duties. Lilinien led Skjari inside to a medium sized room, with coaches, chairs, and a large table. She took a seat, on a leather chair at the front of the table, and asked the man, "May I offer you some red wine?" "Only a little, need to keep a clear head." He said as he took a seat opposite to her. She waved her hand, and a bottle floated into the room. She carefully poured the man a small cup of the wine using whatever spell she was using, before pouring herself an equally small glass, "My, my. Being offered a position that formerly belonged to by brother-in law, how...colorful. I suppose it's for the best though, from what I gathered , Millies husband was horrible for the job." Skjari took a sip from the glass he was handed. "And insane. He liked creating disputes rather than quelling them. I even heard some of the nobles running a bet at how long he would last. No one bet more than a year." She chuckled, "My sister knows how to pick them, eh?" She said, with a slight grin aimed towards the mage. "Regardless, I already have a spy network, which Lorgar didn't really have. He relied on information brokers, and his soldiers to gather third rate information. Though it's mostly centered in Cyrodili, i've begun to branch out into the two most important area's, Skyrim so we can watch our "allies", and in Valenwood, which is presumably going to be the first target in an invasion of the dominion, correct?" Skjari returned a small sly smile before speaking. "Though I think we wont get real reliable spy network inside Valenwood till the invasion starts. We will need the chaos it will create to get good and quick information. You probably have better contacts there than most, but take into consideration that the Thalmor run a tight ship and that the information you get can have been filtered. I think the best bet is to simply gather information about the border defenses and then establish a spy network after the border is broken." "So, rely on the legion spearheads to punch a hole threw the dominion lines, and just then establish a network of spies." She said, scratching her chin, "If I may ask milord, where should the resources I set aside for Valenwood be used until it's most suitable for Valenwood?" "I just think that trying too hard right now for Valenwood would just be a waste of those resources. And you'll figure something out, it's your job as spymaster. Maybe prepare for moving into Valenwood with your spies, get a sense on how to use the chaos to your advantage, just suggestions. As I said, it's your job to figure things out." "Of course it is milord, I'm just very...."cooperative" I know the true power on the ruby throne when I see him, and unlike the previous holder of my job, I wish to assist instead of hinder you, I want you to be informed of all my plans, and for you to have a say in what my...attention focus's on" She said, with a sly smile. Skjari raised an eyebrow, he may have started to act a bit like when he was king, but he wasn't sure if that was enough to think he had power or just think he deluded himself that he had power for being close to the empress. Someone may have talked, probably Lorgar, or Tullius. But for now it was best to play along. "Well enough. Keep me informed and I'll tell you if I want something. Now about you predecessor; I've gotten a tip from one if his previous subordinates, an agent named Mario, that he might have had some treasonous plans. The Oculatus did a discrete search of his house and found that he was planning on leaving to somewhere, from where he would stage attacks to spill the blood of the Empire." It had actually been so that when the high ups of the of Penitus Oculatus, the ones second only to the spymaster, was informed of Lorgar getting arrested, Mario had given up the information, believing they would find it eventually anyway and he hoped for being spared if he gave it up directly. "I've already have his arrest covered. But he had all his wealth hidden away some time ago for tax evasion, I think. If you manage to locate and retrieve it, it's all yours, minus the taxes he owed." "Oh, a finding game, how fun." She didn't mention the part about her brother-in laws treason and incoming arrest, but she was thinking something thoughtfully. Her train of though stopped, as she soon got out of her chair, and walked towards the Wizard, which casued her wholesome breats to swing back and forth slightly. She approached the man, and lied out her arm gently on his shoulder, while she whispered into his ear. "You must be very stressful milord, dealing with this mad spymaster, and the weight of your responsibilities. Aren't you growing slightly tired of that author?" Does she even have a brassiere under that dress? And his answer to her question was no, but he didn't want to tell her that so he instead grabbed her around the waist as he got up from the chair and put his lips to hers as he lifted her up. She kissed him back and put her legs around his hips and her arms around his shoulders, clinging to him as she pressed her body against his. He slowly fell backwards but instead of falling to the ground, they stopped midair and levitated two feet above the ground. No furniture or floor was needed for this act. And then, as they were about to make love, the door to the common room opened. A girl who looked like she was in her late twenties, but both man and woman knew her age to be in the late thirties entered the room. She had the same Lapis Lazuli eyes, and golden hair. It was Milly Quentas, Lorgar's wife and Lillinin's sister. She had a surprised and shocked expression, which were widened by her golden glasses, "Ummmm..." Lillin said, with her cheeks became scarlet, "Milly...." The girl smiled slightly, before saying "I was...just going to check on you....it seems your...busy...I'll come later then." She quickly closed the door, and ran out of the mansion. Very embarrassing. Lillin quickly recovered as she turned her head towards the court mage and said, "Now, wear were we?"

Maggie Imperial Palace morning When Maggie entered the palace’s outer court, she met the ghoulish figure of Gervais, her brother’s valet. Wordlessly he handed a note to her and brushed past. She cast a baleful glance back at him and opened the letter. Mags, Send some money. Off the books, as it were. I know you’ve got some. At least 4000s. Very important. Gervais will be back to get it. I know you won't fail me. Yours, Jem Gervais could hang, and so could Jem, before either would get a septim out of her. It wasn’t the first such request. Jem had probably been gambling or spending on whores beyond his allowance and wanted to pay the debts before their father caught on. He had the idea that she was rolling in cash from her books, though he ought to know Darius kept track of every gold flake. Distracted, Maggie nearly ran straight into another figure walking across the foyer. He caught her elbow and started to snap at her, then stopped and laughed. “Magdela! Good to see you, girl. Lovely as ever.†Nearly before she recognized him, Rufus Imbrex was leaning in to give her a light peck on the lips. “Sir Rufus. What brings you to the palace?†“PO business. Dodgy mess, this, with the royal spymaster gone.†Imbrex was knight of some sort, and in the past thirty or so years had been a middle officer of the Penitus Oculatus. He was also an elder member of the Order and one of her father’s oldest associates. “Yes. A sad affair.†“Sad? We’re well rid of him, I’d say. Why, did you know him? I had heard you were occupied with the court mage these days.†Maggie’s smile was wan. “I knew Lorgar a little. I tried to counsel him as best I could, but he was never suited for this life.†“Not like you, eh.†He leaned in. “Aren’t you tired of all this, Magdela? You know my wife is gone these three years. If you want out, tell me. I’ll talk to Darius and make it happen. You and I, we would go places.†They would to to Oblivion before Darius would agree to such a match. Despite the long family friendship, there was no advantage in it. Nor did she believe that Rufus was really interested in a wife. He had hit a ceiling in the Oculatus, and believed her palace connections might break it for him. Even an elder member of the Order like him occasionally needed a hand up when it came to public stature. He would also help his standing in the Order by such an arrangement. With a polite laugh, she replied, “I’ll think about it. Let me know if I can help some way with Lorgar. Good day, Sir Rufus.†Without a look back, Maggie went on toward her quarters. She tried to write, sketching out the outline of the new book, but found her mind wandering. Remembering the encounter with Imbrex, she thought back to an occasion some two centuries before when he had been a guest at their Jeralls keep. Guests were few at the isolated fortress, since not even many in the Order knew of its whereabouts or even its existence. For a gregarious fourteen year-old Magdela, dinner guests were a special treat. She wasn’t allowed to speak much, and her mind always ran with questions, but eagerly she would listen to all the adults’ conversation. Imbrex was a building official in Anvil then, and knew a great deal of news from all over Tamriel, which was still reeling from the effects of the Oblivion Crisis. After dinner, Maggie snuck back downstairs and listened in as her father and the dinner guest talked together quietly in an alcove. “I thought of Samuel for this,†Darius was saying, “but you did me a service, and I trust you with it.†“It’s too much, Darius. I don’t deserve this great honor.†There was a silence and Maggie guessed that the man was getting one of her father’s looks that could silence an unbound dremora. He didn't like to be gainsaid, even out of false humility. Darius said, “I know you won’t disappoint me.†That was the end of discussion. Maggie started as she realized they were done and she was about to be caught listening, but then her father called her name. How did he always know? Darius didn't seem angry, however, and his voice was uncharacteristically gentle. "Magdela, I have a task for you. You recall what we discussed recently about your future, about how you can help this family. It is time to begin your training. I want you to go upstairs and put on something nice, then I want you to join Lord Imbrex in his chambers. You will spend the night with him.†She blinked once, then nodded. When Darius turned to leave, she spoke up. “Should I fall in love with him?†He looked back. “What was that?†“Do you want me to fall in love with him?†Her father seemed startled at the question. He hesitated, then stepped forward and took her face gently in his hands. “Magdela, I am the only man to whom you will ever owe any loyalty or affection. Do you understand?†At her relieved nod, he said, "Go on now. Don’t be afraid, he won’t hurt you." Maggie did as she was told. She spent the next three nights in the man’s room, learning how to please him, how to apply everything she had been reading about. Above all she was surprised to see the effect she could have on him. There was a strange delight in the realization of such power. Apart from that, she felt little. Before the fourth night, Darius visited her and handed her a vial. “I want you to put this into Lord Imbrex’s wine. Don’t drink any of it yourself. Not even a sip. When he falls asleep, leave and return to your chambers.†“Will it hurt him?†“It will kill him.†Darius watched her carefully. Maggie took the vial, looked at it a moment, then lifted her eyes and nodded. He smiled. “That’s my girl.†That night, Maggie watched when Imbrex drank from the poisoned cup. He had her undress for him, but before she was finished, he fell aside on the bed and appeared to sleep. She returned to her room. Maggie was still sitting on her bed the next morning when Jem came to find her. “Come on, sleepyhead, we’ve got riding lessons. What’s wrong with you?†When she didn’t answer, he stepped forward and punched her hard in the arm. “Get moving. I’ll even let you win the race this time.†She made no reply and didn’t move, and eventually her brother gave up. Later that morning when Maggie finally went downstairs, she was startled to see her father standing with Lord Imbrex in the foyer. Both men laughed when they saw her horrified expression. “She performed beautifully, Darius.†Imbrex hesitated, then added with pointed tone, “In every respect. Congratulations.†“Thank you, Rufus. I’ll see you out.†“I know the way. Until next time.†Imbrex looked back, and smiled at Maggie. “Goodbye, Magdela. Thank you for a lovely time.†Sitting in her palace study two centuries later, remembering the incident, Maggie suddenly realized what her father had said. It was supposed to be Samuel. She pondered that a while, then put it out of her mind and returned to her writing. Now as then, Maggie felt nothing.

Samuel and Maggie Shrine of Clavicus Vile, southwest of the Rumare Lake Just after noon Samuel stood and looked at the shrine. It was worn and overgrown by plants, after having been abandoned for so long. Not many of the shrines near the major settlements in Cyrodiil remained active places of worship after the Oblivion Crisis and the forming of groups like the Vigilants of Stendarr. The Hound was missing too, which was most strange. "How do you think the bargain went, with Vile and his Hound, for the earliest of our kind?" Samuel asked out loud, aiming it at Maggie. For an hour or so he had made her practice hiding her presence from magic meant to detect from the prying eyes of those skilled in magic. Very difficult and tiresome, even for Samuel himself. She had started to move in the right direction, but there was still a long way for her to go. She concealed herself properly, but that was the easy part of the spell. Advanced magical techniques usually allowed those tuned to their fores to feel its presence, so the trick was to contain the energy of the spell itself. A major strain on the body and mind, for those untrained in the art. And just a notable strain for those who were. Maggie reclined on the broken-down pedestal. She didn't sweat unless she wanted to, but if she were still a mortal, the perspiration would have been beaded on her brow. Darius had taught her rigorously on matters of concealment, illusion and getaway, but there were limits to what he would show her. Those were limits that Maggie suspected he maintained so that he'd always have the upper hand on her himself. "It seems a poor bargain for Vile," she replied. "So far as I understand, our souls are forfeit to Coldharbour. He receives no homage, as this shrine demonstrates. Perhaps he simply enjoys the irony that his pets are what has helped maintain the empire's power all these years, even reduced as it now is." "Well," Samuel chuckled and glanced over at her. "I'd say the people serving in the Legion deserves more credit than our little group for that. The Nords and Cyrods, in particular, have shed sweat and blood over the years to maintain it. We're just... drinking some of the spills, I'd say." "Oh, come now. An army bleeds, but it must go where it's sent and follow its orders, and without the taxes to pay them, they would bleed for the highest bidder. There were always rumblings of martial law even before the Oblivion Crisis, but so far the legionnaires have shown little ambition for ruling. They even follow a young Breton girl. Surprising, isn't it?" "Hmm, I don't know if I find it surprising, a lot has happened." With a leap than most people wouldn't make, he took a hold of Vile's hand and sat down besides the stone man on the plateau where the Hound had once been, looking down on Maggie. "Lately, most generals have been concerned with just getting their places staffed enough to get by because of the Dominion threat. They haven't had time to consider the throne much. And up until just recently, the Medes were in charge. For all their flaws, they were competent military leaders stuck in an impossible situation. But I wouldn't count on the Legion generals not having ambitions for martial law. Not yet. I'm not sure if you've noticed, but the Generals were never happy with the Empress' father. The moment she takes a step back from her anti-Thalmor position, I'd wager there will be more than one general with a bone to pick with her. Empress is a fine title, until your army abandons you. Then you're a stuck up bitch with a fancy title and no real power. The Medes kept the Empire together, with a lot of help from the Legion and some manipulative Councilmen. We had little to do with it." "My father would say we are the true power in the background, or one of them. He supported the Medes and would say that they had no idea how much they owed to us. Of course, when Amaund seized power, all that seemed lost. Believe me, I know about the legionnaires Amaund considered traitors. He shrieked in my ear about it enough. More than all of his other enemies, he feared those. He knew that if they ever organized, his days were numbered. And that is what happened. Skjari, Dales- they wouldn't have made it past Bruma without the legion's support." "We have power, to be sure," Samuel nodded from where he sat. "But I find the notion of us being important in the Empire's survival to be no more convincing than the hardheads of the Elder Council saying that the Nords are too uncivilized to rule themselves. It is a justification of the continuation of the social order, nothing more. If anything, we are dependent on the Empire more than it on us. All our power means nothing, should Cyrodiil's Legions turn on the government. The Legion is, and will be for a long time, the basis for power." "The legion doesn't exist apart from the rest of society," Maggie argued. "It is the tax and banking system which is the really difficult part of building a civilization. Counterfeiters are already trying to exploit the chaos, especially in the Nibenay. I came across some debased septims myself in the Market District the other day. That shopkeeper had a lot of explaining to do, but I don't think it was his fault. Imperial bureaucracy has long not been what it once was. If the septim loses value, if the imperial coffers go dry..." "If the coffers go dry, we're in for a period of warlords trying to seize control over what is left of it all. My point stands though, we're not important to the Empire's survival. You can try to justify our existence all you want, but I prefer to see it as honestly as I can. I live by lies and deception; the least I can do is to try to be honest when I have the chance to be myself. Did you bring anything to drink? I forgot my win- no, wait, I ran out just before I ran into you." Maggie looked like she would argue some more, but shrugged and took out a vial. "Only of the necessary." Brow knitting, she said, "You have taken to drink a great deal. I thought it an eccentricity of mine." "I've got my own stash of that," he nicked a vial of his own from inside his jacket. Unlike most of his recent time in Cyrodiil, where he had had fun portraying himself as the dark, mysterious stranger, he now wore commoners clothing. Light brown linens, a longsleeved white shirt and a brown jacket outside of that. The clothing choice of someone actually competent in blending in. And if someone came across them, he could just say he was a hired guide that got lost. "You got a problem with me taking to the drink, Maggie?" he gave her a smile. "I am surprised, that's all. But you often surprise me." She recalled the mudcrab petting, and the indulgence at the brothel. In her own family, everything was calculated, and even the innocent vice of writing novels was an eccentricity only barely tolerated. Standing, she paced a little. "The training did not go well. I'll never be able to get the jump on him." "I surprise most people. Whatever they expect, I am usually not it. Not dressed well enough, not tall enough and every other expectation one has from someone with power. The clothes you've seen me in the last time have been an exception of sorts. I usually walk around like this," Samuel gestured to his clothing. His eyes followed her as she paced for a brief moment, but found themselves on the White-Gold spire in the distance, just barely visible between the tall treetops. "Don't expect to ever be good enough to get a one-up on your father with a spell like that. I've had centuries to get it right and I still haven't." "Then how?" "Outsmarting him. We need to get close to him without him suspecting anything. From there we'll have to improvise." "He wouldn't be how he is if he were trusting of anyone. I thought he would trust you, but he was so worried when you were late for our meeting. Darius has survived by being paranoid, even of those close to him. Especially of us." "I know. And I suspect he suspects me of something already, and has for a long time. I drink a lot after I spend time with him, then stop. If he hasn't picked up on that, he's getting old." Samuel jumped down from the statue and looked at her. "How is your book coming along? I have an idea that could work, but you'll need to finish the book faster than you're used to. Maggie raised a brow in surprise. "What sort of idea? I plan to have it set in Valenwood and the Nibenay. I was going to make a trip south soon anyway, and was hoping for some inspiration while I was there." There was the subtle noise of movement nearby, and Maggie cast a detect life spell, seeing a mortal some fifty paces off. Probably a hunter. She returned her attention to Samuel, unconcerned. "Valenwood? As good as it gets, I suppose. We need a reason to get to Skingrad; your book might be the ticket. A promotion-event, set in Skingrad. Your father might fall for it. Unlikely, but he might." "I could always say that I decided to visit Mother, since I can never keep up with her letters. You're supposed to keep an eye on me, so..." A male voice spoke up from a copse of trees nearby. "I got an arrow trained on you, so no sudden moves. I don't want to know what you're doing out here and I don't care, but the little lady's got some nice jewelry on. Take it off, sweet thing, and throw it over here." Maggie listened to this, then glanced back at Samuel, her expression reading, "Your move, or shall I handle it?" "Rorek," Samuel said, a little louder than he would have needed to for Maggie to hear him. A split second later an arrow had carved into the left arm of whoever it was that had come up on them. "Ah!" Samuel let put a grunt and fell to his left side. The robber's own arrow had been fired as he lost his grip on the bow and hit him in the right thigh. Before anyone had managed to do anything else, another arrow hit the robber in the chest and the two could hear that a man approached them from behind. "Step into the light, sir, if you would," Maggie said calmly. She assumed the one approaching was Samuel's, but would take no chances. Keeping an eye in that direction, she glanced quickly at Samuel and moved closer to him. "Are you hurt badly?" "Son of a..." Samuel let out another groan of pain when tried to pull on the arrow. It had buried itself deep. "No, no- I'll be fine, just..." "Sir," Rorek, dressed in dark brown and green clothing made from thick leather, ran up to him and started to examine the wound without giving much heed to Maggie. "By Shor," he whispered. "Bit to the bone." "Lucky shot," Samuel grumbled. It was little point to trying to control his emotions here; no prying eyes on him. "Not likely," Rorek said back, just loud enough for Maggie to hear it. "He aimed, I saw- Sit down, will you!?" He pushed Samuel back down the moment he tried to get to his feet again. "Your Ladyship, you care to give me a hand here?" Maggie knelt and put a hand on Samuel's arm. "Sit. Take some nourishment." She fished Samuel's flask out of his pocket and opened it, then glanced at Rorek. "Aimed for Samuel? Are you sure? He could be Thalmor." "Not Thalmor. Assassin, for hire. Good one," Rorek spoke in short, fast sentences while he continued to examine the wound. "Old friend. Of sorts. No poison: Unusual for him. Knew target was a vampire. Not random attack. Wound suggest thin and sharp arrowhead: Aware that target was unarmored." Samuel rolled his eyes, but didn't put up a fight when Maggie handed him his vial. Beyond making a comment about it anyway. "You know I could have reached that myself, right? My leg is hit, not my arms." Ignoring his impatience, Maggie said, "Your friend here is very efficient. What was the attempt to rob us all about? He could have just taken his shot." "Letting whoever survived think it was a robbery gone wrong," Samuel pushed Rorek to the side and pulled out the arrow forcefully. the blood started to tickle out again, building to a stream. "Meaning I was the target." Rorek reached into a satchel in his belt and pulled out some bandages. "Magdela, do you mind?" She stepped back. "Go ahead." Pacing, Maggie glanced around, casting another detect life spell to see if there were other assailants lurking. "I feel responsible. It was my suggestion to come out here, and to leave behind my guard." "Oh please," Samuel snorted. Anger and freedom to express it was perhaps not the best combination for his mood. "You think your guards would make any difference, or even being in the city would help? You think someone would send an amateur after me?" Maggie glanced back, then rolled her eyes. "No, of course not. Only your guard is expert enough for that." After a pause she added, "If you are well enough, we should practice more of those concealment spells on the way back to the city. It appears we both have enemies stalking us." "Keep me out of this, will you?" Rorek, half-seriously, pleaded at her. "I'm not his guard, just a friend. And I got lucky. I'd be dead if he knew I was here." "Then finish what you're doing and let's be off quickly. This man may have friends nearby, as well." To Samuel she said, "You are welcome to stay in my home. I don't even know where you stay in the city?" "Not likely," Samuel said, aimed at her concern for the assassin having friends. "I don't know," Rorek replied with a distant expression; he was still focused on the bandages. "Your Ladyship, this would be a good time to show how good of a healer you are. As long as this wound is open, he'll have trouble walking." "I'll try," she said, returning to Samuel's side. "Try to relax. No tensing or the healing could be undone as fast as I advance it." With that, Maggie concentrated and began the spell. She had made a thorough study of restoration magic, determined- after some failures early on- that her cattle should not suffer ill effects from her bite. It was more out of a sense of neatness than any real compassion for them. After a few minutes, she looked up. "How's that? I'm tired from our practice, so it may be a while yet before I can properly heal you." "I'll be fine," with a quick movement Samuel got to his feet again, but they could see a slight limp had taken hold for now. "Nothing that will slow me down. Much." "You never answered her question," Rorek had walked away from them a little, with his bow drawn and an arrow at the ready, looking through the trees in case something was near, but he did manage to throw in a comment to Samuel. "About where you stayed, I mean." "Oh boy, here we go again," Samuel let out a chuckle. Maggie glanced between the two men, a little smile playing at her lips. "You're mysterious not only to me, I gather. Keep your secrets then, guardian. You are welcome at my house, however, as long as you're a better guest than Jem." "What!? Oh, no, I'm just teasing him," Rorek had apparently not found any threat nearby, so he moved back to them again. "He's staying at my house, actually. Well, was staying at my house, when I was out of town. He's free to stay with you." "I am Rorek, of Eastmarch. Pleased to meet you, My Lady," he held out a hand towards her. "Another Nord." Maggie took the hand, holding a little longer than necessary as she took the opportunity to study Rorek. "Is this the point when I reply by calling you an Imperial? I'd prefer to call you Lady Magdela," he gave her a smile. She could see he had several small scars on his throat and what was visible of his neck. Dark brown eyes that seemed friendly enough. Dark hair too, that had started to ever so slightly turn grey, but there were few wrinkles in his face and his grip suggested that the strength from his prime had yet to leave the bones. His hand had a few minor scars as well. Must have fought a lot in his life. Maggie smiled, and eventually released his hand. "This is where I wonder that Nords still remain in the Imperial City, after what our late emperor did." She glanced at Samuel, and moved to his side, though stopped short of putting an arm around him. "Lean on me if you wish. We should get moving. Obviously Lord Vile offers no protection here, if he ever does." "Which one?" Rorek followed up. Samuel made a gesture that said he wouldn't need her help. "The one who expected us to bleed and sweat for the Empire with nothing, except being told what to do and how to live, to gain, or the bastard that waged war on us?" "Uh... the bastard, I suppose," Maggie answered. She started forward. "Thalmor prison as a Talos worshipper is a rather greater trial than legion service, is it not?" The Nords had received special scrutiny under the Inquisition, even in Cyrodiil. "At least the bastard had the decency of not pretending to be our friends and letting people get arrested for the good of us all," there was something in his voice, even though friendly, that said that this was a topic that riled emotions in him. "You don't get it, do you? Our people have fought and bleed for the Empire for 600 years, serving as the Empire's strength, and in return all we get are orders for how to behave and what gods to worship and which of our own laws we can and cannot follow. Some nobles get money, but the people who bleed for you? It is a miracle that Skyrim didn't turn its back on your people when the Septims disappeared." "And you had no advantages out of the arrangement at all? The Nords joined the empire more or less willingly, even after Mede's ascension to the throne." "What, you mean trade? Or is it protection? Because we had both before we joined Tiber Septim in his conquest of Cyrodiil." "And yet most of your tribes joined him willingly," she repeated. "And supported Mede as well. The Interregnum was the Nords' perfect opportunity to leave the empire, if you were so put upon." Her cloak spell dissolved and Maggie appeared before Rorek again. "Why do you live in the Imperial City, if it is so disagreeable to you?" "My people joined, if the historical records are to be believed, because we felt Tiber worthy of following. He was Ysmir. And my guess is that we didn't leave because the people have become so nostalgic about the Empire they couldn't abandon it. And if you heard what was said by the Jarls who supported the Empire in the civil war in Skyrim, Tiber Septim founded the Empire and our rulers wouldn't let it fall." Samuel had walked a little further away from the others, not being very interested in the debate, but replied to Maggie's second question. "He doesn't live in the Imperial City. He maintains residences all over Tamriel as a cover for me. I just let him use my houses when he needs to." "I see." Maggie continued on, looking around warily for another ambush. "Is Ulfric Stormcloak worthy of following, in your estimation?" "As worthy as one could expect, I suppose. If nothing else, he was willing and able to act. If your question is if I would follow him or the Empire, the answer should be obvious." "And without an heir. Perhaps he and our empress should get together. I suppose you would object to that." Maggie half-smiled. "Do you know our court mage, Rorek? One of your countrymen, and the real power behind the throne." "I know him. Well, not personally, but I know who he is. And I know I don't trust him, regardless of what his ancestry is. Then again, I don't trust your father either. Or you, if I am allowed to be blunt," Rorek ignored the comment about Ulfric, seemingly because he was not in the mood to make jokes with her. "Samuel, what's on your mind?" "I'm just thinking," the reply was distant and slow, as if he still thought his answer through as he spoke. "I'm unsure of who sent our friend from back there after us. It doesn't quite add up." "Perhaps it was a simple robbery. We've become paranoid of our own shadows," Maggie suggested. "I was sure I was being scoped out by a hunter of some sort at the arena the other day. After the match, he followed the Yellow champion, however, that Altmer fellow. A glory hound, perhaps, though he didn't seem the type." "Arena, you say?" Samuel noted. He had heard a couple of people suspected of having Dark Brotherhood connections had come to town. "Never mind, I'm talking about the hunter. I know him, he's worked for me. Not the type to fall to common robbery. He's too good for that. Arrogant bastard, but he is skilled." "Worked for you? You recognized him?" "Yes, I thought I mentioned that already. He's an assassin out of Hammerfell, good at making things look like a failed robbery. They happen all the time, so no one cares to look into it," Samuel spoke quickly with a certain degree of annoyance. "Never works with others, never failed until know that I know about. And one of the few people who actually know who I am. Someone went to great expense to have me killed." "Any ideas as to who that might be?" "You mean except your father? No idea, not now anyway." "You think my father would be trying to kill you?" Samuel and Rorek both looked at her, surprised, for a moment, as if her question made no sense. "Why would he? As far as he knows, you're a loyal..." She wanted to say lackey. "...a loyal member of the Order, and aiding him." "Your father is also an incredible intellect that has repeatedly used my own contact network against me and prevented more than one political crisis in his lifetime. To assume he doesn't know would be folly," Samuel shot back. "An arrow from the dark seems rather inelegant for Darius Bathory. I would expect that he would test your loyalty by having you kill me. Or vice versa." Maggie fell silent, remembering a similar game that was part of her earliest instruction. "Which is why he is the perfect motivator behind this attack," Rorek replied, but didn't follow it up. Neither did Samuel. They had reached the water, so now they had to decide if they wanted to travel across it, or around it. Maggie paused a moment, then cast water walking and proceeded out onto the lake. She halted, however. "I'm sorry. Should we look for a boat?" "I'm confident that you'll be able to get us across, Maggie," Samuel seemed to have calmed down a lot from when the arrow had hit him, appearing to be in a friendly mood. "It is not very far, after all." She nodded and extended the spell to them both. "Mind the slaughterfish," she advised, and started out across the water. The lanterns of the city were winking on ahead of them. The three went to the Temple District, walking along the walls, until they came to a worn door. The plants around it were a bit overgrown. "Home, sweet home," Rorek said, opening the door in front of them. Inside there was what one would expect of a middle class family. Nothing expensive, everything being practical. "Probably not as fancy as your own place, but we've got a very different imagine to keep." "Yes, yes, go on with the formalities for a while longer," Samuel almost immediately started to walk in the direction of the cellar. The limp looked like it had gotten a little worse since they stat to walk. "I'm just gonna get something to drink. You want something?" "Not for me," Maggie answered. "Let me rest a bit and I'll try the healing spell again." She walked around casually, looking at the room. It was strange to be in Samuel's home for the first time, though she didn't expect the place to reveal anything that he did not want to be visible. "He's a remarkable man, Samuel," Rorek took a seat at a table. It was rough and a bit uneven in its making. He gestured that she could do the same. "Just... don't mind the condescension. Few people are as intelligent as him, so he is often bored." "I live my life among the haughty," she answered, sitting. "Though rarely do they deserve to be. Have you known him long?" "Well, not by your standards, being what you are," he smiled. "Ten years, I think. We've had good and bad times since then. He got me thrown in jail once, for a few months. But I've come to rely on him. He'll likely tell the story the way that makes it seem like I saved him from something, if you get close enough with him, but I'm not sure that was really the case. You just met him recently, didn't you?" "I feel like I should have known him longer. He was in the background at times. With my father around, I was trained not to question much." She paused. "He's told you about my father, obviously. You know more than is good for you." "Aye, that I do. Nothing to be done about it though, except carrying on," he glanced in the direction of the cellar. "Seems he decided to drink without us. Does it bother you, to be around him? I imagine that there is a... I don't know how to put it. Feeling of disappointing him? Is that it? Close enough, I suppose. I mean, since he expects much of you." Maggie laughed bitterly. "I have lived my entire life with the knowledge that I am a disappointment." She hesitated, wary of this stranger. "It is such that no one in our Order trusts anyone. Yet I am forced to trust Samuel, if I wish to change anything at all. And I am not sure that it should be changed." The last was said more quietly, almost to herself. "Well, I was thinking more of that he has high expectations on your intellect, not your actions. I believe he believes that your father is underestimating you, but what do I know? I'm just a mortal that is fading away. A decade from now and by body will have withered greatly. Another decade after that, my mind will follow suit. Nothing like you two. You'd do well to try to show him right though." "A being who has lived for centuries longer than I has a right to be arrogant," she said, shrugging. "It is my dependence on him which worries me. I would suggest that you become as we are if you wish not to fade, but understand its cost. To live forever as a slave to the Order is a high price." "Does he have that right? Seems so strange to me, judging it by the length of his life or the power he wields. I think it is just something that comes with him being who he are. Just something we have to deal with." "You gotten to talking about me again, haven't you?" Samuel entered the room, with a bottle in his hand. Nothing fancy, just some regular wine from the highlands somewhere. He didn't appear drunk though, just back to his old self again. For better or for worse. "You always do that, trying to convince people I'm not a self-centered, obnoxious bastard. Maggie's too bright to believe that, aren't you Maggie?" "You are as you are, guardian," Maggie answered. "And far from the worst. You know the men in my family and those with whom I have had to deal." "And he's a big softie at the core," Rorek laughed. Then he hit himself on the forehead, as if he had forgot something. A few seconds later the door slammed and Maggie and Samuel was left alone. "That was... unexpected," Samuel said to himself. Or maybe to Maggie. Hard to tell. As he spoke he took a seat where Rorek had been. "He usually never forgets anything. Are you alright? With the assassin and all, I mean." Maggie lifted a brow and looked after Rorek a moment. To Samuel she answered, "I'm fine. You're the one who took the arrow." After a pause she asked with a little smile, "Softie?" "Yes... he likes to call me that." "Is it not accurate?" "I can be a ruthless bastard when I need to," Samuel got up and took a glass out of a cabinet, but he hesitated a bit before he got back to the table. "What do you think?" "You would not have survived otherwise. I wonder if there is any real feeling in me at all. Do you ever wonder what you would be like if you had remained mortal? If it would feel different?" "Hmm," Samuel looked down in the wine he had poured. There was a smile of sorts on his lips, but it seemed more sad than anything. "I don't believe that about you Maggie. I think you give your father too much credit in 'training' you. I'm not convinced he succeeded." She shrugged and held the back of her neck in one hand, the thought an uncomfortable one. "Feeling is weakness. It must be calculated like everything else, or it can't be controlled. Isn't that what you tell me in our training?" "I think you have a lot to learn. I too, to be honest. But I think there is one lesson I have learned over the years, hard earned as it was: It is only a weakness when you give control of it to someone who'll exploit it. Of course, I could be talking gibberish, like an old man who thinks himself wise for not having died before the brain turns to mush." "Your brain is hardly mush. Darius isn't the only one I can never get the jump on." Maggie smiled, then glanced at his leg. "Let me spell that for you again." She stood and came around the table, crouching down to place her hand over the bloody bandages. Mumbling the spell, she concentrated and waited until she felt the surge of magicka go forth from her into the wound. A warm feeling spread from her hands and to the rest of his body through his leg and he returned the smile. "Thank you. You're pretty good at that. More than me anyway. Never quite got how to do it properly." Standing, Maggie replied, "Our kind are easy. Mortals require much more exertion. You should rest, Samuel. I'm sorry about this. I know you said it wasn't my fault, but I still feel responsible. Will Rorek look after you properly? I can stay, if you like." "Rorek? He's about as likely to take proper care of me as a lion taking care of a wounded sheep," he laughed a little. "No, that's not fair, but he isn't the best caretaker. He can kill things just fine and argue with people, but... yeah, you get the idea." "You don't have to stay and take care of me if you don't want to," he continued, taking a sip of the wine. Strangely it had remained almost untouched since he came up. "I'm not severely injured, and you healed it up nicely. A day or so without stress and it should be fine. You're wel- never mind that last part, I was just thinking aloud..." Maggie looked back at him, puzzled. She hesitated, unsure herself what she should do. Samuel's presence was sometimes irritating and sometimes comforting, and the two of them had reached an odd sort of interdependence. It was unsettling. Her relationships had always been defined by whether a person was in her father's favor or not. Maggie had no other point of reference. "I'll stay here tonight, if you don't mind," she said. "Just to be sure. The assassins could try again." "I'm glad you want to stay," he got to his feet, perhaps a bit quicker than a healer would have recommended with the wound so freshly healed, and started to make his way towards a door on the opposite end of the room. "I'll see what we have in the pantry, and make something to eat. I studied cooking in High Rock for a few years, a century or so back. Not a master by any means, but I should be able to get something going. And we could discuss a few ideas of mine regarding your father over dinner. Much less dreary than without it." Maggie was surprised at the sudden burst of activity. Cooking for her? She couldn't remember the last time anyone had done so. A justiciar lover, she recalled. He had made a thin soup of the sort popular in Alinor, which to her was tasteless, and there had been nothing of affection in the gesture, only pride in what he considered superior Altmer fare. Sitting at Samuel's table, she thought it must be the same with the old vampire. He wanted to demonstrate a skill. Across the city, families were sitting down to dinners prepared for each other and thought nothing of it. For her, even a meal could not pass without an analysis. Calculations. As it turned out, Samuel made her a rather simple meal of rustic Colovian fare. It made her nostalgic for home, but was hardly demonstrative of cooking skill. He seemed earnest in presenting it to her, however, which made her wonder even more what he was trying to do. Perhaps put her off her guard, in case Darius did what she suggested, and tried to turn them on each other. The assassin must have him worried. That must be it.

Gaius Tullius , Jon Hard-Heart, Dales Moitre Morning Near the Imperial City/Forest High-General Tullius sat down firmly on his saddle, mounted on a pale-white stallion. Unlike usual, he wore full-battle armor, with a helmet tucked away in his arms. His black eye patch sat firmly on his eye, while his grey hair fluttered about. With him, were two hundred fully armed legionaries from the imperial watch, all equipped in the standard armor of the guard, heavy-grey/black plate, and most of them were armed with imperial swords, or imperial longbows. To his right , Titus Imperius, High-Captain of the Imperial Watch rode a grey horse. The soldier muttered in a slight whisper. "There in sight sir." "Seems they decided to come early," Hayn said, mostly to himself, and looked at Jon, who nodded. Indeed they were. General Tullius himself, the man who lost Skyrim. Why he had bothered to show up with so many guards was beyond him though, they were hilariously outnumbered and should have known they would be. Almost 4,000 men had followed him. "Halt!" Jon shouted the order, which was repeated several times as it went back through the lines. They had stopped some distance from the awaiting party, waiting for them to approach. Tullius rode his horse at the front of his contingency of men. He glanced at the large army infront of him, most likely over threee thousand. His scouts had reported early this month a host of men were approaching the imperial city, by there marching pattern and equipment, Tullius had guessed they were legionaries, or at the least former legionaries. Just in case they weren't friendly, Tullius had brought along two thousand soldiers from the eighth legion, famous for there light infantry and nicknamed "stalkers". They were currently hiding in the forest, waiting for the horn call just in-case. Of course, Tullius hadn't told Titus that a force of legionaries were covering him and his men, so the paltry force of guardsmen were obviously worried. Tullius spoke up. "May I know the name of your unit and may I speak to your ranking officer?" "I am former General Jon Hard-Heart, of the 11th Legion," Jon said, taking a step forward. As he did, one of the people following him came up and whispered something in his ear, before disappearing back into the crowd. "I assume you brought in some of your own Legion, in addition to this poultry group of guards. You're not stupid enough to approach me like that." Tullius smirked, Ah, Jon Hard-Heart, I was wondering when he was going to crawl out of his hole. "It's been awhile General Hard-Heart. Last I heard, you took your legion and left to less-golden pastures." Tullius eyed the assembled soldiers infront of him, this was most likely the entire 11th legion, which he brought here for some unknown purpose. Tullius would play along, "Two thousand "stalkers" from the eighth legion most likely have there bows trained on you as we speak Jon." "Yes, yes, your brilliant ambushes. No one here cares for those, so don't try to intimidate me. And don't try to play me off as a traitor, I was not among the generals who accepted Motierre's rule." "I know, which is why i'm talking to you respectfully." He said, deadpan. "As you know, I didn't accept Moiterre's rule as well." He glanced to Titus, before whispering to him "Let me handle the talking." He gently urged his horse a few steps forward, "Tell me, general, what are you doing here?" "I was going to make my way to the Imperial City and put the 11th Legion back into service, but considering they chose to send you to talk to me, I am starting to wonder if I should make my way to Skyrim instead." Tullius rolled his eyes, "Swear yourself to High-king Ulfric eh?" Tullius chuckled, "I am the high-general after all, It's my duty to greet guests. Why so hostile?" "Why so smug?" "Maybe it's because I like being smug to other people?" "There you have it," Jon replied. "Now, are you going to get to the point of this conversation or not? I have better things to do than to exchange banter with you." "Ah, so. Are you going to join up with the legion again or not?. Empress Moitre would love to meet you, and would be overjoyed for you and your mens service." "That was the plan." Tullius scratched his chin, before saying "Then I would request you follow me back to the imperial city alone, while your men wait here." "Does it bother you, to have the nobles of the city hamper the Legion in so many ways? I know they refused to send you reinforcement, making you the Man who Lost Skyrim. I know many of them openly welcomed the Thalmor because of the wealth they brought them. I know most people don't expect the Empress to last very long, with the rapid successions as of late. Have you considered expanding the power of the generals? Making alliances, preparing for the almost inevitable day we have to declare martial law or see Cyrodiil ripped to shreds in a pointless civil war." Tullius, merely responded with, "It's my duty to protect the Empire at all costs, not the money-grubbing nobles who've caused already a massive amount of damage to it from there scheming. I also have a duty to the Empress, who I believe can and will make a difference. I can already tell a majority of the elder council despise her for her actions, and anti-dominion stance." He turned around towards the direction of the imperial city, "I've already discussed this with General Trixus and Valerius, there both ready to make a move if it's necessary." "Are they? We will see about that, won't we?" Jon looked at the back of Tullius' head. "Are they ready to move against the wall of schemes and deceit that has been built around the Elder Council?" "We'll burn it down if we have too, the Elder council is the main cause for the empires decline over these years, there will be no respite or refugee for them if they move against the interests of the people and of the empire as a whole another time. We'll kill them like the vermin they are." Tullius eyes filled with determination. "That I promise, general." "You will have to forgive me, but until you can show me that you can walk your talk, all I see are empty promises grounded in a misplaced sense of being smarter than the nobles you speak of. You'd do well to be cautious." "Come then." Tullius said, in an angry voice. **** Tullius and his company of guards escorted General Hard-Heart into the imperial city, and before going to the palace to present the man to Empress Dales showed him to the 1rst legions training ground, which was filled to the brim with legionaries and recruits training. The statue of a dominion soldier with a legionary which was orginally here, was demolished, and only rubble remained. "There all green of course, but this batch is shaping up nicely. Many nords from Bruma and orcs from Hammerfell and High rock have come down to join up with the legion." "You're the man my brother fled to?" one of the recruits closest to them looked at Jon. "I know you, I've seen you in Bruma. They said you helped hide Talos worshipers." "I think this group of recruits are going to suit my needs just fine, if I can inspire loyalty in them," Jon commented to himself after having nodded to the Nord who had walked up to them and gestured for him to get back to training. Louder he continued. "Why are we here? I'll have time to inspect the training grounds after I've spoken to the Empress." "Showing you the legion still has some bite. And I was going to offer you a position as Commanding officer of the 1rst legion. " Tullius said normally, and quietly. "I am already in control of what was the 11th Legion, which would give me a... Yes, I think that is doable. How close to the Imperial City can you get me? I'd prefer to be at the heart of this, doing what I can to keep the rockheads in check." Jon lowered his voice. "I have no intention of turning over the control of any of my troops from the 11th Legion, nor for them to become active Legionnaires. They will join the Auxiliary under the station I am given, minimizing the influence the Council has on their positions. I hope you don't have a problem with that?" "No problem what so ever." He turned around, "The elder council has been pressuring me to give the position to someone with noble blood and who is an imperial, a legate by the name of Lauri Caulgia, son of councilor Laruince Caulgia. By giving it to you, a nord and somone with commoner roots, we would be sending a fitting message wouldn't you agree?" "Yes, quite. I will also need to talk to every friend you have in the East Emprie Company." "I'll arrange for them to meet you then." He motioned for his guards to stop, and ordered them back to there posts. He kept a squad of 8. "Anyway's, what do you exactly know of her majesty?" "She's young, inexperienced, has taken anti-Thalmor stances. Some refugees I took in said she killed Motierre, making her a bit better in my books already. Everything else I will have to be brought up to speed on, including how the political landscape has shaped itself, in detail. I will need to know that, if I am to walk your talk for you." "As in killed slaughtered his guards, barged into his room, and slit his throat herself." He said somewhat sarcastically, "She as you said, inexperienced, but clever and smart, doesn't get along well with the elder council, is surrounded by even more clever advisers, is a friend to the military, and likes the color pink." "Good, I like that color too." "Everyone does. Regardless..." Tullius began to tell the nord about Cyrdoili's ever changing political spectrum, listing out the major players and there assumed motives. He told him about the ones he knew were in-bed with the thalmor, and the ones he didn't know . He explained to him there idiotic mewlings and demands that haunted the empress each day. "So in other words, were surrounded by money-grubbing politicians, how fun..." "Well, if you work with me, it is going to be," Jon nodded slowly. "You're a great tactician, but you've never been the best at politics. That is where I come in. I will need to make sure that as many of the city's troops are loyal to the right generals, meaning you and me, as possible. Any general who was willing to serve under Motierre have to be treated with suspicion and reduce whatever power you can from them. We will also need the help of the East Empire Company, to make sure that the Council can't simply cut our funding when they go for the Empress' throat, and the best way to go about that is to let me use my 11th Legion as a security force for the Company. Trade will become safer and they will make more profit, in return for off-the-books funding for the Legions. We also have to push some of their old monopolies on trade through to law. Until that is secured, you have to make sure the Empress is alive. Once it is done, we should instigate Martial Law where she has to rule together with a regent, who together can purge the corruption from the Elder Council. Once the Elder Council is dealt with, we will have to turn our attention to the Company and reduce their influence over the Legion's funding by getting the right people in on the Council. Any questions so far?" "Yeah." Tullius was nervously playing with his sword-hilt, "How the hell are we going to keep something so large hush-hush? If the elder council finds out about what were planning, they'll definitely do something to try to stop us." "Who said anything about keeping this quiet? From what you've said, they have been forced to battle it out with the Empress as it is. Now the Legion is taking a hard stand against them, hopefully with the Empress' support. You will also recall the Imperial Guard that are int he service of these nobles. If they want state sanctioned armies, they too will have to deal with the troops of the 11th Legion to the extent I'll be able to spare them or other forces that has shown to be loyal to the Legion and not the Council. If not, they will have to hire mercenaries. Mercenaries can be bought and tend to be more favorable to those with the most power, meaning that they will never be able to fully trust their guards. Increased stress and they might lose their political power. They are likely to become desperate, meaning they'll do something drastic sooner or later. Most likely something illegal, which we can arrest them on and put them out of the game if we manage to tie them to it. We also have to secure the alliance with the Bathory, Carvain and Quentas families, so we get Skingrad, Bruma and Chorrol on our side respectively. We have to go on the offense, Tullius. Whatever it takes, we have to bully, blackmail, intimidate and persuade the Elder Council into becoming a productive member of the Empire." "I understand, no hiding in the shadows this time. They will bend, or break before us. My family has always been very close to the Quentas family of Chorrol, so I suppose we can count on Countess Marriela Quentas to side with us." "Or we will falter and they will become more powerful than ever. A risk we have to take, unless we want them to drive the Empire into the ground. Now, I suggest that you secure as much support for me as regent as possible. You're a lousy politician, but I need you in direct control of the armed forces when we push through the martial law. Shor willing, the Empress and her advisers will be willing to cooperate with me, which should cover much of the politics." "I'll start talking with some of my friends. I know the court-mage will most likely support you, as well as spymaster Grim-maw," Tullius face faltered at the name of the spymaster, but he continued "even Empress Dales would be open to the idea, but i'm unsure of Magdela Bathory, i've heard rumors of her collaborating with the dominion when they were in a power," "And her father, Darius?" "I'm...unsure. Darius is one of the most mysterious people in the nobility, and I honestly think one of the most dreaded. All I can say is, it would be much better if we had him on our side then as our enemy." "I've met him, once. I have no idea what I think about him, other than that we need him on our side." "Well, i'll let you handle that." Tullius motioned for the man to stop, before turning around. They were finally at the imperial palace. Four white plated palace guards stood at attention at the sigh of the High-general. "Dont bark at any mean councilors you see in there, if someone acknowledges you, please be polite" "Of course. Just make sure I get an audience with the Empress without any of them there." Tullius nodded, before entering the palace entrance. He was gone for a good twenty minutes, before returning. Tullius said, "Her majesty Dales is waiting for you in the meeting chamber. A palace guard will show you the way." ** The guard opened the door in front of him, showing him into the chambers. The very same chambers Darius had visited some time ago, unknown to the man now standing there. He had had to leave the sword at the door, but his armor should still be enough to make an impression. It was a symbol of a better time in the past. Just what he needed to add to his case. A young girl, presumably Empress Dales, sat on a leather chair. She looked like she was in her early twenties, had long wavy blonde hair, long eye lashes, deep blue eyes, and pale skin. She was dressed in a blood-red and pink dress. She was somewhat small for her age, and slightly skinny. But if the rumors were true, she had been able to slaughter Amaund's guards, and personally kill the man herself. She noticed the man enter, which caused a smirk to appear on her lips. She got up from her chair, and did a slight curtsy, "You are, General Jon Hard-heart, correct sir?" "Yes, I am," he nodded. She looked smaller than he had expected. "And you must be the Empress then. From what I've heard of you, you're more dangerous and devious than you look. I assume you have an idea of why I am here?" "Gaius gave me a vague idea of what you proposed in the short time we talked. Please sit down." She motioned for him to take a seat at the table, "Can I offer you something to drink?" "No thanks, I prefer to not take the chance of being poisoned just yet. I've only arrived in the capital," Jon took a seat, raising his eyebrow at her choice in clothing. "My plan essentially comes down to bullying, blackmailing, intimidating, and everything that turns out to be necessary, the Elder Council, get off-the-books funding for soldiers loyal to me and general Tullius, declare martial law and purge the Empire from the corruption that has festered the last couple of centuries. It is not going to be pretty, or easy, but it is necessary. And it would make the whole effort a lot more plausible if we could count on your support." She looked at the man calmly, "Forgive me general, I must be wary when I deal with situations like this. What makes you think you can win. The Elder council is like a fat skeever, it's been fed and fed until it's become bloated and disgusting, but powerful. You'll be dealing with some of the evilest and vile people in the empire, and unlike bandits or thieves, you cant simply execute them yet. How do I know you can pull this off?" "We don't know. But you can't let them remain as they are. And who but me and Tullius are going to be willing to stand up to them?" She started to stroke her long-blonde hair for a second, as if to measure the worth of perusing this plan of his, it was risky, very risky. But was there any other choice. The only solution to the elder council probelm was action, in which Jon and Gaius offered, she finally said "What do you need from me then, General?" "I need you to authorize Tullius to give me and my soldiers what we need in terms of status in the Imperial Legion, and we need you to continue to oppose the Elder Council as best you can. And I need to know if you got any friends in the East Empire Company." "I can do all of those, and I can introduce you to the-vice chairman of the company, Ventiulas Rommulas a dear friend." "Good. Do what it takes to get her to support us, we will need the Company's resources if we are to go against the Council." "I can imagine, you want to show those councilors whose boss. Gaius told me he was going to give you a position as general of the 1rst legion. I can have your assigning ceremony in the council chambers while it's conveying tomorrow." "Yes, that should send the right signals. The position was originally going to be given to one of he councilmen's sons, yes?" "Yeah, a certain Lauri Caulgia, dreadful boy. Was given a position of legate in the first legion solely because of his family connections. I can imagine once your in-charge, you'll send him to some boring post or demote him to a tribune. Not to the mention the fact he was hitting on me first time we meet." She said, rubbing her scalp in irritation, "I was thinking High Rock, for him," Jon smiled. "Get him out of the way, under the guise of keeping the Empire safe. Tullius mentioned there was unrest there. As good an excuse as any, for now." She smiled, "Splendid idea. I was aware, and have already established a "friendly mutual beneficially agreement" with a certain breton general, and we discussed the matter extensively. We cant afford to loose another province to unrest. It's too late to regain Skyrim, but we can at least try to protect the other provinces, and maybe regain some of the lost ones from the clutches of the dominion." "We'll have to purge the corruption before we can do that though. But we can discuss this more in length later. I need to return to my men," Jon got up from his seat and reached out his hand for her to take, whereas most people would bow. "Good day, Empress." Dales smiled, before returning the handshake with her surprisingly firm grip, "Good day to you general." "One last thing before I go," on his way out he turned and looked at her. "When all of this is over, if I am still alive and you don't need me anymore, I'm leaving for Skyrim. I've got plans for building a small steading there, Shor willing." With that he left the door.

Tacitus, Dales, Skjari Imperial Palace, War Room Afternoon Tacitus, his tall muscular form standing over the crowd, strode lengthily towards the tavern. A sign hung well above even his head, depicting a smiling fox carved in wood. He opened the door, sucking as he did. Ignoring the quizzical looks from the mostly savory crowd, he walked up to the counter, manned by a Redguard woman. "Er...I need two rooms please," he mumbled, his voice low and coarse. Ena was saucy as usual, and replied as such. "Yeah, well I'm gonna have to see some coin before I just start handing out rooms." Tacitus reached in his vest pocket, pulling out a handful of septims and laying them on the counter. Ena raised her eyebrows suspiciously, counting them, before satisfyingly sweeping them off the counter and into a safe box. "Right this way," she said, but was stopped by the gruff voice again. "Actually, I..uh..I only need you to show them," he mentioned to an older looking couple who had just walked in. "Fine by me," Ena replied, and the older man followed her, leaving the tall Imperial and the older woman behind. "I'll be right back ma, I just have some navy business to take care of. You and pa go find your rooms. It seems like a nice place, if a little short on hospitality," Tacitus said, losing the reservation in his voice present when he spoke to almost anyone besides his parents. "Alright deary, just hurry back, and we'll eat supper together." Tacitus nodded, stooping his large form over to hug the shorter, frailer woman. With that he left, resuming his quick pace as he set off towards the Imperial Palace. ******** A few minutes later, upon reaching said palace, he was escorted by a fairly young looking maid to what he assumed to be the war room. Straightening out his sea-blue vest, he fumbled with the golden buttons a bit before getting them into place. Smoothing his hair out with his right hand, he placed the left on his ornate cutlass handle and opened the door, ready to meet his new Empress. The admiral, began to hear the voice of a girl in her early twenties, while girly and feminine, was filled with an odd sense of authority. He could also detect the voice of a woman slightly older then then the first. The first girl was speaking in a slightly annoyed tone, and required the admiral to focus due to it being slightly quiet, "No Miku, i'm not helping you in your scheme." The second girl's voice, while relatively respectful, was slightly arrogant. "Why?!" she pleaded, "Don't you see how cute she is?...with her child-like glasses and short brown hair, she looks up to you!!!..." "She's barely eighteen, innocent, and is my newest maid. I wont help you." The first woman said with resolution. The door finally opened. The girl, who was presumably Empress Dales, was somewhat short, had clear blue eyes, long blonde wavy hair, and long eye lashes. She wore a blood red, and pink dress, along with the ruby crown. The second girl, had navy eyes, medium length blue hair, and had a fox-like smile. She wore a black and white maids dress. Empress Dales noticed the admiral, before bowing her head and saying. "You are High Admiral Tacticus?" Somewhat flustered by the appearance of another person besides the Empress, Tacitus hesitated before replying. "Yes, your majesty. At your service, of course," he said, and bowed rather awkwardly. As was obvious, his skill at social conventions was lacking, as were his court manners. He stroked his naked, bronzed chin as he waited for her to make the next move, unsure of what to do next. The Empress, presumably noticing his awkwardness, shot a bright smile and motioned for him to take a seat. Dales took a seat at the head of the table, while her maid stood at her side. Dales glared at the maid, "This is my maid, Miku Fujiwara." Miku curtsied the admiral "Milord." Tacitus followed her into the rooms, and took a seat opposite her. "Nice to meet you, ma'am," he said in reply to Miku, not bothering to smile as it would only make him feel more out of place. He wasn't happy, so no reason in pretending to be. The whole Bravil business had him wound tight as rigging. Dales friendly smile soon gave way to a neutral position on her face, along with her eyes sharpening. "Admiral, if you don't mind. I would very much like to get straight to the point of the meeting." Tacitus cleared his throat, placing his hands in his lap, nervously twiddling his thumbs. "As you wish, your highness. We have around one-thousand five-hundred new recruits over the last three months. Most are in training. The ship builing, leased out to a few private contractors, has gone smoothly. My flagship was just completed, and I even sailed it here. That brings the total to ten warships, three of the largest variety. The other seven are smaller, but bigger than the support ships which number around thirteen. Most of those are still under construction, but going smoothly. Is there anything else you would like to know?" "How are the mens moral?" Putting her hands on her folded lap, "From what I heard, the navy took quite the beating when it was blockading Skyrim." Tacitus grumbled, muttering under his breath, "It was suicide, that's why..." Speaking louder he said, "Good, good enough anyway. We took a beating, lost too many men, ships and experience. Almost as many to the frigid waters than to the Cloaks." "It was suicide." The empress appartley had sharp hearing, as she caught his whisper, "Your sailors weren't suited for the extreme weather conditions of the sea of ghosts. My father sent you and your men to die for his ego, nothing more" She continued "I want you to answer truthfully, do your men believe in the empire?" "No. We were left out to dry in one war already, and they believe that's what going to happen again. I don't blame them, can't lame them...we were ill prepared, ill supplied...undermanned and outgunned. It was pure suicide," Tactius said, his voice dripping with sorrowful anger. "Miku leave us." The maid bowed her head, before leaving the war room. Dales straightened out her hair, before saying, "I understand how you feel, I was sent to die by order of my father, I rose to the occasion, and cut the bastards throat myself." She continued, "You men have every right to be angry with the empire, however this isn't the time. Were gearing up for war, and we cant afford to have disillusion in our ranks. The Elder council disapproved of putting more funding into the military, I said screw them." She coyly smiled at the admiral, "This time, you'l have supplies, weapons, and man power to properly wage war, I can assure you." "Thank you," he said coarsely, as if he was still not pleased. "I have one other request, your highness, if you'll grant it." Suddenly the door opened and in walked the court mage with usual fur-trimmed nobles clothes and his stalhrim sword at his side, though his hair was a bit ruffled. He approached Dales and bowed. "Sorry I'm late. I was giving the newest member of the staff a tour of the palace and forgot the time." The High Admiral rose quickly, hand drawing his sword out just enough to see the light glint off his blade. "I'm High Admiral Tacitus. And you are?" "Yes, "tour" of course master-mage." She said, with her voice dripping sarcasm. She motioned for the mage to join her on her left side. "Admiral, may I present, Lord Skajir, my court mage. And what is your request, admiral?" The court mage nodded towards the admiral before casually walking past him to the empress where he placed himself at her left side. Tactius sat down, restraightening his vest. "I would request you would give us the battlemages, almost, if not all, of them. We'll need them, and I've seen them in action enough to know that they preform well and can be counted on to provide substantial fire power." "That's a request I cant do. If I give you all our battlemages, are legionaries on the ground will get destroyed by the dominion mages." Tacitus leaned forward on the table, the 'no' answer breaking down his nervous wall. "I implore you, we need them. Boarding wise we have the else beat, but their mages will destroy our archers. At least give me enough to put four per ship, and six per the three major warships. We'll need them to combat the superior Aldmeri navy." Dales turned to her court-mage, "Master-Wizard, what's your opinion on the matter?" "I doubt that that many would mages would make much difference in Valenwood. So I agree that we could place some of them under the navy for now and instead train rangers for the skirmishes I expect we will have to deal with in Valenwood. Just make sure we got enough life boats on the ships." Skjari answered with a poor attempt at sounding humble. Tacitus eyed the Nord mage, before grumbling, "Thank you," in his rough way of speaking. Dales nodded, "Then you shall have your battlemages admiral." "Thank you, your majesty." Tactius looked like he was going to rise, but instead stayed seated. "Is there anything else you would like to address? I've heard...rumors that there were some reservations over me being named High Admiral." "The elder council was against it, yes." Tactius muttered something along the lines of "Damn nobles," but it was almost inaudible. "And what about you two? I imagine I had have some supporters, and with the Council against it I suppose it must have been you." "They wanted somone with...ummm noble blood to take the position. I read your record, and thought you would be a much better choice then what those politicians wanted." "Noble blood eh...NOBLE BLOOD?" Tacitus was angry, furious even, slamming his hands on the table as he rose. "That's what lost us the last GODS DAMNED war, and the one before that! Noble f****** blood!" Tacitus, suddenly realizing he had gripped the table so hard as to leave hand printed, sheepishly sat back down, resuming the thumb twiddling. "Calm your furry, admiral." Dales was unfazed by the display, "You're preaching to the converted. The Elder council is filled by idiots and money grubbing nobles, yes." Clearing his throat, Tacitus regained his composure after outburst. "My advice, clear out the council. One representative from each branch of the military, one from each county, and one from here in the Imperial City. Much easier than having duke what's his face who owns this and that and Sir bum brain who is related to this person and who's sister is the was of the whatever. Get it down to a reasonable level, and tell anyone who disagrees to shove it. That's how things work with the navy, although I'm sure that politics is a different beast entirely." Dales laughed, "That would be much more efficient, yes. But you have to understand, I would most likely be dead the hour I announce that, and the ruby throne would be occupied by a thalmor-loving pansy. I would have accomplished nothing but my own death, and the empire would be in the hands of the thalmor once again. As you say, politics are another beast entirety." "What about you, Mr. Mage?" Tacitus watched the Nord wearily. He had nothing against him personally, but something about him have of an aura of dangerousness. "I do not support having the whole council consist of only military leaders as we would still need people in the council that are well versed in the civilian part of life in the Empire. Just having some military representatives to keep things in perspective would be best. There is more to this land than the Legion." Skjari responded. "You're right. What do you think of my appointment as High Admiral?" Tacitus asked gruffly, but still trying to play nice. "As long as you do a well done job, I wouldn't care if you're so a goblin." "Thanks. It heartwarming knowing I have support," he replied sardonically. "If you don't have anymore questions, your majesty, I have my parents to take care of. Bravil has gotten worse recently so I moved them here." "Apparently things might have calmed down as of late. We haven't gotten any word of the usual trouble in the city in the recent days." Tacitus chuckled coldly, relaxing a little as he did. "I wouldn't trust your sources, no offense. The skooma lords have half the guards in their pockets, and the other half either blackmailed or threatened. The whole city could descend into chaos in mere seconds, with no on to stop it. I was assaulted, attacked in the street, on more than once occasion, just walking my parents to the docks. It seems some there don't like such a prominent citizen leaving." "I'll have someone check things out to see why we haven't heard anything substantial from the city then." "I'd do that, just make sure this man is yours or he may come back pockets lined with good and nothing to report on." Looking at the the two one last time, Tacitus rose, bowing to the Empress. "If that's settled then, it was a pleasure meeting you Admiral." She curtsied the man, before glaring at the mage with a somewhat annoyed look, and headed out of the war room. "Your majesty," he said, and then walked out the door, left hand resting on the sword hilt.

General Jon Hard-Heart Cyrodiil/Valenwood Border 2 months after the death of High King Torygg He picked up the claymore from its stand near the wall of the tent. Nordic steel, reinforced with quicksilver. It had served him well for years and would for many to come. The Aldmeri Dominion made sure of that. His eye rested a moment on the golden-colored bracers around his forearm. The old armor that his family had kept for 200 years or so stood out among the more modern designs of the Imperial Legion, but the Templar armor was still far above them in quality. The Legion was better equipped back then, when the Septims ruled. Anyone with an eye for detail would notice that the Imperial emblem on his armor still had the Amulet of Kings on it, and any skilled smith would see that the armor had been broken and repaired many times over. With varying degrees of skill too, given all the places the carvings had faded away. Would take a master smith with knowledge of the armor's design to fix it now. And those were is very short demand. "General." Jon turned to the Imperial who had just come in through the tent's entrance. Tanius Hayn looked worried. Or maybe it was annoyed. Hard to tell with him, his face was so scared that any emotions he tried to express ended up a twisted mess anyway. Result of being on the front line of both the fall and retaking of the Imperial City was the best guess that came to his mind. He stood half a head shorter than him, and at least 15 years older. Still, scared and on his older side, Hayn had proved himself a valuable tactician. Not to mention he made relations with the Cyrods of the group easier. "Legate. What is it?" "General Tullius is requesting reinforcement and some on the Elder Council suggested you, given your roots in Skyrim," Hayn replied, giving a twisted smile. The one he got whenever the Elder Council suggested anything. "My guess is that they want you and your Nords to fight the Nords up there, so they can save Imperial lives." "Then make sure I don't get sent up there," Jon shook his head and led his companion out of the tent. The elder Council could rot in Oblivion for all he cared. Around him there was a constant movement of Legionnaires, most of them Nords. The occasional Orc popped up form time to time. Great warriors and smiths, so he made sure that none of his Legionnaires gave them a hard time. When he could, at least. Sometimes things got heated. The bastion of Imperials was a little further from his tent. Most of the Cyrods here was from the Battle of the Red Ring and kept a close community. Some had a bad case of "Imperial Supremacy", but most of them were friendly enough. They were all Legionnaires on the first line of defense against the Dominion. Tended to make petty grievances about ancestry fade out. "Why?" "I'm not going to Skyrim." "Sir?" "You heard me." "Yes, but why?" Hayn looked surprised. His eyebrows were still intact, so he could see that they had reached the top of his forehead. "Don't want to fight in the cold," Jon laughed him off, just as they passed by the forge of this part of the encampment. The smith, an Orc named Balrak, greeted them. He was a bloody miracle worker with iron and steel. And moonstone. And orichalcum. And every other metal he had seen him work with. They took a left turn, towards the main tent of the camp, where he and the Legates planned the everyday dealings. Scouting missions and the like. "I'm serious," the Legate took a hold of Jon's shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. "Why won't you put down the rebellion in your homeland?" Jon exhaled heavily through his nose. He owed Hayn that much, he supposed. He had been a good friend ever since he got there, making dealing with the local Cyrods, when they had to, much easier. "I don't want to fight in Skyrim... because I can't fight the Stormcloaks. They are right about too many things." "You know we'd follow you regardless, right?" Tanius Hayn, the man who hit his superior officer in the face for daring to suggest that he didn't fight in the Battle of the Red Ring, saying that he'd be willing to turn on the Empire for his sake. Jon's chest swelled a little, but he chose to just roll his eyes instead as a response. "I mean it, the people here, we follow you, not the Empire. They'd sell us out to the Thalmor whenever it was in their best interest, you won't. If you joined the Stormcloak Rebellion, most here would follow you." "And what if I told you I don't know who would be my enemies in Skyrim? Here I know who to fight." Without waiting for a response, General Hard-Heart entered the wartent and was greeted by the rest of the Legates. The plans for the near future had to be planned. The problems of Skyrim had to take care of themselves for now. "Right," Hayn said, mostly to himself, and turned around. "I'll see what I can do to make it harder for the Council then. Ugh." ** Cyrodiil/Valenwood border 1 month after Amaund Motierre has taken the throne "Get up! Get up!" Jon ran through the camp, yelling at the sleeping soldiers. His scouts had just returned and told him of an approaching band of Aldmeri soldiers. probably a group meant to probe their defenses. Other soldiers did as he did all over the camp. "To your stations! There are elves coming and by Shor we'll send them to their death if they come to close!" "General." "Not now!" "General!" "I said: Not now!" "GENERAL! I have a message to you, form the Imperial City!" The Elder Council? Again? Those pampered asses had been bothering him and the other generals for months about support for the throne, to little avail. There had been talk about instigating Martial Law to keep the order, but the land was stable enough, for now. Not long until it wasn't though, unless the Elder Council came to a peaceful agreement on the next Emperor." "You can tell them I care for the safety of Cyrodiil, not who gets to play King in the city." "You misunderstand, Sir," the messenger seemed nervous. "I'm here with new orders, from the Emperor..." "Emperor?" Jon's eyes narrowed and he snatched the letter the messenger held in his hand more forcefully than he needed to. After reading ot over a couple of times, he waved the man away. Amaund Motierre had taken the throne? This just went from bad to worse. He had friends among the Thalmor, it was a secret that everyone knew. Why wasn't he surprised that a bunch of politicians had made life hell for everyone else? On top of that, the Legions would lessen their defenses of the Aldmeri border and every Legion would have to have permanent supervision of Thalmor Justiciars. Great. Just bloody great. Mede must be turning in his grave over this, and he made the Septims turn in their graves. "Jon?" Hayn came up to him, with his usually inreadable expression. "What happened? You look angry." Instead of explaining, he handed over the letter. What would he do now? Go to Skyrim? Maybe, but he didn't like leaving Cyrodiil now, of all times. But he couldn't stand by what had just happened. Or take over the Imperial City. The other generals would have a problem with that. "What do you intend to do about this?" Hayn shook his head and looked at him. "Not sure yet. Can you call the Legates and Tribunes together, for a meeting?" ** "What is going on? How can the Emperor be doing this?" one of the Legates, another Nord, said, met with agreement from most others. "We can't let them do this!" "The Elder Council has gone too far, letting him take the throne!" "Calm down, calm down!" Jon shouted. "I know this is bad, but we need to make plans for what to do, not having angry small talk." "We should march on the Imperial City!" the statement, originating from someone he couldn't see in the mass of people was met with loud agreement and Jon had to shout to get them to quiet down again. "We don't have the manpower to do that, or else I would have gladly done it. No, we need a better solution." Hayn raised his hand, much to people's surprise. With a gesture, Jon gave him the word. "What about deserting the Legion, moving to the mountains north northwest in Cyrodiil and do what we can to help out the people of Bruma and Cheydinhal? You know, offer sanctuary and the like for wanderers and heretics, until a worthy man sits on the Ruby Throne once more? Would save a lot of manpower from whatever the damn elves want Motierre to do as well, I'd wager." Jon and everyone else looked at him quietly, before conversations started to break out, discussing the option. The General himself nodded slowly to himself, halfway forgetting that other people were around. It sounded like a plan that was doable. Not perfect, but it was better than serving Motierre. His family had a dark reputation. "I think it is an excellent idea, though not everyone will follow us. They have families." "Me too." "We agree too. If the choice is that, or follow Motierre, it is clear to me and my friend here." All over the room the Legates and Tribunes seemed to agree with Hayn's proposal. They would rally what they could of the Legion and move out, and, Gods willing, manage to do some good in this situation. It had been easier than expected, to come up with a response to these developments. Hayn had proved himself once again in the realm of minds. Simple idea, but it sounded like it could work. "All right, we'll follow Legate Hayn's proposed plan. Spread the word, I want every Thalmor that comes to stay with us to be killed in their sleep before we leave." ** Present time, noon Formerly abandoned Temple of the Ancestor Moths, Jerall Mountains "General!" Jon looked down the pass. One of the men he had sent out the week before had returned, running through the camp of people they had taken in. Talos worshipers, most of them, or people who voices too strong an opinion against Motierre. "Praefect." "I have news about the Ruby Throne," he breathed heavy as he explained, having to take pauses mid sentence several times before he could control it properly again. "Amaund's daughter, Dales, has taken the throne from her father." "Hmm," Jon nodded. "Nothing new then. Maybe it is better to move to Skyrim after all?" "Sir, Dales Motierre have driven the Thalmor from Cyrodiil." The General felt a small smile spread across his lips. Change seemed to be rapid in the Imperial CIty these days. "Well then, we better march on the Imperial City. I think the Empress is missing some of her army."

Boldir, Thulik, Carlotta Whiterun Early Morning Boldir's traditional old frown had returned by the time he was making his way down the steps from Dragonsreach. There were plenty of causes for it, the smallest certainly not being the damnable rain that Kyne had decided to bring down on Whiterun this day. It was like she knew he was in a bad mood, and saw fit to give the city an atmosphere to suit it. On a normal day, the rain wouldn't bother Boldir, but it seemed like the smallest things irritated him today. Things had started well enough. The letter confirming Idolaf Battle-Born's involvement with the Sons of Whiterun arrived from Fort Greymoor well before dawn. All it had taken was a confirmation from one of Thulik's allies during the mission that a man of his description had indeed escaped. Boldir had already been up, and when the news arrived, it had been brought to his door. He immediately went to Dragonsreach dungeon and woke Idolaf. The Battle-Born, who'd remained silent for the past two days, finally confessed, claiming that he'd remained for his family, and that he had no regrets. The Jarl, who had also been awake, sentenced him to be beheaded in two days. Boldir, thinking his work finished, once again requested permission to leave. "No." The Jarl had said, much to Boldir's dismay. "I need you to perform the execution." When Boldir had protested, Vignar told him that this would be a goo test of his conviction, and that the soldiers needed to know that their Commander was serious about dealing with any kind of threat to the city, no matter the circumstances. Boldir wasn't sure if this was the genuine reason or not, but it was a pretty poor reason in his mind. Still, orders are orders, and he would carry them out. He'd wanted to be gone already by the time it was to happen. It's not that Boldir had any problems with killing Idolaf. In fact, he saw the man as scum, and knew all too well that he deserved to die. Boldir's reason for wanting to be gone for the execution was for his own family's sake. Mila was, as far as he knew, ignorant of this Battle-Born business. She'd been plagued with chores and work for the past few days, and still wasn't permitted to see her friends. He wasn't sure how she'd react if she found out that he would be killing her long-time friend's father. Boldir still wasn't sure how he was going to go about breaking it to her. The easiest solution, for now, was to simply keep her in the dark, but Boldir knew that this was a temporary solution at best. By now, on a less cloudy day, the sun would be just peeking over the horizon, but this weather would leave the city dark longer than a clear sky would. Boldir headed on down past the Gildergreen and into the market. He passed Carlotta's empty stand as he went. It was not yet even six in the morning, and she typically began to set up around eight. None of the other vendors were out either, and so the market was now a long road of empty stands, leaving only Boldir and a single patrolling guard to be the only life in the area. Passing by all of them, he stopped in front of the Bannered Mare. Carlotta wouldn't be up yet, nor would most of the guards. Thanks to his early rising, he had lots of free time, with nothing to do until this afternoon, when he planned to help Burik train some of the more skilled guardsmen in handling some more advanced sword and shield techniques. He decided to head on into the inn. It was kind of early, but he figured it was as good a place to kill time as any. Of course the Mare wasn't crowded at this hour, but that didn't mean it was empty. Hulda was up wiping some dishes behind the counter, and Mikael was in the far corner, feet up on a table, and lute across his lap. He appeared to be asleep. Despite his mood, Boldir grinned at the sight. As obnoxious as Mikael was, he actually kind of liked the man. After all, the bard had been integral in him meeting Carlotta. "Come to play us a morning song or two Boldir?" Boldir turned his gaze away from the sleeping bard to Hulda. The innkeeper was smiling with a cheerfulness that was rare at this hour. She was probably the only person in the city to have been up and going earlier than Boldir, other than Jarl Vignar of course, but judging from the tired look the old man had been wearing when they'd met, Boldir wasn't so sure if he'd even slept last night at all. "Not this morning Hulda. I'll just have a mead." He took a seat by the fire. "Aww... You haven't played here once since you got married... Will it be the usual then?" "Yep." He sat still for a moment, watching the fire. He ignored the mug when Hulda sat it on the table beside him. "You ever have any children Hulda?" "Me? No, I've never even had a husband. Why? Kid problems?" Boldir opened his mouth to say yes, but promptly closed it. He wouldn't call this a kid problem. After all, Mila hadn't done anything beyond be friends with the Battle-Born boy. His issue with the execution was hardly on her. "No, not really." He yawned and leaned back, understanding how Mikael had managed to fall asleep in the warm and quiet inn. He was worried he'd do the same if he didn't do something to keep busy. Besides, he could use something to put him in a better mood. "You know what? Sure, I'll play some music. That's fine then?" Hulda motioned around the empty room. "You don't exactly have anyone to protest, and I'm always in the mood." Boldir nodded and reached into his satchel. From it, his hand emerged holding his exquisite Yokudan flute. The already reddish-orange topazes adorning it glowed like fire from the reflection of the hearth. Each gem appeared to glisten and dance like the fire they imitated. Boldir admired it for a second before raising the flute to his lips and beginning to play. *** Late Morning Thulik sat, arms crossed, under the Gildergreen, listening to Heimskr, the Priest of Talos spread the greatest god's holy word. It was raining, but that didn't stop Thulik from being here. He just put up his old gray hood and sat in the rain. He liked to come and listen every morning when he was able. He hadn't been a Talos worshipper for most of his life, and so he sort of felt obligated to make up for the lost years by spending more time in worship; revering Talos through prayer, offering, or simply educating himself by listening to sermons. Thulik admired the priest's dedication. Even today, when it was raining, and with no one but himself listening, this man stood completely undaunted, and spoke loudly and clearly to the city without caring one bit if anyone stopped to listen or not. No priest in any temple Thulik had ever been in, was even half as enthusiastic as this man. But even the most enthusiastic of people need breaks. Heimskr was no exception. And after spending an hour preaching to his small audience of one, Heimskr closed off and headed to his tent to eat. Thulik thought back on the breakfast he hadn't had, and decided that that was a good plan for him as well. After that, he'd find Boldir to see if they'd made up their minds about Idolaf yet. As he made his way down through the market district, he noticed a quite a few people, even guards, mostly guards, heading into the Bannered Mare. That's strange, considering the time. He headed over to the nearest merchant stall. It was a fruit stand, being manned by a pretty brown-haired Imperial woman wearing a thick coat and a girl who he figured must have been her daughter. Currently, the young girl was getting drenched by the rain while sweeping some broken glass up in the uncovered area behind the stand. The chilly rain must not have bothered her, as despite the fact that she wasn't wearing any kind of coat, she didn't seem to take notice. "Hey," he addressed the woman, "any idea what's drawing a crowd to the inn so early?" The woman shrugged. "Afraid not. We have been keeping busy back here. Haven't had time to go check it out." "Alright, thanks anyway." Thulik left the stand and made for the crowded inn. As he passed through the doorway, he noticed that most of the crowd consisted of people he recognized to be younger off-duty guards, which made sense when he saw the reason for the gathering. By the fire sat their Commander, Boldir. He was playing a fancy looking flute. The tune was quick and low pitched, and while it wasn't really upbeat, but it wasn't a depressing form of downbeat, more low-pitched and slow, but still pretty and melodic in a rough sort of way. It was a very strange style of play for a flutist. Thulik wasn't typically a music-loving person. Bards annoyed the piss out of him with their obnoxious singing and poorly played instrumentals. It was all too jolly and upbeat. This however, was not like that. To his surprise, Thulik found himself actually liking it. He figured it wasn't normal to see Boldir in here doing this, as many of these men and women looked as surprised as he was, and someone playing nothing but a flute wouldn't draw a crowd unless it was surprising to see. He waited, listening to the song for several more minutes before it slowed to an end, receiving cheers from the guards. Boldir smiled and put the flute down as he took a drink from the mug on the table beside him. Thulik pushed through the people and made his way to the counter. He put a few gold pieces on the table. "I'll have some bread and a rabbit haunch." "Miss your breakfast?" the innkeeper asked humorously. Her smile faded a bit when all she got in response was a distracted nod from Thulik. "You can go find a seat. I'll bring it over when it's done." Thulik nodded again and made his way to an unoccupied table behind where Boldir played. He sat in silence, listening to the music until his food arrived. It was probably a half hour after he'd finished eating when Thulik noticed the crowd of guards was starting to head out, leaving the room in a quiet state. If not for Boldir, the innkeeper, three fellow diners, and himself, the room would now be empty. "You heard the news yet?" Thulik looked back and saw Boldir heading for his table. The man didn't ask, but took a seat anyway. "What? That you're a big draw with the flute?" asked Thulik. "No, that Idolaf Battle-Born has been confirmed as a Son of Whiterun, and that his execution is two days from now." Thulik's heart skipped a beat. Finally! He allowed himself a rare genuine smile. Finally his brother would be avenged. "Good." he exclaimed quietly. Beyond that, he didn't say anything. He just sat there, thinking about how long he'd wished he could have seen this man die in that blizzard, and more recently, how badly he'd wanted to plunge a knife into his still-living foe's gut. He actually had been preparing himself in case they let Idolaf off the hook. If that had happened, he'd have taken matters into his own hands. It felt a bit strange now that the decision was made. He felt a bit disappointed and relieved at the same time. One one hand, Thulik had really wanted to deal the killing blow himself, but on the other, he knew that doing so would earn him a cozy place in the Whiterun prisons. It's better this way. Boldir finished off his mead and sat the empty mug down on the table in front of him, then looked at Thulik with inquisitive eyes. "What do you know about Idolaf Battle-Born Thulik?" "What kind of question is that? I know that he's a dangerous killer, an Imperial terrorist, and a coward who would prefer to run rather than face justice." "And did you know he has a wife and kid?" Thulik looked up at Boldir, unsure where he was going with all this. "No, and I don't care. Everyone has a family. That doesn't separate him from anyone I've killed, anyone you've killed, or anyone that he himself killed." "Did you ever think for a moment, that maybe he fled from you, not out of cowardliness, but because he didn't want to leave his son fatherless? Perhaps he wanted to live for his family." "Then scratch "coward" off that list for Talos's sake! I still want him dead. What difference does this make Boldir?" "I may be the one wielding the axe, but don't think for a second that this isn't your kill. I want no part in it, and neither does anyone else for that matter. Killing someone on the battlefield, or for the purpose of war, is much different from executing a man for past crimes. Your life doesn't depend on it. If you are going to kill someone like that, you owe it to them to find out who they are." "Fine," Thulik said, his tone unchanged, "now I know who he is. I'd still gladly chop his head off myself if you'd let me." Boldir smirked. "Would that I could. It would definitely make things a lot easier for me." "Why's that?" Thulik asked. "Because even though I'm just doing my job, the Battle-Borns won't care. I'll be the one they blame. Idolaf and I never did like each other, and this could create real problems in the future. I'll be glad to get my family out of this city for now. I can at least put off worrying about backlash for a little while longer." "They're all scum anyway Boldir. They don't care about Skyrim, just themselves and their Empire. Who cares what they think of you? They aren't worth it." Boldir didn't want to tell Thulik about Mila being friends with Lars. It wasn't really any of his business. "The biggest problem with the Battle-Borns is that they are an old and wealthy clan. They will carry a grudge for generations. I don't like the idea of powerful people like them wanting revenge on my family. Understand that this is not something I am doing lightly." Thulik regarded him for a moment. He didn't know much about the Battle-Borns, and had had no idea that they were even a powerful family. "I don't have family around here. They're up in Winterhold. If I kill him, the Battle-Borns won't be able to do much with their grudges." "I'm afraid the Jarl was adamant. He wants me to do it, and he gets what he wants. Besides, the moment Olfrid saw me side with you and make that arrest was the moment he pegged me an enemy... Don't worry. The Gray-Manes have been feuding with them for years, and they haven't outright hurt any of them to my knowledge. If all they offer is angry words, then things will be fine." Boldir wasn't so sure of his own words. The Gray-Manes had never arrested and killed one of them either. Let alone Olfrid's first-born son. This is going farther than it has in the past. The two sat in silence for a bit as they each processed what Boldir had said. Thulik, now somewhat reassured that Boldir and his family would be fine, decided to change the subject. "So, it's Iron-Brow right? I bet I can guess how you got that one. Feels strange to put a surname to you though, but I've gotta admit, it fits." Thulik remembered the very first fight Boldir had gotten in ages ago back in Greenwall, when they'd all been little more than kids. It'd been with that huge Imperial recruit on the first day they'd been there. Unlike the Imperial, Boldir had never used a sword in his life, but he won the fight anyway when he'd caught everyone watching off-guard and bashed his forehead into his opponent's, and followed up from there, seemingly unbothered by the fact that his own forehead was bleeding from the impact. Since then, he'd noticed Boldir use this in several fights since, even real battles, and some of them had even joked about it at times. Boldir chuckled. "When people started calling me that, I thought it was as dumb a sounding name as I could think of. But It stuck, and eventually grew on me. Was first called it when we took this city." Thulik had heard the stories of the Battle of Whiterun. Most people he'd met who had been there didn't like to talk about it. He decided it best not to inquire for details. Once again, he changed the subject. "So have you heard about the state of things down in Cyrodil?" Boldir grimaced. "No, and I don't really care." "You should." said Thulik. "It is good to know what is going on with your enemies." "The Empire are our allies." said Boldir. Thulik detected could easily hear the annoyance, or perhaps even anger in his voice. Was it at him for suggesting that they were enemies, or was it at the idea of Skyrim being aligned with Cyrodil? "Name one alliance that has lasted forever. We live in the most eventful period of the era, perhaps longer. If we beat the elves, that won't just be an end to all conflict. The Imps will want their provinces back eventually. Skyrim would be wise not to see anyone as anything more than a means of trade and extra troops to fight the elves. Fooling ourselves into thinking we are friends with anyone, especially Cyrodil, won't help us. Do you not agree on this?" Though he agreed, Boldir didn't say it. He could see that Thulik felt strongly on the subject. He used to as well, but for different reasons. As much as he hated to admit it, even to himself, the alliance had left a bad taste in Boldir's mouth. He'd wanted nothing to do with the Imperials unless it involved killing them. But he knew it was just personal hatred that fueled these thoughts, and that is why he hadn't spoken out against it to Baldur. It would've only seemed foolish and wouldn't have accomplished anything. The alliance had no doubt saved many lives. Of course, since he'd retired, Boldir didn't really concern himself with affairs that weren't directly related to his family or Whiterun, and that's the way he wanted to keep it. After a short silence, during which Thulik waited for a response, Boldir noticed that the inn was beginning to fill up again. "It's got to be getting close to noon. Sorry to leave you so abruptly, but I have things to do." said Boldir. He stood up and pushed in his chair. "The execution is in the afternoon, day after tomorrow, if you plan on being there." With that, he walked out, leaving a disappointed Thulik's question unanswered. *** Late afternoon, one day later Carlotta hurried along through the street with Mila close on her tail. Both of them were carrying an empty crate, with some baskets and smaller crates inside. It had been a good day at the stand, and they'd actually managed to sale out today. She wasn't surprised, most of the fruits were in season, and everything was very fresh. Of course, it helped that Chillfurrow farm, which supplied several of her competitors in the city, had recently suffered from some kind of taint just before their last harvest, and many of the vegetables had died. Carlotta didn't like Nazeem, but she knew how bad it was to lose your crop, and couldn't help but pity him. Of course, when it had happened to her years back, it'd costed the farm and so much more. A wealthy man like him would bounce back without much issue, so her pity wasn't exactly so much that it outweighed her satisfaction from the increased business. Nazeem can lose his crops as many times as he likes. she thought. I won't complain.'' The sun, or rather, the light of the sun that poked through the clouds, was gradually fading, and like her and Mila, most people were on their way home. She heard a couple of people, Imperials whom she didn't recognize, cursing the rain as she headed by. "Hasn't let up in days." one man had said. "Damn roads are getting as difficult to travel as in Falkreath." Mila tapped her arm and asked why they complained about the rain, as she'd always been taught that rain was a good thing. "They're complaining because we are getting more than we need. They are travelers, and rain like we've been having isn't good for the roads. You'll see that soon enough when we set out for Riften." It was true that the rain, which had been a welcome sight when its clouds had first arrived from the north, had definitely run its course. For days now, it had poured with only minor respite here and there, and even the farmers had had enough of it. By now, it was doing more harm than good. Carlotta and Mila were putting down their crates in the kitchen when it dawned on her that she hadn't locked the new sliding door under her stand. In the past, she had always just brought her strongbox home in the crates, but now as she unloaded them and it wasn't there, she knew her mistake. She'd only begun leaving it out this past week since she'd begun locking the slide door under the stand, and it was an easy mistake to make. Boldir didn't seem to be home yet, so Carlotta told Mila to wait here for him, while she was gone. "I'm heading back to the stand." she said. "Gotta lock up the strongbox." Putting her hood back up, she headed back out into the rainy streets and back toward the stand. It was dark by now, and not a lot of people were hanging out outside. All she passed on the way were a couple of guards. Sure enough, upon reaching the stand, she found the lock on the door to be open. Got to be more careful about this if I'm going to start leaving extra money here overnight. She locked it tight and headed back to the house, wondering how Boldir was doing with the whole execution thing. It was weird to think Idolaf was going to be killed. As much as she dislike him, and much of his family, they had always been around. Not that that should bother Boldir. she thought. Although his son... She knew that they had to talk about that. Tonight. After all, the execution is tomor- "Don't you move a muscle." The voice was low and raspy, and came into the back of her ear in a whisper. "Or I'll stick this knife into your spine." The man confirmed the truth of his words by lightly prodding the back of her coat with his dagger. Even through the thick fur, she could feel that the point was sharp. Knowing better than to disobey a man with a knife on you, Carlotta obeyed and froze where she stood. Her eyes darted around in hopes that a passing guard might see them, but there was nobody close by. They were halfway down the Wind District, just at the side of the street. Guard patrols here were rare, and tonight was no exception. Without guards to rely on, she mustered up what courage she could find and spoke to whoever this was. "L-Look... I don't have any money on me, but I can take you to my stand. There's-" "You can't afford me." the man said matter-of-factly. "Not unless you been sellin' lots more than fruit in your extra time." Fruit? So he knows who I am. "Please, if you're working for money, we can make something work. My husband-" "Is the Commander of the city guard," the voice interrupted again, "and will arrest me as soon as ya run off and tattle to 'im. I'm not a fool Fruit Lady. 'Sides, he hasn't got near the money of my employers. Now, I'm s'posed to deliver a message to your good hubby." The voice didn't sound angry, or calm. It was something that Carlotta found much more terrifying. He sounded like he was enjoying himself. Carlotta didn't realize that she was shaking when the rough hand grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around. The face of the man she now looked at was invisible beneath a brown hood, it's shadow coupled with the darkness of the night made any features impossible to distinguish. He wasn't very tall, about her height, and wore a dark brown cloak that covered the rest of his outfit. Though what caught her attention most was the dagger he, now held to her gut. He'd have no trouble driving it in if she tried to make any sort of move. She waited a few seconds, trying to look up into the void under his hood, but then averting her eyes as soon as she did. After a few seconds more, Carlotta took a breath to calm herself before forcing her eyes to look into where his should be and hold the gaze. He stared back, not saying anything or even moving. It seemed as though he wanted her to ask what the message was. "W-What message is that?" "I was hopin' you'd ask that." he said sarcastically. As if he'd given her much choice. "You see, the folks hirin' me are not at all happy with the execution that dear ol' husband is plannin' for that Idolaf fella. I'm supposed to give 'im a preview of what'll happen if he goes through with it. I'm sorry to tell you Fruit Lady, but you're gonna be that preview." Carlotta's eyes widened and she felt an icy chill run down her spine. Her body was tensed, as if it wanted nothing more than to run away here and now, but common sense told her how stupid that was. Her voice was shaky when she finally spoke. "You're going to kill me?" The hired man's voice was no less raspy when he chuckled. "No." He pushed her off the edge of the road, and into the grass beside it, still holding the dagger to her gut. He used his free hand to pull out a gag cloth and held it out to her. "Cover your mouth with this." She stood there, holding it out. If I put this on, I won't have any chance of getting anyone's attention. A prick at her stomach, just barely deep enough for her to feel blood trickle out, reminded her that she had no choice. The man nodded a couple times. "You're smart Fruit Lady. Usually that's the part where they quit cooperatin', then I have to gut 'em then and there. Never works out well for me or the victim. Now..." He looked over his shoulder and back so quickly that she didn't have time to act on it. "I'm gonna give you a little somethin' to remember me by. Gimme your hands." He grabbed both of her hands with his left one, gripping them tightly, then lead her into the grass, off the road a bit. "Now, how much does your hubby like that pretty face of yours?" He chuckled, before finally pulling the knife away from her stomach, presumably to raise it up to her face. Carlotta would never find out though, as this was when she finally decided to make a move. As the dagger pulled away, Carlotta, in a desperate move fueled by nothing but fear, sent a kick to the man's groin and immediately hopped backwards, out of range of his dagger. Then turned to run. "Aaarrrhh! You bitch!" He recomposed himself quickly, and made a lunge for Carlotta, and just managed to grab her ankle with his left hand as he came down, bringing her with him. Carlotta fell with a hard thud. "Mmmph!" She couldn't cry out for help or in pain due to the gag cloth. Frantically, she spun around and kicked at her assailant, landing one good blow on his face, then another on his fingers gripping the blade, causing them to release it. His left hand, however still held tight onto her ankle. "Ahh! That's it! Screw keepin' you alive. You'll make a good message dead as well." He struggled with her freely kicking leg for a moment before finally getting ahold of it. Carlotta tried to crawl back, but the man was much stronger than his size suggested, and with little effort, he managed to get over her and wrap his hands around her neck. "Wish it wasn't so dark so I could see them eyes go out." he hissed. Carlotta struggled to find breath, but she couldn't. Got to... Got to get him off... She beat at his head with her fists, but he held tight. The darkness of the night seemed to be growing even stronger, and the sounds of the rain and her assailant's heavy breathing began to grow dim. Her blows weakened and slowed. Can't... An image of Mila flashed before her eyes. She was smiling, and while she looked the same as she does now, she wore a younger, more innocent face than Carlotta remembered it being. "YES!" the young girl shouted excitedly. "You better say yes Momma!" The gaze of her vision turned to Boldir, who stared back at her with a hopeful look in his eyes. I acan't let this man kill me. Carlotta mustered what little strength was left in her, and instead of punching him this time, she jammed her thumbs hard up to his eyes. "Aaaahh!" The moment his hands left her neck, Carlotta ripped out her gag and took the biggest breath of her life, inhaling quite a bit of rainwater as she did, which brought about a fit of coughs. As she struggled between her choking, coughing fit, and trying to get her breath back, Carlotta managed to shove the man off of her. The two laid there in the grass for several moments, one trying to breath and the other clutching his bleeding eyes. Neither made a move against the other. Carlotta's darkened vision was returning to her, and she blinked a few times to see her assailant rising to his knees, while his left hand still over a bleeding eye, the right was feeling around for the knife he dropped. She began to crawl away, just as she saw his fingers wrap around the hilt. Frantically, she tried to call out, but ended up just going into another fit of coughs again. Still coughing, she backed away from him using her feet and elbows until she hit something, she looked over her shoulder to see that she was backed against the side of the Hall of the Dead. Seriously? "Keep coughing! It makes you easier to find." The man rose to his feet, and began to walk towards her. With her back to the wall, and the man but a foot in front of her, Carlotta frantically looked around for something to grab, or better, someone to see. Nothing! She looked down at her own two hands and thought about her restoration spell book. She'd cast heal spells before. How different could a fire spell be? They all use the same magicka after all. She desperately raised her hands and tried to get as angry as possible. This guy's threatening my family! He can't get away with that! The bastard will hurt Mila! Come on, "BUUURN!" She screamed the last word, pointing her hands at the man as she did. Nothing at all happened. The man let out a snicker and raised his own left hand, igniting a fire in his palm. "Is this what you wanted to do? Shoulda thought've that myself." He aimed the flaming hand at her. "I never think to use the fuckin' magi-mphh!..." The would-be killer never got to see who killed him or how he died, for when the axe entered the back of his skull, it happened so fast that he was dead before he'd begun to fall. He did though, and Boldir's massive dark form stood behind. He rushed to Carlotta's side and helped her up. "Are you alright?! What's going on?! Did that bastard try to..." His voice trailed off and a look of horror flashed in his eyes. "Carlotta, did he-" "Try to rape me? No." She felt overwhelmed with joy and relief at her husband's arrival, but she felt somewhat dazed. Her life had never been in immediate danger like that, and now, she realized, she could very well be in shock. "He..." The rain had long ago soaked through her coat, and now, when her life wasn't in danger, she noticed how damn cold she was. "Can we talk about this indoors? I'm freezing." Boldir looked at the corpse for a minute, obviously very confused, and contemplating what to do with it. Finally, he grunted before nodding and taking her hand, then leading her to the house. Once there, he took of her wet fur coat and hung it in the corner. Mila was sitting at the table. She'd taken up drawing pictures as of late, and had several sprawled out at the table. One was of a hooded man, another, a happy looking fox. The current one appeared to be an overweight, wealthy looking Breton. The girl didn't yet notice the cuts and bruises her mother wore, or the blood on her hands. She looked up at Boldir. "Like I told ya. She was only going to lock the stand." She smiled. "And you were worried."

Theodore Adrard The Bloodworks Night The pool of crimson blood covered the floor, permeated by the waxen candles arranged in a perfect circle. Their wavering light shone upon the exposed ribcage of the feral outside the circle. A black gloved hand reached in, pulling out the lump of meat that was the beast's heart. Blood spat out of the open wound, a thick, black, tar-like substance that filled the open chest cavity. Pulling out a long steel dagger, Theodore plunged it into the lower spine, sawing away until it snapped. The upper part had already been cut away, presumably from the greatsword swing that also decapitated the bloodsucker. Gathering up the head, ribs, and heart, he walked a few steps into the circle created by the candles and placed the body parts in the center. Grabbing the crimson nightshade bud, Theo rubbed the dagger across the petals. Stabbing the heart, he began to recite the prayer. "Sweet mother, sweet mother, send your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear." The slow "drip drip" of water echoed in the room, the only sound besides the Breton's solemn voice. Twice more he repeated the phrase, finally stopping the repeated stabs after the third. The "drip drip" continued, however, as Theodore sat in silence, listening for some sign. After sitting some minutes, he rose from the ground, knowing that waiting here would be useless and they could find him, if the stories were true. Stripping out of his blood soaked clothes, he threw them in the corner, along with the rest of the nefarious supplies, and lit them with a candle. No one that came looking would be able to discover what went on here, save that whoever did it didn't want it to be known. Theodore threw on an identical pair of clothes, so as not to arouse suspicion as to why he had changed. Slapping his scabbard back on, he withdrew his greatsword, a quicksilver blade with a bull's head pommel, and grabbed one last candle so as to guide his way out. Leaving the flaming pile behind, he retraced his steps, following the string he left as a trail. Up ahead, a scuffling noise was heard, and Theo paused. Red eyes reflected the light as the scuffling grew nearer, and out leaped a large skeever. The poor creature never stood a chance, however, as it impaled itself on Theodore's blade in its haste for flesh. It was not the end of the threat, as when Theodore used his boot to slide the beast off a feral vampire burst out if the darkness. His boot already in the air, Theo placed a swift kick in the monster's abdomen, buying him precious seconds. The feral regained its balance just as Theodore did, and charged once again. The large Breton sidestepped the clawed swipe, bringing his left elbow up and connecting with the vampire's temple. It spun around, clad in nothing but a loincloth. Theo raised his sword, and as the bloodsucker came roaring back, he swung his blade hard horizontally at the chest of his attacker, slicing clean through the unprotected pale flesh. Grabbing the loincloth off his victim, he cleaned the blade and discarded the used cloth. Luckily for him the candle he was force to drop in the attack hadn't gone out, and he grabbed it by its base and continued following his string to imminent salvation.