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Civil War Aftermath Chapter 3: Season's End pt3


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**

The next morning, after a quick breakfast, the royal carrack and its four escort caravels slid out of Aldport, heading northeast along the High Rock coast. Two of the escort ships were Theodore’s, while the other two were from Duke Theirry. They had decided last night, over dinner, that it would be best to increase the escort, after the assassination attempt. Theodore hoped the Direnni wouldn’t see it as aggressive, though if they did, he could explain what had happened to warrant it.

 

The way the Direnni Islands were strung out, the ships encountered the first of them a little over an hour after departure. It was the smallest island, having a small fishing village lying on the northeast coast. After that, the islands and towns grew larger and larger, until the main island came into view. Though, in truth, the Adamantine Tower was visible while the Balfiera Isle itself was just a silhouette on the horizon.

 

As they neared, Theodore could see the Adamantine Tower in the center of the island, while the capital city of Upvale was situated on the northwest corner. Though the castellan of the tower, Queen Irinwe Direnni, lived there, they would be meeting in the palace at Upvale. That same palace had played host to many peace meetings between Breton lords over the years. The Direnni, in turn, served as facilitators and mediators, since they were neutral in the world of Breton politics. In the politics of Tamriel, though, their neutral position was less certain. Many suspected, even before they were implicated with Theodore and the Thalmor in their plot, that they were loyal to the Aldmeri Dominion. Theodore did not think it was the case, since many Thalmor dissenters lived there, especially since Sentinel burned in the Night of Green Fire. But suspicion was especially high among Lord General Estermont of Shornhelm, as well as Lady Birian of Jehanna and the LaRouche family of Farrun.

 

The flotilla slid into the harbor and docked with ease, since the natural bay the city of Upvale sat in made the port an easy place to sail. Theodore, as lines were rigged to tie the boats down, took in the elven city. The houses were of the typical Aldmeri style, with high, pointed roofs and made primarily of dark colored stone supports and light colored stone brick walls. Many of the larger, multistory buildings had pointed arches and many windows. Theodore noticed a temple in particular that had buttresses supporting the walls, and stained glass windos of the Aldmeri gods.

 

The city itself was arranged on a slope, though to keep the buildings level, there were many terraces or tiers. Each tier was in a round shape, roughly a semicircle, before it connected to the next tiers. As they were led up to the topmost point of the town, Theo saw the docks at the lowest level, followed by the peasant housing, the merchant district, a guild district, more housing, the temple district, and finally the Direnni palace. The roads were wide and pleasantly curved, though not so much as to be meandering. As they went uphill, the roads we split in two, with the median holding benches and flowers, as if they were miniature parks.

 

 

Theodore thought the city was quite pleasant on the eye, at least the part he could see. But it seemed much like many cities he’d been too, in that the visitor who was just passing through might see the best part of the city, and the further you traveled from the main path, the rougher it grew. But he could not confirm it, as he and Roland, with Sir Maric and Sir Virelande flanking them with the guards, were quickly brought into the great hall of the palace.

 

The great hall was even taller and more elegantly constructed than the temples they passed by. Large window let in ample light, as well as giving views of the town and sea on one side, the countryside on the other. It was long, and somewhat thin, but with ample room for courtiers and advisors to play politics, while Queen Irinwe Direnni watched from the high platform at the end. Paintings, not tapestries, conveyed the accomplishments of the venerated Direnni family. As Theodore inspected one passing by, he noticed the columns were carved likenesses of the Adamantine Tower, in excruciating detail. Had he had more time to visit, he thought he might enjoy discovering the nuances of the palace. But, he had business to attend to.

 

“Your majesties King Theodore and Prince Roland Adrard, I present Her Royal Highness, Castellan of the Adamantine and Master of all the Isles, Queen Irinwe Direnni,” the large bodied steward said, motioning to the seated Altmer.

 

Queen Irinwe was tall, her flowing teal dress drawing attention to her curved figure. Her face was not as angular as some elves, but more than others. Her russet hair was braided, and arranged in a conical bun atop her head. She wore a circlet of white gold, with several emeralds inset. She rose from her throne atop the dais, and gave a bow. Theodore and Roland returned it, as did their guards. With a wave of her hand, most of the courtiers and courtesans left the rooms, leaving only a handful of advisors gathered around the throne, as well as the guards lining the hall.

 

“Queen Irinwe, it is an honor and a privilege. I wish it were on better terms, but any terms are better than none,” Theodore said.

 

“I shall hope we can play the gracious and respectful host to the King of the Bretons,” the queen replied, her voiced airy, a small smile upon her lips. “But first, we must clear the foul fog that hangs over both our heads. I understand you have a prisoner with you.”

 

“Bring him forth,” Theodore said. Sir Maric on one side, Sir Virelande on the other, brought the manacled mage Brenon before the queen, setting him on his knees with some roughness. “You recognize him, yes?”

 

The queen descended, her eyes locked on Brenon the entire time. Behind her came two advisors, a woman wearing flowing black and gold robes, the other a man in glass armor, cradling his helmet beneath his arm. All three of them looked Brenon over, and then turned to talk amongst themselves very briefly.

 

“Master Celria here,” she motioned to the robed wizard, “says it is the boy who trained under Master Fallo. I also recall seeing him with the man before.”

 

“Tell her what you told me,” Theodore said, trying to keep any sort of forcefulness out of his voice, so that Brenon’s testimony wouldn’t sound coerced.

 

Brenon, swallowing a few times, stared at the floor as he delivered his story. “I…I was sent by Master Fallo to meet with Duke Mon. He told me to set up a meeting, at the king’s court. Together they were going to reveal a story about the king poisoning himself. And that you helped him. And that you and the king were in league with the Thalmor. But the truth is, Fallo was a Thalmor agent. I didn’t think he knew, since he never told me, but I overheard him a few time. And then he must’ve put a curse on me, because when the king asked me, I couldn’t tell him. But then they lifted the curse and I told them. Fallo was a spy, and that letter was made up, I swear. And then he was killed, in the court, by a Thalmor agent.”

 

Queen Irinwe lifted her eyes from Brenon’s bowed head, locked eyes with Theodore. “Why was he killed, if he was working with the Thalmor?”

 

Though the question was directed at Theodore, Brenon evidently didn’t notice. “I don’t know. I swear!”

 

“Quiet,” Theodore said. To the queen, he answered, “I believe that the Thalmor assassinated Fallo to lend credence to Fallo’s claim that he was a Direnni dissenter, and did not approve of the plot to ally with the Thalmor.”

 

“And it was one of your vassals who helped organize this plot? This Duke Mon?” the queen said.

 

“Yes, though there is no indication he worked with the justiciar; just Fallo,” Theodore said.

 

“Then it appears we were set up, then. Evidently the justiciar did not know of Brenon’s knowledge, or suspected the curse would hold better. Either way, their plan seems to have fallen apart in short order,” the queen said.

 

Theodore knew the plan was not quite finished, with Duke Mon still alive. But he would be dealt with before long, so it was not worth mentioning. “It has. And we serve not but to benefit from it. Once the next war starts, I will be siding with Skyrim, Hammerfell, and Cyrodiil against the Dominion. The lies will be forgotten then, erased if not by time then by my actions. But, so long as your people remain neutral, many will cast doubt and suspicion upon your lands. I point out the obvious, yet I wish for only further cooperation between us. Join our alliance, even in a small way, and your people will be lauded, not scorned.”

 

The queen turned and strode back up the dais, buying herself time to mull over the king’s words. Or, find the appropriate level with which to scold Theo for instructing her how to rule. It was a gamble, Theodore knew, but the burden lay entirely on the queen. Her refusal would only paint her in a bad light, not him.

 

“It is a sound proposal, King Adrard, but we do not have the resources to field a significant army. And I do not think the Nords would have us. Possibly even the Imperials, for that matter. Still, we risk becoming the villain in this, should we do nothing. I propose an alternative. We will lower the import taxes on your goods, as a helping hand before the war. For the war, though, I would like to have my mages augment your mages knowledge with some elven magics. As your soldiers are already the foremost magical users amongst your alliance, I should think that would make them only more valuable still,” the queen said, an eyebrow slightly arched and small smile upon her lips.

 

“A wise and sound proposal, your highness. If I may take a moment to talk it over with my son and Sir Virelande, my Royal Battlemage, we will give you an answer shortly,” Theodore said.

 

“Of course. Take your time.”

 

Theodore, Roland, Sir Virelande, and Sir Maric retreated from the dais a few feet, to give themselves some privacy.

 

“Sir Virelande, would you want your battlemages trained with elven magic?” Theodore asked.

 

Sir Virelande stroked his bristly black beard, which hugged his cheeks. He was frowning, though that was his normal disposition, and not an indication of how he felt. “I think it would help us. Some nobles won’t like it, though. But from a military perspective I see no good reason to say no.”

 

“Son?”

 

Roland swept his hair from his eyes. “I agree. We can deal with the nobles, should they be frustrated. But I think we should pressure the Direnni into formally joining the alliance, so as to solidify their position.”

 

“They could write a letter to Stormcloak,” Sir Maric suggested. “I doubt they could object to that.”

 

“I agree on all aspects,” Theodore said. He turned around and approached the throne, and with a smile said, “We will accept your proposal, if you agree to write to the Nords, inquiring about formally joining the alliance. And, in the event they do not protest, we can meet again and discuss those terms. What say you?”

 

The queen was quiet for a moment, her eyes staring off into the middle distance. Shortly, though, her attention snapped back to Theo. “I can agree to those terms. We I shall have a scribe draw up the formal documents, so you may sign them tomorrow. Until then, you are our honored guests here. Magistrate Sanyon will show you two your rooms. Your men can take the prisoner to a cell.”

 

A robust looking man stepped to the front, from beside the dais. He was presumably the magistrate the queen mentioned. “Thank you greatly, Queen Irinwe. You show us the utmost respect.” The group then followed the magistrate to their rooms, to rest until dinnertime.

 

Dinner came, and Theo, Roland, Sir Maric, and Sir Virelande were invited to dine. Sir Maric thanked the queen for the offer, but preferred to stand guard while Theodore ate. So the others, along with the queen, enjoyed a nice meal of venison pie, fresh greens, and cake for desert. Afterward, Theodore and Roland were invited to join the queen in her library, for drinks and conversation.

 

The chairs were plush, and the room smelled of musty old books. Through the windows, the stars shown brightly in the night sky. Theodore sipped on his wine, before settling on what he wanted to ask the queen. “Your majesty, if I may ask, why is it your people are not siding with the Thalmor? Besides their lust for domination, obviously.”

 

The queen frowned. “We have no love for them, even if they are our brethren. We have lived on this isle for many years, relatively peacefully I might add. Our lands our healthy, our people happy, and to join them would only invite demagoguery to uproot our lives. And we know of how they conducted themselves in their purges, firsthand from the survivors. We could not in good conscience side with them.”

 

“I could not formulate a better list myself, were I to try to do so. I have heard only rumor of the purges, but seeing the zeal with which they attacked the survivors in Sentinel, I find the rumors are likely true,” Theodore said.

 

“Pardon me, but I think there is something we may have forgotten to discuss earlier,” the queen said. “This prisoner of yours, will you be taking him back? I know a few of my people would like to see him dead, to show others were we stand on traitors. But he is your prisoner, and we would not want to overstep.”

 

“I should think we will need him to offer testimony to the public, to refute the letter and Duke Mon’s claims,” Roland said. “After that, I’m not sure what we will do.”

 

“Yes, I have not decided whether to execute him or simply imprison him,” Theodore said. In truth, Brenon was the least of his concerns, once he refuted Mon’s claims. “Though I suppose once he testifies, we can turn him over to you.”

 

“I appreciate the gesture, King Adrard. We will like to see Direnni justice handed down upon him, since we cannot hand it down to Fallo,” the queen said.

 

Having finished his wine, and it being somewhat late, the royals dispersed back to their rooms, and Theo went directly to bed, since they were leaving quite early in the morning.

 

 

 

**

 

 

 

As Upvale and Balfiera faded behind Theodore’s departing flotilla, he assembled Sir Virelande, Sir Maric, Duke Theirry, and Roland in his cabin. A scribe was there as well, to write down the orders for Theodore to sign and stamp. With the Direnni negotiated with, it was time they turned their attention to Duke Mon.

 

“Sir Maric, I would like you to send a few of your knights, aboard the Bull’s Fury to Wayrest. They are to tell Sir Galien take any rare books and the maps, and not to turn those over to the other mage schools. Afterwards, they will sail back, to Aldport, and then march south to join the siege of Duke Mon’s castle,” Theodore said.

 

“Its about time,” Duke Theirry said.

 

“Aye,” Sir Virelande replied.

 

“Duke Theirry, you are to take the Lord’s Dagger and gather Lady Gaerhart’s, Baron Copperfield’s, Baron Brutya’s, and your men, and join the siege of Mon’s castle as well. Sir Virelande, you, Roland, and I will continue Aldport. There you and the young Duke Theirry will sail his men down to Mon’s lands and initiate the siege. It does not have to hold long, for once I return to Camlorn, we will march south with my men, while the men from Daggerfall will not be long behind you. Your jobs are all to keep Mon, or his family, from escaping. Tell him he is being placed under house arrest on suspicion of treason and attempted murder. I doubt he will be in any position to protest,” Theodore said.

 

“Sir, will we being going back overland, or taking your ship around to Camlorn?” Sir Maric asked.

 

“By sea. I do not want to take the risk Mon sends more assassins. Though it will take longer,” Theodore said.

 

“The surprise attack will, I think, keep Duke Mon corralled until we can arrive,” Roland said. “And the men from Daggerfall will be more than enough to hold him in place, since he will not have had time to call all his troops to him.

 

“Precisely,” Theodore said. He took the orders from the scribe, skimmed them to make sure they relayed his wishes, then signed and stamped them. “He has gotten away with too much, and now he will be punished. Take these, and you are dismissed.”

 

The three members of Theodore’s Council of Lords left, followed by the scribe, leaving Theodore and Roland alone in the cabin.

 

“How long have you had this planned out?” Roland asked.

 

“Once Brenon spoke. I could not, of course, be sure about the Direnni, but I knew they would not attack us, even if we could not make peace. The only issue is time. If Duke Mon, spineless as he is, got spooked by his failed attempt to kill Brenon, he may well flee. Then we would have to rely on assassins to kill him, and there’s not satisfaction in that,” Theodore said.

 

“I presume you’ll give him a trial?”

 

“Yes, if he does not confess. If he does, I will have him proclaim his guilt publicly, so that we can completely dispel any notion we are working with the Thalmor.”

 

“And what if he doesn’t confess?”

 

“He will be made to. I will not have my rule to easily subverted, not just when we’ve started. I will show him no mercy. You must remember that, Roland. Some enemies, when they surrender, you must welcome them. Others, you must bury. Being a good ruler means knowing who is who. Mon is the latter, and we will bury him.”

Power corrupts, absolute power... is a whole lot of fun!

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**

 

 

Duke Mon

Wyrd Hill Keep

Midnight

 

 

Duke Mon was just about to go to sleep, four days after he hired assassins to attack Adrard’s caravan, when the lone surviving assassin arrived. He was drenched in sweat, and dry blood caked his clothes. He must have ditched his quiver, as it was missing, though he still had his bow. The guards quickly brought him to the duke, who was instantly filled with dread.

“What happened? What took you so long?” Mon asked.

“The king, his son, and the prisoner all escaped. I was the only survivor from our side. I could not find our horses in the dark, and the next morning soldiers came, and I fled,” the assassin said.

“I see,” Mon said, his pale skin growing ever paler, until he looked ghostlike. “Rest, you will get your payment in the morning. Send in the guards, please.”

The assassin left, and two guards entered. Mon turned to them and said, “Follow that man to his room and kill him.”

The guards left, leaving Mon alone in his study. He couldn’t have any more loose ends, not now. He knew it was a mistake to attack the caravan, but when his spies told him about Brenon going with the king to meet the Direnni, all he could think about was silencing that tattling mage. Now Adrard surely suspected Mon was behind all of it, and even if the king’s negotiation with the Direnni failed, Mon knew he was out of time. He would need to move quickly if he was going to survive. 

He quickly wrote two letters, one to each of the major sellsword companies left in High Rock. One was in Daggerfall, while the other was in Shornhelm. He would hire whichever replied first, though he was worried neither would quickly enough. He then wrote another letter, this one to a woman he knew, a whore in Camlorn. She owed him a favor, and he knew just how she could collect. The last letter, though, was the most important. With it he might be able to not only destroy Theodore Adrard, but also further endear himself to the Thalmor.

 

 

Your Majesty Empress Motierre,

 

I must apologize profusely for not writing sooner. But under this brutal regime, I’m afraid I feared for my family’s safety. You see, Theodore Adrard has done nothing but murder and lie to the Breton nobility since he so wrongly ousted your rule. But that is not the worst of it. I was contacted by a Direnni ambassador, who revealed to me a plot between Adrard, the Direnni, and the Thalmor, in which they would betray the alliance in exchange for retaining their titles under the Dominion. But when the ambassador sought an audience with King Adrard, a Thalmor justiciar murdered him. I then revealed the plot, but now I fear that my service to truth will be rewarded by death at the hands of this tyrant king. For Adrard met with the Direnni recently, and I believe he will move against me soon. I think we will have to flee, likely to Cyrodiil, to escape Adrard. In the case we cannot, however, I send this letter as a plea to my Empress, in that she may retake this province, and return justice to High Rock. You are the Breton peoples’ only hope.

 

Ever your servant,

 

Duke Jhared Mon.

 

 

Mon stamped the letter with his seal, then sent it with one of his couriers, who was to take it to Daggerfall, and then send it on to the Imperial City. Hopefully, the Empress would either be foolish or vain enough to attack High Rock. Not only would Adrard be stuck with a foreign army on his soil, but the Thalmor would likely make a play as well. And if it did not work, he doubted the Empress would help Adrard by revealing the letter to him. Now all he had to do was wait.

In the morning, he would send his family to Cyrodiil, and hire more sellswords to wreak havoc. This time, though, they would cause trouble in Wayrest, by slaughtering the Horse Tribes. If that took them into Hammerfell, and they killed a few villagers there, so be it. Then they would attack the centaurs in the Gauvadon Forest, and disrupt those stupid silkworms they cherished so much. It would undoubtedly wreck the textile production in Farrun and Jehanna, where LaRouche owed Theodore nothing, and Birian was a tentative ally at best. They would be furious, and demand Adrard do something. Mon could easily undermine him, and that would buy him precious time. All he had to do was w-

“Sir! Attackers in the village!” a guard yelled, bursting into Mon’s study. They rushed outside, to the wall, and there in the darkness Mon could see the scores of men arranging themselves around the keep, orienting most of the men in front of the gate, to cut off anyone who might try to escape.

Their banners were that of the young Duke Theirry, a sinking ship on a blue sea and white sky. So it was too late, too late to disrupt the centaurs, the horse tribes, too late to do anything. The sellswords would never come now that his castle was enveloped, and he did not have enough troops to burst through Theirry’s lines. They could hold the castle, even if more troops arrived. And the letters that went to the whore and the empress would do him little good, with his keep likely burned to the ground by then.

The underground tunnel was the only means of escape. As someone commanded they surrender or be besieged, Mon quickly went back into the keep, where the commotion outside had awoken most of the household. His wife, son, and daughter were there, with his grandchildren.

“What is it?” Tristyn, his son and heir asked.

“Adrard has besieged us. Quickly, get dressed and pack your things. We must escape, while we still have a chance,” Mon said.

“Where are we going, grandfather?” Mon’s granddaughter Sylbenitte asked. She was his daughter’s daughter, a small thing with bright blonde hair.

“To Cyrodiil, to the Imperial City. Now hurry, go, we have to go quickly.”

Mon was dressed and waiting near the stairs to the cellar when a guard came in, sword in hand. “My lord, we have a problem. More soldiers, mounted knights, have arrived. Baron Copperfield’s men.”

At that name, Duke Mon’s heart leapt into his throat. Baron Copperfield was a nobleman of little renown, somewhere past sixty years with an aging wife and three grown children. His lands held several mines, and he was well enough off. He probably brought most of his knights with him, and though they were several, it did not turn the tide of the siege. No, what made Baron Copperfield dangerous, supremely so in Mon’s case, was the one hobby he held dear to hear. Baron Copperfield was an architect, an admirer of castle and temples and all things made of stone. And a few years ago, at a party thrown by Duke Mon, he had been caught snooping in the cellars. The guards that found him said he had a map in hand, a map of Duke Mon’s secret escape tunnel.

So when Duke Mon climbed atop the walls once again, he saw Baron Copperfield’s men standing just behind the rocky hill that hid the tunnel entrance. And Duke Mon knew then that his plot had truly failed, and there would be no escape. 

Power corrupts, absolute power... is a whole lot of fun!

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General Ceno, Wraith,

Imperial City,

Midnight

The chill breeze of the night wind brought little comfort, on a balcony in the Imperial Palace. The white marble of the palace, looked drab at this time of night, though the moon's pale white light suited it quite well. The stars were out too, and formed a brilliant backdrop. Most folks would be snug in their beds, though far beyond, even from here, you could see some activity coming from the rest of the city, if only guard patrols.  Truly this week had been dark indeed. A monstrous creature, from the depths of Oblivion, or worse, layed ruin to the elven garden district. Martial law had been declared in the district, to control order, and elements of the 2nd legion had been deployed in mass to assist in rescue, cleanup, and riot control, if the need arises. Even worse, with High Rock leaving the Empire, dark words were being spoken, and the common folk were uneasy. Gracchus was certainly stressed, as well as tired, but there was no rest to be had for the head of the Empire's grand war machine.

He would need to make due with a small breath of fresh air, before going back to business. Reports to read. Orders to issue. Letters to quickly skim through. Signatures needed printing.

A sly voice emerged from behind, a voice the general didn't recognize, coming from the dark, "Lovely evening, dont you think?"

Gracchus instincts screamed "assassin," yet he knew if that were the case, he'd be dead already, especially after how spectacularly the last attempt had failed. Which meant his visitor wasn't here to kill him.

Turning to face the voice in the shadows, he said, "Quite lovely, yes. I'd be able to enjoy it more if I knew who my company was."
 

"Ah of course. I humbly apologize for my rudeness."  The voice was certainly polite...but had a sense of mocking underneath. It was posh, and sounded like how a proper nobleman would speak. A man came into Gracchus vision. His instincts, seemed to be on par, as he was certainly dressed like a killer. He wore a black hood, that was up, and covered most of his face in shadow, which wasn't helped by him seemingly wearing a red scarf across his lower face. On his body, a black longcoat that went down to his feet was worn, very high quality in material. On his hands, leather gloves, and on his feet, leather boots, once again, made from high quality material. He bore no weapon on hand, though he could have easily hide them somewhere on his body,

The strangest thing, however, were his eyes. They shone an unnatural, luminous purple, pointing to the conclusion he wasn't entirely human. A vampire, perhaps. He spoke once again, placing his hand over his heart, bowing his head, "High-General Ceno, I presume. A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance."

After taking in the man's unique appearance, Gracchus could only presume it was the man who Catia described smuggling Milly out, and the same man who sent him an intercepted Thalmor missive. "You must be Wraith. A pleasure indeed."

"I am him." He went back to his normal position, going a tad bit closer, "Your quite the man to find. I tried the barracks, your office, even the kitchen.  Until I thought "maybe he's just taking a break", and went out here. Though to be honest." Gracchus could only assume he grinned, "I was hoping to read about a grisly execution being performed, on a certain traitor, in the Black Horse courier. What a shame...."

"The real shame was that a man could drop his principles and betray the legion like the legate did. But better he reflect upon that for the rest of his life in the darkest cells of the Imperial Prison than have his shame ended quickly," Gracchus said, turning away from his visitor so the disgust written all over his face wasn't visible.

"Greed is simply part of a human's inner nature." He said, his voice becoming slightly darker, "They offered him a price, to feed his...unsanitary habits. He accepted. It was...very human of him" He laughed, "Not that it will make much of a difference. I'm sure the dominion already has plans to silence him, before he speaks too much."

"They can try. Those guarding the maximum security cells he's in are the warden's best, and I've personally gone over their qualifications."

Gracchus sighed. Thinking about this made him even more tired, so he took a minute to collect himself. "Though, I must say, he doesn't seem to know much. His skooma habit was so bad at the time of his arrest that he cannot even recall the specifics of his plot. And being in the cells has only worsened the fraying of his wits."

"A decaying mind. Oh so glorious, praise the legion. " He clapped his hands, and said in a sarcastic voice, "The helpless, skooma addict is going to face the consequences of his betrayal, and suffer endless agony in a cell. I thought those, dark, rat infested grounds were for Talos Worshipers, and priests, who are thrown in there by the brave soldiers of the Empire, never to see the light of the sun, or the moon, until they rot. Unless there was a change in policy." It was like he was trying to hold in a laugh,
 

"Only a cruel man could laugh at the suffering of those who deserved adulation, not imprisonmenr. Yes, we mere humans sacrificed our principles in order to save ourselves. I know I did. But it must be easy for you to mock us, having been removed from your own humanity," Gracchus said, turning to face Wraith.

"I am no man, as you said yourself. I'm simply a wraith. A shadow of one. Not that I had a choice, really, but yes, it does have it's benefits. It lets me endure this forsaken existence as an assassin. Gives me a lack of morals. Let's me extinguish life without any remorse or pity. But unlike humans, or any mortal for that matter, I do not feign morality, or justify my actions. I am simply a tool, to be wielded by a dark hand. That is my role, for eternity, and I accept it." He glanced at Gracchus, his luminous eyes slanted. He turned his head, "Tell me, High-General Ceno. Do you justify your actions, as necessary acts of survival, and that your false gods will forgive you? Or do you fear retribution for your sins? Just curious..."

"I've made peace with my soul and my gods. That you do not have the former and ignore the latter tells me all I need to know about you, Wraith."

Gracchus turned and looked over the city below. Lifeless, it appeared. Much like is companion this night. "But you did not come here to talk morals and ideals. Why did you come here, sir?"

"I worship only Sithis." The vampire paused, before answering the mans question, "Your Empress tried taking her life again, tonight. I'm afraid, my Dear general."

Gracchus's blood ran cold, but he quickly thought through the man's words. "I assume she did not succeed, otherwise you truly are a cruel man to not say so. So what stayed her hand?"

"My blade in the Daeda's eyesocket." He paused, "You see. The woman that your so proud of leading this nation, whom I must give much credit for such creativity,  tried summoning a daedric seducer, unbound her with a kiss, and let it rip her apart in a flurry of blood." He shrugged his shoulders, "Alas, thankfully, the one she summoned was a servant of Molag Bal. It was planning to...shall we say, rather violently "take advantage of her" before ripping her apart. I was luckily there to put an end to that.
 

"Lucky indeed. I shudder to think how we might another blow. Even the best fighter can only take so many punches before he can no longer stand. And we've taken our fair share of blows." Gracchus frowned at the starry sky. "But the Empress must stop if she wants to continue ruling. She's been down this road before, and this time must be the last, if only for her sake."

 

"Your welcome by the way." He paused, "I wouldn't worry about that." He said lazily leaning back again a wall, "Without going in too much detail, let's just say I convinced her to stop her self-pitying attitude. She's now fired up, intent on reclaiming the glory, and lost land of the Empire, protect her people, and, let's say, violently deal with anyone who would get in the way of that." 

 

"I do hope you also instilled in her some restraint. A ruthless leader can be no better than a spineless one. As for glory, I've always found it most closely associated with pride than honor. Let us hope she recognizes the distinction. Especially now, when so many call for vengeance because of wounded pride," Gracchus said. 

"Vengeance is a rather useful venom. While it certainly, damages the person with it, it installs them with new vigor and strength.  The Empress, no doubt, will certainly hold onto her frailties, such as her over-attachment to those she loves, her kindness, but in a much lesser form. Better this way, for the Empire at least. I did say, for her to listen to her advisers, read up, and hire tutors, so I doubt she'll make the same mistakes twice."  He gazed at the moon, "She'll walk the path laid out before her, with the blood of her enemies with relish, I think. If she truly wishes to restore the Empire, she'll need to get her hands dirty. No question."

 

"Resorting the Empire is a forlorn notion unlikely to succeed in her lifetime, much less mine. Even the most bloodthirsty will be sated by what's to come." Gracchus turned to face Wraith once again. "Most people don't bother to think about what a general is besides a leader of troops. But more than that, I view myself as a keeper of the peace. Right now the Thalmor threaten the peace of all Tamriel. Once they are defeated, however, there is no need to upset that peace to assuage our pride. I can only hope the Empress feels the same, or will listen to reason on the matter."

"Keeper of Peace? " Wraith laughed, a hollow, bitter laugh "Like I said, before, Humans do so love to prattle on about there justified morality." He sighed,  his tone darkening "Your no peace keeper. Your a soldier. Soldier's are used to kill other soldiers. That's a given. How many soldiers have you ordered to there graves?  How many young, dominion soldiers, have you burnt to crisp and ash with your flame magic." He shook his head, "Nay. Your just an old killer. Hired to do the bidding of whomever politicians in power at the time. Your no different then a Justicar command on the other side of the battlefield. You have a government issued license to kill. Nothing more."

"You don't know me, so don't pretend as if you know who I am. Besides, I don't have to justify myself to the likes of you. As I've said before, I've made peace with my gods and my soul. I know who I am and what I do, and why. Your approximations of the truth are nothing but the cynical worldview of a man so far removed from his humanity he is nothing but a creature." Gracchus paused, taking a deep breath to calm himself. He was stressed enough without letting this 'Wraith' get to him. "And, yet, you saved the Empress. Why do so, if we are nothing but prattling moralists and liars, in your eyes?"

"I am the last Vampire of Clan Dracul. I am no man. I told you already, it's not that i'm removed from my humanity, I have abandoned it and become somthing else. The Dragon to your sheep. I am Vampyre.  I am Nosfetru." The vampire's eyes never blinked,  "I was ordered to keep her alive. By Master Grim-Maw. I do not like half-assing my orders, which is why I tried to heal her mentally. Nothing more, nothing less."

"I should have guessed someone so strange would be Lorgar's friend. And I suppose he's continuing his clandestine crusade against the Thalmor. Has he turned up anything tangible that might help us?" Gracchus asked.

"Let me stop you there. It wouldn't be accurate to call the young master my friend. I am his...butler if you can believe. Also his part time personal hitman, and second officer." He answered his other question, If you call leading a full fledged paramilitary operation in Valenwood, a "crusade" then yes. Though I'm surprised, you so detrimental about him, and his current status. He is one of the first Imperial operatives to be successfully inserted behind enemy lines, operating as a mercenary commander, leading over 300 special forces commandos, under the personal command of the High justicar himself.  You are aware, through Grey Wolf, he still controls a large part of the Occultus through the dark? Bloodwolf, and Greywolf are two sides of the same coin, and Lorgar controls both."

"I'm highly skeptical about this entire operation. Something like this, without oversight, can lead to disaster. Especially since he still controls soldiers here. And so far the results have been limited to that letter you sent me, as far as I know. Not to mention Lorgar wasn't exactly in a stable state of mind the last time we communicated. I worry that as his mind slips, he is at risk of subversion by the Thalmor."

"You and your order. Tsk tsk." He wagged his fingers immaturity, "Master Grim-Maw is a beast fed by the carnage of the battlefield. As long as he gets his craving satisfied, his sanity will remain intact." Wraith paused, "As you know, the Dominion excels at counter espinonage. If we give you too much information, they'll know there's a leak. As such, Master Grim-Maw said to limit it, for only important cases. Giving too much at one time, will expose us quicker. Waiting for the right time, to backstab the Dominion is very imporant for the success of the operation."
 

"And that time may never come, should they discover he is a spy. Or, it could come too late, when it doesn't matter. Until he can produce more than an intercepted letter, we cannot rely on his services. It's too risky to formulate a plan when one part is so unpredictable. For that reason, I do not put a lot of faith in Lorgar's unit. And there is his feud with Snow-Strider. Who knows how that affects the intel he may or may not give. It's all too secretive for my liking, especially since we're supposed to be allies."

"Master Grim-Maw told me to assure you...he has no plans for counter measures against the court-mage. All he's doing is ensures the Empire is in the best possible position for the upcoming conflict. Nothing more." Wraith shrugged his shoulders, "Like it or not, this is how things are. General Tullius is dead. Lorgar is in Valenwood. You are High General. The Dominion will attack. If you waste this opportunity, more of your soldiers will die. Simple as that.
 

"We shall see. There is time still before the war starts. Until it does, and until Lorgar proves this endeavor was worth it, I will remain skeptical. But he will always have a chance to prove himself, and for all our sakes, I hope he does," Gracchus said.

"That is all he asks." Wraith said

"How is his wife? I know Catia was fond of her, and I'm sure it would please her to here some news about Milly," Gracchus said. "If I recall, she was quite pregnant when she left."

"Millnerius is safely tucked away in the Skaal village, under the care of Lorgar's cousin, Frea. She was escorted there by Lorgar's old mentor, Teldyrn Sero. She is quite fine."  He said, pleased with himself

"Teldryn Sero, eh? He was my guide when I went to Solstheim in search of a deserter, before the war with Skyrim. That feels even longer ago that it was. Good to here he's doing well, and that Milly is. Has she given birth yet?" Gracchus asked.

"Where do you think my master learned that Dumneri style of swordmenship he uses? No. But soon. I think at least. I've never really payed much attention to the woman's birth circle. Useless trivia in my profession. But her stomach was quite swollen last time I checked."

"That's good. I hope she's safe there, and that her children will be safe as well. Does her sister know of her whereabouts?" Gracchus asked.

"Yes of course." He drew a small dagger, "And millitary preparations? I do hope the mighty Imperial warmachine is ready for the conflict."

Gracchus glanced at the dagger, then glanced back up to the vampire's strange eyes. "We will be. Our war machines are currently under construction, and the newest recruits are being drilled. Both will be ready, when war comes."
"I'm sure. Balista's. Catupults. And trebuchets. correct ? I'm sure they'll do well against the Altmer's blazing sunbirds." He deftly jigled the blade throwing it up into the air, and grabbing the blade by its edge, holding the blade with a single finger. The dagger was highly unusual, but it suited him, and was clearly a good tool for an assassin, "A virgin blade, general. I gifted the Empress my main one. I do know how much she loves her knives. Hopefully she make good use of it."
 

"Well, let's just hope she never has to use it. Especially on herself," Gracchus said.

"Oh my...female teenagers...how moody..." He said with a laugh, "Oh by the way. I have another gift for you." He offered him a small scroll, which had a broken black, wax seal. Shaped in the sigil of the Thalmor, "I found this along with the little thing about our mutual legate friend."  He continued, "It seems the our pointy eared friends were paying a rather large bandit clan to harass the area's around the valenwood border. Maybe a prequel to an attack? Regardless, when i'm passing through those parts when I return to my master, i'll deal with them."
 

After reading the scroll over, Gracchus said, "Yes, well, thank you. And send my thanks to Lorgar for taking care of them."
 

"Don't mention it." He looked at the moon solemnly another time, as he muttered something unidentifiable underneath his breath, turning to face Gracchus he bowed his head, "Well, it was very...fun chatting, my dear general, but I have more business to take care of tonight. I must take my leave.
 

"Good night, sir," Gracchus said, as he turned and left the vampire alone on the balcony.
 

“Good, night. My dear general. I do hope, i’m never ordered to kill you. Heh. Your very amusing.” He said, disappearing in a cloud, of black mist.

****************************

Rowley Eardwulf, took a minute to clear his head, from the sounds of the inn. It was much louder than normal, at Waywut Inn. A small detachment of legionaries from Fort Alese made it rounds in these parts, at night. Though they seldom came to the inn, for drinks. Apparently, there captain had given them an early night, and by the reached the inn, there patrol was over, so they decided to get drunk and make noise in celebration. Waywut Inn was a very respectful establishment. A good place for upper middle class, and well-to do travelers, before they reached the Imperial City. It wasn’t always like this. He remembered when it was a dump. But time, and money had changed that  As such, the rowdy, drunken attitude of the Imperial soldiers clashed quite horribly, with the normal, cozy, charming, and warm environment it normally gave.

It was a perfect fit for a vampire like Rowley.

Someone not at the bottom, but not at the top of the totem poll, and vampiric food chain. Someone who was...not respected, but not reviled by any means. Members of Order Vampyrum, would view him as an animal of course, and would only acknowledge his presence if they needed something (mostly crazily expensive poison, or outrageously insane alchemical components), but he still had the right to scoff at ferals, and other nobodies, who were “blessed” by Molag Bal.  The same applied to the criminal underground. Not an important person, to be sure, but a well-respected black market dealer, who had connections to all the criminal gangs, and people of important in the Imperial Crime ring. He could acquire anything, for anybody. For the right price of course. He carried some modicum of respect.
 

Damn these humans...i’m not blind as a bat, god damn you! Your loud and obnoxious!

He sat at his favorite corner in the Inn. The vampire had made this place his haunt for centuries. He was rather close to the family that owned it. (Very close) And he always maintained respectful relationship with the various members he had encountered and become friends with over the years. Which was certainly helped by the generous amounts of money he had put in the establishment, and the fact he always paid his rent on time.  They simply...ignored his condition. More importantly, he handled business transactions off site.

He was wallowing in his annoyance, when a very familiar voice, greeted from the side, “Greetings, Brother. It’s been a long time…”

Oh no….I thought it would be a quiet evening.

“Quite, brother. It’s been several years, since we’ve last spoken Lucienus.” Wraith smiled, his perfect white fangs reflecting the candlelight back. He was dressed as he normally did, wearing a noble styled longcoat, along with a hood, leather gloves and boots, and of course, a blade at his side. Unlike Wraith, Rowley wasn’t born into nobility, so he never knew the exquisite clothing his friend seemed to always wear. He was still rich now. Last time he heard. Had quite a bit stashed away in the Imperial Bank, and his personal hide away. “I assume, quick to buisness then, like normal, what do you require of me?”

“Come now. How do you know, I’m not here to greet my brother in arms?”  He said, his annoying grin ever present

“Your last remaining brother in arms, that is…” He said underneath his breath. Him and Lucienus were never close when they were both members of the Crimson Scar. That changed when they both escaped, barely alive, from there burning Sanctuary.

“Your right. I’m afraid to say.” He said laughing quietly, “I require a rather rare poison.”

Getting annoyed, Rowley asked, “Pfffft. Isn’t that garden I installed in Deepscorn enough for your needs? Unless of course, you let it die!!!”

Plants worth thousands of septims, that can kill in an instant, destroyed. Oh Sithis. I can imagine it now  

He raised his gloved hands “Don’t worry. I instructed the skeleton to water them. I’m sure it’s doing fine. I have unfortunately no time to go to the sanctuary,and most rely upon your supplies. Be quick, I have a very tight schedule...”

What a waste of a lair…

To be honest, when Wraith came to him after decades of silence, about restoring Deepscorn Hollow, the Crimson Scars leader’s hideaway, he had assumed that Lucienus would put the place to good use. Reestablishing the order. And take vengeance upon the Brotherhood. It wasn’t the case. Lucienus, despire pouring huge amounts of septims (half of his stash, of centuries of acting as a freelance assassin) into the place, seemed to use it as a glorified supplyhouse.

Sighing, the Vampire took a small pouch from that he has beside him. “You're damn lucky I always carry a selection on me.”  He offered it to Wraith, who grabbed it without hesitation, “This much then? Deathberries, Willow Herbs, and Decay petals, I assume?”

Rowley nodded his head, “Yeah. I assume you’ll leave payment at the usual deadrop? And you wont rip me off….”

Wraith laughed, “Of course, not. Old friend. I would never cheat a brother, you know that.”

Rowley returned the smile. He liked Wraith. The old bastard never gave up. He served Sithis faithfully to this day. Unlike Rowley. He looked down for a second in shame at the thought. Lucienus was continuing the Scar’s legacy in his own way. While here he was, selling poisons to petty thugs, and lockpicks to simple thieves. Life….or unlike is pretty cruel sometimes. He returned his gaze, ready to start small chat, when he noticed he was by himself at the table. It seemed wraith was pretty busy…

Power corrupts, absolute power... is a whole lot of fun!

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Albecias Plebo

The Talos Plaza District

Afternoon

 

The self-professed greatest writer in the Imperial City (since Magdela Bathory was presumably in Skingrad) was overjoyed. Elder Councilor Serivus Marillan had contacted him to interview the last remaining Black-Briar, after Riften was destroyed. Which meant he would get the exclusive story, and not any of those others fools at the Black Horse Courier. He needed this story, to make up for missing out on the High Rock secession one. Claude Vatrine personally knew the legate who was kicked out of High Rock, so that story was his. But now this would put him back on top, make him the premier reporter as well as writer. 

And it was fortunate that this interview came while he was stuck in his investigation of the soul binding and that letter. He was waiting on his contact in the Synod to get him access to the Synod archives, which would hopefully turn something up about Snow-Strider. Although now that he knew High General Ceno was behind the secretive letter, he was unsure if he wanted to continue. He reasoned it out, though, that discovering Ceno was behind the letter, as well as discovering as much as he could about Snow-Strider, could give him leverage over both of them. Regardless, he knew at some point he would need to confront the High General, but not until he had all the information he could get. 

Currently, those thoughts were in the back of Albecias’s mind, as he walked into the courtyard of Councilor Marillan’s manor. He straightened his red and gold doublet, and dusted off his black pants, as he entered the well-maintained garden. Two guards, clad in steel armor and both looking quite hardened, stood on either side of the doorway into the manor itself. After he introduced himself, they admitted him, and told him to wait in the main room for Sibbi. 

The wait was not long. Before Albecias had even made it to the plush couch at the center, the Skyrim noble arrived through a door at the far side of the room. It was immediately obvious that this man was a noble of Skyrim rather than Cyrodiil. His black hair and beard were both grown long and drawn together into a single knot each, and the dark blue-and-red clothing he wore ended just past the shoulders, leaving his hairy arms bare despite it being the middle of winter. On the right one he wore a silver band that was lined with foreign runes, and on his belt there were three medallions to match. All-in-all, this man could not be mistaken for a commoner, but he could not be mistaken for an Imperial either.

As Sibbi Black-Briar approached, he gave Albecias a curt nod. "You must be Albecias Plebo," he said in the thick, lilted accent of the Nords, "I appreciate that you were willing to come so quickly."

Albecias returned the nod, and gave a friendly smile. "And I appreciate your invitation. I look forward to relating your tragic story to Cyrodiil, as best I can."

"As long as you tell it true, I am content." replied the Nord. "It has not even been a month, and yet I have already heard rumors of what happened, some of them completely false. It will be good to set the record straight. Is there anywhere in particular that you want me to begin?"

"May we sit? I wish to hear the long version, so that I may know these events nearly as well as you. I would like to start with who the two sides of this fight were, since my information may be based on those rumors. As you said, I want to keep a straight record."

"Then that's where I'll begin." Sibbi sat in a straight-backed wooden chair, while Albecias took his own seat at the couch he had preciously been moving for. "I was surprised to hear that one of the claims being made of the conflict at Riften was that there were more than two important parties involved. In truth, it boiled down to those loyal to Riften, and those who wished to tear our city down. My own family stood by the Jarl, as we always have, and did everything that we could to help preserve peace and order in the city. Those who opposed us consisted of bandits and thieves, led by the worst of them all, a traitor by the name of Boldir Iron-Brow. He was never so well-known that you'd have heard his name in Cyrodiil, but there are plenty of Stormcloaks who considered this man both a brother and a war hero, Baldur Red-Snow himself being the most famous among them."

The writer was quick to copy down the gist of Sibbi's explanation, though he stopped when Baldur's name was mentioned. His smile took on an impish quality, and he asked, "This bandit leader, Boldir Iron-Brow, was a friend of Skyrim's High General? Just how close were they? Are, they?"

"Are they?" Black-Briar shrugged, "I have no idea. I cannot imagine a leader of Skyrim like Red-Snow taking kindly to the burning of a holdfast, though. All I know is that the two fought together during the Civil War, and that they were apparently friends going into the conflict that followed, where they fought together against the Thalmor in Falkreath. By all accounts they were so close that they were often mistaken for kin."

"What drove a man who was, as you've said, nearly a war hero, to turn bandit? One does not burn down a city lightly, I would think."

"What drives any man to do something terrible?" said Sibbi, "Greed is the typical answer, and that is probably correct for most of the men who followed him." Sibbi paused, his eyes staring intently into the fire as he seemingly collected his thoughts.

"But I don't think it was greed that drove Boldir Iron-Brow to destroy Riften. There was animosity between him and my late grandmother, Maven. This I know from her own lips. According to her, Boldir deserted from the Legion a little over two decades ago. This happened shortly after he raped my cousin and killed her father. Remember, I cannot confirm this, for I was a boy at the time, but something had to have happened, for Maven never forgot the man."

Sibbi's eyes turned from the fire and met with Albecias's. "I will not deny my grandmother's actions that followed. She pursued him. Hired sellswords, bribed guards in the hopes that someone could find him. It was to no avail, though, for she never did. Two decades passed, and the Boldir she knew was forgotten by everyone but her and her alone. I do not know what happened between the two of them, or if Boldir shared the same level of hatred for her that she did for him, but I do know that his return to Riften was unprovoked and unexpected. And the war he waged on our city was one that we could not have been prepared for."

"Personal feuds can drive some to go to the ends of the earth to exact revenge. It seems, based on your story, that may have been Iron-Brow's motive. It's a shame, though, that your grandmother isn't here to say what his original motive for rape and murder was." Albecias seemed sad, though the frown didn't teach his eyes, which were somewhat gleeful.

"Now, I think my readers would like to know your personal story. What part did you play in protecting Riften? How did you and your loyal men escape?"

"It is well known that my family was close to the Jarl's own. She came to us for help in recruiting fighters to help ward off the bandits, so that's what I did. I hired mercenaries to bolster the Riften guard, and led them myself. My men and I were among those who attacked Boldir and his bandits at the bandit fortress known as Faldar's Tooth, some miles west of the city. Unfortunately, we did not expect the bandits to be as great in numbers as the were. The battle was a loss, and I was gravely wounded."

Sibbi pulled back his tunic at the neck, revealing a faint scar near his collar. 

"The men who accompany me now are the same ones who dragged me to safety. The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes again was the smoke rising over Riften.

"You and your men sound very brave indeed, to attack a bandit fortress. How many bandits did he have under his control, that he could defeat the soldiers of Riften and your mercenaries?" 

"Any Nord would do the same for his homeland." the noble said with a frown. "Remember that death in battle is not so feared in Skyrim as it is elsewhere. As for the bandits, I cannot be sure. There may have been a hundred in the fortress at the most. But as we neared victory, hundreds, maybe even thousands more came out of the woods and fell upon us. We were caught outnumbered and unawares."

"Yes, it will be good to remind the readers of your Nordic customs, especially your fearlessness in battle. Though, I don't think many would have forgotten since the civil war there. But what of the citizens of Riften, and the jarl? Did those same hundreds of bandits kill them all, or were there survivors when you came south?"

"Every day I pray to the gods for an answer to that question. As I said before, Riften was aflame when I awoke after the battle. If anyone escaped, I was not there to witness it."

"What about Iron-Brow, might he have escaped? And if so, do you fear he might come here?

"After seeing what he's capable of, I have no doubt in my mind that he still lives. As for whether or not he'll come here," Sibbi's eyes showed a brief flicker of nervousness, "I can not imagine a reason for him to do so. He has taken much of my wealth. And I pose him no threat from Cyrodiil. Even so... I hope that he does. I long for the opportunity to meet the man who wiped out my family and destroyed my home. I would speak to him before his execution, so I could ask him 'why'. Maybe then we can finally learn the full story."

"Let us hope this monster does come to justice, whether it be here or in Skyrim. But as for you, what are your plans here in Cyrodiil? How will you rebuild your family's legacy outside your homeland?"

"Riften always has been and always will be the home of the Black-Briar family, and that has not changed. This is not the first time Riften has been reduced to ashes. We will rebuild, and I will be there to see it through. You see, I have not come to Cyrodiil to hide from Iron-Brow and his ilk. No, I came here to represent Riften in its darkest hour. To ask for aid from all those who call themselves 'friend' to my family, the Rift, or even Skyrim herself. I want to show my people that Cyrodiil remains our friend, using deeds rather than words. Which is why I have come here to ask for assistance from every Imperial contact my family has made over the years, assistance in the forms of gold, materials, manpower, and whatever there is to offer that can help restore one of Skyrim's greatest jewels. Of course, this request that extends to all of Cyrodiil." The noble smiled a sad smile. "My family is gone. But my home remains. I intend to see it well again-"

Sibbi was interrupted by a rather frantic knock at the door Albecias had come through. The noble's smile faded. "Apologies." he said, standing up. "This should not be long. You go ahead and finish writing all that down. I'll be right back." The Nord hurried to the door.

Albecias did finish writing it down, and read over Sibbi's last quote. He doesn't strike me as the sentimental type. Though, he definitely has the connections to rebuild a city, Albecias thought, looking around the luxurious home of the Elder Councilor who was housing the last Black-Briar.

A minute or so passed before the Nord returned. He looked troubled, angry even. "I am sorry," said Sibbi, "but we are going to have to end this interview early. Some very pressing matters have arisen that require my immediate attention. Do you have any questions to make in parting?"

Albecias was taken aback, and let it show. "Oh, I see. Of course, if it is pressing, you must go. Yes, one final question. Will you be opening up a brewery here in Cyrodiil? I believe there is a large mead market in Bruma, Cheydinhal, and Chorrol." 

"That is my intent." Sibbi answered curtly, already backing away towards the door. "I apologize once more, Mister Plebo. Would that this could go on longer, and uh, see yourself to some wine on the way out." With that, the noble turned and left the room with hurried strides.

Albecias huffed and packed his things away. What could possibly be so important that he would blow me off? Maybe Nords truly do lack for manners, Albecias thought. He made sure to help himself to some of the wine, though he wondered if Sibbi was acting on Councilor Serivus's authority here, or just giving the man's wine away. Albecias didn't much care, as the wine was absolutely delicious, so much so that he helped himself to a second glass. By the time he finished, one of the guards from outside had entered, evidently wondering what was taking the author so long.

"Sorry, just finishing up," Albecias said. Impatient brute. "Oh, could you help me out. It seems I forgot to get a description of this Bolder Iron-Brow. Might you know what he looks like?"

The mercenary scratched his gray beard. "He's a muscular fella. With dark hair and some burn scars on his left side. Oh, and about 'yay' high," the Nord was tall, as his people were like to be, but he held his hand out a good four or five inches above his own head.

Albecias's eyes widened. "He's quite a giant. I should think he’d stand out in most any crowd."

"I'd should think so." answered the mercenary. "Is there anything else you need to know before you leave?"

"That's it, I believe," Albecias said. He bid a curt goodbye and walked back to his office, happy at the story he had.

Power corrupts, absolute power... is a whole lot of fun!

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Senna Silver

Cyrodiil

Morning

 

Senna Silver rode alongside her sister Sosia, as they lead their sellsword army east along the Black Road. The tall Imperial spire of the White-Gold Tower was their destination, as the time had come for them to betray the Crimson Chevaliers. The Chevaliers were currently busy attacking refugee caravans and encampments, though outside the areas where the Orcs received Legion protection. 

 

 

 

“Do you think this will work?” Sosia asked, her voice hoarse and raspy from the cut on her throat.

 

“We’ll have to convince whoever they send to talk to us, but they would’ve heard about Orcs being killed. So long as we base our lies in truth, we should be fine,” Senna said.

 

“If they think we’re lying, we won’t stand a chance,” Sosia said.

 

“I know,” Senna said, adjusting her shortsword and dagger in their sheath. She also tried to straighten her scale plate amror, and tugged at the tunic on top. It was black, with a silver man in the middle, their company’s sigil. She had her black hair tied up in a bun, and fidgeted with it slightly. It wasn’t that she was nervous about potentially meeting the emperor or empress, but neither was she perfectly calm.

 

Senna thought, scowling to herself. Which meant that somewhere behind them was a legion, waiting to pin the sellswords to the walls of the Imperial City, if something were to go wrong. She had expected some resistance, though the thought was still unsettling. They knew we were coming, They rode quietly the rest of the way, until they stopped just outside the village of Weye. Rather than march an army up to the gates, Senna and Sosia rode on alone, until they reach the guards standing near the city’s entrance. Senna was till amazed by its size, and almost equally amazed by the number of guards atop the walls. Those same guards were watching the mercenaries warily, while one lone guard stood before the closed gate.

 

“We need to speak to someone in charge,” Senna told the Colovian standing beside the gate.

 

“What is it that you lot want?” he said.

 

“We are mercenaries hired by the King of High Rock to kill Orcs and raid the countryside,” Senna said. “And we need to speak to someone in charge.”

 

The guard looked from Senna to Sosia, clearly incredulous. The guards atop the walls were preparing for a fight, with even more soldiers having arrived since the conversation started. Senna could feel the tension, as she heard the clanking of armor behind the gate. The guard finally snapped out of his stupor and said, “All right. I’ll go get someone. Just keep your men from doing something stupid.”

 

The gate opened, just enough for the guard to disappear inside, and then it slammed shut once again. Sosia turned to her sister and said “I thought he was going to stand there all day with that dumb look on his face.”

 

“Me too,” Senna said with a short laugh.

 

It wasn’t long before someone finally arrived. The guard from before was nowhere to be seen, as the gate opened to reveal two men surround by at least fifty guardsmen. Senna saw many had their weapons already drawn, though the soldiers closest to the two central men had their hands at the ready, and wore heavy Imperial armor. She suspected they were battlemages.

 

The two central figures were clearly the most important. One was clearly a general, wearing a golden chestplate with plenty of decorations on the armor. It was connected to a slit leather skirt. A red cape flowed from his shoulders, connected by two gold clasps. At his side was a saber. He had neat beard, thin along the cheeks but connecting to a full goatee, which was grey, with specks of white and black mixed in. His hair was a similar color, and cut short. He wore black riding boots as well.

 

The other man was a tall Nord with black hair reaching down to his shoulders and a neatly trimmed full beard. He was wearing a colorful robe in red, gold and black. It only reached down to the knees and was cut in the middle to not hinder the movement of the legs. He also wore black trousers and a polished leather boots. By his side was an foreign looking longsword in a pristine, black leather covered sheath. On his head was a simple golden circle, around the neck hanged a golden chain with the Imperial emblem along with a couple of rings on his left hand. 

 

"Who are you, and what're you doing here?" the General asked.

 

Senna answered, "We are the leaders of the Silver Brigade, a mercenary group from High Rock. I am Senna Silver, and this is my sister Sosia."

 

Senna could see the General tense at the mention of High Rock, which made her hope the plan could actually be pulled off. "Your turn. Who are you?"

 

"I am High General Gracchus Ceno," the General said. Senna was surprised, as he did not carry himself like he was such a high ranking officer. Certainly not similar to how even the lowest nobles in High Rock carried themselves.

 

"And you?" Sosia asked the robed Nord.

 

"The man that rules this realm. You must be either very brave or stupid to march here." the Nord answered. He held his head high and seemed very calm and undisturbed by the situation. His eyes scanned the mercenaries from top to bottom. 

 

"Brave, mostly. But we've got something you'll like to hear. We were hired by King Adrard, along with another sellsword company, to come kill Orcish refugees. But we're not in the business of killing innocents, so we came to you. I'm sure you've gotten word about the attacks, so we don't have to tell you how dangerous they could be for your new Orsinium," Senna said. 

 

The General looked disturbed, but not surprised. "What proof do you have that he hired you? Sellswords are not easily trusted, as I'm sure you know."

 

"No proof," Senna said. "Adrard is not so stupid as to issues us an official decree to go kill on foreign soil. Just our honor. As sellswords."

 

Senna gave an impish smile then, and the General frowned more deeply. He didn't seem particularly fond of the sisters, or more likely, of mercenaries in general. "We do know where the other company is camped, and we can lead you to them."

 

"So what do you expect to gain out of this?" the Emperor asked the sellswords. 

 

"We bear no love for Adrard. We were paid to fight against him in his war, and he had our leader killed. Then, when our cowardly cousin took control, he sent us off to be killed by Reachmen. Adrard thought that made us compliant. Now we want to see him pay for what he's done to us. Half our company died in the Reach," Sosia rasped out. 

 

"Fair point. Though I have memory of a sellsword saying that went along the lines of: 'Honor don't put gold in your pocket.' You forsake your contract and you can't be certain that you will get any real payment from us. You wont be able to return to High Rock and I doubt we'll let you stay in Cyrodiil for long. So is honor something you'd stake your own and your entire company's livelihood on?"

 

Senna was nervous now, and fought to keep it hidden. She hadn't expected they might be banished from Cyrodiil, but she would have to go with it. "Let's make a deal, then. We help you stop this other company from killing Orcs, and you allow us to stay. We came here expecting good faith, not payment, and that's all we ask." 

 

The General's frown stayed in place, but he didn't move to reject the offer, instead deferring to the Emperor. Senna hoped the Nord could be persuaded, somehow, even if it meant being hired by the Empire to do a job cheaply, and then finding real work. Sosia didn't seem worried, though nothing much ever passed her cold exterior. 

 

"Maybe for a while. While your kind are used to settle military matter in High Rock, we in Cyrodiil are not so keen on having sellsword armies roam the countryside. So how long would you intend to stay?" the Emperor said. 

 

"If we found work, we'd stay so long as the contract was good," Senna said. "As an expression of good will, we could give the Empire our services, cheaper than the usual rate. In return, allow us to stay indefinitely. As you said, we would not be welcomed back in High Rock, not while Adrard rules."

 

The Nord looked just looked at them for a second, appearing to be deep in thought. Then he leaned closer to the General and spoke something. Though they had expected to hear some kind of voice to listen in to or even just a sound of incomprehensible mumble as the his lips moved, they heard not a sound from him.

 

The General thought momentarily, then replied equally as soundless. They conversed for a few moments, and Senna grew increasingly uncomfortable. She wasn't sure what they were discussing, but assumed it was whether or not the Silver Brigade could stay. 

 

The Emperor then turned his attention back to the sellswords. "You'll be able to stay for six months. After that half you army will disarm and disband. The rest will either have to split up into small independent companies, leave Cyrodiil or have to establish yourself as mercenary company with a stationary headquarters similar to the Fighters Guild so that you can be easily reached and held responsible for any misbehavior of the company."

 

Senna and Sosia looked at each other, but knew what the other thought without speaking. Sosia said, "We'll disband and disarm a quarter of our men; any more than that, and we've have a mutiny on our hands."

 

"I accept as long as your entire company is on their best behavior during those six months. Otherwise I might decide to forcefully disarm nine tenths."

 

"We can agree to those terms," Senna said. "Now, the Chevaliers are camped in the Ayelid ruin of Ninendava. We can lead the way, if you'd like."

 

The General didn't respond, but leaned over and again talked to the Emperor. Nothing could be heard, as before. Senna was a bit tired of their whispering, though she figured they were having a hard time trusting a sellsword company of this size, and they were just being cautious. 

 

The tall Nord said something back and the two men had another little discussion before then returning to the sellswords. "You two can lead. Though you will do so at the head of a legion cohort. The rest of your company will march between that cohort and the other cohorts we will send." said the Emperor.

 

Senna frowned, as they would be very exposed if the legion betrayed them. But, there didn't seem to be much discussing it. "We'll lead the way, then."

 

"I'll catch up shortly." the Nord said and then turned to walk back into the city, taking two thirds of the guard force with him.

 

Senna and Sosia went back to their soldiers and informed them of the traveling arrangements. Soon after, the legion formed into two halves, and one began marching with the sisters and the General at the head, with the General's guard sticking close by. Next came the Silver Brigade, followed by the second half of the legion. They marched at a brisk pace along the Red Ring Road for a ways, before turning off to the west along the Black Road. It was at the western turn off that the Emperor caught back up with them, he and his many guards. He now a full body covering set of dark steel plate armor. The trip was a quiet one, though the army did get several rude looks from travelers pushed from the rode. Senna tried to listen to the General and Emperor talk, but they never once made a sound, even when their lips did move. The first night, they camp off the road at Fort Ash, with the legion officers inside the fort, the legion camped around it, and the sellswords camped a bit away from the fort. Both groups kept a close eye on the others.

 

They left early the next morning, before day break. As the city of Chorrol came into view, the army turned north once again, this time along the Orange Road. Senna thought the roads were oddly named, since she didn't notice any rhyme or reason the roads bore certain colors as names. It was here the Great Forest began to give way to the Colovian Highlands, and as they traveled further north, the trees were more spread out, though the land was rockier and less even. It was not craggy like the Reach, though, with the hills having rocky outcroppings than being made of massive rocks themselves. The ground that Senna could see was less treacherous as well, fewer cliffs or pits to trap the unwary traveler. As the sun was sinking, they set up camp yet again, near where they would leave the road and march into the wilderness. 

 

The next morning, they did not leave as early, since it was to be the shortest of the three marches yet. When they finally arrived near the Chevalier's camp, it was the afternoon, will plenty of time left for the attack. Though the Ayelid ruin of Ninendava was nothing but a door into a hill, it allowed the Chevaliers to hide on the far side of said hill. Had anything remained of the old fort of Sancre Tor, it would've been preferable. With the layout of the Chevaliers's camp in a ring at the far side of the hills, with watchmen atop the hill itself, it would be a difficult proposition to sneak up on them without being seen. Senna stopped, and turned around to face the General and Emperor. She dismounted, and crouched in the dirt with a dagger. When she drew it, she heard a few guards' steel clear their scabbards, and she almost laughed at the idea she might take down the Emperor, surrounded by all his guards, with a lone dagger.

 

She quickly sketched a hill, drew the camp behind it, and the watchmen around it. "This is what we'll be facing. I expect the best plan will be to send your mages atop the hill, so you can rain fire down into the camp. Then the armies themselves can go around the two sides, practically pinning them in."

 

"How many do they number?" the General asked, not taking his eyes off the dirt drawn map.

 

"Three to four hundred," Sosia said. Senna added, "They have some simple wooden fortifications around the perimeter of the camp. Nothing too dangerous, though I would expect some runes as well."

 

"There's three ways I can see this go. First is we try to do it as you suggest and faint that we're a small force just harassing them to draw them out. Second is that part of our force try to sneak the long way around to completely surround them before we attack. Third is that we do the second plan but try to intimidate them to a surrender." said the Emperor. "What do you two know about these sellswords?"

 

"They're like most Breton sellsword companies. They'll do most anything if the pay is good. Their leader fancies himself a real knight, thinks he's doing the world a service by killing the Orcs. And he's being paid well, of course," Senna said. "I suspect they'll fight to escape rather than die here. They might surrender, though can you take in that many prisoners?"

 

"We'll take the officers captive. I'll decide on the rest later should they surrender. Which is what we should try to force them to do. If it comes to fighting we should locate and kill or preferably capture their leaders." The Emperor turned to Gracchus. "What do you think General, surround or draw out?"

 

"I think surrounding them is the best way to get them to surrender. If we draw them out, they will have more opportunity for a retreat. If we have them surrounded, though, they cannot retreat, surrender, or fight, and fighting would surely lead to their deaths," the General said. 

 

"It'll take longer to get into position. We'll wait till night and move under the cover of dark to surround them. Hopefully we'll stay unseen long enough to get into position."

 

"Who's going around to flank them?" Senna asked.

 

"We'll use three lighter armored cohorts move around the flanks and the rear. Your company will take the left side of the front besides two heavily armored cohorts. Your job will be to cut around the left flank and prevent any escape further into Cyrodiil. The rest of the legion will stay back as reserves."

 

The General looked disturbed at the idea that the sellswords might be the only thing be holding holding one flank, but he didn't question the plan.

 

Senna and Sosia glanced at each other, highly amused by his discomfort. Senna didn't press it, and simply said, "As you wish."

 

The two armies, sellsword and Imperial, waited the next hours in restless anticipation. The sun seemed slow to set, but it eventually hid below the horizon. The legion's light chorots, under the command of the General, marched off into the night, as quietly as a group that size could. The Sisters of Silver prepared their sellswords, who formed facing the west side of the Chevalier's camp. Now they had naught to do but wait for the Emperor's command to march.

 

Though no command came at first. Senna and Sosia grew a little impatient and turned their heads and straightened their backs to get a better view of him. They saw him sit there on his horse a bit further back. His hands and lower arms were enveloped in a cold, bright mist as he raised his hands up. Then he cast the finished spell and a large and spiky ice ball was shot up and practically disappeared into the sky. 

 

"Forward, march!" he then shouted.

 

Senna was slightly uncomfortable that the Emperor seemed to be such a skilled mage, but her thoughts were occupied elsewhere quickly enough, as the legion and sellswords marched off into the night. They moved as quietly as possible, under a strict no talking order. They could see the hill behind which the Chevaliers camped, and the guards atop it whose silhouettes blocked out the stars. One legion cohort was headed for it, comprised of archers and spear throwers, that could rain down death once they captured the hill. The other cohort was off in the darkness somewhere, too far for Senna to see. Two more legion cohorts waited behind with the Emperor, waiting to catch any runaways. 

 

As the marched, Senna turned to Sosia and quietly whispered, "We can't let the leaders get captured. Have our men set fire to the camp, once we arrive. If they panic, some are bound to attack us. If not, they'll be forced from the camp before they can surrender. Be discreet about it, though."

 

Her sister simply nodded and disappeared back into the ranks of men. Senna continued to lead the march, until they were near enough to hear voices from the camp. It was around that time the sphere of jagged ice crashed into the camp, slightly off center toward the northwest. Out of it sprung several frost atronachs, who bestirred the sleeping soldiers. As they flung tents and stabbed men in their bedrolls, the Silver Brigade started to march at the camp, so that they were just outside of the ring of defenses. Senna could see the legion cohorts growing closer as well, but their larger size meant they were slightly further away. The Chevaliers were still in a panic, dealing with the atronachs and an army appearing out of the darkness. 

 

And a fire, Senna thought, as she could see the first few flames cropping up near the south western portion of the camp. The Chevaliers were truly frantic now, unable to discover where the attack came from. Armies surrounded them, high and low, while atronachs attack in the north and flames spread in the south. Senna saw, however, that there was a growing group in the center of the camp, presumably where the leaders were. They looked to be at least a hundred strong, if not more. But the majority of the camp was still in disarray, but too disorganized to attack. Those fleeing the fire headed toward the middle, while those fighting the atronachs had finally put them down. The three legion cohorts were in view now, and the camp was nearly surrounded. The fires were spreading even more now, with most of the southern half of the camp aflame. Some Chevalier men, trying to do nothing but escape the flames, ran out of the defensive circle and into the Chevaliers, but they were put down easily. 

 

Senna could hear, from the north, the amplified voice of the legion general shouting for the Chevaliers to surrender. The Chevaliers were ignoring him, for the time. being. Smoke from the tent fires was obscuring the archers atop the hill, so much so that Senna could not see them. Sosia returned, materializing out of the men behind Senna.

 

"Its not enough," Senna said. "They're not attacking."

 

"We should fire on them, then they'll attack," Sosia said, her voice raspy from the smoke and her slit throat.

 

"We can't. The legion will know we attacked them. They're likely already suspicious of us as is," Senna said. "But tell our archers to notch arrows and await the order to fire. We can at least be ready if they do something."

 

The General shouted for the Chevaliers to surrender, warning this was their final chance, but the trapped sellswords looked more restless than before. The fire was nearing their formation, which was moving to get away from the flames. And then the General, true to his warning, shouted above the flames, "Move into the camp!"

 

The legion across from the Silver Brigade was likely doing the same, but Senna could not see. The legion was going to force the surrender, then, by sword point if need be. And, likely capture the leaders in the process. The Chevaliers were having none of it, and began moving to the west, toward the Silver Brigade. Either by guess or observation, they had rightly picked the weakest flank, and were hoping to smash through it to escape. It was not a coordinated attack by the Chevaliers, though, but a fleeing charge toward the Silver Brigade. Senna guess the opposing company was at nearly full strength, the atronachs and fire doing more superficial than real damage. Had she wanted to, she knew her men could form a shield wall and hold off the attack, allowing the legion to surround the Chevaliers and force their surrender. But she had no desire to do that.

 

"Sosia, have the men fire at the back of the Chevaliers. Force them forward," she said, and watched the arrows and balls of flame, icy spears, and bolts of electricity fly into the air. Those soldiers leading the charge ignored the projectiles and charged on, and Senna turned and yelled, "Attack!"

 

Her own men rushed forward, meeting the Chevaliers on the western border of the camp. Senna and Sosia waited momentarily before they too charged, and without speaking they knew who specifically they were after.

 

The battle was chaotic, as men and women tore each other to pieces with axes, swords, maces, and hammers. It wasn't hard to pick the officers out of the group, as they were the only ones wearing full plate armor. Senna and Sosia, though, preferred lighter stuff, and they moved as one toward the shiny helm of one officer. He fought with a claymore, his massive swings cleaving off limbs and heads. Senna drew her dagger and shortsword, while Sosia drew her mace. The latter ducked a great sweep from the knight, and brought her mace down with two hands on his plated knee. He wavered like a drunk at sea, but did not fall. It didn't matter, though, as Senna snuck around the man's blindspot and buried her dagger wear his shoulder and neck met. His mailed hands dropped his sword and fumbled at the wound, but his gauntlets were much too big to reach inside to stop the bleeding.

 

The legion had joined in on the attack now, and Senna could organized legionnaires moving as a line into the fray. They were coming from the east, while the General's men in the north were plunging into the battle, forsaking their organization. The General himself was in the battle, a sword in one hand and the other aflame. He and a few other battlemages were surrounding a knight. They brought him down and a few men hauled him off, as he kicked and punched to be free of his captors. Senna knew then she and Sosia had to find the other officers, and quickly. they moved deeper into the fray, fighting as fluidly as if they were one.

 

They found another officer knight, this one with sword and shield. Sosia tried to slip under hisguard, as before, but he parried the mace away, and swiped at Sosia's back. Sosia rolled out of the way, narrowly avoiding the cut. Senna jumped in, attacking the knight's shield side, but every blow was blocked or deflected. Senna danced with the him, and the knight only just remembered Sosia, enough to take the mace blow to the shoulder and not head. His shield arm hung limp by his side, but he was angry and desperate now. He turned and knocked Sosia back with his plated forearm, then hacked at Senna with the ferocity of a cornered animal. Senna deflected the attacks, but one knocked her dagger away, and to avoid another he was forced to fall backwards, landing in the dirt. She rolled out of the way and sprung to her feet, slicing at the hip of the knight as the rose. The knight staggered, but swiped back, catching Senna in the side. It stung, but was not fatal, and gave Sosia enough time to smash the knight's helmet and skull in one vicious swing. 

 

The sisters looked up to find the battle practically over. A few tents were still smoldering, but some legion men had corralled the fire from spreading and burning up everyone on the battlefield. The legion archers atop the hill were looking rather useless, as Senna could barely make them out through the smoke. Some Chevaliers had apparently made it out past the Silver Brigade, but legion cavalry and reserves had not let them get far. A few enemy sellswords were surrendering, but it there weren't many, and no knights. Senna wasn't sure if either of the two men they'd killed were the leader, as they had only met him once, and he wasn't wearing armor nor a weapon at the time. She wanted to go check their faces, but the the General approached them before they could. He was surrounded by his battlemages, who carried his captive knight.

 

"Did your men take any officers prisoner?" he asked.

 

"We don't take prisoners," Sosia said. 

 

"If anyone was taken prisoner, it was your men who took'em, not ours," Senna added. 

 

He looked at each of them, his eyes narrowed in scrutiny, and then said, "Come with me. Emperor Draconus will want a report from us."

 

The sisters followed the General, but not before they gave their men orders to loot the camp and the dead. Not that it was needed, as those who weren't injured or tending to the injured were already checking the pockets of the dead, or killing the dying and then checking their pockets. The three leaders walked back to the reserves, which were atop the hill, where the Emperor was waiting. The General and his battlemage brought along their captured officer, but he was surrounded by enough guards that Senna couldn't see if he was the leader.

 

When they reached the Emperor, he was surrounded by his guards, though most of the reserves were taking care of the wounded and setting up camp for the night.

 

"Who started the fire?" he asked, obviously a bit displeased. While it wasn't directly obvious due to his helmet, they could feel that his eyes were looking at the sellswords.

 

Senna feigned surprise, while Sosia was stone-faced. The former said, "We thought your archers and mages on the hill did it. It wasn't us, if that's what you're implying. If it wasn't them or us, it was probably a campfire that spread in the chaos."

 

"They were being attacked by ice atronachs, after all," Sosia said. 

 

"I saw the first flames rise from the around the same angle you were to attack from. So that is just a coincidence? Remember that if you hide anything from me, being completely honest about it will make any punishment considerably milder. If you're however found to be lying, it will instead be considerably severe. Have I made myself clear?" the Emperor said sternly. It was apparent from his voice that he was serious and was almost looking for an excuse to get rid of them.

 

"Fine. The flames were our fault. We moved on the camp too early, and when we did, we spooked some of the soldiers camped closest too us. Some of them attacked us, some of them ran, and our mages might have missed. Or maybe the scared soldiers accidentally caught their tents on fire. I don't know which it was, but it wasn't intentional," Senna said, crossing her arms. Sosia was scowling now, but made sure to not appear too antagonistic. They were dancing on thin ice here. 

 

"Hmm." the Emperor just said, making it unclear whether he bought it or not. "I appreciate your honesty. Now did any of you manage to capture anyone important?"

 

"Just the one," the General said. He motioned to his men, who brought the knight forward, pushed him to his knees, and then removed his helmet. Senna nearly audibly sighed, as he was not the Chevalier's leader. Still, she did remember seeing him, with the leader, so she guessed he was either second or third in command. Which meant she and her sister were not out of the woods yet.

 

"What do you know?" the Emperor asked the captured Chevalier. 

 

"About what?" the man asked, his face twisting in confusion. "We were hired by a nobleman to kill Orcs. Is that such a crime, after all they've done in High Rock?" 

 

"Tell me everything. From the point you got hired up till now."

 

"We were hired about a month ago, I suppose. Our leader said he had to go somewhere, to talk to a man about a job. We were in the Wrothgarians, having been hired to make sure there were no Orcs left there. He headed back east, toward Camlorn and Daggerfall. He never said where he went, he just came back with chests of gold and orders we were to march to Wayrest, board a ship, and sail down to Cyrodiil. I asked him who hired us, and he said 'A nobleman.' He didn't seem open to discussing it, so I didn't question him further. Then we sailed here and started killing Orcs for about a week or so. I didn't know until they arrived, but they," he turned and frowned disapprovingly at the sister, and stared them down as he spoke, "were to join us. I should've known better than to trust two silver *******. Traitors!"

 

The man tried to pushed himself up and attack the sisters, but one battlemage punched him in the face, and he slumped over to his side. Senna thought, for a moment, he was unconscious, but his wounded groans showed he was still awake. They propped him back up on his knees, and yanked his head up toward the Emperor. The right side of his face was already bruising from the battlemage's armored fist, and blood dribbled from his nose.

 

"Do you remember any other details about your assignment?"

 

"What details? You asked what I knew and I told you," the knight said. The knight was quiet for a moment, as if he was thinking. "I do recall we were paid more gold than usual. Enough that no lower noble could afford to part with. Unless they despised Orcs, that is."

 

"Where is this chest that held the gold?"

 

"We already divvied up most of the gold amongst the men. The share left for company use is in the treasury chest, in the captain's tent. If its not melted."

 

The Emperor raised his gaze to the General. "General, send some men to retrieve the chest." 

 

The General turned around and sent talked to four soldiers, who descended the hill headed toward the center of the camp. Senna watched them go, then turned to the Emperor. "What're we gonna do with him? If he's a noble, he could be ransomed. If his family wants him, that is."

 

"Who are you?" the Emperor asked the prisoner. 

 

"Sir Mathieu Panoit. My grandfather is a baron, sworn to Farrun," Sir Panoit said.

 

"How far away from your grandfather's seat are you?" Sosia asked.

 

Sir Panoit frowned and said, "My uncle is the heir, and his three children, then my father, then my older brother."

 

"Not close, then. But a noble nonetheless," Senna said to the Emperor. "He's likely worth something. We have contacts in High Rock who can help set up the deal. If we don't have to disarm any of our men after this battle. I'm sure enough have died to calm your nerves."

 

"We'll handle it ourselves. You should go see to your wounded. I'll call upon you if I require anything more from you."

 

Senna and Sosia exchanged a glance, then turned and left. Once they were away, Senna sighed with relief. They accomplished their mission, and survived to tell about it. But now they would need to find somewhere to establish a stable mercenary outfit, and find a job. It wouldn't be easy, but they'd survived the hardest part yet.

 

**

 

The Emperor waited for the sellswords to leave. Then waited some more for the chest to arrive. There was almost a eerie silent as they waited. It was plunked down in front of him, just a couple of yards from the prisoner. It was not a very large but was however armored in iron.

 

"Is this the original chest your leader returned with as payment for your job?" Krojun asked Mathieu.

 

"No, the chest he had was larger, and wooden. This is the company's treasury chest, where money for the company is held," the knight said. 

 

Gracchus thought the man sounded pompous because of his station, being a nobleman and officer.  The sellsword sisters were intractable, but only in the way all swords for hire were. He already disliked this man's haughty arrogance more. 

 

"Do you still got that chest?" the Emperor asked. 

 

"Why do you want to know? Its a wooden chest, empty most likely. If it wasn't in the command tent, I don't know where it is," Mathieu said. 

 

"I want to see if there's anything about the chest that can be traced back to your employer. But if you don't have that chest, did your leader bring anything else back with him along with the chest with gold?"

 

"As I already said, he didn't want to discuss it, so I didn't ask. It doesn't matter anyway, because from what I saw of the chest, it was about as unique as a blade of grass." 

 

"Hmm." The Emperor grumbled, obviously both a bit displeased and frustrated. "Take him away. If he tries anything, break his legs."

 

The battlemages hoisted the knight up and dragged him away, all while he wore the most stunned look Gracchus had ever seen. He might have laughed, had he not known just how real the Emperor's threats were. After the knight was gone, he turned to Krojun and said, "I don't trust the sisters, but I'm not sure that they're lying. No more than most sellswords do."

 

"I don't know if they're lying either. But I think they're hiding something. Attacking the Orcs now seems like an aggression with too large a risk and too little reward. If Adrard did send them, I think it might be to get the Silver Brigade set up base in Cyrodiil."

 

"Even that seems a suspect plan. They're too small to cause much damage, and he has to know we would watch them like hawks. It could be that he has enough Orc hating nobles he needed to do something to appease them. Hiring mercenaries seems safer than sending his own men."

 

"True." The Emperor was silent for a moment. "Why would the Chevalier's leader keep it a secret that they were hired by the king to kill Orcs? Isn't that something they would brag about?"

 

"It's possible the king didn't want us to find out, and told him to keep it a secret. It was only because the Silver Brigade betrayed him that we knew it was him. If that hadn't happened, the chances are we would never know who hired either company," Gracchus said. 

 

"But if he sent them to appease the nobles, it wouldn't remain a secret for long." The Emperor sighed lightly. "Things don't quite add up."

 

"It is possible Adrard didn't send either group, though who sent them and why is indiscernible, at least for the moment," Gracchus said. "Or the groups came of their own accord, for some reason or another."

 

"Someone sent them." The Emperor paused for a second. "We need to keep an eye on the Silver Brigade and whatever income they make. If they were to recieve a chest filled with gold for no good reason, I think we can safely assume that there's more to their story than what they tell us."

 

"I'll have scouts regularly tail them. They're large enough they won't be able to hide their movements." Gracchus hesitated for a moment, then continued, "We also need to consider what some on the Elder Council will think of this attack. They might use it a fuel for war with High Rock, even if it is too suspicious to consider doing so."

 

"One war at a time. A war on two fronts is a fool's errand. They'll see reason, one way or another."

 

"Let us hope so," Gracchus said. He wished he shared the Emperor's optimism, but he found the will of politicians unyielding, especially in cases of injured pride. "If there's nothing else, my lord, I would like to go oversee camp construction."

 

 

"You're free to go. I will retire for the night. Good night General." the Emperor said and turned around his horse to go order someone to set up his tent

Power corrupts, absolute power... is a whole lot of fun!

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Titus Scipio
East of Cheydinhal
Noon

Titus rode along a simple dirt road on his horse. He didn't quite know where he was going, as he didn't have a proper map or knew the area, but he had been told that the end of the road was the small village of Ashentorp. Some travelers at an inn had told him that the village was looking for sellswords that might help deal with some kind threat. 
While Titus didn't like to play the role of mercenary, he still required some form of income to live on. He had considered joining the Fighters Guild, but after seeing one of their members beat up some poor merchant for not paying some debt he knew he didn't want to be a part of an organisation that tolerated such brutes. 

Soon he came over a hill and saw the small village a bit further away, situated on a slightly larger hill. The trees were few and far between in the surrounding landscape and the ground was rather barren in some places. The only real fertile land was around the village as a couple of small wheat fields lay around it. The only visible livestock were some goats being herded at the far left side of the village. The houses themselves were simple and made of wood with steep roofs. 
As Titus rode towards the village he saw that he was may be too late as apparently another group of armed men and women had come into the village. Three armed men stood at the road into the village. They wore simple clothing, one in dark green color and the other two in blue and black. They all wore a simple leather cuirass and short swords. The man in green also had a bow on his back. Titus didn't recognize them and wondered if the Fighters Guild were so desperate for contracts that they'd send out an entire unit to help a small village. 

"Who are you?" shouted the man in green clothes as Titus got closer. The man was Colovian and had a small beard around his mouth.

"I'm Titus Scipio. Who are you?" Titus shouted back.

"I'm Baro. My friends here are Bere and Plurus. What are you doing out here?"

"I heard this village was in need of help. I came to lend a hand."

"You're here to help?" Baro looked a little surprised. "Well if you want to help, go into the village center and ask for Malder. He's the big Nord in full armor. Can't miss him."

"Thanks, I will." Titus then rode past the men and continued on into the village. Along the way he could see that the people had had it rather rough. The townsfolk he saw looked weary and tired when they looked back at him.
As he came into the village center, which wasn't more than an open space atop the hill with a well in the middle, he saw that the situation in the village was more dire than he had anticipated. Around the well were several makeshift beds of straw and torn linen. On a few of them lied wounded men and women, one of them even a little girl. All them wore a bandage somewhere and one man were even missing an arm. Among the wounded wandered young priestess and tended to their needs. On Titus' left were a large cauldron with a man handing out a thin looking stew to anyone that wanted. The other townsfolk there were lining up with an empty wooden bowl. All of them looked weary and tired, some even terrified. 
Titus immediately spotted Malder standing a bit to the side of it all and just watching. The Nord was as large as was expected of his kind and wore an impressive full set of steel plate armor, along with a sturdy looking mace at his side and round shield at his back. Titus steered his horse towards the Nord who looked at him with a mix of surprise and suspicion.
"Greetings friend. You must be Malder. Baro told me you are here to help and so am I." Titus said, hoping this wouldn't be one of those rude types of sellswords. 

"Greetings. I am Malder. And we'll take any help we can get. Though if you're also looking for a reward, you'll find little here other than people's gratitude. By the way, who are you stranger?" Malder eyed Titus, seemingly measuring him.

"I am Titus Scipio. So you're sellswords?" 

"No. We're the Order of Divine Purity. We're to aid people and root out whatever unholy filth that hurt them."

Titus was quite surprised that they were not sellswords. Though that only made him like them slightly more. "That's a bit of a mouthful. And how come I've never heard of your Order before?"

"We're relatively new Order. I and a few of my men were once part of the Vigil of Stendarr. We tried to uphold our vows even after the Vigil fell to disunity. But it became harder with time as we grew fewer and the fight seemed more pointless. Then Jeanne, a priestess of Mara," Malder pointed at the young priestess tending to the wounded. "helped us find our purpose again. Since then more people have joined up and we decided to form a new Order."

Titus was a bit taken aback at how Malder spoke with such a conviction and honesty in both his voice and eyes. It was easy to see that helping these people meant much to Malder. "It is a rare thing to see people fight only for the chance to do the right thing. I will try to aid you to help these people as best I can. All I ask for is a place to sleep at and food eat."

"I think we can comply to that. Though don't expect anything comfortable or particularly tasty. Varus stew over there tastes next to nothing at the best of times."

"It's something to live on at least. But I need to know, what happened to these people?" Titus gestured to the weary and wounded townsfolk. He also couldn't hide that he was troubled and worried for them. 

"They're not actually from this village. They're from another one to the north of here. We don't know the details but apparently it was attacked by a handful of necromancers. Most don't want to talk. Those that do speak tell of how they saw their loved ones be cut down by the necromancers and their skeletons, only to then rise as the necromancers' pets and join in the attack." Malder frowned in disgust. "Vile people with vile magic. What twisted soul would turn family against family like that."

Titus felt his stomach turn at hearing about what had happened. Only imagining how horrifying it must have been for these folks sent a chill down his spine. But hearing about this injustice also made his blood boil. "Where are the necromancers?" Titus just said, poorly hiding his anger and eagerness to fight.

"We believe they're still holding up in that village. Though you shouldn't go there now. At least not alone. We're planning on moving against them as soon we can. We sent a scout to check out what w're dealing with. As soon as she's back we'll form a plan of action and then move out."

"Anything I can do in the meantime?" 

"You can maybe go see Jeanne and see if she needs any help. You can leave your horse at our camp, which I'm sure you saw on your way into the village. Baro will keep an eye on it so you wont have to worry about horse theft." 

"Thank you, I will." Titus then headed back to leave his horse the Order's camp before going to see Jeanne. The priestess was wearing a bright yellow robe. Apart from the color the cloth was just simple linen. Jeanne herself was rather pretty and very young looking, probably late teens but not more than twenty. Her hair was brown and tied up in a bun behind her head. 
"Hello." Titus just said to her as she was giving a man with bandaged arm some water. 

"Hi." she said with a soft voice, only giving him a quick glance before returning her attention to the wounded man. 

"I am Titus Scipio. I am here to help." Titus said. He was a little uncertain of what to think of such a young girl being it such a horrible place, but still admired her devotion to helping these people.

Jeanne didn't answer at first and just helped the man drink his fill before getting up. When she looked at Titus he could see it in her eyes that she was quite worried for these people. 
"I am Jeanne. If you want to help you can start by helping me switch some bandages."

"Sure. But I've never done that before." 

"Come, I'll show how it's properly done." she said and walked over to the man was missing his leg. As she crouched down and touched the stump that was left of his left leg, he began to flail his arms and groan in pain. "Shh. It will alright." she said soothingly as she put her hand on his shoulder. It took a moment but the man then finally calmed down. "No hold up his thigh while I untie and unwrap the bandage and apply a new one." 

Titus did as he was told and watched her hands work the grey piece of clothing. When the last of the bandage began to come off Titus stomach twisted as a putrid smell hit his nostrils. As the flesh of equally foul appearance came into view he was almost about to puke. But Titus steeled his stomach and nerves and continued to observe as Jeanne applied a a salve to the stump and a new clean bandage. 
"What is wrong with the leg?" Titus asked, half horrified by what he had seen.

"Some kind of infection. I do what I can to stem it and pray that it will be enough. Luckily the others haven't been afflicted." She said the last sentence more as encouragement to herself. But it was evident in her eyes that he was very unlikely to survive for long. 

"I swear I will avenge these people and punish whoever did this." Though Titus said it more to himself as encouragement than as an actual oath. 

"The gods tell us that we should beware the witch, the warlock and the necromancer. For they dabble in things no mortal should never know." she said solemnly.

"I've never heard the clergy say that before."

"The temples don't exactly teach that. But I know it to be true. Because I believe in it to be true. Some things were not meant for us to understand. Some things we should simply let be. Magic is the realm of the gods, and we should be careful in trying to mimic them."

"Hmm." Titus thought on her words as he remembered his towns healer being a kind and gentle man that always did what he could to help people. But he also remembered the mages he had run into and how they were too occupied by their studies to really care about the people around them.

"Enough doom and gloom now. Time for you to practice what I taught you." Jeanne said with a small smile in an attempt to lighten the mood. Titus couldn't really help but do a little smile of his own as he followed her to help out with the other patients.

Power corrupts, absolute power... is a whole lot of fun!

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Tacitus Meridius
Elven Gardens District
Morning

Tacitus greeted the morning the way he did every morning since Silana left him: with a stiff drink. While she was learning to play and instrument and become a bard, he spent his days stuck on land, his mind buzzed with alcohol. It had become his ritual before he crawled out of his house and wasted the days away in the gleaming dick that was the White-Gold tower. 
He hated the palace, ever since the Nibenese and Breton councilors blackmailed him into quiet submission. He felt like a muzzled hound, unable to lash out at his tormenting captors. That, as well as the everyday bureaucracy of running the fleet, made him sick to his stomach.


So it was he found anything to distract him, when he could. This day, though, no errand was sticking out in his mind. He couldn't remember anything, so he sank into his couch and pulled his boots on, conceding he better head to work. It was then that a slight glow caught his eye. It was faint, so faint that a candle might have drowned it out. And it came from his mantle, where Baldur Red-Snow's axe was balanced on handle and blade. 


Even though he'd used it to destroy a few chairs when Silana left, and stuck it in the wall, it was still in immaculate condition. Having finished dressing in his scarlet and blue admiral's doublet, Tacitus rose and reached for the axe. He hesitated only momentarily before gripping it. Nothing happened. He thought he would have noticed the enchantment before now, but he'd been either so in love, angry or drunk until now that it must've escaped his notice. 


The axe not being his, and seeking a reprieve from work, he decided he needed to have the enchantment checked out. He slid it through his belt, and screwed on his bronze fist. Then, wading through the morning crowds, he headed for the Arboretum. It would have been easier to find some magic shop in the Market District, but then he wouldn't be able to waste as much time. And the mages at the Arcane University might be better equipped to discover just what the enchantment was. 


He did not walk at a brisk pace, and nor did he fight his way through the crowds. He simply waded in and let the flow of people take him. He found himself going the long way, through the Market and Arena Districts. Eventually, though, he arrived at the Arboretum. After identifying himself and gaining entrance, which didn't require joining the university ever since the dissolution of the Mages' Guild, he asked a guard where he could find someone with enchanting knowledge. 
He was pointing to something called the Chironasium, the second building to the right inside the university's grounds. Tacitus passed through an intricate looking door, and he came into a somewhat dark room with a large eye mosaic on the floor. 

"Hello, anyone here?" he called out, looking toward the staircase on the left. 

A dusty old Breton man with a round face and peculiar almost child-like eyes came wading down, covered in brown wrinkled robes he undoubtedly had slept in prior. In fact, his wispy hair and his utterly relaxed aura, as if worries couldn't touch him announced the fact that he just woke up, likely from a ten hour slumber that would have kept going if not for Tacitus.

"Yes, boy?" said the old man, his child-like eyes far more crisp and alert than one would expect from his appearance. In fact, he almost seemed wary of Tacitus, eyes at his belt.

Tacitus glared at the old mage for a few moments. He then slapped the blade of the axe and said, "I need this examined. It's got an enchantment, but I don't know what it is or how safe."

"Oh my," said the old man. "That's good, very good. I almost thought I'd have to make a run for the White Gold Tower. Or a powerwalk. Son, I suggest you give this to me right now and tell me where you got it. This enchantment is Aldmeri."

"You can tell the enchantment from there? What's so special about an Aldmeri enchantment?" Tacitus took the axe out and looked it over. He was suddenly wary about what Corio might have given him, and why.

"Of course I can, I'm a mage. A weak one, which ironically makes it easier for me to sense the subtlety. Someone more powerful couldn't hope to detect it. Their own magicka subdues it, which is why this is perfect for espionage. Observe."

The old man took the axe in his hand, ran a glowing finger over it, revealing hidden runes running all over the weapon from edge to hilt. "You see? I only weakened the dampening magic on it temporarily, too short for anyone to detect tampering. A Thalmor agent can break this dampening effect at will if they wanted. They can sense objects enchanted with this effect wherever they are, and track whoever is carrying them. We saw these in the Great War, they'd give these to released prisoners when their weapons were returned to them. This weapon, it's as Nordic as Ulfric Stormcloaks ass. How did you come across this?"

"It was...given to me. But I didn't know it was enchanted at the time. Can you destroy the enchantment? I don't want it around, as dangerous as it is." Tacitus crossed his arms and stared at the axe, wondering what Corio might do if this axe ever made it to Red-Snow.

"Destroy it? Well, you could throw it in a forge I suppose but I certainly can't destroy this enchantment. The effect, as useful as it is was enchanted with some power source I'm not even aware of, but it's something... well, powerful! Basically, no I can't. But, you're rather lucky, as me and my colleagues would pay a good price to study this particular weapon. The possibilities of owning a weapon that's linked to such a powerful enemy Mage..."

"I'm afraid I can't give it to you. It was given to me with instructions to pass it along to someone else, and they wouldn't want me selling it. Even if it is as dangerous as you say," Tacitus said. 

The old man gave Tacitus an estranged look. "I'm sorry to have to do this, admiral, but considering your history, I'll have to ask that you inform me on who this is meant for. It's not that I doubt your loyalty to the Empire... you wouldn't have come here if you were a spy. But still, I must know who this weapon is intended for. If you really wish to give this to them, I can make sure that it arrives at its destination after its been properly studied, its magic contained, and finally released to the intended individual."

"I won't be giving you anything, or answering your questions, mage. My business is my own. Thank you for your help but I'll be taking the axe back now," Tacitus said, sticking his hand out for the weapon. 

"But... Oh alright... This isn't a good idea admiral. Are you sure you know what you're doing? Thalmor Magic is not to be taken lightly. Who knows what the purpose of it is..."

"I'll warn the man I'm sending it to. He can decide what to do with it after that," Tacitus said, hooking the axe back in his belt. He then nodded at the mage and left without another word.

After that, it was another slow, meandering trip to the Market District. Tacitus wondered what the extent of Corio’s feud with the Nord was. It must be a deep feud, for Corio to concoct such a strange plot to try and kill the man. Tacitus’s thoughts were interrupted when he arrived at a small store, one that sold everything from weapons to rugs. There he purchased a box just big enough to fit Red-Snow’s axe. He then locked it, so that it would be safe for the courier carrying it. He carried the box with him, to his next destination, the courier’s office. Taking up quill and ink, he wrote:

 

Red-Snow,

 

Corio Adorin, of the Thalmor, gave me this axe he claimed was yours, after I was released. I have had it in my possession since then, but recently noticed it was enchanted. A magical test detected that it was an Aldmeri enchantment, one that allows a Thalmor agent to track the axe’s whereabouts. Adorin wanted me to give it to you. I suspect it is dangerous, and he means to do harm somehow. A forge can destroy the weapon and its enchantment, but I thought it best if you decide if that’s what you want.

 

High Admiral Tacitus Meridius

 

Seeing the box and letter off, Tacitus thought it best he go to work, so finally turned toward the gleaming tower at the center of the city, his face set in a scowl. 

***

"Hello, bitch. Daddy's home..."

"He's here! Kill him!" cried the old crone, commanding things that shifted in the dark of this rank whore's ***** of a cave. Undead donned in Stormcloak and Reachman garment alike flowed in droves, but they never got past the giant ironclad figure that shined like a beacon when illuminated by mage fire.

Heads and limbs flew as Brund Hammer-Fang's Ancient pendulum swung back and forth in his hands. The witch's fire licked him, but did nothing more. She couldn't understand it at first... not until she heard the low growls of the Nord's voice from within.

Laughing, he said to her, "You were in my head. Did you not see me in the Great War? Magic was always weak against me. I consumed elven fire and storm as I charged their men, leaving with only minor wounds. You're gonna need stronger magic to kill me."

"Atronach..." she said, watching as Brund cut down the last of her thralls, hopefully sending the Nordic ones to Sovngarde where they belonged. "Such wasted potential. All that magic flowing through you, and you can do nothing with it."

"As you can see. I don't need it."

"You probably don't need those weapons to kill either, Nord. Spare me, and I can give you powers you've only heard about in legend. I am very old. I've seen things. Learned things. Things that can help you reach your goals."

"And what would you know of my goals? I want more than just to kill that man. I want everything." Brund stepped closer, dropping his weapons. The witch raised her hands to strike out with her grotesque claws, but her strength failed her as she looked into Brund's eyes. Legs weak, she fell to her knees before him.

"Why? Why is this happening?"

"You entered my mind, trying to make me a slave with this thing in my chest. But you failed. You're mine. And I've seen things that you've seen. Only a fraction, but enough that I had to seek you out. I said I want everything. Starting with power."

"You want to be High General."

"I want to be King! But to do that, I must become a Jarl. And then I can duel Ulfric Stormcloak for the throne. But to beat him, I must match his power. I must have the Thu'um!"

Smiling, the old crone said, "Yes... that I can do. But if I do this, will you promise to release me?"

"Do it or I'll make you wish you were dead. Teach me."

"Kiss me." Before Brund could reject, the thing wrapped her arms around him, shoving her tongue down his throat. Bits of gravel and rock could be felt from it until mud and dirt poured from her mouth into his. Wide eyed, Brund began to gag but forced himself to accept the power he felt flowing from it.

"What... is this."

"This is the technique of the demon king Merkiller. Swallower of Earth. A mighty tongue of old. This will help you defeat your foe. Now, let me go."

Brund's cold hands lifted the hagraven before him, bones crunching beneath his grip. Screaming, she said, "Don't! I, I can still help you! Warn you! I see him! The bear with the snake tongue! High General Red-Snow will be no more!"

"What? You lie."

"No! I see it, great changes are coming to Skyrim! Windhelm, go to Windhelm. Before the marked elf reaches Kyne's Watch."

"What are you going on about you mad bitch, nothing you say will save your miserable life!"

"No, don't!" Before she could protest any longer, Brund's hands went around her throat, squeezing the life out of her until her eyes bulged and blood spilled from her mouth and nose. As she fell, a flash of purple blinded his eyes. Magic flowed from her body like smoke, directly into his chest. The sensation was like someone was pressing inside of him with hot iron, the pain crippling him as he fell to the ground. His jaw locked up as his whole body twitched, foam escaping his mouth through clenched teeth. Then, silence.

Until...

Explosions, fire and ice. Lightning. Nords and Dunmer, Argonians dying. Sounds of steel clashing. A city on Fire.

"Windhelm... I can see Windhelm."

***

"Daric, I need you to be absolutely sure of this. And I mean perfectly sure. You understand what could happen if your intel is wrong?"

The once boy, but now a young man looked to the man he once thought of as a father with eyes just as hard, with steely resolve. "I personally tortured several Reachmen Briar-Hearts captured by my shield brothers and sisters. We know what we're doing. They all said the same thing, even stuck to the same story under interrogation until they begged to have their hearts removed. It's real."

Baldur turned away from him, hand at his beard which was now partially grey and thicker than before. Raising an army and raising a child weren't too different, and he was doing both. Daric tried to get a glimpse of Baldur's face to see how concerned he was, but didn't see what he expected to... He was smiling.

"Daric, tell no one of this. Your unit keeps this information to themselves, understand? I don't want the Thalmor getting any notion that we know anything."

"Shouldn't we tell Ulfric something?"

"You leave Ulfric to me. I'll handle it. Go. But be ready to leave at a moment's notice."

Daric thought of questioning him more, but knew that it was fruitless. Baldur had grown more closed off as of late. He blamed it on the lack of sleep he got with Ragna, which means he and Rebec hadn't gotten any in a while, but Daric also knew the stress of being a High General was getting to him, as was this suicidal Necro Nord training. It seemed stupid to him, as all of them would be gaining an early grave whether it was on the battlefield or from wearing down their bodies until they could no longer lift a sword. This war, it needed to happen soon.

He and Baldur were also never quite the same even when he returned. Daric made it clear he hadn't stayed for Baldur's sake but his own, and they argued over Daric living a soldier life on his own until weapons were drawn and Rebec had to interfere. It was strange, but this was the first time he's seen Baldur smile in a long time. Especially after news of the Rift reached his ear. No one wanted to be around him then.

After Daric left, the blinding white of snow illuminated the hut until the door slammed shut, Baldur began pacing, thinking, plotting. It's what he'd been doing ever since the rumors first hit. Boldir Iron-Brow, friend of the High General turned traitor. Boldir Iron-Brow, murderer of Stormcloaks, enemy to Skyrim. Everyone that heard practically wanted his head on a pike, even those that remembered who he was and what he did for the Civil War, which wasn't many. Even Baldur felt betrayed, after reading his letters. There had to be a reason for all this, he thought. There had to be a motive. Boldir was still is his brother. He would tell Baldur first chance he could if something was amiss. Or so Baldur thought.

But now it was left to him to clean his mess. No doubt Ulfric was just waiting for the opportunity to unleash rage and anger over losing an entire city to bandits. An important trade hub to Skyrim as well as to Cyrodiil, and losing Maven Black-Briar, who practically helped fund a fourth of his entire military. Skyrim was vulnerable. They only recently won a war against the Reachmen, and the majority of their forces were half across the kingdom. The ones that were actively serving as soldiers that is, since he convinced Ulfric to send most of them home. And with those in the Rift dead and gone, that left only forces in Kyne's Watch and Windhelm to deal with the bandits.

"And now this," said Baldur to himself. Storming out of the hut, Baldur caught the nearest soldier he could find, practically knocking a group of three men on their asses. "Oh great, it's you three."

"Captain Jjgmir Willcrush-Me, reporting for duty..." said the yellow headed Nord. As the three stood, Baldur shook his head in disbelief. "I still can't believe you lot lived. You're a disgrace to that armor, all of you! But, likely as some cruel joke, the gods have allowed you to keep breathing. So now it's time you put that armor to work...Ugh...Necro Nords..."

"Sir, Necro Nord Bolsh is ready to serve, sir!" said the group's designated optimist.

"Shut up, Bolsh!" said Bjorn, knocking his friend across his head before Jjgmir pulled their beards.

"Both of you shut it!"

"All three of you shut it! This is no time to act like morons, it's time for the Grim Ones to mobilize!" yelled Baldur.

"More Reachmen?" asked Bolsh.

"No stupid, bandits. The Rift has been overrun, remember? We're gonna reclaim it now since other forces are so scattered at the moment."

"That's exactly right, Captain. You lot are going back to the Rift. Your duty, kill anyone that you even suspects may be a bandit. First you'll retake Riften, that's step one. Then we'll worry about clearing out the rest of the scum later. A military presence MUST be established as soon as possible. Send word, but first, go tell Mazoga she's staying with the navy. They're to make a blockade in front of Kyne's Watch, and I need them to send a decent sized force to Windhelm immediately. You got all that?"

"SIR YES SIR!" they all cried. "But what's the point of sending forces to Windhelm?" asked Jjgmir.

"None of your business. Now go!"

The three ran off at once, tripping over one another before finally getting it together and disappearing in the howling winds and snow of Kyne's Watch. That left Baldur alone to polish his armor and sharpen his weapons. He wouldn't tell Rebec he was leaving, not this time. He'd be gone for quite a while, and he would not return the same man she'd woken up with that morning, but someone else entirely.

"Why did it have to come to this," he said to himself. His mind drifted back to the last time he and Ulfric spoke, brows arching with frustration--

 

(Weeks ago)

"I grow tired of you keeping me in the dark, Baldur. It's time we start talking about the invasion," said Ulfric.

"I am High General, appointed by you. It isn't time for you and I to speak about this in detail. Please, trust me."

"I am the King! I outrank you in every single way, I will not be treated like a nagging woman in the presence of men, you and I will have words. Now. Why are you stalling?"

"I'm not stalling, I'm planning!" said Baldur. "I want us to actually win this war, and I..."

"I what?" said Ulfric. "What, do you think you know better than I of war? Is THAT it? I think I've allowed you too much freedom, given you too much room to do what you want. You've forgotten your place. I was fighting in war when you were still a child, Red-Snow. Do not forget, it was I that took Skyrim for myself, the only war you've lead was over in less than a year. Never forget that."

Baldur's color began to turn as he noticed his soldiers' eyes on him. Embarrassed, he said, "You won that war because of the dragonborn. If not for him, Skyrim would be in the hands of the Empire right now."

"Fus, Ro Dah!"

The sound of thunder filled everyone's ears, and before Baldur knew what hit him, he was on the ground, the room spinning in multiple directions.

"The next time you speak to me in that manner, I will have you whipped!" said Ulfric. "You have two hours to write what it is you've come up with for the next Great War. I know when you have something crazy up your sleeve, and I will not have you hiding anything from me when it involves the fate of my Kingdom!"

Stomping off before Baldur could stand, Ulfric retired to his quarters, leaving Baldur alone to be gawked at in shame. "Fine, you want to know what I have planned, my king? I'll show you."

That, was a mistake.

Baldur watched in noticeable angst as Ulfric glanced over the documents and diagrams Baldur had. The dates revealed just how long Baldur had been planning this.

"You had this in mind since before the war?" asked Ulfric.

"Aye," was all that Baldur said. "It's changed a bit as new players have come into the fold. The Witch King makes things a little complicated, but in the end his presence will help."

"Will it now," said Ulfric. "How you can sound so confident, after writing up something as mad as this." Looking up, Ulfric sighed once with closed eyes and said, "No."

"No? What do you mean 'no'," said Baldur.

"I mean, no. Your plan, it will get our soldiers killed, it will risk further war with the legion, it will mean more chaos than we've seen since days of old. No. I can't even believe what I'm reading. This isn't a war plan, this is one of those stories you're always singing at parties."

"I thought you liked to make a good story, my king," said Baldur, no humor in his expression. "You dragged me all the way down here, from my newborn child, from my wife..."

"Careful, Red-Snow. You know what I think? I think that's what this is all about. It's been your biggest problem since the days I was calling you captain. You're more concerned with what's between the High Admiral's legs than doing your job. All you can think about is when this will all be over so you can go back home, but we all want to return home, Red-Snow. This plan of yours? You're hoping to finish this war as soon as you can so you can go home, but this war cannot be rushed!"

"You're wrong!" said Baldur, teeth clenched in anger from Ulfric's words. "Nothing of my plan suggests I'll rush anything! This will take careful maneuvering and tactful planning to make this happen! You don't seem to understand that nothing short of the most drastic measures will win this war! The Thalmor are not-"

"Don't you think to tell ME of what the Thalmor are!" said Ulfric. "NO ONE KNOWS BETTER THAN I! I will not have anymore of this nonsense, and if you even think to mention this... craziness to me again, I will have you replaced as High General by someone with more practical thinking."

"Like who, Galmar? Brund?"

"Don't test me, Baldur. I'll do it. Now go, before I lose my patience further."

Baldur closed his eyes, exhaling in complete defeated frustration. Before he left, he took one last look at the man he'd admired for so long, realizing he wasn't the same any longer. Maybe it was news of him losing the Rift to bandits and a traitor, a traitor that Baldur still called brother, but Ulfric was unhinged. It was the biggest hit to Skyrim since Ulfric had become king. He lived to fend off the Empire, but let common criminals deal a bigger blow to Skyrim than any had in ages. It changed him.

"Say what you want about me, my king. But in the end, if we lose to the elves... It won't be my name our people curse forever in shame. I simply don't want to live to see you become the next King Borgas. If you want to replace me for that, then do what you will."

That was the last thing Baldur said Ulfric since they last met. Pushing it from his mind, he went back to preparing his weapons and armor, uttering a silent prayer not to Shor, but to Orkey for strength, kissing the ring on his finger. To Shor, he prayed for strength of mind and for the resolve he'd need to ensure his family and kinsmen's future.

***

"Are you sure about this. Are you absolutely sure?" The tattooed Bosmer's face was wrought with worry. "You are doing so well for yourself. I was so happy to see how things had turned out for you. But this, this could ruin everything for you if your plan fails."

"Friend. After everything you've seen, and after everything I've told you, can you truly tell me that this isn't necessary? Tell me that there's a better way to defeat the Thalmor. Please, I beg of you, tell me now and I will abandon this wretched plan! Please, tell me I am wrong, and I will go back to my family, make love to my wife and bounce my daughter on my knee, worry free because there is another way to defeat the greatest threat to Skyrim and Tamriel that we've ever known. Tell me, Maori."

Maori looked away from him, for he couldn't tell him what he wanted to hear. He hated it, but he agreed. "You're right, Red-Snow. You're right. I just wish it didn't have to put you in so much danger. And that it didn't have to involve my friend. Tacitus is a good man, I just hope none of this falls to him.

"I will protect him as best I can. So long as he doesn't say that he sent this axe to Skyrim, or that it was in his possession, no harm should come to him. As far as anyone is concerned, this package never reached us. The Thalmor can apparently track its whereabouts, that's enough to make a lie out of it. Now go, take this to Windhelm. Your King demands it."

Maori looked down at the dead messenger boy, yanking his arrow from his skull before running off. "I hope you live long enough to tell me that again, Baldur."

"So do I Maori." Turning, Baldur said to Falgrum, "Is my army ready?"

"Aye, they are my King."

"And they'll support me, stand by me no matter what?"

"You know they will, Baldur. They see what you see. They agree with your plan, and believe you're the one that will lead them to victory against the elves. All the Captains are on board, and only they know. The others will be kept in the dark."

"Good," said Baldur. "And you? This isn't a small thing I'm asking of you. I'm asking you to help me betray our King."

"I love Skyrim, I love the Stormcloaks. I'd die for Ulfric. He kickstarted this whole entire thing, but after what he did in Windhelm to you... he's not the one that can finish this. You are. He knows it, we know it. I stand by your side always, friend."

Moved, Baldur put a hand on his shoulder and said, "Thank you for that Falgrum. I wasn't so sure of this to be honest, but you've reassured me. We're doing this for Ulfric, in the end. Remember that."

Nodding, Falgrum turned to the others, telling them to get ready. The elves were coming.

***

"Sir, the Nords are gathering in strength near the capital just like you said, but it isn't to protect the city. They're getting ready to attack the hold that recently was swallowed up by bandits."

Corio lifted his wine glass, sipping as the cold of the Northern seas cut his cheeks. "So, my suspicions were incorrect. We took a gamble siding with these barbarians of the Reach. Thought they might've tipped off the Nords. We got lucky it seems."

Leaning against the crystal rail of his Sunbird, he said, "The Nords have been allowed to grow in strength, that is unacceptable. Luckily Ulfric isn't as capable a king as he'd hoped to be. This little incident in the Rift has given us a perfect opportunity. The Nords must be stopped. We cannot allow them to fight alongside the Empire. We'll attack Windhelm at midnight. Keep tracking the axe, take both the High General and the High King alive if you can, but killing them is our first priority. They are fools to leave themselves so unprotected, and we will capitalize on their mistake. For the Dominion!"

"For the Dominion!" cried his soldiers, a thousand strong. The voices surging in their uproar startled the nearby seagulls and crows, sending feathers scattering as they changed their tragectory just in time as the source of the noise revealed itself. A cloaked Sunbird and several Aldmeri dominion ships, appearing on the fog of sea like ghosts as they loomed in on the old and new capital of Skyrim.

Corio, donned in his battle mage attire unsheathed his blade and proclaimed to all the gods that would hear him. "Your heads will be mine, Nords!"

Power corrupts, absolute power... is a whole lot of fun!

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Ulfric Stormcloak

Windhelm

11 am

Bare feet on a table whilst watching the flames flicker, the King sat, looking at the fireplace but not seeing it. Instead, he saw something else. Men, women and children screaming. Dying. The men and children sounding uniform in their cries. Running away from some darkness that gathered in the center of the woods. And not just Nords... Imperials, Redguards, Elves. Everyone ran. At first he couldn't make out what it was. Who it was. He looked deeper into the shadow until many eyes looked back. He turned from them, unable to look any further. But he forced himself to see. They shifted in their shape suddenly, and then eyes much more familiar fell on him. Eyes so blue that they seemed enchanted.

"Baldur."

Gasping, Ulfric awoke suddenly to a dark room; his of course. The candles had burned out long ago, leaving him in comfortable blackness. Rolling up in his sheets and making a royal bundle, he closed his eyes to sleep again, trying not to think about how his friend was doing.

"I should have been less hard on him, maybe. Hearing about Boldir wasn't easy for any of us. But what he asked..."

Sitting up and abandoning his attempts to sleep, Ulfric grabbed a mead bottle from the table after lighting the fires with his thu'um. Rubbing his temple, Ulfric sat down again, continuing to talk to himself.

"How could he, how could Baldur think that I would possibly pardon him, just because they are close? Those men were our brothers too. They deserve justice for what he's done, don't they? Skyrim deserves his head. I deserve it!" A loud clash echoed through the room as the mead bottle hit the stone walls.

It was beyond frustrating to deal with Baldur when loved ones were involved. Ulfric recalled how they argued and argued when he brought Rebec to his court. Unwittingly working for the Thalmor was one thing, but burning down an entire city and infesting it with bandits, that wasn't something that could be forgiven, no matter the reason. If Boldir had troubles in the Rift, he should have gone to Baldur or Ulfric, as far as he was concerned.

"And now Baldur's unhinged, with this monstrous plan. Even for us Nords it's barbaric. If we did this, our people would never forgive such a sacrifice. But then... What if. What if it really is the only way to win..."

Ulfric read the same intel that Baldur had from his mystery source in Valenwood. The Thalmor have set up incredible defenses to protect themselves. They even have Sunbirds of old to deal with. The Dominion was a beast that would not be easily put down, maybe never put down. Pushing them off the face of Tamriel's mainland will take every army of man to do it, and maybe even that wouldn't be enough. Ulfric knew this... but certainly there was another way.

Are you willing to take that chance on Skyrim's future? On your children's future?

Ulfric heard Baldur's voice in his head even now. Perhaps he was right.

"But, some things are just too unforgivable. Even in the name of victory, Baldur."

Closing his eyes, Ulfric sighed. Content with his decision, and sure that he was in the right. Sleep came quickly then.

"Ahhh!"

Bolting back up, Ulfric said, "What in the hell is..."

A huge blinding light shined through his crystal glass window, as if Mundus had arisen in the middle of the night. Followed by sounds of rock and wood shattering, and people screaming. War horns pierced the night air, but they were not the harsh long familiar cries of Nordic horns. They were light, and pleasant. As if someone were about to begin a dance at a theater.

"The damn ELVES! Here?!"

***

"Should we attack yet?"

"Not yet. We need to wait until he retreats to the palace."

"How do you know he'll retreat? It's not in Ulfric Stormcloak's personality to do so."

"I know he will. For now, just watch."

***

The Nords were completely unprepared for what was happening. Beams of heated sunlight blasted through the strong ancient walls of Windhelm, broken for the first time in many thousands of years. Guardsmen on patrol nearby were vaporized instantly, left in burning ash as the only witnesses to the first attack. Another beam cleared the way of those who were foolish enough to try and set up a shield wall. The elves that came by sea were met with zero resistance, wading through the waters past burning and smoking heaps. Their soldiers leaped from the decks bearing spears enchanted with fire.

The Stormcloaks within tried to gather archers, but their vision was blinded once again by a flash of light from the Sunbird. It wasn't a lethal assault, only a distraction to allow the elven soldiers enough time to charge into their front, unhindered by arrow fire.

"Fus, RO DAH!"

Elves flew back into the other charging Thalmor, some being impaled by their own spears. Another thu'um knocked the others back, and then another. Ulfric Stormcloak was going all out, as were the Necro Nords from the palace that flanked his charge. With the sight of elves flying through the air, Stormcloaks and citizens alike met the one thousand elite Thalmor forces that were now burning their homes and slaughtering their families. There was no method, no tact to the Nordic resistance, only the open chaos of urban warfare.

An enchanted spear almost found Ulfric's throat as he prepared another thu'um, but he managed to duck. Only to see a dozen more spears heading his way as he cast his thu'um once more.

Just before the regicide, his Fus Ro Dah shot forth, sending the volley straight into the Thalmor assailants as he ran to meet them in close combat. His own Nordic Carved armor served him well, though even it couldn't protect him fully if he caught a direct hit from these spears. They were not the weaponry of common elven soldiers, nor did they fight as such. Already there were several dead Necro Nords in the streets, and many more dead Stormcloak soldiers. Their only saving grace was Ulfric's thu'um.

"Ack!"

Ulfric stopped in surprise when he felt a solid thud in his arm. A bodkin arrow went straight through his armor. Up on the roof of the Candlehearth Hall, a small hooded figure stood with a bow, watching the chaos. The same figure that shot him began putting arrow after arrow in the elves that tried rushing the men to attend their wounded king. Before Ulfric could ask himself why anyone trying to kill him would also kill Thalmor, blue sashes surrounded and dragged him back as more Nords filled in the large gap Ulfric Stormcloak and his thu'um took up on the battlefield.

***

"Now do we send for them?"

"Not yet."

"But our people are dying!"

"They'll be fine. They're about to get some serious reinforcements. I received reports from our scouts. Brund Hammer-Fang is here."

"What's he doing here, Baldur? Wasn't he supposed to be in the Reach? This could complicate things."

"I don't know, but so long as there are elves to kill, Brund won't get in my way. He should be here by now... Wait. What in Oblivion..."

***

"Roaaaaaaaaahhhh!!!!"

The elven forces near the front were suddenly cast into chaos as the ground under them began to rise and break. A few of them tried routing, only to have filthy muddy hands drag them back and pull them under. A dozen Briar-Hearts suddenly appeared from underground, and among them was none other than Brund Hammer-Fang himself, splitting the ears of any elves unfortunate enough to be near him.

"FUS, GOL, STRUNMAH!"

As the ancient and long unheard thu'um escaped his throat, mud fell from it, causing the elves to slip and fall while the dead Forsworn impaled them with their primitive bone weapons through their throats. Even the Stormcloaks were afraid, but soon joined the fray as the Mighty Brund brought the forces of Mountains crashing upon their foes.

Why do you waste time with these lot? Can't you feel it?

What the... you're still alive?

I live within you, boy. The heart.

Well shut up, before I rip the damn thing out. I'm trying to kill here.

If you hate this Baldur so much, why don't you use the chaos to kill him now?

Because there's only one thing I hate more than Baldur Red-Snow. Elves.

To highlight the point, Brund cried, "Fus, Gol!" and at once, the thu'um enchanted his pendulum with the stone beneath, making it an absurdly large stone hammer that shattered as it came crashing down on the head of an elf that got too close as if he were a nail in a board of wood.

***

Baldur hadn't taken the time to watch Brund in action, and had not been interested in the slightest as to how he gained knowledge of the thu'um. Those questions could be answered later. Now he had business to take care of.

Climbing the walls of the palace was no easy feat, Skyrim's harsh winds threatened to send him crashing into the ground below. As if Mother Skyrim herself were trying to protect their king. Eventually he found himself at Ulfric's windowsill, and in the King's bedroom thinking they'd take him there. He was nowhere to be found however, though there was bloody stains in his bedroom furs. The sight made him shake before vomiting on the stone floor. "What am I doing... Gods forgive me."

Hurriedly cleaning his mess with a dirty cloth, Baldur stomped his way through the castle, grabbing a familiar steel axe from off of Ulfric's table.

"General! You're here!" Baldur suddenly jumped, turning with axe in hand.

Startled, the Stormcloak said, "It's just me, I'm no elf! But they've wounded the King!"

"Where is Ulfric Stormcloak?"

"Downstairs in the throneroom, resting on the floor. They're patching up his arm, getting him battle-ready."

"Take me to him."

***

Heavy footsteps could be heard coming towards him, but Ulfric's eyes were closed, and he was sweating profusely. Turning towards the newcomers as his arm was being wrapped and his armor removed, Ulfric said, "Who goes there, friend or foe?"

"...friend of course. It's me. Baldur."

Opening his eyes finally, Ulfric smiled and said, "You came did you? And so quickly. Lucky for us, it seems, we were completely unprepared for an attack."

"My men are mostly in the Rift, trying to reclaim it for your lordship... I took advantage of the close proximity to speak with you again. We... left on bad terms."

"Leave us!" said Ulfric once the battle-maidens were done with their work on him. "And take his axe back and get it sharpened for him. Mine too, we're going out to fight soon."

Baldur watched the Stormcloak women do as they were bidden to until he and Ulfric were all alone. This was it, this was what Baldur was waiting for.... But...

"What's the matter, old friend? You seem upset."

Laughing a tear fell from his eyes, Baldur said, "Well  you are injured and the elves are storming the capital."

"And so you dishonor me with tears? You mer bitch, begone from me. You're no brother of mine."

Laughing again, Baldur wiped the tear from his eye and smiled. "I... have so much to apologize to you for, Ulfric. I came here to... well, it doesn't matter. I'm.. I..."

"Enough, Baldur. You were insubordinate, and you did not act like the man I'd come to respect so much over the years, but you are my friend. I know that in your heart, you only sought to do what was best for Skyrim, and what was best for me in your mind. But you must remember, I am not just your friend. I am your King as well."

"You're right, Ulfric." Baldur looked away from him, shame filling his face.

"Baldur, what is it? What's going on?"

Looking back into his eyes, Baldur's brow wrinkled. "It's...." I... can't do this...but I must. I...

"Sorry to break up your little moment there, ladies. But I do believe you have guests? Nords are so rude."

The hairs on Baldur's neck rose as they both turned to see Corio standing before the throne with a Nord woman's head in his hands, hanging by her hair and dripping blood on the stone.

"Remember this?" he said to Baldur, showing him his axe. "Yes, your package you received from the Imperial. I gave it to him, and... added something a little extra to it."

"What the, how did you... a recall spell!"

"Exactly." As Baldur charged Corio, a blast of lightning from his hands as he dropped the head shot Baldur back to the ground. Blood oozed from his head, filling the cracks of the stone floor. "Now, do be a good king and tell me where your Queen is, hmm? We're all going to take a little trip to Alinor. Well, I think I'll just be taking Baldur's head, since he seems to not be with us any longer.

"FUS RO D-!"

"Be quiet," said Corio, casting magic from his hands. Ulfric for the first time in a long time was unable to speak, and his thu'um too was silenced. Dropping the axe, Corio began lifting Ulfric with his magic, pulling him closer, and slowly choking him as he came nearer to him.

"I could end your miserable life right now if I wanted, squash you like a fly. You miserable oaf, you were never supposed to get this far. You were supposed fight, fight and keep fighting aimlessly, flailing your crude metal toys at the Imperial machine with us pulling the strings. But then you had to pull a god's ghost from your hat, didn't you? And now everything is ruined. But I will correct that mistake! One torture session at a time. You're coming with me."

"yol...."

Corio's head turned to see Baldur pushing himself from the ground slowly. "Hmm? You're still alive are you? Well good, you get to join your king and keep him company on our trip.

"toor..."

Laughing as Baldur fell down again before trying to stand once more, Corio said, "Honestly, learn when to die. It would have saved you both another trip to the torture chamber.

"SHUUUUUULLLL!!!"

A blast of fire burst from Baldur's mouth so strong that it pushed him back several feet as he struggled to keep his footing. Ulfric fell from the air just in time to avoid the immense heat wave that threatened to burn away the flesh and bone of anyone it touched. Screams of Corio's agony were drowned out by the thunder of Baldur's voice and the flame that raged on from his throat. By the time it was done, Baldur could smell cooking flesh.

Even so, there was still a figure standing among the flame. Corio's gloves were burned away at the palm, revealing his ruined hands, burned so deep that you could make out bone. But still he stood. Corio managed to bring forth a magic ward, only for Baldur's thu'um to shatter it completely. It was enough to keep him alive, however.

"When... did you... learn to do that, you dirty little ape? I'll rip that throat of yours out!" Corio attempted to silence Baldur once more, but a fireball from his mouth kept him busy.

"Dodge, bitch! Yol, Toor!"

Corio threw his shield towards Baldur, who slapped it away with his axe. As soon as he had, Corio was gone.

Instinctively, he dropped down, avoiding another lightning spell as Corio used the recall runes on his shield to appear behind him. However, it wasn't Baldur he was aiming for. Still silenced, Ulfric couldn't cry in pain as the lightning struck his chest. As he fell, Corio pulled out a scroll, just as Baldur came hurtling for him with his axe. He wasn't going to make it, so he threw it, just like the last time...

"Not this time, old friend. My condolences to your dead king." The axe flew, just like the last one had all those years ago, but this time as Corio read the magic words, it would not find its mark. Corio was gone once again.

"Baldur..."

Turning, Baldur ran beside his friend, tearing the cloth away to see how bad his injuries were.

"I.. think I'll be fine. It hurts like hell, but he missed my heart by a fraction."

"That's good," said Baldur smiling. "Now rest."

"How did that butter elf get in here? How could they attack us so easily... they set this all up so well.. like..."

"Shhh, you need to rest, my king," said Baldur. Placing a finger on his mouth, and then a hand. Ulfric's eyes looked startled, and then grew wild with anger.

Baldur wanted to close his eyes but forced himself to watch. "I knew about the axe. I knew it was enchanted, but I didn't know he could appear next to it at will. That turned out for the best in the end. I got reports that the Thalmor might've been thinking about an attack, and figured they'd choose to after what happened in Riften. But what I didn't know was exactly when. So, I gave them another reason to by making them think you and I were both at the capital while our armies were busy in Riften and the Reach. Never would have guessed their attack would be so quick and brutal. I'm sorry for all this Ulfric. I really am. I hope one day you'll forgive me in Sovngarde."

Ulfric's knee found Baldur's nethers.

"FUS RO DAH!"

Baldur hit the ceiling so hard that he stuck to it, breaking the stone with his thick armor, the only reason he was still alive.

"I forgive you. I'll see you in Sovngarde, brother. FUS RO DAHHHH!!"

"Yol Toor SHUUULLL!!!"

Force and Fire collided at the center of the throneroom, and Ulfric's words to Rebec filled his mind. He knew if ever he and Ulfric would clash thu'ums, and if he could manage to learn his third word, Baldur would win.

"Wind makes the flame stronger." Those were his words. And sure enough, when the force from Ulfric's thu'um hit his, the air that was being carried along with its magical force made Baldur's fire grow in a large explosion that made Ulfric mirror Baldur's appearance up on the ceiling until he fell down on Ulfric's limp body. The blast made him hit the ground, and his heart already weak from Corio's magic finally stop beating.

High King Ulfric Stormcloak, was no more.

Screaming and women lamenting was the first thing Baldur heard as he stepped out of the palace with the dead king in his arms. Even amongst the chaos, citizens had heard the thundering thu'um come from within.

Looking towards Baldur, Nords and Dunmer alike, Stormcloaks and commonfolk, they all waited for an explanation in their disbelief. Putting Ulfric down, Baldur said, "The damn elves have used their trickery to assassinate your king. An axe was sent to us, my axe, from Cyrodiil. Apparently it was enchanted. It allowed one of theirs to appear in Ulfric's home while this attack looms over us. They've killed my King and my friend. We will not let them get away with this! ALL able bodied men women and children will arm themselves in the defense of King Ysgramor's city! Grim Ones! Get ready for their next attack!"

"But who will lead Skyrim now? There's no Jarl worthy to lead! What about the Queen? Where is she?"

"I do not know," said Baldur. "Maybe she's gotten away, but until we find her, we'll need someone to act as Jarl."

"You, you should lead us Baldur! You were Ulfric's favorite, only you can lead us!" said a random voice from the crowd, though Baldur saw the source of the voice, a hooded large Nord with red hair.

"Yes! The High General and High Admiral both! Make them Jarls!"

"Yes, Jarl Red-Snow can lead Skyrim amongst such tragedy. Then when the moot calls to make him King, he'll make those elves pay!"

Baldur couldn't believe what he was hearing. He'd hoped that while staring death in the face that the people could be manipulated, but he never thought it would be this easy. The people would never love him like they did Ulfric Stormcloak. But he didn't need them to. He just needed free reign to as he pleased in Valenwood.

"Yea, Jarl Baldur will avenge our King! Red-Snow, Red-Snow!"

"RED-SNOW! RED-SNOW!" All around there were angry cries even from Dunmer who had united with their northern brethren as the Thalmor did not differentiate during their slaughter between the two. Snarls and loud battlecries could be heard. The people of Windhelm were hungry for blood. Baldur didn't let the calls for making him Jarl then king get to his head. They were calls of desperation. Even if his plan succeeds and the moot makes him king, he knew no one would be happy to see Ulfric replaced by him.

"Report!"

"Yes sir, the enemy is gathering for a second attack. Many are dead, on both sides, and they outnumber our soldiers presently, not counting the civilians. They fight with reckless abandon, I don't think they plan on retreating."

Baldur turned to Falgrum, who had a tan cloak in his hands bundled up. His red hair was flowing free in the wind, blocking his vision as he spoke.

"If they came here to die, then we'll oblige. But first we-"

"Red-Snow!" Brund pushed Falgrum aside, and everyone grew quiet. Many saw what he did to the elves that almost overwhelmed them all. Many would be calling him a hero after this was done, though quietly they'd also whisper of his power as well. "The Mountain", they'd call him, crusher of elven kind.

"Brund... I don't have time to argue with you."

Brund couldn't control his breathing, it was obvious that he was upset by recent events. "You. A Jarl?"

"I have not accepted any such title yet. For now, I will act as Jarl if that is what the people want," said Baldur. "They can decide later if this is to be permanent."

"Well then, for once you and I stand on the battlefield as equals. I too am a Jarl."

A smirk spread over Brund's dirty face as another Stormcloak said, "It's true, the Jarl of the Reach was murdered. After what happened here, we think the Thalmor could have allied with the Reachmen, though they're mostly wiped out now, thanks to General, I mean Jarl Hammer-Fang."

"The Silverbloods were thankful for my campaign against the savages, so they gave me a wife and made me Jarl, so that a Silverblood would still remain on the throne. How do you like that, eh? Guess I'll be seeing you at that moot."

"Hmph, fine," said Baldur, smiling. Confidently, he said, "First thing's first. We've got to deal with that damn Sunbird. That thu'um of yours can help."

"Always the man with the plan, are we? Well then, lets hear it Baldur."

***

"Sir Corio, the Nords have reinforcements from the Rift! More Grim Ones."

"So what? Kill them too, we still have the numbers."

"Not for long, the civilians were joining in the fight earlier, and now they're bolstering the Nordic forces. Dunmer are giving them magic support. We still outnumber those fighting two to one it seems, but those Nords from the Rift.... they're frightening."

"Frightening huh? I'll show them frightening. Lets see how well they fight with a Sunbird perched over their city. Send us atop their palace. Now! And get me more healing potions, damnit!"

***

The Nords didn't have long to wait for the elves to attack once more. Fire and lightning killed first before anyone tasted elven metal. But Baldur had fire of his own to give, and he gave it generously, casting his thu'um and leveling the first handful of elves that charged his section of the shield wall facing Windhelm's southern gate.

When the next came, Brund broke through the line pushing a large boulder gathered from grovel and earth with his mouth. Flanked by dead sluggish elven thralls that he stuffed with dirt from his gullet as well, Brund made up the entire vanguard force that counter assaulted the elves' final push, crushing them flat as the other Nords joined in with Baldur leading.

Elves were cast away from his monstrous swings as his pendulum left them sundered and broken, but his thralls were soon dead, and the enemy cut him off from his brothers, trying to cut down and burn the demon Nord that was decimating their front line.

"Brund, cover yourself!" cried Baldur. Brund gave him a thumbs up, and to the elves' great confusion, began shoveling mud in his mouth before vomiting it all over himself until there was not but a large mud mound where he once was.

"YOL, TOOR SHUL!!!" At once, all that surrounded the Mountain were turned to ash instead. The others that saw Baldur's shout managed to survive by protecting themselves with wards, but Baldur opened up an easy path for his Nords to back up Brund.

A Spear pierced his fur cloak, but Baldur was fine. The elf that attacked him was not, and was immediately filled with spears of their own before Baldur's axe finished him. The elves were ignoring mortal blows in a mad rush to kill him, but the Necro Nords wouldn't give, no matter how much magic was thrown their way.

A great explosion sent the back forced made up of civilians falling, as they turned to see a great light shining from atop the palace. Immediately, scores of people were killed, and the death toll was increasing. The soldiers scattered, even the elves. Those on the ship were not selecting targets, anyone within the walls would die.

Elves used the chaos to make the Nords break rank and to get a stab at Baldur, one of them succeeding and landing a spear in his shoulder before his thu'um found the elf's face. Yanking it out, Baldur called to Brund, only pointing at their target.

***

"The soldiers are gathering catapults, sir."

"Catapults? Hah! Set them aflame immediately," said Corio. The Thalmor did as they were told, targeting the large yet primitive catapults with their massive crystal mirrors. The Sunbird was not reflecting sunlight, but magic being channeled directly from a large white gem. The catapults were gone now, but the Nords managed to fire two quick shots from each just before they were destroyed. The first shot hit the deck, crushing an elf before Corio, but otherwise causing no damage. The second shot however landed directly into their large crystal, causing a massive explosion that destroyed several of their mirrors.

"Damage report!"

"We lost some mirrors and the grand stone, sir, but we still have two more. We can still fight."

"Good, keep killing them."

"I don't think so," said Brund, suddenly stepping out of the rubble before them. Startled, the entire crew surrounded him, ready to kill.

"You think you alone can stop us, Nord?" said Corio.

"I've got back up around here somewhere."

"YOL. TOOR. SHUL!!"

Looking up, Corio saw Baldur falling downwards right for him, launched in the air from the earlier explosion evidently, as his armor covering his arm was burned away and his arm left bloodied. Before his flames could find him again, Corio cast a cloaking spell and ran off as he left the crew to fend for themselves.

Baldur's flames acted as a counter force, slowing his fall while roasting any elves beneath him. Landing, he was back to back with Brund, fighting for their lives atop a Sunbird. He took mental notes of what he saw, anything that would be useful later as best he could while avoiding spells and lobbing off limbs. Brund avoided nothing, only madly charged at any elf he could get his hands on, knocking them from atop their perch by hitting them really really hard.

"Screw this," said Corio, lifting a large glowing crystal in his hands and shoving it into the ship's power core. Pulling some levers and speaking in old Aldmeri, he cast a spell that made the whole ship shake and glow. Baldur noticed it first and yelled for Brund to jump. Brund heard nothing and kept slaughtering anyone close enough until the ship was so bright that he couldn't see. They both ran for what they hoped was the rail of the blasted thing, leaping from the Sunbird just as it was consumed by a great white light that took Corio and what was left of his crew into Aetherius itself.

As Baldur laid there on his back across from an unconscious Brund, he coughed up blood while admiring Skyrim's night sky. "Amazing," he said, as the great white beam slowly faded from view. It was almost enough to make him forget that he murdered Ulfric Stormcloak.

Power corrupts, absolute power... is a whole lot of fun!

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Dales Motierre
Imperial Palace
Before noon (before the wedding)

Dales was sitting on the royal bed with her little baby in her arms. Dales smiled while the little girl for the first time suckled at one of her exposed breasts and hugged it with the little arms and hands. It had taken almost a week for her master to work on her breasts and get them to produce milk. And even though he had told her that her chest would get a bit bigger, Dales suspected that he had taken a bit of a liberty in their size. Now she had a bit trouble fitting them into her dresses and would have to have a tailor refit all of them. 

Her master was standing near the window, observing them half the time and looking out the window the other half. Dales ignored him and simply focused on the little girl in her arms. 

Dales swallowed hard as she fed the little infant her milk. She then dryly muttered, "You can look at least, less foreboding and depressing around the baby."

"Hmm." he said and reluctantly returned his eyes to Dales and the baby. "Don't forget to let her suckle on the other breast and tell me if you feel any difference."

"Why?" she asked, curious. "Really dosen't matter."

"I've never done this... treatment before. I just want to make sure everything is fine."

"Well don't tell Victoria. That girl has so fucked up fetishes." Dales said, with slight disgust in her voice. Dales made sure to keep the dagger she had received a couple of nights ago close to herself. Nothing wrong with being too cautious. The ruby pommel sat nicely with her red dress. "Really fucked up." 

"Who's Victoria?" He sounded a bit confused.

Dales eyed him with surprise. "You don't know who Victoria is?" She muttered something underneath her breath, before saying "Unbelievable. You would be the sort of person not to ask a ladies name before ploughing them. "  She paused before adding, "Koni. My maid." 

"Why does she call herself Koni?"

"It's..." She paused a second, unsure how to go further, "A little nickname. I'm the only one who calls her by her first name, and only in... private." Knowing both women, Skjari knew what private meant. "She took her niece off her breast, held her up high with two hands before saying, "You've had enough, my little crow." 
The little baby then made a burping noise after which she began to speak her nonsensical baby language. 

"Well I'm off to talk with some of the more reasonable Councilors about taxes. Tell me if anything changes or you feel strange in your chest." Skjari said and headed out of the room. 

"Yeah, if my boob explodes, I'll tell you." she said dryly.

"I'm sure you will. Take care darling." he said in a slightly sarcastic but also somewhat sincere tone before closing the door behind him. 

Dales put little Abigail in her crib before getting back to her books. She had a lot to learn. The Empress would need to put more effort into learning how to be an effective monarch if she wanted to keep her vow.
A moment later there was knock on the door. "Your cousins, Alessia and Hannibal, are here to visit." she heard a servant girl say. 

God's no! Dales let out a noticeable sigh, as she muttered something underneath her breath. She didn't like her extended family. At least Lizzie, was somewhat honest with her support and supposed "affection" being all for the desire for material gain and personal influence, and never once made fun of her when she was but a pawn to her father's will. She knew for a fact, before becoming Empress, most of her family taunted her with names, such as "The slug", or "The snail Princess". And know that she had power, they were all lining up, using the "family card", in an attempt to gain affection. But she had an obligation to at the least, hear them out. For appearances sake at the least.
She spoke in a normal tone of voice, "Send them in." I need a ******* drink.

The servant girl opened the door, with no one behind her. "Ehm, they're waiting in the lounge. They sent me to tell you." said the servant girl.

"So you're telling me, the Empress of the Ruby Throne, that they expect me to seek them out myself?" she said, with a tinge of sarcasm.

"I think they do. They seemed to be making themselves rather at home in the lounge."

The young Empress stretched as she got out if her chair, putting down the book she was reading. She went up to the crib, saying goodbye to her niece a final time before telling the maid, "Watch Abigail while I'm gone."

"Yes, your honor." the young woman said, giving the crib a little confused glance. 

"Nhal'fir." Without a second of delay, a heavily armored figure walked into the room. A member of Grey Wolf, the Empress's personal bodyguard. Nhal'fir was a Redguard soldier, and a former Cataphrat. 

His choice of equipment however, was quite unique when compared to the Imperial Palace Guard. Having a very distinctive sort of Hammerfell armor; he wore heavy laminar armor, with sheets of steel, mixed with an undergarment of chainmail. His chainmail coif covered his entire face, besides his eyeballs, a replacement for the leather masks his unit traditionally wore, wearing it with a regular steel helmet. As a weapon, instead of the standard issue gladius of the legion, or the steel longswords most members of the watch used, Nhal'fir carried a two-handed spear, along with a scimitar, which bore at his side. Being a member of the Empress's personal bodyguard had benefits, and basically allowed endless leniency in what equipment they used to protect the life of their monarch.

Wordlessly the Redguard knelt before Dales. He was a man of very few words to be certain. Dales grabbing an ornate imperial gladius, which hung beside the door in a leather sheath, and put it on her belt before then casting an illusion enchantment to temporary hide it from view. 
"I'll need you to escort me to the lounge. Keep the rest of the palace guard detachment here, and order them to bar anyone entrance into here, without my express permission."
Nhal'fir nodded his head, taking a few seconds to instruct the other guards on duty, before motioning her to go behind him. In less then a minute, the duo were at the lounge.

"Can you at least wait with that till after..." she heard a woman's voice say as she came into the lounge. In the couch to Dales' right sat a rather pretty and delicately slender woman, with light brown long hair tied up in a braid that was so long that it almost reached the floor, and wearing a sand colored silken dress. "Oh, hello Dales." said Alessia with a warm smile and soft voice as she saw Dales arrive. 

"There's always time for a drink." To Dales left she saw Hannibal standing by some desk, fiddling with a carafe of the less expensive wine that were housed in the lounge. He had the same color of hair as his sister, reaching down to his shoulders; oiled and combed back over his head. His chin was covered in unkept stubble however. And the clothes he wore were colorful in red and beige, but made of a lesser material than his sisters dress. 

"Greetings dear cousins." Dales' voice was outwardly friendly, but it had a subtle mocking tone. "Though is that the proper way to address your monarch, my dear Alessia?" 

"We're still family." Alessia said. 

"Any of you want a drink?" Hannibal then said, turning towards them with a glass of wine in one hand the wine carafe in the other. 

"No thanks." replied Alessia, showing a hint of annoyance at her brother. 

Still cant hold your liqour, can you Hannibal. Dales thought. "Quite. Though it seems to me, that you've only recently taken interest in my families side, ever since I ascended the ruby throne, Alessia." She said bluntly, before putting on her fake smile from before. "Regardless, why have you come?"

"To see how you're doing. We heard you've been having it rather rough." said Alessia.

"And who told you that, dear cousin?"

"Maybe you need to go outside more. It's no secret that problems have been piling up for you. From the Nibenay, to the Imperial City, to High Rock."

Oh how I need you to remind me, you little bitch. Dales thought. "Whatever you've heard dear cousin, I can assure you. The power of the Ruby Throne shines ever so brightly in Cyrodiil." Dales said with little enthusiasm and a hint of sarcasm. 

"I do hope so. Whatever happens with you will reflect upon the family."

"Oh please. Alessia. Not four years ago, you declared me 'an insult to the family line' and that I should be disowned. I'm quite sure, when the average citizen thinks of whatever house I belong to, the furthest from what they'll think of me is as a true Motierre. I cut down my father, and your uncle after all. You wont need to worry about me corrupting the public's perception of our 'dear' family, cousin." Dales said, her voice dripping venom. 

"That's because I didn't think you were able to further the family line." Alessia said, her attempt at a courteous behavior replaced by one of contempt. 

"While our old heritage is Breton, can we at least keep the infighting to a minimum?" Hannibal said, trying to sound merry. He then took a small sip of the wine and sat down in the couch opposite of his sister. "Dales, please sit down. Lets talk. We shouldn't make enemies of each other. Gods know we got enough of them as it is." He then took another sip. 

Ignoring his sister's rather insulting comment, Dales managed to keep some of her composure. Remember Dales. Keep your emotions under control. 
She took a seat, before motioning her hand, "I wont believe for a second, your sister came her for pleasantries, and too see how 'her slug cousin' was doing. What do you want?"

"We're here to remind you of your family. And to see if you cared about us at all and hopefully enough to have us guests till the wedding." Alessia said, her demeanor almost as courteous as before.

"Yeah." Hannibal said, looking down into his wine for a second. "When you killed your father and brothers you really put everyone in the family on edge. We didn't quite know what to make of you. So the only one foolish or brave enough to pay you a visit as far as I know have been Elizabeth. Now we're here and are hoping to retie the family bonds." With that said he drank up the rest of the wine in one swig, then got up for a refill. 

"I am the Empress. And after I disposed of Amaund, and my brothers, I also became the head of the family. Don't forgot that. Lizzie knows her place. She was her to confirm her and her family's loyalty to me. Oh, how I know your mother despises that. How is she by the way?" Dales said, with false politeness.

"She's still coughing. Healers haven't been any good. She wont come to the wedding." Alessia said, sounding rather disinterested about the fact. 

"Yeah. She wont come." Hannibal said, who on the other hand looked a little depressed at the mentioning of their mother. He took a large swig of the wine. 

"Though if you really want to claim to be the head of the family, maybe you should start acting like one. Start showing some hospitality." Alessia said. 

"If you must stay, you can use the old manor. I've recently redecorated it. Washed the filth from it's foundation. It'll suit your expensive and extravagant tastes, dear cousin. The palace is so terribly boring and bland. Nothing but mages and legionaries." No way in hell will I let you stay in the palace.  

"You mean the palace guard? Nonetheless I'd think I'd like to stay in the palace. So we can talk more about how we as a family can help each other. And maybe meet your soon-to-be husband. I'm quite curious on what kind of man you have decided to pick." Alessia said. 

"I expected him to be more on the feminine side." Hannibal said. "Though I'm fine with the manor. Suits me just fine."

Oh how I wish. Dales thought before putting on a fake smile. "As you are my guest, I find it my duty to provide with the best housing available. The Motierre family manor will do fine, for you." The Empress made clear with her voice that this wasn't negotiable and they had to take it or leave it." 

"Don't want to associate with your own blood?" Alessia said, her voice a little haughty. 

Do not forgot your place. "I said, the Motierre family manor will do fine." Dale's raised her voice, "Is that clear?" 

"If you insist." Alessia said with a hint of contempt. "Though you will come and visit, wont you?"

"Of course my dear, cousin."

"Good." Alessia said.

"Well I'm off to the manor then." Hannibal said and got up from the couch. "Bye."

"Farewell, Hannibal." Dales turned to face Alessia. "Shouldn't you join your brother?"

"I'm thinking on having a glass of wine before I leave. Then maybe also take a small tour of the palace, talk to some people at court and do a little gossip."

"Of course. Now if you don't mind, I'm sure you need to check out your new quarters. Shall I arrange to pick up your luggage?" She asked with false politeness.

"Yes please." Alessia seemed to not want to move an inch from the couch. 

Good gods. "Is there anything else?" Dales said.

"Not at the moment. But do try to visit us tomorrow. And do bring your fiance." 

"Of course." Dales bowed her head. "I shall send a guard to escort you to your quarters, and instruct them to act as your bodyguard."

"How nice." Though Alessia seemed uncertain whether to take it as a friendly gesture or not.

"I will return shortly." Dales said and then left the room. She approached one of her guards down the hallway, a young Imperial by the name of Septimus. He sharply saluted his monarch, before Dales ordered, keeping her voice low, "I need you to... guard my cousin. Keep and eye on her at all times, and don't let her wander alone." 

He saluted her again, "Yes your grace." He then followed her when she arranged for servants to transport the luggage, before returning with the armored palace guard. He bowed his head to Alessia, before going into position behind her.

"I've arranged for some servant to bring your belongings to the old mansion. I'll come visit when I have spare time." Dales said.

"Hmm. Could you be a dear and pour me a glass of wine?" Alessia said. 

"Actually I find myself quite thirsty. Pour your Empress a glass of wine, dear Alessia." Dales ordered.

"But you're already standing. And you're the hostess."

"I am the Empress. And you are my loyal subject." Dales grinned. "Now. Pour me a glass." she ordered,

Alessia frowned for a second. "As you wish." She then got up from the couch and went to the wine carafe to pour a glass of wine. With slow steps she walked up to Dales and held out the glass of wine to her. "Here your Majesty." she said with undertone of contempt. 

Dales grabbed the glass, took a sip, savoring the wine. "Thank you, my beloved cousin." she said mockingly, before she finished her glass and heading to the door. "I will see you later. I'm sure your very tired. Septimus will escort you, and hopefully you can get some rest." 

Dales hurried to her study. That place seemed to be the only location in the palace that truly felt comfortable to her. As she passed through the white marble passages, she curtly nodded to passing servants and guards, who greeted her with, "your majesty". Trailing behind her, the Empress's bodyguard, stuck very close behind. While he seemed to be completely oblivious to his surroundings, she knew he had a sharp eye for possible threats. His gauntlet covered hand was always on his scimitar's pommel, ready to be unleashed at any moment. Finally reaching her destination. Dales opened the large, oak door and entered.

She took a seat at her desk, and began to think deeply. After a minute or so, she finally said, speaking out loud so her bodyguard could hear her, "Summon Major Infernus for me." 

The Redguard nodded at her word and obeyed without question. "Your majesty..." he said quietly under his breath. He then quickly made his way outside the study, without much need to worry about security as a handful of palace guard's stood on faithful watch by the door. And the Empress could more then take care of herself. 

He returned with the Major after about a quarter of an hour. The Oculatus officer, wore his usual grey leather longcoat, with the his chainmail. He had a longsword at his hip, and a dagger beside it. He bowed his head, speaking in his usual calm tone, "You requested my presence, your majesty?"

The young Empress nodded her head, "Yes, major. I require some information."

The man looked unsurprised. "Just ask what you require. We will scrounge it from the dirt, like the hounds we are." he said, with more enthusiasm then how he would normally have. 

Dale's nodded her head. "Two of my cousins are visiting."  

The intelligence officer interrupted her, "Alessia and Hannibal. Yes, I know. Perhaps, they are just eager to see there beloved relative?" he said with a toothy grin.

"I'm afraid, that's unlikely. I've... never had a problem with Hannibal. From what I remember, he's a harmless drunk." She trailed off, "Alessia on the other hand... is an entirely different story. She always hated me, I think..." 

"Why?" Asked the Major, 

"Because I like ******* other girls." she said, simply put. 

"That seems awfully petty."

Dales shrugged. "It was more to do with her thinking I would never have children, and thus be of any use to the family. Looking back to it, through a more pragmatic perspective, I can... understand her feelings.  She was very.... let's say vocal. And quite... straight forward with her intense dislike." Dales reclined in her chair, putting her hands together. "I... should make use of all the resources I have at my disposal. I need to know the real reason why they're here. Send an agent to their fief, and dig up what you can." She paused, her face becoming slightly confused. "And some men to watch them at all times. Hannibal included, just to be safe. Without being seen, and noticed. Of course. " she quickly added. 

"I shall get onto it right away, your majesty. Have a good day." He bowed his head before leaving. Being a very straightforward man, he would naturally assume that Dales would it done as quickly as possible, and thus wasted no time. 

Suddenly the Dales yelled, "Major, wait!" 

He paused, turning around, "You require something else, your majesty?" 

"Is...this a good idea? An okay plan?" She had a puzzling look about her.

The major nodded, "I think it's a decent idea. Your majesty."

She let out a sigh of relief. "Well, okay then. Carry on, dear Major.

Power corrupts, absolute power... is a whole lot of fun!

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The Tynes
The Colovian Highlands
Late Morning

The ruined gate to Oblivion was as a poor sight. What had once been considered a monstrous structure, capable of unleashing unimaginable horrors on this world had spent the last two hundred years sinking beneath the wilderness that grew around it, until all of it but the tallest black spikes was completely swallowed by vines and weeds. Now this forsaken door-between-worlds served no purpose except provide a useful landmark for travelers and explorers who could not be bothered to stick to Cyrodiil's well-tended roads. 

The Tyne twins were not explorers. And they had not come all this way for the sake of travel. They found themselves at the old site that morning because it was the first landmark so far that had been encountered by the band of Orsimer they were tracking. It was also the sight of a slaughter.

"Where are the graves?" It was the first major thought that had occurred to Asgen after they had dismounted and began to examine the scene. "Twelve dead Orcs, out of at least fifty remaining, and all of them were just left lying around where they went down."

"The Orsimer don't bury their dead." Faida answered her brother as she crouched down over once of the chilled corpses. "At least I don't think they do... Come to think of it. I'm not entirely sure. Maybe this group had to leave in a hurry. The Silver Brigade were obviously putting pressure on them at this point. I'll bet they were in a hurry to get east. The Sisters won't be able to follow them if they get close enough to Bruma."

Neither of the twins could find any evidence on the corpses to indicate how long it had been since this lot had fallen. The recent snow had preserved the bodies enough to make it impossible to determine based on rot, but given that said snow had only fallen two days ago, it had likely been within the last week. An even more unfortunate consequence of the weather was that it had effectively covered the mercenary band's tracks leading back to wherever in this region they must have been camped.

"Hey, here's something." Asgen called out from across the battlefield. He stood behind of a small rocky outcropping that concealed whatever it was he was staring at. Faida took her horse by the reigns and led over to find that Asgen's 'something' was a tall pile of metal and bones, charred black and smelling faintly of death.

"Looks like the Orcs didn't give the Sisters and their Brigade didn't have an easy time of it." she said.

"That's what I thought too, but a couple of these shields still have their paint on them. It's all red stuff. No silver at all. Now maybe it all just got burned up, but right now all I know for sure is that it was Crimson Chevaliers that did this. Makes me wonder if the Sisters are even with them or if the two groups are split up to cover more ground."

"Good eye." Faida's eyes shifted through the ashes, but didn't notice anything else of interest. "Hard to tell how many there were. Corpses are all burned together. I'm guessing ten or so. The others must've burned them after the Orcs had moved on. Shame we couldn't get here sooner. Might've seen the smoke if we'd been a few days quicker."

"Anything you can do with this lot? Orcs or sellswords?"

"No. They all passed easy."

Asgen shrugged and whistled for his horse. "Ulf!" The brown courser appeared from the western edge of the campsite and obediently trotted over to his master, completely unbothered by the dead that surrounded him. "Good boy." Asgen smiled and produced a small blue plumb from his pocket, which Ulf chomped on gratefully. His grin turned smug when he looked over at his sister, who he knew had had a great deal more difficulty bonding with her own horse, or even getting it to obey her at all.

Faida scowled and quickly mounted her painted mare, as if to prove that she had finally gotten the beast under control. Even as she settled into the saddle, the creature jerked its head back and did a little dance with its legs, bucking Faida several inches into the air, startling her as she frantically grasped the reigns to keep from falling off entirely. "Shut up."

"I didn't say anything." her brother responded with mock innocence before pulling himself up onto Ulf without issue. "We know the Orcs are headed east. I still think following them is our best bet with no leads on where the sellswords are coming from."

"I agree. Let's go."

It did not take long for the Oblivion Gate to disappear behind them, and the rest of the morning was fairly uneventful for the twins. There were some light patches of snow here and there, but most of it was melted, and the wildlife of Cyrodiil was taking advantage of the fact. Birds chirped, deer roamed in and out of sight, and in one case a wild boar rushed them from a thicket, only to get a better look at their coursers and turn tale back the way it had come. The whole scene was rather amusing, made even more so to Asgen by the aggressive manner in which his sister's horse had aggressively bluff charged the pig, almost throwing her from the saddle once again.

"You know she wouldn't hate you so much if you'd give her a name."

"You know it ain't about the name." Faida shook her head. "King Theodore just happened to give me the grumpiest horse in Camlorn. Nothing else to it."

"Ulf was every bit as mean as Elly when they brought him out to me. But transporting a decent Nord won him over."

"We're not calling my horse Elly." Faida said. This wasn't the first time her brother had proposed the name.

"Why not? King Ulfric and Queen Elisif. They'd be destined for each other."

"If I'm going to name this thing, I don't want it to be after the one who lost." Faida leaned forward and patted the painted horse's neck. "How about Rosille?"

"I like Elisif better."

"Too bad. Rosille stays." 

Whether as a result of coincidence or Asgen being right, Rosille the horse seemed to travel more easily with Faida on her back than before. And the ride became a good deal smoother for the Nordic rider. They covered a good amount of ground, and while there was no definitive proof that this was the right direction, the twins were pretty confident. As it turned out, they proved right to be so when Faida spotted four smoke trails later that evening, slightly north and east of their current location. Approaching them revealed to the Tynes that this was indeed an Orcish camp. The green skinned people were easy to make out in the distance, as were their rough-yet sturdy looking hide tents and wagons pulled by massive woolen echateres. To the east was a small heard of shaggy woolen centipedes that were larger than horses, pinned in by hastily made wooden pikes.

The camp was even smaller than Asgen had thought, numbering at only about thirty men and women in total. Drawing closer, neither twin failed to note that there were no children, nor did they miss the way that many of the migrants glared at them as they rode up, making no effort to hide their disdain. One particularly large Orc even spit as they passed into the camp.
"Friendly lot." Asgen muttered under his breath.

"They've been harassed by people that look like us ever since they crossed the border." Faida reminded him. "They've lost a lot for this journey."

They did not travel far before one of the Orcs approached. He was definitely a warrior, fully armored in orichalcum plate mail and carrying a nasty-looking blade. "Humans, state your business here." He spoke loudly, in an aggressive voice that carried across the camp.

"We're tracking a band of sellswords," answered Asgen. "a few hundred strong, and with a penchant for killing Orcs. You wouldn't happen to know somebody like that, would you?"

The Orc's eyes narrowed, but if he intended to speak, Faida beat him to it by adding, "The Bretons who have been harassing your people belong to a pair of sellsword companies based out of High Rock. We've come to capture their leaders so they can answer for what they've done."

The Orc smirked. "I'm sure you have. Chief Yatsh can help you. I will take one of you to him, but not both."

"Why not both of us?" Asgen asked. "We like to do these things together."

"Because I said so, human. And because you could be assassins. You," he pointed at Faida. "You will come with me. Leave the horse, it will be fine." 

Asgen frowned as his sister climbed down from Rosille and followed the Orcish warrior away. Another of the green-skins, this one dressed more plainly in furs, came and took her horse by the reigns and led it away. "Hey, where are you going with that?"
The Orc turned around, and Asgen was surprised to see that she was in fact a woman. She took one look at him before she scowled and turned back away, completely ignoring his question. He started to call out to her again, but was interrupted when one of the echateres-pulled wagons pulled out between them. The Orc who drove it eyed him cautiously but did not speak. The cargo was covered, but Asgen knew the stench of dead people when he smelled it. "Hey, hey!" He hurried Ulf up next to the wagon, startling the Orc as he pulled up next to him. "Are these people dead from one of the attacks?"

The Orc gave the reigns a tug, drawing a strange, shrill cry from the echatere as it came to a sudden halt. The driver looked down at him with annoyance. "Yes, human. They died in battle with the raiders."

"Was this recent? As in the last night or so?"

"No. They died at our last campsite, near a ruined Oblivion Gate. That was the last time we've been attacked."

"That so? My sister and I passed that spot earlier today. Plenty of dead Orcs there that you didn't pick up. What, did you run out of room? Or do Orcs only bury some of their dead? Actually, my sister and I talked about this earlier. Do you even bury your dead at all?"

"Our burial customs are no business of yours." The Orc started to turn and strike the reigns again when Asgen slapped the side of his wagon. "Wait wait wait!" The driver glared at him with annoyance. "I'm here for work. Would you mind coming down and answering some questions for me?"

"I'll answer his questions, Dumarz." said a familiar loud voice from behind. As the wagon rolled off, Asgen turned to find the armored guard who'd approached him earlier now standing before him again. The Orc had taken off his helmet, revealing a head completely devoid of hair. 

"That's awfully kind of you." Asgen dismounted. "So I take it you remember why we're here."

"I do. And if you're telling the truth, then I also think you're damned stupid."

"Don't worry about us. My sister and I are professionals. We've come a long way for this, and we know the risks."

The Orc nodded, though his face was covered by a frown. "I will not lie, I don't like you human. You smile in the face of our hardship and you carry yourself like one who does not know honesty."

Asgen's own smile faded as he waited for him to go on. When the warrior only stared at him, the sellsword replied. "Well alright then. You just thought I should know that, I suppose?"

"I did. Things are more honest this way. Now, my name is Gurbak. What was it you wanted to ask?"

The Nord's lips tightened, "I'll get to that." and then he punched Gurbak right in the nose.

~~~

The Orc Chieftain's tent was the largest in the camp, tall enough to walk into without ducking, and spacious enough to fit inside a four-seater table at the center, a bedroll at the back, and a weapon rack and armor stand next to the bedroll. Chief Yatsh Skahnag sat at the table, currently dressed in brown woolen clothes and twirling a war-axe between his fingers. He was a large Orc, built strong like most of his people, and with long tusks running above a black beard that fell halfway down his neck. His voice was strong and commanding, though not angry as the guard's had been outside. 

"Unless you and your brother are the greatest fighters in Cyrodiil, you can only be idiots. The Bretons have come at us every time with more than twice our number. We do not lack for strong warriors, but just as it was in the Wrothgarians, so it is here. The humans number are too many for us to do more than stick together and defend ourselves, and even that costs us lives. If the two of you try going against these raiders you call sellswords, you will die."

Faida knew that the Chieftain had every reason to doubt their ability to pull this off. Even she and Asgen were not sure how they would do it just yet. For now, the goal was just to locate where the sellswords were hiding. "It will not be easy, I know. But we have no intention of turning back and leaving this job unfinished. Anything you can tell us about the attacks could make this easier. Do you know where the attackers have been coming from?"

"North and east, mostly." answered Yatsh. "And that is always the direction they ride off in when they turn away."

"How long does it take between attacks?" 

"Further west there was more time in between them. Weeks, sometimes. As we've come east the attacks have grown more frequent. The last one was near an Oblivion Gate. Not half a day's ride on horseback. That was four days ago now. Six days after the one before it."

"We saw the site." Faida said. She thought about asking the Chieftain about the Orsimer corpses that had been left laying out in the open, but decided against it. They must have had their reasons for leaving them. "Have you taken any prisoners from these raids?"

"One. But Gurbak killed him the first night. Never got the chance to ask any questions."

"That's a shame. I've got one more question. You said it's been four days since you were attacked near the Oblivion Gate, but my brother and I were there only earlier this morning. Why haven't you covered more ground since then? Surely you'd be safer if you could make it to the main roads, where Legion patrols would spot large sellsword armies like this one."

"That is true, and would that we could travel so far. We have been stuck in this spot since late in the day after that attack. You see we need our livestock to survive the journey if we're to have any hope of starting over in the east. Unfortunately, this Imperial weather and landscape isn't good for them. Our echateres and centipedes are used to cold and rock. All this dew-covered green, it's killing them. Our shaman is doing everything she can, but it's all she can do to keep them alive while we're not moving. Doing so on the go, and with raiders attacking us on top of that it simply too much."

"Would she mind if I took some time to help her?" Faida asked.

"Help her?" The Orsimer seemed surprised by the notion, "Why? Are you a shaman?"

"Something like that. I may be able to offer some tricks that your shaman doesn't know. If so, you benefit. If not, well at least I get to meet an Orcish shaman."

"I would be very grateful if you can manage this. My people have lost much already. I'd like to at least reach our new home with our livelihood intact. And of course, you are sellswords and I know what this means. I will pay you for this service. Now, I have one last piece of information before you go. I wanted to save it for after I'd heard all your questions. We saw fires to the east a couple days ago. They were distant, only visible from here because they were so large. Many of us think that this is the work of the Breton attackers, for no one else lives in this region according to the maps."

"Big fires?" Strange. thought Faida, The Brigade and Chevaliers are trying to keep hidden. Why would they light fires big enough to be visible from miles away? "That's interesting. You're right, nobody should live out here. If you've got someone who can point us the right way when we leave, Asgen and I will definitely be going that way."

"Of course." Chief Yatsh and Faida shook hands, the Orc's fingers practically engulfing hers within them. "Now, how about I introduce you to our shaman?"

"I'd like that." The two exited the tent together, and were immediately hit by the sound of cheering further into the camp. Faida turned and looked to see that several tents down, where her brother was sitting on his knees across a table from one of the Orcs. In his left hand was a drinking horn, in the right was the Orc's own hand. The two were locked in a fierce armwrestling match that had drawn the attention of several other members of the camp.

"That must be your brother." said Chief Yatsh. "He seems to be getting along well enough."

"It's what he's good at." Faida replied with half a grin. She and the Chieftain approached the scene just in time to see the Orc snarl and slam Asgen's hand down onto the table. "Haha! Good try, human."

Asgen flashed that grin of his and turned his head, revealing to Faida and Yatsh that his left eye was blackened, and some blood had dried in his beard beneath the nose. "Bah! You were fresh for this one. I say we have another go when I'm rested." He stopped talking to take a giant swig of whatever the Orcs had put into that horn. "I bet you throw a better punch than Gurbak though, am I right?" Asgen and even a few of the Orcs laughed.

"The Nord doesn't know when to quit." said one of the spectators, who turned out to be none other than the large armored Orc who had brought them into the camp. Faida noticed that now spotted a bruised forehead and a bloodied nose of his own.

"Why quit when you've yet to get ahead?" Asgen said. He looked over and gave Faida a subtle nod. She knew what that nod meant. He'd probably learned as much from these Orcs as she had from the Chief. She quietly nodded back.

Good job. both twins thought, We've almost found them.

***

Outside Ninendava
One Day Later

"Gods... Faida, is that?"

"Yeah, a funeral pyre."

The twins urged their horses onward, towards the giant mound of twisted metal and ashen corpses. This was not ten or twelve bodies stacked atop one another after a minor scrimmage. This was fifty men and women, or sixty, or eighty. With half of them turned to ash and the other half so badly charred that they'd melted together, it was impossible to guess for sure. All that the twins could say for certain was that this was much bigger than the casualties of a raid.

"Check this out." Asgen pulled a shield out of the pile. It had once been made of iron and wood, and while the wood had been broken and burnt away, the iron frame remained, albeit blackened and warped out of shape.

It took Faida a few seconds to spot what her brother wanted her to see, but when she did a curse escaped her lips. "Damnit!" A tiny man had been carved into the ironwork. He was shaped to the exact proportions of the silver man that typically made up the Silver Brigadiers' coat of arms. "The Sisters could be anywhere in this."

"Is there anything you can do with them? That's a lot of dead sellswords."

"No, they're all gone, but..." Faida closed her eyes and concentrated. One hand went to the bone-carved amulet hidden beneath her tunic and robe. "There is something nearby."

"Yeah," her brother said. She opened her eyes again to see her him standing near the far side of the pyre, his eyes transfixed on something beyond it. "I'll say."

Asgen had not seen so many corpses since the Battle at Evermor, where he and Faida had been on the front lines when Lord Traven's host had been attacked by Rolston's secret Reachman army. It was not the dead that bothered him. It was the prospect of searching them for evidence of who exactly had died that got under Asgen's skin. If Faida's tricks couldn't produce results, they would likely be here for days, turning over three-day-old corpses and praying that none belong to the Silver Sisters. We need these bounties alive.

 He and Faida strolled out amidst the field of carcasses. There were hundreds of them, almost all wearing the red colors of the Crimson Chevaliers. What happened to them? Where are the enemy combatants? So far the only bodies they'd seen had been the unceremoniously slaughtered Chevaliers and the funeral of several dozen burnt Brigadiers. Asgen prodded one of the former with his sword. The man's tunic was torn and his armor, looted. "Hey Faida, do you think it's weird that one company got to have a funeral but the other didn't?" He turned around, only to find his sister on her knees, brown hood pulled up and eyes closed as she spread several finger bones on the ground around her. Right. Do your thing, Sis.

Faida finished setting out the bone charms just as the fog began to set in. She could not see it, but she could feel the cool mist against her cheeks. The witch smiled. This field was as alive to her as it was dead to Asgen.
"Here they fought and bled and died," she began to mutter in the ancient tongue of the Reach, long forgotten by most men,
"-When death came they wept and cried.
"-And now they linger lost, alone.
"-Send them to me, and they may atone."

The old gods heard Faida's prayers, for the restless spirits of the dead came closing in around her, halting only just outside of her bone charm circle. She could see their faces now: pale and hollow, filled with sorrow and fury. Words of betrayal escaped their lips, echoes of their final words in life. 

"What happened here?" Faida asked in common Tamrielic. "Who killed you?"

"It was the Legion. They were not supposed to be here, but they were, and they destroyed us."

"It was the Silver Brigade. They betrayed us! We were not ready."

"The Legion." more of the spirits echoed, "The Brigade." "The Legion." "The Brigade." "The Legion!" The Brigade!"

"Did either of the Sisters die here?"

"Neither of the Silver Whores fell on this field. They return now to the Imperial City with their new Legion friends."

"Not their crew though. Most remain nearby, returning daily to pick at our corpses."

"They laugh at us."

"They mock us!"

"But the Sisters have already left." The news would be relieving to Faida, but not until later. Right now, she needed to concentrate. Bringing emotions, even slight ones, into the circle was unwise. "I go now to kill the ones who betrayed you. Perhaps this will be enough to allow you the rest you seek. Now begone!"

The wraiths vanished before Faida's eyes, taking the mist with them. She smiled and collected the tiny carved bones. "Did you hear any of that?" she asked her brother.

"I could barely hear myself think inside that damned mist. It's like a damned windstorm without the wind."

"They said that there are Brigadiers nearby, but that the Sisters aren't with them. They went to the Imperial City, and it sounds like they didn't bring the bulk of their numbers."

"I've always wanted to see the White Gold Tower." Asgen whistled, and both Ulf and Rosille came trotting toward them. Before he mounted, Raven-Son took one last look across the fresh graveyard. "The spirits... How many are out here?"

Faida hesitated. Asgen still has no idea how far her power over the dead had come. She would have to lie, just as she had in Evermor. "Four."

"Four?" Asgen whistled. Once upon a time, hearing this would have horrified him. But by now it only left him with a slight discomfort. "Was there anything you could do?"

"I don't know." his sister admitted. "Come on, let's not dwell on it. The Imperial City awaits."

And with that, the son and daughter of the Reach rode out of that dreadful place. They had a job to finish.

Power corrupts, absolute power... is a whole lot of fun!

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Mila
Imperial City Waterfront

The Waterfront was loud with bells, waterbirds, and the drunken yammering of locals and sailers alike. Ramshackle hovels had been constructed all around the backs of the warehouses, attaching themselves to the greater stone buildings like fungus to a dying tree. There were hundreds of them; fishing huts, merchant stalls, alehouses, soup shacks, brothels, and even skooma dens where men and women went to lose their minds forever. There was nothing here that wasn't rotting or in some state of disrepair, and it all came together to form one massive shantytown that stretched from the dockside warehouses all the way to the far side of the island, mostly ending where the water met the beach at high tide.
During her time here, Mila quickly learned that most folks in the city's poorest of districts were only here for one of two reasons: Either they'd come on a ship at their captain's behest, or the rest of the city didn't want them and this was the only place they could scrap together some sort of meager living. 
And then there's me. Mila thought, as she cast her fishing line into the lake. Stuck here because I can't cross a stupid bridge.

That had been the first thing she'd tried upon escaping her prison. Though to her dismay, Mila had found the sellsword Ullin loitering on the bridge. Later, she returned to find Stoit in the same spot, looking attentively toward the city. Besides the ships (which the sailers guarded surprisingly well), that bridge was the only conventional way out of the city. Mila's only other option was to swim across Lake Rumare, an incredible feat for a skilled athlete, but an impossible one for a girl who didn't actually know how to swim. Between that, and it being the middle of winter, she resolved not to try. After watching a huge slaughterfish devour one of her catches several days later, Mila decided that her choice had been the right one.

That was a day ago now. And it was the closest Mila had come to actually catching a fish. And she had not even been this hungry the Jerall Mountains. Even so, she had not lost entirely. Free and hungry was better than imprisoned and full. Plus, Mila had recently found an abandoned old shack near the edge of the beach that was free of squatters. It smelled of dead fish and rotting wood, and when high tide came, water seeped into the entrance, but it was quiet and it was private, which was all that Mila needed in a home. All that she now lacked was food, which proved to be second only to gold when it came to difficult things to get in the Imperial City.

I should get a bow. Mila thought to herself. It would be a long way back to Skyrim, and if fishing was giving her trouble, hunting would be even harder without any training in how to shoot straight. They don't seem all that hard to make... Just string and bent wood, right? I can bend some wood. String though, maybe I can trade my fishing rod for some. Mila almost felt like her idea could work when she remembered that a bow was useless without arrows. I'd only need one or two so long as they don't break. But how would I... A sling! Mila smiled at her own brilliance. There wasn't a child who in Whiterun who didn't get into trouble at some time or another for breaking someone's window with their first sling. And she was no exception. Rocks are everywhere, and I'll just need to practice a little bit to get my aim back.

The girl's thoughts were interrupted by a ripple in the water, and then faint movement, just beneath her reflection looking up. The line immediately grew taut, and Mila felt the first resistance in hours. Her heart began to pound, and her stomach tightened at the prospect of having fish for dinner.
She stood up on the dock and began to pull. The creature wasn't making it easy. The harder she tugged at the rod, the harder it fought. This went on for a bit, until, weakened by hunger, she slipped up and gave the fish some slack. With a yank, the creature stole the rod right out of her hands and into the murky depths, almost dragging her down as well.
"No!" she cried out as she watched her one way of acquiring food drift out of sight. Mila wanted to jump in after it, but she knew better. The water was lot deeper than it looked.

Her stomach grumbled at her, complaining as it had all morning. She hadn't eaten since early the day before, when she'd gotten lucky and found the now-lost fishing rod and a sack containing two clams abandoned on the isle beachside. No one had been around, so she took it as a sign that the owner didn't want them anymore.
There hadn't been any more free food since then. Nor had she found any other miraculous tools to lose. Mila had tried begging, like her friend Lucia back in Whiterun, but the people here were different from those back home. There were thousands and thousands of them, always on the move. The ones with the money to spare didn't seem to have the time, and those few who might care about street urchin girls seemed to be about as poor and hungry as she was.
"Damnit!" she swore, kicking an empty bucket into the water, were it bobbed up and down with the light waves. The fishing rod had been a godsend, and she just wasted it. Now her belly ached and her head hurt. And she just wanted to lie down and sleep, or cry, or both.

Instead, Mila turned and left the docks, heading back to the shantytown. She passed by a pair of Bosmer, who were washing their cheap, scratchy rags in the same murky waters that had stolen her rod. Those two were notably better off than some of the other residents just based off of the fact that they could at least afford real clothes, though as she came near them, Mila did pick up on the gross fungus-like smell that seemed to be a common odor among the Waterfront-dwellers. She wondered if that was what she smelled like now. After all, as far as Mila could tell, the only difference between her and the locals was that they knew how to live here.

Halfway to the beach, she spotted a short Breton man carrying a sack that smelled of onions. Mila had always hated onions, but right now she couldn't think of anything she wanted more. She approached the man. There was no need to put on the pathetic face of a beggar. Her hunger had done that for her. "Excuse me, Sir?"

"Piss off!" the man scowled, barely sparing her a glance as he walked on by.

"I'm very hungry!" She had to restrain herself from just reaching for the bag. "Can't I have one? Just one. Please?"

"No. Get away from me."

Her stomach growled again, bringing with it a new wave of aches. Boldir had once told her a healthy man can go weeks without eating if he had to. How long would that be for a skinny girl of fourteen? She couldn't imagine the pains getting worse than this over the course of another week. "Please!" she begged, "My parents are dead, a fish stole my rod, and people are tying to kill me! Can't you just spare me one onion? I'm starving!"

The man finally stopped, turned, and proceeded to shove her. She was surprised at how easily she fell. After Mila landed in the mud, the man shook his head. "You think you're the only hungry person here? I got others to worry about besides myself. Now how about you try and steal someone else's food."

Mila laid there, watching the Breton leave. He disappeared down the crowded muddy streets like so many others here, probably back to his family in one of the many run-down dwellings that dotted the Waterfront's southern beach. 'Steal someone else's food.' Mila was no thief. Her mother raised her better than that.
The hunger pains stung so badly, and Mila felt a hot tear roll its way down her dirty cheek. She quickly wiped it up. Don't think about what's behind. Mila told herself as she had so many times now. All that matters is ahead. They are dead. They are dead and I need to eat.

More determined than ever, the girl rose and brushed some of the dirt off of her already-filthy clothes. The Waterfront wasn't much of a draw for the city's visitors. Besides the docks and warehouses, there was little to find but poverty. That said, at the northern end of the shantytown and not far from the docks was a tavern called 'The Sailor's Rest'. It only had one floor, one fire, one counter, and three very long tables, but the walls were intact and only slightly rotted, and the roof showed no signs of leaks. It was here that the sailers and warehouse workers came for their meals and drinks when they couldn't be bothered to travel all the way up to the city proper.
Mila found the place to be crowded, mostly with adults, but there were a few kids her age: deckhands and cabin boys, judging by their sun-tanned skin and lean-muscled arms. The single server was frantic, seemingly walking in a constant circle around the big tables, placing food and drink in one customer's hands while simultaneously taking another's order.
Behind it all, the smells were amazing. An aroma of fresh-baked bread wafted across the room, mixed with the smoke that drifted from a roasting lamb. Calling out to Mila with the most inviting sense. She obliged and approached the counter. Behind it stood a tall Imperial with a big nose and brown hair that poked out of a gray cap. He made no effort to hide the fact that he was eyeballing her. Why would he? Mila knew how she looked. Just get the food and run. Trying to sound as sweet and innocent as possible, she looked the man in the eyes and said, "A loaf of bread, please. And a half rack of lamb ribs."

That seemed to amuse him. He answered in a low and course voice. "I'm gonna need to see some coin first."

"I'll pay you when you've done your job." she said defiantly. 

"Heh." The Imperial shook his head. "That won't go over here. My job's to run this place. Not to give handouts to street urchins like yourself. Now if you don't have coin, get out."

Mila scowled and glanced at the door behind him presumably leading to the kitchen. If she was quick, maybe she could dart in and get some-
"Don't even think about it, kid." said the man. "Go on now, scat!"

She looked back halfway outside to find that the man was still staring at her, tapping his fingers on the counter as he watched her leave. She made sure to slam the door as she stormed off. That could've gone better. Her stomach rumbled once more. Quiet, you! I'm working on it!
There were a hundred other places in the district where Mila could more easily snag some mysterious stew or a loaf of moldy bread, but Mila had made up her mind the moment she'd walked into The Sailer's Rest that if she only ate just one more meal in her life, it would be this one.
Besides. People eating moldy bread need it. This man doesn't need all of that food.
Taking a few steps away from the building, she turned to look back at it with her arms crossed. The front door wasn't much of an option, and neither were the two small windows that opened into the same room. A quick jog around the back revealed to her that there was locked back door. Even if she had been able to get her hands on a lockpick, Mila couldn't have opened it. The lock seemed to be a bolt on the other side.
Next, she looked up at the roof. There were no windows up there, but there was a stone brick chimney. The thing was cracked and weathered, and looked so old that might have belonged to a number of other structures before this one. Suddenly, a mad idea came to Mila.

The girl turned and sprinted away from the building, off to fetch something in her little shack on the beach, where she grabbed up the sack she'd found with her fishing rod along with two towels and a bed sheet. She tied the sack around her waste and threw the towels over her shoulder. Even better, on the way back she snagged a beds sheet off of a clothing line and wadded it into a ball to hide it in her shirt.
Next, trying to look as casual as possible, Mila strolled around to the back of the tavern, and stopped just beneath the roof to let out a nervous breath.
Time to climb. Mila was a great climber, probably the best in Whiterun. She had already scaled Dragonsreach three times by age eleven and she had long before memorized all the best climbing spots along the city walls. Even out-of-shape and hungry, this run-down old tavern would be child's play. Like a squirrel, Mila clambered atop a wooden barrel before pulling herself up onto the roof. 

Mila crouched down and cautiously approached the chimney. It did not seem to be particularly wide, but then neither was she. Mila unconsciously chewed on her tongue as she set to work, rolling up the towels and sheet and tying them all together into one long rope, which she secured by looping tightly around the chimney and catching it under the bricks.
Now, taking hold of the 'rope', she lowered it down into the pit and dangled her feet alongside it. I can't believe I'm about to do this.

Mila slid herself down into the darkness. One arm wrapped tightly around her rope, the other pushing against the blackened interior of the chimney. She eased on down, keeping her back pressed to the bricks behind her, and her feet pressed to those in front. The deeper Mila went, the stiffer the air became, and as she almost went to cough, the girl realized that she was breathing in ash and soot. It did not take long to reach the bottom, mostly because the makeshift rope did not reach all the way down, and the last few feet were for Mila to drop. She landed in the ashes, crouching and covered from head to toe in pitch black soot.

The room she emerged in was small, with one door to the main tavern at the far side and what must have been the locked back door on her own side. The latter would be handy for her escape when she had all of her food together. More important to Mila were the various cabinets and strings of salted meat that lined the walls to her left and right. She unwound the old sack from her waste and set to work.

Thirty minutes later, Mila was on the beach outside of her shack, feeling like a queen. She had a fire built, and had two salted pheasants and a lamb leg roasting over it. She enjoyed a green apple and a sweetroll while those cooked, washed down with a cheap beer. When the lamb was done, it seemed to taste better than anything Mila had ever eaten in her life. And the pheasant almost as good. By the time the second bird was thoroughly cooked, the young thief was full and content, and she was delighted to find that her sack was still practically full.

Grinning from ear-to-ear, Mila climbed up onto an old table in the rotten old shack and hid all of her food up in the rafters. With that done, she climbed down, found the most elevated part of the slanted floor and laid down to go to sleep for the night.

"Wake up." 
Mila's eyes opened. It was obviously still dark outside, but moonshine poured in through the glassless window and filled the room with a pale white glow. A shadow of a figure stood near the entrance. As her eyes adjusted she made out two more in the corners of the room. The one by the door stepped forward, into the moonlight, and Mila gasped when she saw that he was none other than the gray-capped Imperial who owned the Sailer's Rest. In his hand, a steel dagger gleamed in the moonlight. "Before you try to run, hear what I have to say. Even if you slip past me, my friends here will put you down before you have a chance to even call out." He waited for her to make a move, but Mila had been a prisoner long enough to know better. When she only sat there, watching him, the man decided to continue. "Now I know that you stole from me. I saw you do it. Nice touch with the chimney, by the way. I didn't expect that. Honestly I figured you would try breaking in the back door."

The man's voice was not angry, but it didn't have to be when he carried that dagger. Mila eyed it now, weary of the possibility that he could want to punish her besides taking his food back. He seemed to notice, and sheathed the blade the moment he did. "Don't worry. I'm not gonna gut you. I just wanted to make sure you didn't run the moment you saw us. To be honest, I understand. You were hungry, and believe me I know hunger. You saw someone who had more food than he needed, and decent food at that. So you went for it. We've all been there. Problem is, stealing from thieves is dangerous work. And that's what you did today."

"You're thieves?"

"Not just any thieves. My name is Anrich Vulol. I'm a Shadowfoot with the Thieve's Guild. Do you know why I'm telling you this?"

Mila glanced back at the two burglars who remained in the shadows behind Anrich. "You know I won't tell."

"Well yes, I do. But I'm telling you this specifically because I'm not angry with you. In fact, I want to help. You have a certain... tenacity that is rare and useful besides. It got you into a locked room and out again with all the food you could carry. I want to direct that at people who won't catch you in the act, people who have so much wealth that they won't even notice what you take. What is your name, child?"

"Mila."

"Mila?" the Shadowfoot cocked his head. "Well Mila, I'd very much like to know why you have a bounty on your head."

"I don't-"

"You do. My people have seen you around the Waterfront, keeping your head down and starving yourself to do it. A girl your age should be with her family or in an orphanage. And yet you're out here, ducking every time a guard roams by. It's not just the guards who will notice you, Mila. The beggars have always been the eyes and ears of the guild. You'd have been approached eventually yourself, if you hadn't shown so much promise as a thief. Now I ask again, what did you do to get a bounty on your head?"

What had Mila done? She had escaped her captors, but that was no crime. This man would want to know why she'd been taken captive in the first place. "... I assaulted a guard."

One of the shadows behind Anrich laughed, but the Shadowfoot just squinted his eyes. "You? What are you, all of twenty pounds? What did you do, throw a rock at him?"

"I stabbed him in the leg." Technically, Mila wasn't lying. Back in the sewers of Riften, as Maul and his men had come down on her and her mother, Mila had stabbed two of the guards, one of them in the leg. "He was coming after my mother."

"And where is your mother now?"

"Dead."

"And your father?"

"Dead."

"I figured as much. I am sorry." Anrich knelt down so that Mila did not have to strain her neck to look him in the eyes. "Take my offer, and you'll never go hungry again. You'll have a place to stay and coin in your purse. And you won't be out here by yourself. The only conditions are that you follow our rules and lay low until I can clear your name."

That won't work with Sibbi. "You won't be able to. He was a guard captain. He knows me personally, by name and face."

"I see... Then I'm taking a risk here, but I want to help you. Change your name and you're in. I know that's a lot to ask, but I can't risk you being caught just because someone remembers hearing about the 'Mila' girl who goes around stabbing guard captains. It's an unneeded risk."

Don't think about what's behind. "I can do that." Mila said with a nod. "How about 'Rebec'?"

"Strong name, but Nordic. You're not a Nord, are you?"

"I am a Nord." Mila lied. "Just a small one."

"Didn't know those existed. Regardless, I would still suggest you go with something closer to what you've already got. Something that starts the same, so when you inevitably slip up one day, you can fix it. Something like Marilla, or-"

"Matilda?"

"The Nordic shield maiden... That should work. Alright 'Matilda'. Meet me at the Sailer's Rest tomorrow at noon and we can go over some rules. Stick by them and you'll always have friends at your back. Welcome to the Thieves Guild."

Power corrupts, absolute power... is a whole lot of fun!

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Windhelm

Battle of Windhelm Continued

"Come on, Red-Snow, there's still more elves to kill!"

"Hold your horses, damnit, I'm trying to piss here." Brund watched with great disdain as the Nord showed what was in his mind a great disrespect for their ancestors, Ysgramor especially. Then he laughed to himself, remembering he didn't much give a shit about the ancestors or Ysgramor. He was greater than Ysgramor, as far as he was concerned.

"Your King just died, and now you're pissing off the top of his palace."

"I'm nothing if not consistent," said Baldur, knowing that Brund didn't know pissing off high places was a thing of his. "It's my palace now, anyway. When nature calls, it calls."

Brund rolled his eyes before narrowing them. "You were close to Ulfric, yet you don't seem terribly broken up over his death, Red-Snow."

Baldur's own eyes narrowed in turn. "Careful what you suggest. I honor my friend and king with blood, not tears. It will be the same for all Nords in the coming year. Now, I suggest we do as you said and get back to killing elves."

Brund's suspicion remained, but the thought was carried away in the strong breeze that surrounded the rooftop of Windhelm's palace at the mention of elves as it threatened to do to them.

"Any suggestions for getting down?"

Baldur's head looked away from the ground below to reveal a grin from ear to ear. "Imperials aren't the only ones that can make an entrance."

***

Falgrum Blood-Rim surveyed the battlefield, which was quickly filling with bodies of soldiers and civilians both. The cost of this all seemed too great... When Baldur first shared his thoughts on the war, what he planned, the body count didn't bother him in the slightest. That was because it wouldn't be primarily theirs. But now, Falgrum saw the foolishness in his idealism. Nord bodies littered the streets of Windhelm, some bloodied... others on fire. Homes of friends he once knew a lifetime ago, gone. Taverns he and Baldur shared drinks at, decimated. If this plan of his worked, then it would all be worth it, he told himself. It had to, or this sort of carnage would be all across Skyrim.

Snapping out of his thoughts in time to parry with an armored Dominion soldier, Falgrum's great blade speared towards his chest, only to be buried in the cavity of a Xivilai summoned by a mage behind his comrade. The Xivilai roared in rage, pulling Falgrum closer as the blade went deeper and deeper. Roaring once more, the beast lifted him from his feet, even as Grim Ones impaled it to save their commander.

Revealing its own great blade of ebony make, it lifted its immensely powerful arm, grinning as it prepared to take the Nord's life.

"Yol, Toor Shul!" The thing had only enough time to show its surprise as Baldur fell from the sky, keeping himself above ground only by the power of his thu'um, its thrust propelling him towards it and breaking the creature's jaw with nothing but a mighty blow from his fist. The bear skull atop his ring gifted to him from the orc shimmered briefly in purple light, just as the Xivilai had before a portal to Oblivion swallowed it whole.

"Knew that would come in handy eventually," he said to himself as soldiers and civilians both stood in awe. Just as Falgrum picked himself up, something shook the ground, threatening to send him right back down. When the dust settled, it revealed Brund, standing atop of two Thalmor mages, both crushed beneath his mighty Nordic boots covered in rock.

With both their heroes returned, the remaining soldiers and a mob of once terrified civilians rallied behind them both, making the Thalmor invaders rout in fear of being overcome by sheer numbers. But the elves made them pay for each inch they lost, sending magefire back at the civilians' ranks, and ignoring the soldiers completely in an attempt to keep them out of the fight in the future. Windhelm was theirs once more. For Now.

Night finally left them, but with the light came more sorrow, rather than hope, revealing just how many lives, Nordic and Dunmeri that the Thalmor soldiers took. Their numbers were in the low hundreds, women and children included. The soldiers' casualties were the same, each one burned into Baldur's memory.

The Thalmor may have retreated, but they made sure to let the Nords know they still remained outside the city gates, sounding their warhorns and banging their wardrums throughout the night. Sleep came to few as the would be king helped his subjects gather their dead for later burial. If this siege went on for too long, they'd have to be burned rather than buried.

"Falgrum, we cannot afford to let this siege go on. It must be broken, and soon. I'm talking days, not weeks."

"And how do you suppose we do that? I mean, surely word will spread when travelers come. Word may already be on its way to the Reach or hopefully Whiterun, even Falkreath. But it will take time for soldiers from the Reach to get here. Anywhere else, they'll need time to amass a force strong enough to help. Not much, but longer than a week, I'd say."

"This is starting to feel rather familiar," said Brund. "What about the men of the Rift? I saw them on my way here, taking care of bandit patrols. All we need to do is send word for reinforcements. I can fight my way through, and-"

"No no, we need more than one man, even one as powerful as you," said Baldur, who noted Brund's lack of exhaustion after so much heavy thu'um usage. He hadn't even broken a sweat. Meanwhile, Baldur felt as though he could keel over at any moment. He needed to rest, and have his wounds tended to, but he couldn't let his people see his strength falter. This was a crucial moment. He couldn't rest, not yet.

Coughing and hiding the blood that appeared in his hand from it, Baldur said, "I will send you, but a dozen Grim Ones should leave, including you and Falgrum."

"My King, you may need those numbers when the Thalmor make another attack!"

"He isn't king yet!" said Brund.

"Of course, Jarl Brund. JARL Baldur may need those numbers when they make their next attack."

Ignoring the correction, Baldur said, "You must be successful, I can't tell you how bad it'll be if the Thalmor manage to take Windhelm. They cannot possibly keep it, even with Riften in ashes, but it would deal us a serious blow having two holds sacked and a dead king to boot. And as Brund so aptly put it, I am not king yet. If they do take Windhelm, you lot are the contingency plan. Take the men. But you cannot be seen."

"How will we remain unseen?" said Brund.

"The Grim Ones that will accompany you will primarily be Nords, but I'll have mages accompany you too. Unfortunately we only have three Dunmeri Grim Ones here. They'll cast a spell of water breathing on you and your men, long enough for you all to swim through our rivers from inside the walls, outside to safety from the city's drains."

"Well, that's certainly clever," said Falgrum, "But like you said, we only have three mages."

"Hold on, I'll see if we have any talented mages from within the city," said Baldur. "I need to address the people anyway."

With the thrill of battle gone, and leaving only the grief of loss behind, both for king Ulfric and their loved ones, not many looked to Baldur with much care even despite his heroic triumph over the Thalmor soldiers. Why would they, when so many were lost and the Thalmor still threatened to claim more lives.

Some even began to wonder if the Imperials were right all along, though those that did kept that to themselves lest the others call them cowards or traitors, not knowing that the number of those who agreed was greater than they might've thought.

Seeing defeat in their eyes, Baldur spoke, his thu'um trained voice echoing throughout Windhelm's walls as Ulfric's had during one of his speeches.

"People of Windhelm, gather to me. I know that you all feel the loss of your king, and even more your sons, daughters, husbands and wives. This is but a mere taste of what is to come, if we do not take the fight to the elves."

Before Baldur could continue, the crowd that gathered began muttering and yelling at him, saying, "We didn't ask for this!" and "We're not soldiers!" While others accused them of being milkdrinkers and yellow bellies.

Baldur silenced them with a warcry that thundered out from his gullet, deafening those that were close enough to see the perspiration on his brow.

"I know many of you did not ask for this. And for that I am deeply sorry," said Baldur, apologizing for things they weren't even aware of. "Many of you are not but farmers, merchants. Many of you just got here in this city, hailing from Cyrodiil. You might think this is not your fight, but you are wrong. Elves, Nords, Imperials, they come for us all, for what we've fought so hard to build. Look behind me! Look at the Stormcloaks that served Ulfric, that now serve me. Narry a one can claim more noble origins than the lot of you! But they've become something more! They've become defenders of more than just Skyrim, but of Tamriel itself! All you need is a will! Do you have the will to protect what is yours, people of Windhelm?"

Standing amongst the people now, Baldur walked towards a group of children on age with Daric, some younger. "I was your age when I first picked up a sword. Killed my first man in my early days, not much older than the lot of you. Have you heard of my apprentice, Daric?"

"Aye, we have. The Breton born Nord that stuck to the High General like a baby chick. Now he commands his own soldiers," said the eldest of the lot. "But we were not trained by great warriors. Many of us haven't even killed our first ice wraith!"

"And even so, you have the power to do more than you ever could imagine!" said Baldur. "You are Nord children! Of what shall you fear? Sovngarde awaits the brave, of whom shall you be afraid? Your ancestors are smiling, as they prepare you a place, in the halls of Shor's kingdom for those with bold face. The elves have come to take your loved ones and land, as they've come for many eras and yet here do Nords stand! Fear not the pains of death that come with the enemy, for heroes are our ancestors and among us are many! Feel their spirits rise in you! Fight by my side! And I'll fight with you, with tremendous pride! And I'll show you the greatness that dwells inside, and the Thalmor will run, but nowhere can they hide! Avenge our loved ones we will, make the elves feel death's chill! Their fates will be grim, for we're the children of Skyrim!"


As the crowd became alive, hands grabbing at the soon to be king, Baldur cried, "Now who will fight with me?!?"

The crowd roared until even Baldur's voice could be drowned out amongst it all. Baldur had his answer.

"We'll fight with you too, Nord king."

"Aye, but don't forget about us when you get that fancy crown on your head, Baldur of Kyne's Watch. We may be elves, but we're no fans of those prissy excuses for mer."

Baldur turned to a group of Dunmer huddling close, a dot in the midst of pale faces. Smiling, he said, "Prissy elves you are not. Actually, you're just the lot I was looking for. I need your help. Do you know of any skilled in the school of Alteration?"

Walking with a small group of Dunmer behind him, Baldur approached the 12 Grim Ones that would be leaving the city. That included Falgrum, Brund and the three Dunmer Grim Ones as well. They would not need magical assistance as they could cast the spells on their own. The other 9 would need the help of the civilians.
Or so Baldur thought. Brund knew it was really eight, though he couldn't say why....

"Baldur, this is ******* stupid, they'll just slow me down."

"You haven't yet been called to take the trials, Brund. You don't know what your comrades are now capable of. You only got a brief taste today," said Baldur.

"Aye," said Falgrum simply, the others sharing looks that said they all went through hell together. The now infamous Grim Trials were well known for its suicidal insanity.

Brund merely gave an indifferent grunt, not impressed by the dunmer or Falgrum's lot. "You expect these shrimps to survive Skyrim's icy rivers?"

"They will do their best," said Baldur. "They'll rely on their skill in magic to survive. The Grim Ones however, they won't need it, including our Draugr Dunmeri soldiers. You know your mission, alert my nearby Necro Nord forces, bring reinforcements and break this siege. Stop for nothing else, even if your mother's being humped by a bear. It's probably one of ours anyway, and I'm sure she was asking for it. Now move out."

The men nodded before falling backwards one at a time into Windhelm's drainage system, falling head first into the current as they were all taken deep beneath the surface. Baldur gave them four days to complete their task. He only hoped that would be enough.

That night, Baldur wondered how long it would take Rebec to realize he was gone. She probably knew by now from the others, someone must have sent word. He hoped she had the good sense to stay out of the Rift when she had Ragna to take care of. And even better sense to stay from here if word of the attack reached their ears already. He slept in one of Ulfric's.... his.... royal tents, alone after the battle maidens had tended to his wounds thoroughly. His armor was now ruined from the explosion aboard the Sunbird, instead being adorned in nothing but leather trousers for the time being, looking nothing like the king that many had already seen him as.

The people were desperate, afraid of what might happen with Ulfric dead. They hoped so strongly that Baldur would keep Skyrim on the right track, as though Ulfric had never been gone. That fear was enough to carry him so far. But he needed more than that. He needed to be their hero. More than that... "I need to be their god."

Sitting up in his bed, Baldur did what he always did when he was planning something stupid. He smiled to himself, then looked to see if Rebec was around, though of course she was not. Old habit. If this went badly, it occurred to him that he might never see her again, and she'd never know what he'd done. There was at least one bright side to all of this. For what he'd done...

"Gods... I really miss the days where the most I had to worry about was how many men had been with my wife." Laughing, he recalled how angry he'd been thinking about it, wishing he could get his hands on all of them. It was enough to make him forget, but only for a moment. "Boldir... if he knew."

Memories of Ulfric's defiant glare, the rage in his eyes as he unleashed his thu'um on him. For a second, just before he'd launched Baldur in the air, he thought he saw a tear in Ulfric's eye. That thought brought tears to his own. If Boldir knew...

Who cares if Boldir knew? He too betrayed us! Betrayed me... he lied to me, said everything was fine. Meanwhile, he was killing our brothers and preparing to burn our city! If not for that, then maybe I wouldn't have seen this as such a necessity! Maybe....

Grip tightening around his axe, Baldur said, "I will find him. I will drag him to Windhelm if I must. And he will answer for his crimes. Against Skyrim, and against his family."

"Why are you crying?" said a small girl from outside the tent by his fire. She and a small group of children had come to visit their Jarl.

"I'm just mourning my friend," said Baldur. "And my brother."

"My dad said only milkdrinkers shed tears. But you're no milkdrinker."

Allowing himself a smile, Baldur said, "I'm not, no. And yet your father's words say I must be. How is that so, child?"

"Either you really are a milkdrinker, or my father is wrong," said the girl.

"It's both," said Baldur. "A man that cries all the time is a milkdrinker, but even the mightiest of warriors shed tears sometimes. Even so, a true Nord must strive to be strong as much as possible. All of us, even when we are sad. Are you sad?"

"I'm scared," said the girl, fiddling with her trousers. "My pa is in the Reach. I was staying with my brother, but he ran out to fight the elves, and I don't know where he went."

Baldur stepped out of the tent and sat next to the fire with the kids. He noticed that they'd all been given axes and daggers, and the terror that such a thing must have caused them he knew must've been great. The things in their hands, up until now for most of them was wood. That's how it should've remained.

"Don't be afraid," said Baldur. "I am here with you. I will not send you to fight my battles for me while I hide in a castle. I will protect all of you. I will be victorious. We will be victorious. And when this fight is over, all of you will come back as true Nords. This is your new rite of passage. Fight without fear in your hearts, and as king, I will bless you and your families. None will be refused Sovngarde's pleasures, and none of you children that fight today will be sent to Valenwood. This I promise you, and your parents if they wish to stay home."

"You mean it?" said a young boy to his left, his hair shaved into a warrior's mohawk obviously rather recently. No doubt he and some of the other older boys wanted to look the part of warriors before they were called on. Like the warpaint they now wore, it helped to steel them if they no longer felt like themselves.

"Every last word of it," said Baldur. "Someone has to stay behind and protect our lands while we are gone. And I cannot lose. Haven't you heard? I am favored by Shor himself. I will prove it to you before the week is out."

"We stand with you, Jarl Red-Snow. My pa said you were the fourth coming of Wulfharth himself. I think he was joking, but I believe it! Either you or that really big and mean looking guy from the Reach."

Baldur chuckled at that and said, "Well I don't know about that, for either of us. Though I do wonder where our esteemed Jarl Hammer-Fang managed to learn such powerful thu'um. I guess we'll just have to wait and see. Now, I must get my sleep children. You all should do the same, in case the time for you to fight indeed arises.

As the children ran off to tell the others what the new Jarl said, Baldur went back to his tent, consuming much of the many sweets and mead the children and what remained of their families left him. There were even letters left from their parents, some women asking if he were looking for a wife to be Queen, even though everyone knew of Rebec by now, and others begging him to make the elves pay for what they did to Ulfric.

He burned those. Anything that even had Ulfric's name in it.

Looking in the mirror, Baldur's eyes traced over his body. It was heavily scarred and bruised, appearing dirty even after being cleaned and bandaged. His hair was as silky as ever, but there were streaks of grey riddling his once flawless appearance. His beard was now thick and shaggy, rather than its once sleek and trimmed appearance. It all made him frown, making his appearance in his eyes even worse.

"No no, this will not do. A king must look like a god, and gods don't age." Peeling off his bandages, he said, "And they certainly don't bleed."

Despite that, his blood ran free once the painstakingly wrapped cloth was removed from him. He recalled the last time he decided to play king with Rebec, the night he stole Ulfric's crown. He allowed himself to smile at the memory, seeming like a lifetime ago now.

Then the words of the child came to him as well. "The fourth coming of Wulfharth." Hardly. At least not now. But.... what if... "What if I could make them believe? Imagine what I could accomplish then."

Going to his pack, Baldur removed his pot of blue warpaint, smiling to himself as he began his pre-war ritual, something he picked up from Rebec. He would do more than make them believe. He, would believe.

***

It had been days since the last Thalmor attack came, and many within Windhelm's walls were growing restless, as the Thalmor continued to play their magically amplified instruments so that none would sleep in peace. Everyone, even Baldur was effected. His eyes were bloodshot, and he seemed nervous, jittery. No word from his men had come, and he wasn't sure how long it'd take Falgrum to gather them all.

"Should have kept them closer to the border," said Baldur, forgetting that this would have looked suspicious.

"Excuse me, people of Windhelm. This is your Overseer speaking." Looking up from beneath a robe, Baldur and the rest of his soldiers all looked towards the night sky that the voice seemed to be coming from.

"My name is Grand Overseer Tyrian Travister. This is not my first time in Skyrim. The last time I visited this province, the Imperials were with us, working together. Working to secure peace and order for all of Tamriel. That effort was since then destroyed, by those that would see all elven kind eradicated. People like Ulfric, people like this Baldur Red-Snow. We've come to you not as invaders, but as liberators! Our goal is to enlighten, not to enslave! Please, open your doors to us, remove your soldiers from the damaged section of the wall, and let us be partners in this world, just as we were with the Imperials before Baldur Red-Snow's mageling and the Motierre whore broke us apart!"

Baldur cursed under his breath. He had no idea who this elf was, but he seemed to know of the Witch, enough to know that the Emperor and he had a connection.

"Embrace the Thalmor. Give us Baldur Red-Snow, so that he may answer for his crimes against the Empire and the Dominion. Or your entire city will be wiped from the face of Mundus. You have two hours to respond. We do this for Nord, Altmer and Imperial!"

"Two hours?" said Baldur. His men drew swords nervously, wondering if the people of Windhelm would be mad enough to give up their Jarl and surrender. Most seemed as though they wouldn't dare, but many of them seemed shifty, suspicious. Sleep had come to no one in days and some looked like they would crack at any moment.

"Sir, we gotta talk," said a Necro Nord Captain beside him, his white bear fur covered hand resting on Baldur's cloaked shoulder.

"There's nothing to talk about, Captain. I will give the Thalmor what they want. I will not risk the lives of all these people any longer."

"What? But-" Baldur cut him off.

"Bardok, just do as you're told."

"With all due respect, 'king', I'd rather die than see you hand yourself over to the Thalmor. We all would! I didn't put myself through the trials just to give up when the elves come knocking!"

"Then die you shall!" said Baldur, bloodshot eyes venomously glaring. "Don't question me, not now. I've gotten us this far, trust that whatever I do is for the best. I do this for Skyrim, friend. Now, prepare the gate. Rally the people to the front, I want all to bear witness. Let it fuel their spirits."

Bardok the Impaler's rage did not fade at Baldur's words, but after having fought with the new Jarl personally, he knew just how stubborn and true Baldur's resolve was. Bowing his head, he ran off to spread the word.

***

The silence of all who gathered was eerie. Never before had Baldur seen such a large crowd so quiet. If not for the Thalmor blowing their horns and banging their drums, it would have been quiet enough to hear a ghost break wind. People on either side of him watched with Grim faces, soldier and civilian alike as their newest Jarl marched alone to give himself up to the elves. There were only a few hundred soldiers left, even fewer Grim Ones. They all knew that they could not defend the city, not with the hole in the wall and with them completely cut off from the rest of Skyrim. Bowing their heads in shame, they all watched as Baldur opened wide the ancient gates of Windhelm.

It was only now that Baldur truly saw what they were dealing with. Even after all the killing, all the destruction, the Thalmor's numbers remained. He did a quick glance over and guessed that they still had at least six hundred mer soldiers, all staring at him, pointing spears and arrows, hands filled with magic fire.

"It's been a long time since I've been so close to your kind," said Baldur.

"That it has, Nord. Not since the days they called you Captain, and later General, right?" A Thalmor mage, even taller than Baldur stood forward. He had a golden staff adorned with a phoenix in one hand, and the other was behind his back.

"Do I know you, because you seem to know me," said Baldur.

"Not personally, no. Your mage friend saw to it that you and I never got the chance to meet. I did meet your wife, however. I'm the one that made sure neither Imperial nor Altmer violated her. You can thank me later. If I see her again, however, I can't promise such a fate won't befall her."

"Not in your life, you yellow piss stain," said Baldur, glaring.

"And how will you stop me? You just gave yourself up. Unless you happen to know magic other than your thu'um, or unless your Emperor friend is nearby, I suggest you cease with the idle threats."

"What in the world makes you think that the mage is friends with me?" said Baldur.

"Well first, there's the fact that he attacked me long ago, just before you stormed our encampment. I had to flee from that fight, and I'll never forget his power. He obviously wasn't with the Empire then, and we had reports after interrogating enough men within Skyrim to know that there was indeed a battlemage serving under you. Then he appears again at Empress Dales' side, suddenly the closest of friends? I may not have proof, but I know the Nord is with your lot."

"Like it matters, no one would believe the word of a Thalmor pissant like you anyway," said Baldur. "The mage was never 'with my lot', he does as he pleases."

"Oh, I believe it," said Tyrian. "And you're right about no one believing us. But we'll prove it, and when we do, your little alliance with the Empire will crumble to pieces. Then we'll march over Tamriel and destroy you all, one by one. But, you my Nord friend will not live to see it. You like casting fire from your throat so much like a buffoon, then you'll die in the same manner. Windhelm's soldiers will be killed, but we will spare the civilians if they do not stand in our way. You have my word. It's more kindness than you should even be allowed, Nord."

"You know you can't possibly hope to hold this city, even if you do kill my men," said Baldur. "The people will not put up with your rule, and when word reaches the other holds..."

"We'll see," said Tyrian. "But you won't. Mages! Prepare to execute the High General! Let this be a lesson to all that would appose world peace and order!"

As Tyrian gave the order, a group of thirteen Stormcloaks broke from the crowd of onlooking civilians, charging Baldur's location in an attempt to save him. Baldur yelled with all the strength his voice could muster for them to retreat, but they would not hear him. Before any could even hope to reach the Thalmor lines, their front line cast spell after spell, until all was lost beneath the flame, Baldur included.

The smell of burning flesh filled every nose, as the smoke arose in the night air. All could see its bright embers as the fire finally began to die, and nothing remained but ash. The nord's cries were imprinted in the minds of every Nord, every Stormcloak. Jarl Baldur Red-Snow's reign was short lived, and over.

"Begin occupying the city," said Tyrian. As he gave the order, the people of Windhelm just witnessing the death of their king and now their Jarl began baring weapons; pitchforks, axes, spears, scythes, whatever they could get their hands on. Though they didn't dare make the first move however, and neither did the Thalmor. It was a standstill.

"Stand DOWN! Or you all shall die just as these lot have!" said Tyrian. "We will NOT let your people get in the way of world peace!"

"World peace? You can shove your world peace up your collective asses!"

The voice of the dead Jarl echoed all around once more, louder than even the amplified voice of Tyrian. Confused, he looked back to the large ash pile, still burning even as the coals were simmering down. Then, a large arm poked out of the ash mound, covered in the remains of those that died protecting their Jarl. The cloak that hid Baldur's body was gone, revealing Stormcloak blue swirls and spirals all over, bright amongst the grey ash that should have contained his corpse as well.

When he arose from it, he looked a fearsome sight. Completely nude, and adorned in the remains of his fallen soldiers, painted blue from head to toe. Even his hair was streaked with blue, replacing the grey that was once there.

"There can be no peace, so long as your kind remains! I am Baldur the Unkindled! Baldur the Kindler! And I shall bring down the wrath of the Gods on all mine enemies!"

Even as he spoke, Thalmor flame threatened again to overtake him, but still he remained. The flame's wrath could not touch him. Instead, it bent to his will as he cast fire from his mouth to the Thalmor front lines. Axes in hand, Baldur charged the elves with no protection other than ash and warpaint, and flanked by scores and scores of Nord men, women, and children.

"Fool! This will mean your doom, all of you!" cried Tyrian. "Annihilate them all!"

Person after person ran into death's embrace, the Thalmor flames taking many more lives before any managed to reach Thalmor front lines. All except Baldur, who gave back every bit of flame that the Thalmor gave his people. His axes pulled their lightning spells towards them, keeping Baldur safe just long enough to draw elven blood as he and his mob crashed into the organized Thalmor resistance like a wave on a rock. He fought like something possessed, arm gripped around the neck of one elf as his other swung his axe at anything with a yellow face. His appearance made it hard for the enemy to discern his position amongst the mob of ragged peasants and Stormcloaks, and none knew exactly where the 'Ash King' was until flames licked their face, sending them to their gods.

It was so chaotic that most of the Thalmor invaders hadn't heard the sounds of war horns blasting from behind them not of their own, nor did they hear the cries of "For the Ash King! For Baldur the Unkindled!"  as hundreds of Grim Ones charged their flank, lead by ten men and women wearing the white bear furs of the Necro Nord Captains. An orc woman was the first to reach an Altmer, her tusks ripping out their throat before shooting another with her crossbow.

Bardok the Impaler kept true to his name, his great sword piercing the bellies of two elves as he regrouped with his fellow Grim Ones. An arrow almost caught him in the throat until a goofy looking Nord with a newly shaven face and facial tattoos jumped in the way of it.

"Uh, thanks friend. Perhaps next time though, you should use your shield instead?"

"I keep telling him he's an idiot and one day his stupidity's gonna get him killed!" said Jjgmir Willcrush-Me.

"Who cares if I die? Who! I'm nothing without my beard! I'll never forgive you for this, Jjgmir!"

"Shut up stupid and break that arrowhead off. Besides, I did you a favor. Who the hell wears a half beard? It was stupid, so I got rid of it. You should be thanking me!"

"Sir, if you ask me-"

"No one asked you, Bjorn!" said Jjgmir and Bolsh.

Suddenly a fist collided with Jjgmir and Bjorn's heads. "You idiots are gonna get everyone killed! Get back in the fight!"

"Sir yes Baldur, sir!"

"Uh, why are you naked?" said Bolsh. The other two soldiers smacked him upside his head. "Didn't you see the Thalmor attack him earlier?"

"What? No, I was busy looking at the night sky. Haven't you lot ever noticed how pretty the auroras are?"

The others didn't have time to comment on his stupidity before a giant ice atronach crashed their ranks. Jjgmir was the first to act, distracting it with his mace and shield while Bjorn and Bolsh both tackled it into the ground. Jjgmir smashed the creature's face in with his mace while the other two held it down. Baldur could say what he wanted about their intelligence, but as he watched them make a group of five Thalmor retreat from their presence as they chased them down, he had to admit he was right all along about their talent as soldiers.

The Thalmor would not win this battle, but they would not be overtaken like before either. Even now, they used the untrained and undisciplined nature of the civilians against them, breaking rank and running off into the hills and woods of Skyrim. Even more elves and Nords were now dead, littering the landscape all the way from Windhelm's gates. But, Windhelm was his. Soon all of Skyrim would be his, he knew.

Even at the great cost of this victory, the enraged Nords of Windhelm still cried, "All hail Baldur, Ash King of the North!"

Power corrupts, absolute power... is a whole lot of fun!

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General Martullus, 
Fort Aurilia, 
Day,

“And the Empress, sir. What stock should we put in her orders? Asked Legate Varidiali. The high elf had a pompous look about him, his pale yellow skin clashing terribly with the blue cloth that adorned his Imperial Steel armor, along with a billowing, blue cape, adorned with a silver, Dragon. You could say he was a Pompous Altmer. In contrast, the General’s garb was far simplier. Nothing more than standard heavy imperial armor, underneath a simple blue robe. The armor Varidaiali wore was old fashioned, aldmeri-styled legionary garb, that looked a good deal different, to the modern, cyrodilic-esque equipment the rest of Martullus’s legion was equipped with. A heirloom belonging to his family, which had been in the legion for a very long time. Once you reached the rank of Legate, standard Legion dress code became...very lax in regards to what you could wear. As long as you kept the general uniform, and legion motif, anything went.  When the Thalmor let out a call to high class High Elves to leave the empire for the Summset Isles, Varidiali’s family had refused, deciding to not throw aside their loyalty to the empire (though Varidial insists him, and his family's loyalty is with the legion, not the empire as a whole).  Despire his rejection of the Dominion, Vardidiali was...very old fashioned. Quite elitist, though he was still good natured, and respectful towards his superiors, and the soldiers that served under him. 

Pffft. Dales and her no good husband should just rename this place to the Kingdom of Cyrdoili. That’s all we are… 

“Her majesty is...very young, yes?” He scratched his chin, his easygoing, and carefree attitude thinking up downright treasonous thoughts, 

You should be careful Vardiaiali. I know your daughter is the type to do anything to gain power. Might get an offer from the Breton Midget slug for sex. Don’t want another scandal! 

Grinning to himself, he coughed, before continuing his previous statement, “Her...military abilities are...very untested. I know General Tulluis, and Legate Lorgar gave her a few lessons in military theory, tactics, and strategy, but we can't solely rely on the advice of a drunk, and an insane wolfman.”  He used both of their previous ranks. Fitting, his respect for both of them peaked when they held those titles. 

Martullus’s venomous thoughts of the deceased general, honestly made the legionary feel...quite guilty. Very guilty. He was quite fond of Gaius when they were both serving in the Legion. Much of Martullus’s second’s bitterness, had seemingly infected to the General. Unknowingly. “I hear she’s decent in combat, but personal abilities are almost completely irrelevant when it comes to commanding soldiers during wartime.” He paused, before saying, “All that being said. She is still your Empress.” Martullus glanced at everyone else in the room, eying his command staff sharply. Dales was quite popular among the common soldiers. She also had the support of a majority of the Legion, partially due to the respect High-General Ceno commanded. But that was far from universal. She was also highly controversial in the upper echelons of the nobility. From what people had told him, even both she was used as a puppet for the Imperial Inquisition, Dales Moitre was...a very scandalous figure. And not just because of the rumors that painted her as a lesbian. Someone's sexuality...didn’t really matter to Martullus. Many in the legion held the same attitude. Those things were quite...lax in Cyrodili, compared to High Rock for instance. In other words, as long as you kept it to yourself, nobody really cared who you fucked.  He finished, “Any command from her, should be considered a command from me, The Emperor, and the High General.” 

From what he had heard from a certain...red wolf, the Emperor was not to be trusted. Though his competence (as told from his dear friend General Grommash), and, so far anyway, desire to, at the very least, assist the Empire, had given Martullus, to give the Emperor the benefit of the doubt. Still, the Imperial General put his faith, not in the Empress, or the Emperor, but High General Ceno, an opinion, which a great many soldiers, from lowly auxiliary, to high ranking Legate held. It was not an understatement, to say the high general was very beloved, among the soldiers of the legion, even more then the Empress. 

Even still, his respect, and loyalty to High General Ceno, did not limit his pragmatism. He made sure to secretly instal anti-legionary tactics in his most elite, and loyal cohorts, as well as make sure his upper command staff, and officers in general were loyal to him, before being loyal to the Empress, the Emperor, and the High-General. Just in case. He was almost ready to launch an uprising against the former emperor, but thankfully, nothing came of that, and was able to maintain a facade of loyalty to the Imperial Family. 

The only loyalty Martullus had was to the Empire. Nothing more. If the higher ups, maintained what was good for it, he would be as loyal as he needed to be. If not...well. 

He briefly coughed, bringing his hand to his throat, he continued his order, “If you have any reasons to dislike, the royal family, General Ceno, or the Elder Council, I expect to hear them. While the legion expresses the virtues of obeying every command, I do not consider us a dictatorship, despite the command chain” He paused, “I want all of you to be able to speak freely with me about your concerns, and issues, with the orders you are being given, by me, royalty, or other superior officers.” Martullus slyly grinned, mischievously, “Us legionaries, are people too, after all. We cannot mindlessly obey orders.” He glanced once agains at the High Elf legate, his grin dying, “Does that answer your question, Legate?” 

“Yes sir.” The high elf nodded his head, going back to his chair. The room they were was circular, and in the middle, a large, round wooden table was present, with ten chairs. Across the walls, blue banners with black imperial dragons were spread out, and the floor was made from stone. On the table, was a large map of Tamriel, with small Imperial flags signifying Imperial held territories. Unfortunately, right now, the only flag standing was Cyrodili. Complementing it, were several other faction banners representing the other nations of Tamriel.

The Stormcloaks. The independent kingdom of High Rock, the most recent change. And Hammerfall. There tenuous “allies:.  

Also included on the map, The enemy, the Aldmeri Dominion, sat, controlling three provinces, The Summerset Isles, Elswery, and Valenwood. Neutral nations included Morrowind, and Arognia.  

Guarding the entrance into the meeting room, a group of four Second Legion soldiers stood guard, there silver Imperial Templar armor shining bright, as light from a nearby window reflected upon it. Upon their backs, they bore, proudly, blue capes adorned with the imperial sigil. Members of his personal cohort, the “Blue Dragon Legionaries”, they were commanded by his second, Avitus Agrippa.  

Unlike normal soldiers in his legion, they were equipped with the finest armor, and weapons available. Though he considered all of his men the best in the legion, he was forced, by regulation, to equip them with standardised equipment the legion had. Light Imperial kits (armor made solely of leather, dyed blue. Leather helmets. Always equipped with a dagger, or gladius) for Imperial Archers as well as Mages,  Medium Imperial Kits (armor made from both leather and chainmail, as well as heavy shields, once again dyed blue. Leather, or metal helmet. A choice of a spear, or a gladius. Dagger just in case. Ch)  for Light Infantry, and mounted Scout regiments. And finally, Heavy Imperial Kits (armor made from metal plates, chainmail, and leather, with heavy shields, with the choice of a spear, or a sword. Metal Helmets, coming in open, or closed horsehair helmets, almost exclusively worn by cavalry, or officers.) for Heavy Infantry, the classic legionary, and Imperial Cavalry units. All legions held these regulations, and uniform, occasionally adding some variants to the mix. Units of significant renown, such as the infamous Wolf Pack of the now disgraced Fourth legion, The Vargarian Orcs of Grommash, and Martullus’s own Dragon Legionaries, were rarely allowed to wear whatever modified equipment they saw fit to bear. 

Regardless, he trusted no one more in battle, then his Blue Dragon cohort. There unwavering, loyalty to him and the Empire was inspiring, as was their combat capabilities.  

Sitting on each chair where his command staff, the Legate’s in his legion. Normally at a meeting like this there would be eleven, but his second, Avitus, wasn’t present. On a special assignment in Bruma. 
 
Martullus folded his arms, “Is there any other questions?”  To be honest, the General really didn’t like these monthly meetings. He made large effort to communicate with his top officers daily, and these mandated meetings to encourage “unity” did nothing more, but take away four hours of precious time a month, which he could put to more productive matters. However, the General was always (as in usually) prudent, and by the books, so he had no choice but to host these glorified sit down chats with his officers, at his fort. I’ve been discussing bullshit for three hours. Please...nobody say anything more… 

The general’s hopes were dashed when another question was raised, this time by Legate Horus Boar-Rage, a massive nord, who sat right beside Legate Varidiali. “Aye, sir.” He said, his accent was very thick, so you could tell he was born in the former Imperial province of Skyrim. “I do. I will not stay silent, when ours leaders buddy up with traitorous dogs such as the Stormcloaks. They should be put to the axe, not vindicated by an alliance! You can't expect me to trust filthy rebel scum! ”. He spat. The Legate was...like Varidiali, very old fashioned, but in a different way. He was a diehard Imperial loyalist, and couldn’t stand five meters around a Stormcloak, without stabbing his shortblade into him, or her.  He wore very standard imperial armor, with an officer's helmet firmly tucked away underneath his chair. For weapons, he carried a battle axe, which he had on his back, and a nordic shortsword. On his face, arms, and legs, dozens of tattoos stood, along with a great big, black, bushy beard on his face. 

Oh my. I thought we had this discussion several times before, already. My dear, Legate 

“I’m not asking you to trust them, Legate Boar-Rage. Infact on the contrary, if you see a Stormcloak bleeding out on the battlefield, I advise you to leave them to their well-deserved fate.” His fists clenched. Though he maintained a visage of calm tranquility, logic, and reason most of the time, traitorous scum like the Stormcloaks sent anger down his spine. Though he was forced to tolerate the truce, and alliance because of the necessity of facing the Dominion, he would never hid his dislike, and anger for what he saw as betrayal, “They are nothing more than traitorous dogs, and will someday, be put to the sword” Martullus slammed his fist on the table,

He knew deep down, that wouldn’t happen. At least, not when he was alive. But he held the illusion just the same, 

“However, right now, we share a common enemy. If Stormcloaks soldiers, and for that matter, Breton Knights, can die in the place of loyal Imperial legionaries, then who am I to complain. So yes, i’m asking you to fight alongside them for the time being. That’s an order...” The time for vengeance can wait. We can't afford to make enemies of the Stormcloaks. We need them right now. Mark my words, however. Avitus. I will avenge Gracia my friend. That I sear…

Looking displeased by the answer, nevertheless, Horus nodded his head, “Yes sir.” Horus took a seat once more. 

Martullus glanced around the table, glancing at his fellow legionaries, “Anyone else?” The general’s brown eyes narrowed. Another voice, this time feminine, spoke up. This time Legate Aveilya, a Bosmer. She was very short, as were many of her species, but unnaturally skilled with the bow and was the only one in the room wearing light imperial armor, and carried no helmet with her. She had hazel-brown eyes, and tanned skinned. Attractive, certainly, though her feminine beauty was off-shoted by her hard stare, and military hair cut. “What are we doing about the traitorous Bretons, and there king?” She asked, quite simply, 

Martullus shook his head, “Nothing as of now. Though that might change, depending on what the Elder Council decides.” Like the Stormcloaks, Martullus bore no love for King Theodore, but military action against High Rock would be rather futile, and consume valuable resources. With the war with the Dominion so soon, conflict with High Rock, in his opinion, should be avoided at all costs. However, it wasn’t his decision, as he said before.  The legion may still be the strongest fighting force on Tamriel, but it, like the Empire, was in a sorry state, and needed time to recuperate. The culling of those who betrayed them needed to wait. The Dragon would rise again, but not now….

They had all been given reports about these various topics, earlier, but it seemed they wanted to hear from the general himself. Sorry to disappoint. Your bloodlust will be sated, i’m sure. The bosmer looked disappointed, just like the Nord from earlier, but she too nodded her head. They wouldn’t question their general decisions. 

“Now, since we’ve gotten this pointless drivel out of the way, I assume no more questions?” He asked. No one in the room spoke. “Good.” He added, before getting out of his seat. He told the assembled men and women, “Now you all have your orders. Deployment won't be for awhile , but I still want you all at your peak condition. As well as your men. Remember. Your are members of the second legion. I expect you all to hold that standard. Understood.” 

As if everyone was in perfect synch, the legates collectively saluted, and yelled, “Yes, General.” 

************
General Martullus was the first to leave, followed, and flanked by two members of his Dragon Cohort. He knew some of the Legates would want to discuss, what had been discussed at the meeting. He remembered when he wasn’t a general, soldiers would want to talk among themselves without their Co present. Nothing wrong with that.  While he trusted his soldiers, you couldn’t be too careful, especially with the attempt on the High General’s life so recent. Bodyguards made you look weak, but they were preferably to be gutted by some second class assassin. It wouldn’t be out of place for an Imperial General to be followed around by Imperial soldiers anyway. As the trio went down the corridor they passed countless legionaries, each stopping to sharply salute Martullus, which he returned in kind. The drab, grey stonework was certainly less appealing than the brilliant white marble of the Imperial City, but it had a certain elegance to it.  

The Fort they were in, Fort Aurilia had only recently been constructed, in contrast to the many, decaying, ancient fortresses that littered Cyrodili. With two layers of walls, twelve bastion mounted Ballista, and space to hold a garrison of over six hundred legionaries, the place was a true fortress, Constructed to act as a headquarters for the Second Legion, Martullus proudly called it home. Being so close to the Imperial City, meant the fortress could act as a secondary defense to the Imperial Capital, and allowed quick reinforcements to arrive to the city, just in case it came under attack. Or vice versa. 

Most of the Second Legion stayed in forts surrounding the city, but quite a few legionaries garrisoned the Imperial City alongside the Imperial Watch, moreso now that six cohorts had been deployed to the Elven Garden district to maintain order, and enforce martial law. Such Draconian methods seemed over excessive, especially since the flesh monstrosity had been destroyed, but precautions needed to taken, less riots start happening.

As such, Martullus, despite his status as a lowborn commoner (albeit, born to a well-to-do Merchant family, but a commoner nonetheless), had quite a few friends in the Imperial nobility, and merchant guild. As his men guarded the roads, and paths to the Imperial City, it was important to maintain good standings with the General. Less some of your precious merchandise disappear... 

Normally, after a meeting like that, the General would retire to his office, and do work till the wee hours of the Night, but today, he wanted to go outside, and inspect the troops. War was looming, after all. He needed to make sure his soldiers were in top condition.  

Finally leaving the dark, narrow corridors of Headquarters, Martullus and his escort reached the way out, which was a small room. A pair of very heavy, fortified with steel, oak doors were the reason the room existed, as it guarded the way inside the HQ.  They were under a stone archway, which had carvings of Wyrms, breathing large mouthfuls of fire from there jagged maws. Flanked on each side, were two legionaries. At the sight of their commanding officer, the two soldiers quickly saluted, and uttered a slight “General” as a greeting. Martullus returned it, as the two of them opened the door. Instantly, sunlight flooded the room, and caused Martullus’s eyes to be briefly consumed by white light. The change, from darkness, to light, was quite baffling.

Stepping outside, all kinds of sound assailed Martullus’s hearing. The sounds of wood, clashing against steel. Birds chirping in the distance. Cries of anger from Imperial sergeants, in response to a recruit messing up. As he entered the outside portion of the fort, a wave of heat instantly hit him. Despite being mid-spring, it was unusually hot, as was often the case in heartland Cyrodili. The heat was doubly so, as the General was wearing heavy armor, and a robe that covered most of his body. He didn’t really mind. As a flame mage, he was used to being in hot situations. 

The General and his escort were now in a courtyard. In the distance, the general could make out tents, stone towers, and other buildings, but in front of him, was one of three training yards in the Fort. This portion of the fort, which included Headquarters, the officer's quarters, The Second Legions record keeping archive, and other miscellaneous buildings, was suited on a large, square hill, and had it’s own, albeit small, stone wall. On each corner of the wall, on the top of four stone towers, sat a ballista emplacement. The gatehouse, which had a larger wooden gate, as well as a porticus led to the outer perimeter of the fort which held the six barracks, blacksmith, two mess halls, main armory, storehouse, and stables which was guarded by its own, much bigger, wall. Patrols of Imperial Legionaries made rounds 24-7, on both inner, and outer walls, more to do with routine, then any actual danger.

Many wooden training dummies littered the grounds, being wailed on by sweaty Imperial Soldiers. Around fifty or so, though they weren’t exclusively assaulting inanimate objects. Ten yards away from Martullus, a group of twenty or so, Second Legion soldiers did drills, practicing the standard formation that they would be in, god's willing, most battles. Each of the legionaries wore sets of Heavy Imperial Armor, and carried an Imperial Gladius. There Centurion, as shown by his blue horsehair helmet, stood in the front, barking orders to his subordinates, “Legionaries, stab!” He shouted, with an authoritarian voice all Centurion’s possessed,  

On his command, the first, of two lines pushed their large, rectangular shields forward, as they stabbed their Imperial Gladius into the flesh of imaginary Dominion Soldiers, with a cry of rage as they did. Seconds after the first stab, the legionaries reformed their line, perfectly. Martullus motioned for his escort to pause, as he began to inspect the column of legionaries. Clad in gleaming heavy plate armor, it seems they were the bread and butter of the Legion, the Heavy Infantry. 

The Centurion said, in a more collected, but still harsh tone of voice, “The Gladius is an excellent, stabbing weapon. The blade is designed to gut your opponent, and incapacitate them in a single strike. It is also, very competent for slashing, and cutting. However, when compared to the Scimitar, or the Spartha, it sucks your mother's ***** in regards to slashing, and cutting.”  He paused, before adding, “Make sure the initial stab kills them…Now!” He went back to his commanding voice, “Line two, advance!

The first line, still raising their shields, and blades, quickly melted behind, as the second line advanced through the small gaps, and became the first line.  The centurion, his eyes filled with anger, screamed, “An Imperial battle formation is a dynamic, wall of flesh, metal, and blood. The first line, is composed of the least experienced members of the Cohort, The new meat. Aka, you maggots. You're expected to hold, or die. The second line, is composed of the second least experienced soldiers and so on. If your commander happens to think you maggots deserve to be relieved, you better be able to withdraw, and let the second rank relieve you without breaking the line!!! If you can't do your job, the second line will advance, and crush your worthless corpse! You will not break formation! No matter the cost to yourself, or your brothers! Are we clear, runts?” The collective formation of legionaries shouted in unison, “Yes, Centurion!” 

“Damn right!” He replied. Glancing to his side, he had just noticed that General Martullus was watching the drill. Quickly standing at attention, and fully turning to face the high ranking officer, he yelled, “Auxiliaries, stand at attention! General Martullus is here!” The assembled legionaries straightened their backs, placed there shields on the ground, and saluted, shouting in unison, “General, sir.” 

General Martullus dashed forward, closely followed by his duo of guards, before settling in place a few meters away from the group, “At ease men” The soldiers relaxed, but still retained their impeccable posture. Martullus strided forward, pacing between the left side, and right side of the small formation. Inspecting the troops. Each one of the twenty legionaries, were rather young, mostly male Imperials, but a handful of females as well. There youthful appearance was offset by the dark bags of grey underneath their eyes, and cold, expressions.  

They were being born again as soldiers of the legion. There innocence must be sacrificed. They maintained facial expressions devoid of emotion, as they faced there general with absolute focus. He knew that everyone of these soldiers would lay down there life for him. 

A grin formed on his lips, as he spoke in a loud booming, voice,  By now, the entire training ground had there eyes fixed on the General, 

“Legionaries of the Second Legion. Heralds of the Dragon. I have witnessed your training drills, and I can safely say all of you will make fine soldiers . “  

Passable ones, I suppose,  The General though to himself, with a grin. Continuing, he spoke, "You showcase excellent discipline, and personal skill. Key qualities of an Imperial Legionary of the Second Legion!" He made his voice louder, so everyone in the courtyard could hear him "Your Centurions are telling you, that your strongest when surrounded by a Cohort of your brothers. They are right. What makes you different then a savage Stormcloak berserker whose blade is guided by bloodlust?  Or a Breton Knight possessed by his desire for honor?" He paused, the assembled soldiers glancing at each other. They shook there heads, one of them, farthest to the right of the first line, said, "What, sir?"  The General spoke,

"Your strength as a unit! When you walk, one legionary doesn't walk. The entire cohort marches to tread over the corpses of our enemies. When you form a Tsuedo, multiple shields do not raise or form up, but a SINGLE, protective barrier of Steel, flesh, and blood is enacted. A single blade does not piece the enemy, NO, it's a forest of blades, impaling the enemy unit." He stopped, his cold, brown eyes piercing and gazing into the recruits soul, "Am I telling you to be brainless, Dwemer automatons? Of course not. A good soldier needs to be able to think on there feet, and trust there gut. However, make not mistake, your strongest when surrounded by your brothers and sisters, all acting in unison."   By now, he held the attention of everyone in the training yard, and some legionaries  from inside the HQ, and outside on the inner wall had joined the crowd.  He used magic to amplify his voice, and make it sound as booming as possible, 

"You are not disgraced members of the Traitor Generals fourth.  Or soldiers of High-General Ceno.  You are part of the Second, peerless soldiers. My legionaries. The best, and brightest of Cyrodili. We are the Vanguard Legion. The first in battle, and the last ones to retreat. I would rather have any of you fighting alongside me, then any fighting force in Tamriel!"  He lifted his hand in salute, "I salute everyone of you!!! What is our motto?! What do we live by!? He yelled. In response, the entire crowd of legionaries surrounding the general roared in unison returning his salute with gusto "WE ARE THE DRAGONS TO YOUR SHEEP!!!"

Martullus's body shook with emotion, as pride swelled within in him. He was a servant of the Empire, but there were his legionaries. No one else. He yelled, "Long live the Legion!!! Long live the Empire!!!"

************

Martullus finished writing the letter,  barely after a few minutes of intense, penmanship. It seems that some Merchant's were reporting that bandits had ransacked one of there caravans near the Emperor's road. While Martullus was a very pragmatic person, he would never resort to actually hiring bandits to attack an Imperial merchant convoy. Still, his supervision ...would be rather lax occasionally. And when something did eventually happen, and it was reported to him, he would write a letter to the merchant hurt. Offer his sincere apologies, begging for forgiveness for his error, and offer his assistance and protection in the future. After a few months, he would have another merchant in his back pocket.  He would made sure the "bribes" would go back to his legion's fund, every little bit helped.  And through that merchant, he got another connection to the Merchant's guild. Which was...rather useful. If they were planning to do anything that hurt the financial stability of the Empire, he would know. 

The discovery that someone was actually stealing his legion's funding, was rather shocking. But Martullus was a smart man. The source wasn't hard to find., though that opened up another mystery to solve.  Although, he had the utmost respect for the High-General, this was Second Legion business, so he hadn't informed him. There were only two people on Tamriel that Martullus truly trusted. One of them was in Bruma. The other? On his way to meet the General. 

Suddenly, a knock on his door could be heard. 

Speak of the Devil, and he shall come...

"Enter..."  The door squeaked open, 

The forbidden atmosphere of the night was thick, and the darkness spread outside, in the Inner part of the fort. The moon was full, and casting unwholesome rays of moonlight across the Imperial Fortress. Truly, at this dark hour, this could be only one person-

"Hey, Martullus my man! How are you!?" 

And that gothic atmosphere was struck down, and the forbearance ruined by a single sentence, said in a cheerful, energetifc coming from a black haired man wearing spectacles. With a moronic grin, he waved his hand, 

"Damn it. Mavius. You ruined the bloody mood!" 

Going to the General's desk, Tribune Marvius Aquilla walked into the room. The Imperial officer was wearing the standard issue armor of a Calvary man, though instead of Spartha, he carried a Breton styled broadsword, it's sheaf decorated with rubies, along with a belt of throwing knives, from his shoulder to his waist. This was, unfortunately, Martullus's oldest friend. Marvius had served with Martullus during the first Great War, both barely of age to join the army.  Even stranger, they were members of different legions, Marvius being a member of the 8th.  While very fond of him, Martullus wouldn't have called him here if he didn't require his help. The Tribune was very good at finding things. Lost bits of information, forgotten to the annals of history. He needed him. 

Marvius laughed, a very annoying laugh, "It's Imperials like you who give us bad names! Always serious!  Relax! Your best friend has made time off his busy schedule to visit you! You should be damn grateful! Especially since..."  His face brightened with happiness, as he began to fidget and hug himself, "I'm missing time with my sweet, precious angel!" He became giddy, as he took something out of his pouch, "I've shown you the sketch I made of her, and her gorgeous mother, havenn't I? She's a little angel!"  

God's...not this again,

Without warning, the General suddenly took out a fully armed, Dwemer crossbow, gripping it with two-hands, aimed at the Tribune, his eyes narrowing with stoic anger. The tribune yelped, raising his hands in surrender, "AGHHHHHH, Martullus my man! What do you think your doing?!" 

He spoke in a serious tone of voice, "In war stories, you know what happens to the guy who talks about seeing there family again? They die first!" He dramatically pretended to pull the trigger of the ranger weapon, as she shouted, "BANG!!!"  Laughing, he gently put down the weapon. Marvius pretended to be angry, as he yelled, "What the heck, Martullus! Why the hell do you even have a crossbow in here?!"

"Yeah, it's odd. If I wanted to kill an intruder, I would just turn them into a sack of grilled meat. Meh. It looks cool...and if I ever wanted to kill myself, knowing i'm best fiends with an idiot like you, a guy that angry all the time, and an Orc who lives to eat red meat. its preferably to burning myself alive." He paused, before placing his hands on the desk, "Now, back to business. You know why I summoned you here, didn't you?" 

The Officer nodded his head, "Someone stole money from the Second's treasury, as discovered by dear Avitus. I guess you want me to track him down-

"No." Martullus said simply, "I already found the officer responsible. A centurion. Before I could question him, he lit himself on fire, screaming "I return to Zero." He tossed a small object to Marvius, who catched it in the air with lightning quick reflexes. Inspecting the object, Marvius's eysbrowns widened. It was a small, circular object, with a hallowed out center, in the shape of a Zero. It was made from a strange purplish metal. "This was the only thing of interest found among his personal possessions. I want you to find out what that zero means, and it's connection to the Legion." 

Power corrupts, absolute power... is a whole lot of fun!

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Raine

Raine had always been second in her life. Second to her older sister that inherited the family store. Second among Dales' maids as while she was trusted and liked, there were always someone that Dales favored more. Second mistress to the Emperor as despite her beauty, she could not really compete with Magdela nor Lilly. But today was not the day she would be second place, at least indirectly. 
It was Raine's day off and she was on her way to the arena for the big weekend fights. She was eager to see one of the newer combatants which she had begun to root for; a female Breton spellsword by the name of Arielle. A woman of both grace and power that Raine enjoyed to watch as the spellsword blasted her enemies with magic and cut them down with her ornate glass sword. It didn't hurt that the woman had some pretty looks as well. 

Raine managed to arrive relatively early to the Arena as the queue was rather short. She payed for a simple ticket and put a (for Raine) big bet of fifty Septims on Arielle. Raine was feeling confident about today and was assured that Arielle would win. 
Entering the stands Raine could see that it was rather empty with only a few people seated here and there. As the first couple of fights were only new bloods, and they were rarely any interesting to watch as they were often either a short or boring. Yet Raine liked watching in the hope that something unexpected happened, and arriving early also made so she could get one of the better seats with a good view of the arena. 

A bit later with only a third of the seats filled, the announcer began to speak with his magically amplified voice: "Ladies and gentlemen. Today we begin our arena games with a team of four proud men from the Waterfront District facing a mighty troll. Give a warm welcome to the new Pit Dogs: Berich, Drusus, Frink and Varus!"

Raine found it to be a bit strange for them to waste such a creature on some brutes from the slums. The four men entered the middle of the arena to the sound of the unenthusiastic applause of the crowd that was given more out of common courtesy than anything else. And they really looked like thugs from the slums; all looked rather crude and in the need of a bath, and only wearing some simple leather armor and the first two had wooden clubs, the third had a woodcutters axe and the fourth had a short sword in bad shape. 
Seeing the poor state that the combatants were in, Raine could see that they would most likely lose against the troll. Which she also assumed was what the arena arrangers probably intended. Raine felt a little bit of pity for them for that, but she also thought that they looked like the kind of filth that she wouldn't miss in any real way. 
The men looked rather confident as they looked up to the crowd, doing some light waving. Then the troll was released into the arena. The four men suddenly looked a lot less confident. Rushing forward the troll swung its arms wildly around at the men. One of the men with clubs wasn't fast enough to dodge and was hit in the head by the trolls fist so hard that if he didn't die outright from the hit, he was definitely knocked unconscious. The remaining three men began to assail the troll, beating it in uncoordinated attacks while trying to avoid getting hit by arms. They managed to get some good hits but they weren't hitting it fast enough. Then the troll managed to grab the swordsman by the sword-arm and proceed to rip it off the man's body. Scream and blood followed and the crowd began to actually show some interest in the fight. The second man with the club now began to shout and draw the attention of the troll. Whether he actually had some form or was just plain stupid was hard to tell but he succeeded in getting the troll to chase after him around a pillar.
The other second man standing picked up the sword and now wielded axe and sword in each hand. The man with the club was trying to use the pillar he was running around to keep a distance from the troll as well as to keep the troll from swinging to wildly in all directions. Though it looked a little silly with the man running a circles around the pillar, doing futile attempts at hitting back with only a wooden club. The second man managed to run up behind the troll and hit it so hard with the axe that it got stuck. The troll swung around like crazy with its arms in reaction, causing the attacker to barely dodge and fall to the ground. The man on the ground was now pretty defenseless as the troll stood ready fists down and crush the man. Just in that moment however the man with club ran up behind the troll, grabbed the stuck axe and began to yank at it while hitting the troll over the back of the head with the club. The troll swung around yet again but was unable to hit the man as he held onto the axe so hard that he followed it and was swung round almost like a ragdoll as the troll spun around repeatedly to desperately try to shake off and hit the man. Eventually the man lost the grip and was flung right into a pillar. The impact left him without breath and as he tried getting up, the last thing he saw was the troll's fist punching him straight in the face, crushing the skull against the pillar with a gush of blood. 
The crowd was being more and more riled up as the fight got more intense and bloody. People screamed for blood, some cheering on the last man standing, some for the troll to rip him apart in a spectacular way. 
The man last man alive was now up and tried to stab the troll in the back. It didn't do much more than anger the troll as it swung around with its arms yet again. But this time the man was prepared for it and ducked rather effectively. Then after the trolled had turned around they both stood face to face and with a quick upward thrust the man managed to shove the blade up the skull of troll. The blade got stuck and the man let it go to jump back in case the troll would still try to kill him. The troll however became slow in the movement and tried to grab and pull out the sword. But to no avail as it couldn't quite get it out before it collapsed forward with a loud thud. 
The crowd was silent for a moment, then a loud cheer broke out. The man raised both his hands to acknowledge the crowd and his victory. Raine herself couldn't quite believe what she had seen but applauded nonetheless on the man's achievement. 

"The trolls lies slain." the announcer spoke, even he not being quite able to hide his disbelief. "Three men lies slain and Varus the Trollslayer stands alone, victorious!" The man that must've been Varus then left the arena, not even caring about looking back at his supposed brothers in arms. 
There was short break after the fight to let a few ground workers carry out the bodies and wash up the worst of the blood. 

The second fight proved less interesting with only two people, both wielding shield and sword trying to fight but none daring to take any exciting risks, drawing the fight out to boredom. Eventually the crowd began booing the combatants for not having shed any blood. That caused one of the fighters to actually take a bit of a risk and jump at his opponent, swinging wildly. That however only met him with a quick end as his adversary took advantage of this and slashed against his leg. Crippled and down on one knee, he was quickly finished off by a final thrust to the neck. 
It was a rather anticlimactic end to the fight but people were at least rather happy that it was over. A simple applause was given and the fighter left the arena floor for it to be cleared for the next fight. 

The arena stands was really becoming full as the time drew closer for the veterans of the arena to enter the games. Raine was getting a little worried that some crude and filthy man would decide to sit down besides her. But then she heard a familiar voice: "Well look who's here. Hello sis." 
Raine turned her head and saw her older sister Lysyna approach and sit down besides her. She looked much like Raine, but slightly older and with same red colored hair but slightly shorter. Lysyna was wearing a well tailored dress in red and green.

"Hi." said Raine, trying to sound like she pleased to see her sister. 

"Have I missed anything interesting?" asked Lysyna.

"Some man from the Waterfront managed to slay a troll." Raine paused for a second. "Shouldn't you be running the shop?" 

"I got my husband to handle the shop today. Do you got one yet? A husband I mean." Raine could almost swear she heard a hint of smugness in her sister's voice. 

"No. I do not." replied Raine lowly, subtly moving her hand to cover up and hide her silver bracelet. 

"Well that's a bit of a shame."

Raine couldn't help but to feel like she was being both mocked and patronized. She was about to try to say something vaguely insulting back when the announcer spoke up again, and the crowd silenced. 
"It's time for our Bloodletters to show their great skills in shedding blood. She's been cutting them down with grace, she's scorched them with her fiery touch. Give a warm welcome to Arielle the Enchanted!" 
Raine had to really control herself from jumping up in front of her sister as she applauded when Arielle entered the arena. Arielle wore elegant elven armor and in her left hand she held her ornate glass sword. She was a rather slender woman and looked rather young, with dark brown hair braided and tied up behind her head in a little circle. With her right hand she threw up some flames in the air that twisted in elegant forms as she arrived at the edge of the inner red circle, getting the crowd even more riled up and cheering. 
"She'll be facing the great knight. The man that can crush you with a single bash of his shield. A knight with enough armor for two men. Clap your hands and welcome Brandr the Impervious!"
In from the other gate of the arena came a tall man, clad in so much thick steel armor that Raine wondered how he could seem to walk so effortlessly in it. He wore a long sword and a knight's shield with a turtle painted on it. He held both his arms up as he greeted the crowd that cheered and applauded his entry. 
"Now let battle commence!"

Arielle immediately threw a little fireball at the knight but she quickly blocked the spell with his shield with seemingly little effort. Then the big knight charged. Arielle tried to stop him with another couple of fireballs but the knight blocked them as well and just kept charging her. When the knight came within striking distance he was about to ram her with his shield but Arielle dodged out of the way in the last moment. She doused him in a stream of flame. The knight wash however quick to respond and she had to parry a strike from his sword and then quickly sidestep a bash from his shield. She tried to put some distance between the two but the knight was always pushing the offensive, forcing her to back away while just trying to avoid getting hit. 
The situation was tense and the crowd more silent than it used to. Raine herself was rather anxious about Arielle losing and hoped she would find some way to turn things around. Arielle was forced back till she eventually bumped her back one of the pillars. With a wide slash the knight tried to take advantage of that and finish her off, but she quickly ducked and disappeared behind the pillar. Raine let a small sigh of relief and noticed she had been holding her breath. 
Lysyna noticed this. "Bet your money on her?" asked her sister. 

"Yes." said Raine a bit reluctantly. 

"Gambling now are. How much?"

"Why do you care?"

"Can't have my little sister throw all her money away." said Lysyna and Raine could feel the sense superiority her big sister must be feeling.

Raine bit her lip, wondering if she should tell Lysyna. "I can do what I want with my money." said Raine, trying to sound confident. 

"That you can. But don't think I'll come to help should you end up in dept." Lysyna's gaze lowered and she noticed the silver bracelet. "Though you might not have to worry much about that. Say, where did you get that bracelet?"

"I bought it." said Raine, trying to sound unconcerned.

"You wouldn't have been able to afford such a pretty trinket."

"Will you be quiet. I'm trying to focus on the games." Raine was quite annoyed that her sister made it hard to focus on the fighting, which had now mostly been Arielle dancing around the knight and looking to maybe get the upper hand. 

Raine then felt her sister lean closer. "You bloody whore." she then almost whispered into Raine's ear with a sense of superior smugness. 

Raine suddenly didn't care about the games or Arielle winning any more and simply turned to face her sister. "What did you call me?" she said back, in a low but quite angry tone. 

"You don't have the money to buy such a thing. So you must either have been selling sex on the side, or slept with someone quite rich."

"I am not whoring." said Raine, trying to keep as low tone as possible to not attract attention from the people around. 

"Yes, you are. You're selling yourself to middle aged, obese men?"

Raine was furious at her sister and leaned closer in an almost forceful manner. "He's not some obese, dirty old man. He's the emperor. And he's damn well much better than the pitiful man you call husband." Raine whispered into Lysyna's ear. 

At first Lysyna looked quite surprised before she managed to collect herself. "He'll find a better woman soon enough, if he doesn't already have one. You'll be discarded and left alone. Time for you to stop dreaming and get a proper life."

Suddenly the crowd began to cheer and roar Raine turned to see that Arielle had managed to get her blade under the knight's helmet and now stood victorious with one foot his corpse. "Arielle stand victorious!" said the announcer with his amplified voice. "She has turned Brandr the Impervious to Brandr the Impaled."

Raine smiled and felt a sense of victory herself as Arielle had won. She turned then to face her sister again. "Good luck with your store and husband. I have a winning to collect." Raine then quickly got up and left her sister sitting behind as she made her way out of the arena. While Raine wished to see the rest of the fighting, she couldn't stand to sit next to her sister through it all. Also with Arielle now victorious, Raine felt that she had seen what she had come there for. 
Raine cashed out her one hundred Septims and went on her way back to the palace. But as she wandered she began to think on her sister's words. Lysyna was right that she wasn't the first to the Emperor. Should Lilly also take up more his attention she could be at the risk of being discarded. Part of her wondered if she should instead seek refuge with Dales. But Dales was busy with her child and now preferred Victoria. Raine began to think of what she could do. Slowly a idea and then a plan began to form in her mind. Raine knew that Krojun wasn't the most tolerable when it came to other men and that Lilly wasn't the most monogamous woman. If she could somehow frame Lilly for having been with another man behind the Emperor's back, she could drive a wedge between them. Then after the two had had their falling out, Raine could swoop in and perhaps comfort the Emperor in his feelings of betrayal. With the Emperor suckling at her breasts for comfort, she could use him to get vengeance on her sister.
Raine liked the idea more and more as she walked, feeling very clever for coming up with it. She felt a bit bad for Lilly as the two had been sharing bed and still did sometimes up in the palace. But the idea of having the Emperor at her own disposal seemed too tempting. Dreams of silk dresses, expensive jewelry, extravagant parties and glamorous nights filled her head of what she might achieve should she just be able to get rid of Lilly. 

Power corrupts, absolute power... is a whole lot of fun!

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Corrick Tilwald

Weye

Morning

 

Corrick was snapped awake by the sound of boots marching in the streets. Fearing the worst, he quickly threw on his robes, sloppily tied his boots, and gathered his bag in hand. How the Imperials knew he was coming he didn’t know, but he knew had mere moments before they would be banging on his door. He snuck a peak out the window, to see how many soldiers there were.  He saw dozens, enough to storm a city block, much less one tavern. But he breathed a sigh of relief when he noticed the soldiers marching in the streets weren’t coming for him, but were escorting a mounted figure toward the Red Ring Road. The grey-haired, armored man appeared to be a general, and when Corrick leaned far enough to look further, he saw what appeared to be an army waiting outside the town. Must be training he thought. Sitting down on the bed, he laughed at his own foolish thinking, but supposed that since he had an early start to the day, he might as well begin his mission.

He sat his bag down on the bed and went over to the wash bin. After rinsing his face off, he moved over to look at himself in the metal mirror. His hair was longer than he could ever remember, while his beard had grown in much more uniformly than he’d expected. But if he was to look the part of ambassadorial scribe, he could not be looking like a vagabond. Taking a knife from his bag, he sliced off most of his beard, leaving a now patchy covering on his face. Slowly, he used the knife to shaved that off, careful not to cut himself with the blade. Escaping with only a knick on his cheek, he then moved toward his hair. It was considerably more difficult, since he didn’t have a pair of scissors to do the job. With the knife, though, he was able to at least clean himself up, which would have to do. To hide the shoddy but not embarrassing job, he put on his robes’ hood.

As he left, he took the letter from King Adrard, and his recall scroll, and put them both in pockets on the inside of his light blue robes. He put the knife in its sheath, then hooked the sheath to his belt. After one last glance around the room, he left the tavern, and Weye. Gleaming above him like a great spear stabbing at the clouds, the White-Gold Tower was a wonder unlike anything he’d seen. Even the Adamantine tower could not compare. He walked the great stone bridge (which was impressive enough in its own construction) that connected the Imperial Isle to the mainland.  Glancing over at Lake Rumare, Corrick saw a familiar eagle swoop down to grab breakfast from the deep blue waters. Erer then settled on a rock on the island that served as the bridge’s halfway point. Corrick wasn’t worried about his companion, and continued across the bridge.

He reached the gates, and immediately asked a guard for directions to the Breton embassy. The guard looked at him with momentary suspicion, then said, “Head straight toward the palace, past the statue. It’s on your right. Just be careful you don’t get yourself embroiled with those traitors, mage.”

Corrick ignored the man’s parting advice and headed toward the statue, which was easy enough to see. Talos was restored to his pre-Great War glory, sword pointing mightily in the air like the triumphant victor he was. Already the morning crowds were bustling about the Imperial City, and Corrick was awestruck at the sight of so many people. Daggerfall seemed a sparsely populated hamlet in comparison. The disguised nobleman found it somewhat annoying pushing through the crowds, but eventually drifted toward the houses on the right.

The Breton Embassy was inside one of these houses, which had belonged to a Breton by the name of Jakaben Imbel. His heirs had left the Imperial City for High Rock sometime after the Oblivion Crisis, and eventually inherited the lordship of Wayrest. Afterwards, they donated their manse in the Imperial City to High Rock, to serve as a new Breton embassy, though Breton ambassadors dated back centuries. The Imbel family, unfortunately for them, did not last as long as their manse, as Lord Imbel’s very recent execution ended their line. Corrick knew all this from a very biased book the late Lord Imbel commissioned some years back, tracing his family history. It wasn’t a particularly well-written or interesting book, and rumor had it he ignored the fact Jakaben was vampire, yet here Corrick was, before the very same mansion that housed the Imbels family. While they ceased to exist, their former house would carry on their legacy for years to come.

As Corrick entered, he saw Erer land on the roof, his eyes tracing the crowds warily. Corrick smiled to himself, then passed between a pair of Breton knights who served as guards and entered the embassy. The inside of the mansion was lavishly decorated, with a great many colors assaulting the viewer’s eyes. Plush carpet covered the floor in various intricate patterns. Tapestries adorned the walls, depicting scenes of Breton heroics, while flags from all the major Breton families hung from the ceiling. Corrick noticed the places where the Imbel and Rolston flags presumably once hung were empty, evidently having not yet been replaced. A Breton man, who sat behind a table straight ahead from the entrance, greeted Corrick. He had shoulder length black hair and deep blue eyes, and wore clothes that, in High Rock, Corrick would associated with a merchant.

“Hello. May I help you?” the man asked.

“My name is Christophe Sele. I’m here to speak to the Ambassador about a job,” Corrick said.

The man looked at a piece of paper, his face scrunched in confusion. “I don’t have you down for an appointment.”

“Yes, we ran into each other yesterday. Our families know each other from High Rock. He said to come by and he would make time to meet with me.” Corrick gave a small smile, as if to say Sorry he didn’t tell you.

The man looked at Corrick, again at the papers, back to Corrick, and then said, “He should be done with his meeting in a few moments, if you’ll wait.”

The man motioned to a few couches, set off in one corner. Corrick thanked him then made his way over and sat down. As the man said, it was only a few moments before a woman came from down the stairs and left. The man said without glancing up from the document he was reading, “You can go up now.”  

Corrick ascended the stairs, and was ushered into a study by a pair of knights. Before he entered, they asked for his knife, and he gladly gave it over. When Corrick entered, the knights followed, and set themselves up on opposite sides of the door. Even though he knew it was likely they did that with all the Ambassador’s guests, it still made him nervous.

“Hello, Ambassador,” Corrick said, taking a seat in a chair opposite the desk behind which Manis Adrard sat.

“Who are you?” Manis asked, while giving the guards a not so surreptitious glance. Corrick could hear them take a few steps forward, and thought he heard their swords loosen in their scabbards.

“I think you should read this,” Corrick said, producing the letter from his robe. The Ambassador looked at it with suspicion, and opened it cautiously. Corrick could see, as Manis read, the man’s eye shift from suspicion to shock.

Before he finished, Manis told the guards, “Leave us.”

By the time they left, Manis had finished, and raised his eyes to Corrick. He seemed anxious, unaccustomed to discomfort, and Corrick noted a few beads of sweat on his brow. Anxious, sweating, fidgeting, the man is scared, Corrick thought. I would have though King Adrard's ambassador to be made of sterner stuff.

Manis said, “I won’t bother questioning the veracity of this letter. I recognize my cousin’s handwriting and seal well enough. But who are you, and why did King Adrard send you?”

“I was sent to give that list of symptoms to Endar Drenim, so that he might develop a cure for the king’s family,” Corrick said. “I think it better if you don’t know my name. No slight intended, of course, but I believe it is safer this way.”

“That is wildly unfair. If I am to help you, I think we should be on equal footing,” said Manis. Corrick thought he sounded a bit petulant.

“I’m sorry if you feel that way, but I have people to protect, Ambassador. You knowing who I am is a liability. Here, though, you can call me Christophe Sele. That will have to do,” Corrick said, making sure his voice reflected how obstinate he was.

Manis clenched his jaw, and turned to inspect some tapestry on the wall. Not making eye contact with Corrick, he said, “Fine, Christophe. Tomorrow, you may come with me to the palace. I have a meeting with an Elder Councilor. I doubt you’ll be able to slip off unnoticed, however. But if we repeat that a few times, I believe we can find a way into Master Drenim’s company. Until then, there is a spare bed with the rest of the workers here.”

Corrick took that as an invitation to leave, and he did, but not before taking the letter. Manis cast one more annoyed look when Corrick took the letter off the desk, but didn’t say anything. Corrick sighed when he left the room. He didn’t like lying to the man, but he needed to protect his family. Collecting himself before descending the stairs, Corrick took on the persona of a young mage who had just gained a job in the Breton Embassy. When he met the man at the table, he was positively ecstatic.

“You got the job, then?” the man asked.

“I did indeed,” Corrick said. “The Ambassador said you would tell me where the rooms are. I’d like to put my things away, before I meet some friends for lunch.”

“Through that door, then the door at the end of the hall. Congratulations,” the man said. “I’m Francios, by the way.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Corrick said. He flashed an appropriate smile, then disappeared through the door.

Power corrupts, absolute power... is a whole lot of fun!

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Boldir
The Pit Dog Inn

'Nordic Bandit Army Burns Riften, as told by the Last Black-Briar'

Boldir wasn't surprised by what he read, but that didn't make the news any better. Thanks to Sibbi and the Black Horse Courier, he now would have a lot more to contend with than the Dark Brotherhood and Black-Briar's mercenaries. And that wasn't even to mention the fact that Ulfric would almost certainly be sending someone after him as well.

The Nord let his head fall to the desk, fingers massaging the back of it as if they could relieve the massive pressure that was building up inside. Here he was, in the most populated city on Nirn, with no friends to speak of, enemies looking for him in every crevice, and he was still no closer to finding Sibbi or Mila. The article had conveniently left out those tidbits.
"You could try the author. He must have met with Sibbi somewhere."

Boldir lifted his head up. The flickering candlelight shone over his copy of the Courier, highlighting one name in particular, that of the author: Albecias Plebo.

Of course! Boldir snatched up the paper. It had been Baldur's voice that had whispered the idea into his ear. Of course it was Baldur! Magnificent, clever, wonderful Baldur! When I die I'm gonna leave my whole wagon of gold to you, Brother! 
Of course this was not a guarantee, but it was the best, no, the only lead he'd had since arriving in this gods-forsaken city. And there was something else as well, a possibility that could come from this that would be even more immediately useful to him than learning Sibbi's whereabouts. Yes. thought Boldir, Yes, this could work.

The Nord's mind was already racing with the various things he would have to do to ensure that it would. There are potions that could make this much easier. No telling what I'll have to deal with, after all. And I still have to find where this 'Albecias Plebo' lives. Shouldn't be too hard. Boldir let out a short, dry, bark of a laugh. What an idiot this man had to be, to include his name on an article that would attract a 'known killer'.
Imperials. And to think we let these people lord over us.
Boldir smiled and decided to get some rest. It was too late in the night to travel right now. The streets would be too sparsely populated at this hour, and as recognizable as Boldir was amidst groups of people, it was still far better than walking an empty road.

His dream that night was a strange one, even more so than usual. In it, he found himself on his knees in the Palace of Kings. It was night, and all but a few candles had been lit, leaving the hall shrouded in darkness. No king sat in judgment upon the Great Throne of Ysgramor. Instead, it was a Sibbi Black-Briar, smirking down at him.
"Guilty." Somehow, it was Baldur's voice that Sibbi spoke with. It echoed across the dimly lit hall. "Boldir Iron-Brow, I sentence you to death by assassination."
A high-pitched twang could be heard from the shadows, and for a brief moment, the room was lit by the burning arrow that flew toward him. It caught Boldir in the side, and despite it being a dream, the pain seemed real enough as the broadhead entered between his ribs and set him ablaze. He wanted to scream, but somehow Boldir knew that would only make the pain worse. After the fires died down, the Nord still knelt there, hurt but alive.

Sibbi seemed annoyed, but when he spoke again in Baldur's voice, the tone remained the same. "Guilty. I sentence you to death by your brothers."
A pair of Stormcloaks, fully armored and their faces hidden beneath their helmets, emerged from a side hall. They marched on him with swords in hand. But no sooner had they raised their blades to strike him than their arms gave out, and the swords came clashing to the floor. The soldiers followed in suit, collapsing right there at Boldir's feet.

He glared up at the throne again, feeling defiant, but this time Sibbi had been replaced by a dark figure, robed and hooded so that Boldir could not make out a single feature. Even so, his tormenter continued to speak with Baldur's unwavering voice. "I sentence you to death by lightening."
Boldir did not see where the flash came from. He had no time to avoid it, and had no means to defend against it. All that he knew was that the intense white bolt struck him him in the chest and sent him flying across the room. He lay there, unmoving.
And then, Boldir opened his eyes. He was in the Pit Dog Inn, the small hovel at the corner of the Arena District. Sunlight poured in through cracks in the wooden walls and reminded him that he had a plan to set in motion.

Still somewhat groggy from sleep, and more than a little thrown off by the intensity of his dream, Boldir fumbled out of bed and clumsily began to dress himself, first putting on some plain woolen brown trousers, and a a dirty white long-sleeved shirt with laces at the neck. He didn't like going into danger without his armor, but there was really no way to bring it into the city, let alone wear it, without attracting attention to himself. Instead, he donned a drab gray cloak with a hood to conceal most of his features, including the steel axe that he looped onto his belt. The last thing that Boldir grabbed was the small pouch of gold that he had brought into the city. It was a fraction of what he had, and he would need to go and fetch more before the day was done.
As ready as he would ever be, Boldir left the room and inn behind. He had preparations to make.

***

Albecias Plebo
Five hours later

Albecias looked out the window at the throngs of people in the streets of the Imperial City. He pitied them, all wasting away in anonymity. His last article was another roaring success for the famed author, judging by the two large Nords already beaten by a rabid mob seeking a bounty hunter's reward. Of course, as the bruises subsided, the mobs found neither were Boldir, the Butcher of Riften.

Albecias, for his part, was taking a short vacation, so as to avoid going to the Black Horse Courier office. He was no coward, he had put his name on the article after all. It was inconceivable to not put his name on something he'd written, as every article was another notch in his belt, all of which would drive him past Magdela Bathory as Cyrodiil's supreme author. Of course, when dealing with a crazed criminal warlord, it was best to be cautious, and the time away would allow Albecias to work on his next novel, about a series of disappearances in Anvil. 

Today, though, he would rest. He walked away from the window, setting down his warm tea on the table. After lunch, he might finish the latest piece of Bathory drivel. He always read what his competitors wrote, so he knew what he was up against. He moved over to the kitchen and began cutting up vegetables for some stew, when a loud bang made him jump several inches. Someone had kicked in the front door, and he could hear their heavy footsteps stomping into the house.

Albecias gripped the knife tightly, and called out, "Who are you, and what do you want?"

He knew who it was, though. He wondered if he could survive the jump out the window and onto the street. The author was about to leave the kitchen and dash for the window when a large, hooded figure stepped out of the hallway. He was a giant, even larger than Albecias expected. The man stood perfectly positioned, so that if Albecias tried to run past him to the window, or the door, the man could easily grab him.
"Boldir Iron-Brow, isn't it?" Albecias asked, still holding the knife in a white-knuckled grip. 

"Aye." came the man's reply. "Put down the knife."

Albecias knew having the knife wouldn't make much difference, but was too stubborn to give in. He lowered it to his side instead of setting it down. "What is it you want?"

"I'm here to keep you alive." the big Nord's accent was even thicker than Black-Briar's had been, but he spoke slowly enough to make the words clear. "I don't like having this window at my back. So we're gonna move into a room that doesn't have one. Sound good?"

"I don't have to listen to you," Albecias said, raising the knife up again. "If you're going to kill me, you can do it here."

That seemed to annoy the big man. "I guess you didn't hear me. I'm going to keep you alive. There is a Dark Brotherhood assassin who would very much like to silence you. Now put that knife down or I'm going to take it from you."

"What? Why? I did nothing wrong." He nearly yelled those last two words, angry and incredulous. Albecias lowered the knife slowly and placed it on the counter. His mouth fell slightly opened, forming a small oval, as his face drooped into a relaxed stupor. He couldn't imagine why anyone would want to kill him. He stood like this for several moments, forgetting Boldir was even there.

"Because you know where Sibbi is." The Nord said, cutting into his trance. "Now please, let's make this easy and go somewhere that an arrow can't find its way into our necks."

Albecias didn't answer, but walked back into his bedroom, his eyes starring off at something in the unseen distance. There were no windows into the bedroom, and only one door, which Boldir easily blocked with his body. Albecias sat on the edge of his bed and looked up at Boldir's brutish face. "Why does Sibbi want to kill me? Why do you want to protect me?"

"Sibbi doesn't want to kill you," said the Nord, positioning himself sideways in the doorframe so that he could see outside the room as well as in. "The assassin will kill you of his own volition, because he'd have seen me come in here, and he knows that if we meet, you will tell me where to find his employer. If he can't kill you before that happens, I'm a threat to his contract."

"You did this to me!" Albecias stood and jabbed his finger in the air towards Boldir. "If you think I'll help you, you stupid Nord, you're as wrong as you are ugly."

Iron-Brow had the audacity to laugh at him, dry and humorless as it was. "Sibbi did just as much, and yet you were all too happy to help him. I don't care what you think of me, but you will help me. It's the only way you'll live to write another article."

"What assurances do you have that the assassin won't kill me anyway?" Albecias asked, scowling at Boldir between glances at the doorway.

"Well if everything goes according to plan, I'll have killed him before he gets the chance."

"To use you as bait. But first, I would have you tell me where Sibbi is hiding."

Albecias pouted, crossing his arms and sitting back down on the bed. "He's in the Talos Plaza District." 

"That's helpful, but I need specifics. Where exactly is he in the Talos Plaza District?"

"You can figure that out yourself. I'm sure even for someone of your intellect it shouldn't be too difficult."

Boldir frowned. "This is me figuring it out for myself. Seeing as I can't go door-to-door looking for the man, you're my best lead."

"Why not just burn down the city. I've heard that's your preferred method for killing Black-Briars," Albecias sneered. 

"Do not speak on matters you know nothing about, Imperial." rumbled the Nord, his true anger finally showing, "I did not come this far to banter with the likes of you, nor do I have the patience to do so. Now tell me where to find Sibbi of your own accord, or I will make you."

Albecias's clenched jaw and pursed lips suggested his own displeasure, though the sweat on his brow showed his true feelings. "Fine. He's staying with an Elder Councilor by the name of Serivus Marillan. Facing the Talos statue, head left. His manse is about halfway between the statue and Temple District."

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" The big Nord turned and started from the room. "How many entrances are there to this house, doors and windows?"

Albecias grumbled to, before saying, "The window in the main room, plus a smaller one in the kitchen. That one overlooks the alley. The main door is the only one. Are you going to try and fight the assassin here?"

"That wouldn't be ideal. The assassin didn't follow me in here, not yet at least. So I'm going to assume that he is waiting for me to leave before coming to find out how much you told me. But you won't be here. We're going to exit this house together, but I am the only one who will be seen leaving." Boldir produced a small vial from his belt that contained a pale gray liquid. "This is an invisibility potion. The alchemist said that it would last ten minutes uninterrupted. Plenty of time for you to get clear of this place. When the assassin comes snooping around and sees that you weren't home, he'll believe that I never found you either."

"And if he comes back later? What am I to do then?"

"Give me a week, and I will make sure he doesn't come back later. In the meantime, you should stay out of the house. Find an inn to stay in, or maybe take a vacation. A winter's week in Bruma might be good for you, Imperial." 

"First you break into my home and lead an assassin here, and now you say I have to leave the city for a week? I may not be able to speak of Riften first hand, but after this, you'll find no sympathy from me, brute."

"And you helped a madman turn the whole of Cyrodiil against me. We'll both get over it."

"He seemed sane to me. You're the only one acting like a madman."

"Heh." the Nord left the room. "Let me know when you're ready to drink up."

Albecias began packing, putting a few pairs of clothes and plenty of coin, as well as some food, in a bag. He also put in a couple of books, and his writing utensils. After a few minutes, he returned to the living room, where Boldir was hiding out of sight of the window. "Where's the potion?"

Boldir nodded at the bookshelf just to his left, where the small container now sat. Albecias gave the vial a narrow eyed glare, before grabbing and quickly downing it. The potion tasted awful, like a tea brewed from rotten eggs, then filtered through soiled stockings. But when Albecias glanced down at his hands, they were gone. It startled him, though he should've expected it. "Are you leaving first, or should I?"

"I'll leave first. Stay close behind me and slip through the door before it closes. I don't know what it will take to interrupt the potion effect, so it'd be best if you don't touch anything until you're clear."

Albecias nodded, but it took him a few moments to realize Boldir couldn't see it. "Fine," he answered. 

Then if you have no objections, let's be off." The big Nord led the way to the front door. "Remember, stay close." With that, he pushed the door open wide and stepped through it as nonchalantly as possible. Before it could close, the author hurried after him.

Albecias looked at Boldir as he walked away, and momentarily contemplated following so he could reveal the man's identity, and show him not to mess with Albecias Plebo. But it would do him no real good, and likely get him killed, so he turned east through the alley, and headed toward the gate to leave the city. 

***

Boldir

The author had not lied. A brief stroll through the outskirts of Talos Plaza had been enough to confirm to Boldir that there was something going on. He could see deeper into the district through an alley between two large dwellings, there, Boldir could make out a pair of armed men patrolling the street like guards. But they were not guards. The steel armor didn't match up, and they carried themselves with a certain aloofness that was often found in swords for hire. No doubt he's turned this district into his own personal Riften. There will be no approaching him directly.

It was lucky planning that had saved Boldir from walking into this part of the city sooner. While he'd had no idea that this was where Sibbi was holed up, he'd avoided it for other reasons. Namely because it was a very wealthy and high-profile area, far more difficult to lay low in than the Market, Elven Gardens, or Arena districts. This will take some careful planning. He thought. But first, I must deal with this assassin. 
He turned and looked around. Below him to his right was a small pond that doubled as a moat leading up to the wall. In poorer parts of the capital, Boldir had seen locals bathing and children playing in these murky features. Here though, the water was clear and pristine, and there wasn't a man or woman in sight, save for those beyond the alley. What if he didn't take the bait? He could be watching me now, from some shadow. 
Hopefully he would know in a few hours. Turning away from the waters, Boldir set out for the outer City Isle. By the time he returned, carrying two small chests that had once belonged to Maven, the sun had fallen low and the moons were out. It would be dark soon, meaning that if the assassin had had plenty of time to go into Plebo's house if that was something he intended to do. Please work. thought the Nord as he headed back to the Elven Gardens, to a nice inn, or hotel as they called it, named 'The Golden Spruce'. Naturally, there was a shiny gilded tree painted onto the sign.
Inside, the decor was cozy enough. It was certainly nicer than any of the taverns and boarding houses he had stayed in these past few weeks. A large fireplace was lit at the back of the room, beneath a carved stone mantle. And the entrance hall was divided in half by a peculiar wall that only came up to his waste. On the far side of it was the tavern, with tables, servers, and a pleasant-sounding Nord girl singing in a low, but soft, voice.

On his side of the wall was a long desk, behind which sat an Imperial man who looked chipper enough, but his eye bags said he often went too long without sleep. He smiled kindly as Boldir approached. "Hello, M'lord, here for a night? Or just for some food?"

"I'm here to see my wife, Marthe." Boldir answered. "She's expecting me."

"Ah yes, Lord," the man hesitated, not able to stop himself from looking Boldir up and down in one swift motion of the eye, "... Rumpicus. Your wife told me you'd be coming."

Rumpicus? Really? "Aye, that was the plan. So where can I find my dear Marthe?"

"Her room is upstairs, third door on the right. Here's the key." The Imperial held out the key, which Boldir thanked him for and took before heading upstairs.

Sure enough, Marthe Lort was in the room waiting when he arrived, plopped up in a large, comfortable-looking bed. The filthy beggar did not at all look like she belonged in the fancy hotel room. The dirty rags she called her clothes must have been infesting the bed with lice and gods know what else, and the faint, pleasant scent of lavender was masked by a dirty foulness that could only be found in wild animals and the homeless. "I told you to take a bath."

Marthe grinned. She was eyeing the chests he carried. "I did."

Gross. Boldir entered the room, taking care to lock the door shut behind him. "Did it work?"

He had never seen someone smile so widely, with so many rotten teeth. "Oh it worked, M'lord. My little Jaclyn did a good job. But first," she wrapped her hands together, "your end of the bargain."

"Of course." Boldir set both chests on the dining table, and unlatched the smaller of the two. The beggar approached, only stopping when she was so close that her rank scent almost drew a stinging tear from his eye. Hopefully she'll use this to get cleaned up. Her and her kids. 
He pulled back the lid, revealing to Marthe the twenty gleaming diamonds that had been among the riches he had taken from the Black-Briar estate. "This is a fortune I'm about to give you." he reminded her. "Enough to purchase a home, if you wish. Feed your children well for a year. Clean up and open your own shop. Whatever you want to do with it. I don't care. But before I give you this, I want to hear the details, and I want them to be good enough to be worth it."

"Details I got, M'lord." she said, nodding furiously. "Like I said, Jaclyn did good. The man you seek, and it were a man, he dressed plainly, as you guessed. Not poor like me. A nice sort o' plain, like you see on a merchant. Had himself a red tunic and white trousers, with boots made of some black leather."

Boldir made a mental note of the boots. The clothes might change every day, but how many pairs of boots would he have? "And what of the man's build? Or his face? What race was he?"

"This is where I must apologize M'lord. Poor Jaclyn couldn't tell if he was an Imperial or a Breton. Her brother couldn't neither. But he was a little man, says they, like some Bretons. Thin of face and body, with tanned skin like an Imperial, and hair that looked somewheres between gold and brown. 'Cording to Jaclyn it weren't very long. He had it tied back, but the tail didn't fall even to his neck. Also, he had blue eyes. Of that, they was very sure."

"And since you never saw the man yourself, I'm assuming he went through the window facing the alley?"

"Yes M'lord. Real stealthy-like. Poor children, they hid down aways when they watched 'im go in. Only got close enough for a good look after 'e came back out and passed their way. But my children, poor children, they know how to see what needs seein'. There's no mistakin' that the man they figured out is the man you seek."

"Is there anything else you know that could help me?"

"That's it, M'lord." Marthe's eyes darted to the diamonds and back again to Boldir. She was fidgeting with her robe out of nervous excitement. "I'm hopin' I was more helpful now than last time."

"You were indeed." Boldir closed the lid and slid the small chest to her. "Fair well, Marthe. Take care of those children."

Boldir rented a second room that night, telling the Imperial downstairs that he could handle his wife's stink no longer. After baring the door and moving a wardrobe in front of the window, he fell onto the bed and passed out. As usual, his dreams were strange, filled with fires and creatures made of shadow. But when he awoke, Boldir felt well-rested and alert. He spent more of the day out in the city than he normally would have liked, but it was necessary for his plan.
First, he traveled to the northwestern edge of the Market District, where a series of four warehouses made up an entire side of one alley. It was one of the shadier areas of the district, quieter, and not so crowded as the rest. He could easily walk through this area without drawing attention. Plus, the folks in charge of the warehouses were very friendly to him once he showed them the contents of his second chest.

After spending a few hours in the area, he used the alley as a shortcut to reach the apothecary who had sold him the invisibility potion, and then proceeded to buy several more of the man's concoctions. Stepping back outside, Boldir cast a sweeping glance around the market crowd. Redguard, woman, Nord, tall Imperial, woman, pale Imperial...

Boldir continued walking down the street, keeping his head low and his body hunched in an attempt to mask his size, but his eyes remained alert, searching every face. This went on for some time. Nord, dark-haired Breton, Wood Elf, tall Imperial, short Imperial- He kept moving, even turned his head away, but his eyes had halted on the short Imperial man halfway across the block. The man's skin was tan, and his short, tied-back hair shined gold in the day's sunlight, though Boldir could see how it might appear brown in the shade. He was a slender man, dressed decently enough in a green tunic with brown pants. He carried a satchel, but what stood out to Boldir most were his boots. They were black leather.
Boldir smiled after he'd walked past the man. Found you. Turning on his heel, Boldir headed back to the alleyway he'd come from, where he'd be less likely to be seen. There, he waited, posting himself up against one of the warehouse buildings. Over the next couple of hours, plenty of people passed him by. Most of them seemed to be servants and runners who used the alley as a shortcut, though others were obviously criminals, intent on avoiding too much exposure, similar to Boldir himself. Very occasionally, a well-dressed man or woman would pass him by. He even recognized a few from his earlier search in the market. However, only one figure mattered to him, and as 'chance' would have it, that figure eventually appeared, walking casually down the alleyway. Boldir's head was low, and his face hidden behind the hood, but he could see the man approach and eventually turn at the alley's one intersection and start back toward the city proper. Nice try you bastard.

Boldir downed a foul-tasting invisibility potion and took after the man at a full sprint. The distance wasn't far, and he covered it before the Imperial had even come close to reaching the crowded streets again. "Hello there." Boldir said, grinning an invisible grin. His fist reappeared the moment it landed against the startled man's temple. He was unconscious before he even hit the ground. "Let's go someplace quieter."

The lighting in the warehouse was dim. There were windows, of course, but with the city wall on one side of the building, and an equally tall structure on the other, very little sunlight found its way in. Fortunately, there was a sconce on each of the four walls of the first floor, and Boldir had made sure to light them all in advance. Now that he had his captive inside, the first thing he did was use a length of rope to tie the assassin to one of two wooden support beams near the center of the room. It was a little difficult, as the Imperial's body was very stiff thanks to the paralysis potion Boldir had forced down his throat before coming here.

Next, Boldir searched the man's bag. Inside it were a stack of papers baring the Imperial seal, a sharp iron dagger, and several purple flowers that gave off an almost overwhelmingly sweet scent. Nightshade. So there's your poison.
He used the dagger to open a document's envelope. Inside it was some drivel about a property dispute. The next one Boldir opened contained a letter going on about a family's inheritance conflict. Is this part of his cover? The Dark Brotherhood must have access to an official seal. 

Boldir glanced over at the tied-up Imperial, and noticed that the man's eyes were now open, and watching him closely.
"Oh you're awake. I hadn't even noticed with the paralysis still in effect and all. Here," Boldir walked over to him, popped the cork out of another vial, and pressed it against the would-be assassin's lips. "This should counteract it."

The second that the milky green liquid was down the Imperial's throat, he was coughing it back up, but the dispelling was already in effect. "What- what do you want with me?" the man managed to sputter out.

Boldir snickered. "Don't try forcing that horse piss down my throat, assassin. I won't drink it."

To his frustration, the man's eyes widened in apparent terror. "Assassin? Oh gods, what are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about how you've been stalking me for weeks. How you poisoned my food and failed to finish the job. Now drop the act, because I have questions for you."

"I won't know the answers!" he persisted. "Please, please have mercy! You have the wrong man! I've never seen you in my life!" his scared eyes darted past Boldir, to the door, and he cried out, "Help! HELP! I've been kidnapped!"

Boldir punched him beneath the left eye. His fist broke the man's cheek, leaving a smear of blood in its wake. "Shut up. No one will be able to hear you out there. And I've basically rented this whole place until tomorrow. The others in the area too. It cost a fortune, but nobody has any reason to come down this way. Not even the workers. Now tell me, if I kill you today, how long will it take for your order to find out? How long will I have to take out Sibbi before they send someone else?"

"What order?" asked the man. "I have no reason to want you dead!"

"Gods you're annoying. The ones in Skyrim were so straight forward, all daggers and fire magic. I suppose this time the Brotherhood decided it was time to try a different approach."

"The Brotherhood?" The man gulped. "You... you mean the Dark Brotherhood? Oh gods... oh gods... sir, I swear, I swear on my life, in the eyes of the Nine, I would never, never associate with the likes of them. What will it take for me to prove it to you?"

"You can't." Boldir said. "You're a good liar, but I already know it was you. You see, you messed up. People saw you entering the house of Albecias Plebo a very short while after I had left it."

"Albecias Plebo?" Now the man looked confused as well as scared. "The author? I've never met the man in my life. I couldn't even tell you where he lives."

"Did you not hear me? You were seen entering the place."

"Who says that they saw me go in there?" asked the man. "Because I promise you, they were wrong. I spend most of my days back and forth between the districts, summoning people to court over civil disputes, but I never go into the houses and I've never been to the author's!"

"You're lying. The man who was seen was described to look exactly like you do, right down to the black leather boots."

"My boots? You're going to kill me because of my boots?!"

"And your size, hair, skin, and face. Not to mention I've seen you twice today already. You're following me."

"If you saw me twice today, it was a coincidence I assure you. Like I said, I travel all over the city. Did you search my pack? You must have seen the letters. There's one in there for every stop I needed to make today. Was taking a shortcut through the district when you ambushed me."

"Aye, I saw them. Among other things. So you have yourself a seal somewhere. A Dark Brotherhood assassin could have all manner of tools at his disposal. Especially one who relies on keeping his distance and using poison."

"I don't have a seal!" the skin around the Imperial's eyes had grown puffy and red. Especially the left one, beneath which a dark bruise had sprouted. He was looking desperate. "I swear I don't! Those are real documents!"

"And what about these?" Boldir scooped up the steel dagger and purple flowers and waved them in the man's face. "What good is nightshade to a man who delivers letters for a living?"

"Nightshade?! Those are squills! I picked them this morning, for my wife. She loves purple flowers!"

For the first time all day, Boldir's confidence wavered. No, he told himself, This has to be your man. He's a master of deception. That's all. Those are nightshade flowers, and the documents are fakes.

"And the dagger is for self-protection." continued the Imperial. "It's a big city, and lots of people carry them. My wife and daughter insisted I did as well."

Boldir's nostril's flared. "Your wife and daughter?" He punched the man again, in the same spot as before. "This is a game to you, isn't it, assassin? You played with my mind and now try at my emotions as well."

"What?" the man groaned in pain, "I don't understand sir, please, please believe me! I do have a wife and daughter. Their names are Sofia and Carcilla. If you kill me, you'll be leaving them without a husband and father!"

Boldir looked into his eyes, prying them for even a sliver of a lie, but he found nothing. Gods damn it! Boldir didn't buy it. He couldn't... But if he was wrong, if this was just some nobody, then that would mean that there was another man out there, still plotting Boldir's death. And probably laughing pretty hard right about now.
I may be sitting in front of an innocent man. Killing him would be every bit as vile as what the Black-Briars have done to me... But what if I'm right? This could be the killer, tied up right here in front of me. This could be my best- no, only chance to put an end to his hunt. He will not let his guard drop so low again.

You're betting on a man's life. What if you are wrong?

Boldir sighed and slid down against a crate until he sat just like his prisoner did, though a good deal higher. "What's your name, Imperial?"

"Agran, sir. Agran Niropus.

"Agran... You know, I once executed a man for treason. His name was Idolaf Battle-Born. It feels a lifetime ago now, but in truth it's been only slightly shy of two years. A few days before his death, Idolaf told me that he'd face it boldly, for as right or wrong as his cause had been, he'd fought for it longer than just about anyone. No Nord could deny that a warrior such as he would find Sovngarde in death. And that is what I told him seconds before cutting his head from his shoulders, that Sovngarde awaited him... What afterlife do you believe in, Agran? Assuming you are not an assassin, where would you be happiest?"

"Please..." the Imperial pleaded, tears flowing freely from his eyes, "All that I want is to go home. To never think of this again. To kiss my wife and hug my daughter as I never have before."

"I know the feeling." Boldir responded in a voice barely above a whisper. "Believe me, I know it well."

"Then you must know that I couldn't be lying, that I couldn't be faking this. Somewhere deep down, a part of you must believe me."

"Maybe." Boldir stood back up, casting his shadow across the Agran's face. "But it doesn't matter. If you are lying, and I let you go, you'll kill me. Then Sibbi will no longer need my daughter for protection, and he'll kill her in turn. I could gamble with my life, Agran, but not her's. Never her's." From beneath his cloak emerged the longaxe, its steel glowing orange as it drank in the torchlight. "If you are an assassin," Boldir started as the man began to cry again, "Oblivion take you. If not... I'm sorry. hopefully something like Sovngarde awaits."
In one fluid motion, clean and swift, the axe cut through Agran's neck, burying itself in the pillar behind him. Hours later, when the moons were high and the streets were dark, Boldir left the warehouse, unseen and alone, pushing a covered wagon that smelled of nightshade flowers... Or were they squills?

Power corrupts, absolute power... is a whole lot of fun!

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Karsh
Sunset

As the sun was about to disappear beyond the horizon, Karsh flew along alleyways and streets. With the big chested woman and his master being busy in the palace, he had no direct duties at the moment. His food provider and overall hostess was sleeping heavily in her bed. So now Karsh was out looking for something to amuse himself with. He looked for open windows or some fool to play tricks on. 
While Karsh had no magical ability to speak loudly, he had his innate ability to mimic sounds and thus words. It had taken Karsh some time to realize this as he had gotten so used to using his magical speech. Though no one else really knew, it was pretty useful for playing some of his little tricks.

When he passed an alleyway he saw a figure in plain clothes and a hooded cloak that only reached down the shoulders sneaking out of a backdoor. The person held a small pouch in the left hand and was moving very quiet. Karsh had seen a few such people in similar outfits here and there in the city. Karsh didn't care much about these thieves though he found it rather interesting that this one came out from one of the "shiny stores". The thief carefully looked out from the alleyway before heading out into the streets. Karsh followed from a somewhat safe distance. When a couple of guards came towards the thief from the the street, the little hooded fella slowed down a bit and lowered the head somewhat. The guards didn't seem to care for the person. Though Karsh decided to have a little fun and swooped down and landed on the store sign that the thief was just passing under. With as loud of a sound he could make, he shouted (not much louder than human speech): "Thief! Thief!", in the same tone he had heard some rough man shout it a few days ago. While it didn't really sound human, it was clear enough in meaning to get both the thief's and guards' attention. 
The thief seemed so confused and looked around almost in panic, not realizing at first it came from above. The guards seemed to not really notice that it came from Karsh as well, but instead they did notice that the hooded person was reacting quite alarmingly to the accusation. 
"Stop right there!" one of the guards shouted.

The hooded person immediately bolted down the street, prompting the guards to give chase. Karsh lost sight of him a few seconds later when he ducked into another alleyway. But Karsh was not deterred and followed as did the the guards. 

The thief was quick, Karsh had to admit. He immediately turned one corner, then another. The guards only spotting him at the very last second. From above, he noticed the person fumbling in his pockets for something, but even with his superior vision, he could not quite make out what it was.
"Split up." one of the guardsmen yelled, as they reached a branching path that looped around a building. They had seen the thief go left, but they must have known that the paths met up further onward.

The thief maintained a solid lead over the guard who kept on his tail. He leapt over a broken sewer grate in one spot, and knocked over a barrel in another, sending hundreds of grapes cascading across the grass. This only slowed the pursuer by virtue of how surprised he was. The guard's heavy boots easily stomped through the little green fruits without slipping.

The thief and the guard were coming up on another junction in the alley again, and so Karsh flew even higher to see both approaches. Sure enough, the second guardsman had already reached this point, and was standing around the corner in wait of his prey. When the time came, and the thief arrived at the crossing, he practically pounced.
The startled thief only just barely managed to slip from the man's grasp, though the brief struggle did buy the chasing guard enough time to reach the scene and surround him.
"Stop right there, criminal scum!" the man roared between deep breaths. "Nobody breaks the law on my watch!"

"You'll pay the court a fine or serve your sentence." said the second. "Your stolen goods are now forfeit!"

It seemed that the thief was caught, until to Karsh and the guards' surprise, he pulled out a small bag flung the contents, a small shower of cold coins, into the exhausted guard's face. The confusion this created was enough to buy the thief a precious moment in which he ducked past the man and bolted back into the crowded streets. Karsh followed. The guards tried to follow, but the thief was already walking in the middle of a thick crowd, lost from sight.
"I'll collect the gold." one of them muttered. "At least we can return it to the owner."

"Still, makes me sick knowing that the scum got away."

The bird cocked his head as he saw the thief slip out of the crowd and move toward the gate leading out of this district. Following, he watched the little man pass into the part of the city with the big round building that men killed each other in, where he stole away behind a small inn and threw back his hood. To the bird's surprise, he wasn't a man at all, but a girl, young and scraggily, with long dark hair and brown eyes.

Karsh landed on the edge of the rooftop and despite being a little disappointed in that he didn't get his talons on any new shinies, he did want to gloat a little in a prank well done. Looking down on the girl he began to laugh at her with his croaking. 

It obviously startled her, as she jolted up and began looking around. It took a couple seconds before the thief's eyes turned to the rooftop and spotted him, and it clearly surprised her to find it was a bird who mocked her, but after a few seconds of staring, she seemed to overcome the shock. Eyes never leaving Karsh, the girl slid back down to her seated position, where she just sat, taking in his croaky laughter.
When the bird had finally had his fill, the human still watched him with a look of curiosity written across her face. "Did you do that?" she suddenly asked.

Karsh nodded widely in a reply so she could see it clearly. If Karsh could, he would also have had a big grin plastered on his face. Instead he croaked something akin to a chuckle after he was done nodding.

The thief's eyes widened in surprise, as if even though she'd spoken to him, a response had not been expected. "You're not... I'm talking to a bird. What are the odds that..." she paused for a moment, "You're not Karsh... are you?"

This startled Karsh. He didn't quite remember ever seeing this girl. He tilted his head as he looked at her as he tried to remember. Then tilting it to the other side for another moment. With a burning curiosity for a closer look he stretched out his wing and jumped of the rooftop, slowly gliding down till he landed in front of the girl. Though Karsh still kept a safe distance from her as he kept examining her from this new angle. 

"You don't recognize me? It has been a long time." The girl looked at him hopefully, but with some reservation. "I heard you back there, in the market. Why did you tell those guards that I'm a thief?"

"Thief." Karsh croaked again as he partly wanted to say that he had only stated the obvious back there. He jumped forward, closer to her and tugged a little at her sleeve as he wanted to use her arm to climb up to her shoulder. 

"That's right!" she held out her hand to allow him up. "Come on, then."

Climbing up her arm he placed himself on her shoulder where he spoke into her ear: "You were that little one on that wagon up north, right?" he said with his deep voice. 

"So you do remember... Aye." she said quietly. "That was me. How did you- Why did you follow me today?"

"Thieves steal shinies, I steal shinies from them. Simple as that. So why do you steal shinies? Did your family go bankrupt?"

"Yes, actually... And what about you? I mean you're a bird. What good are they to you?"

"I just like to collect them. Many humans like to do so as well, so I don't see why you would think it strange."

"Well I don't collect them." the girl paused. "You know you almost got me caught back there. Is that a normal thing you do?"

"Not like that. First time I tried to get a thief caught like that."

"Well thanks for that. I won't have to worry about you following me, will I? Getting me caught again?"

"Probably not. Though if I see you thieving shinies and don't recognize you... Well you must have really bad luck then."

"I think I've already got plenty of that." The girl frowned then, as if deep in thought. "So I remember you talking about your master down here. Do you live with him?"

"No, I live in the house of a... friend of his. Still talk with him on a nearly daily basis."

"I see. I've never actually met a wizard before. Makes me wonder what kind of house someone like that would live in is all."

"Towers seems to be popular choice for wizards. I know that some wizards live in the big tower outside the city. Boss lives in the biggest tower in the middle instead."

"You mean the palace?" that seemed to come as a great surprise to the young thief. "You're not kidding are you? You know I bet there's a whole bunch of shinies up in that tower."

"I know. So does his friend's house. Though of course I ain't allowed to steal from either boss nor his friend."

"And what about everyone else? It's a big place." the girl smiled. "I mean, you're not exactly what the guards keep an eye open for. You should have a nest made of gold by now."

"I have a stash filled with shinies." said Karsh proudly. "But still aint allowed to steal from the big tower. Boss owns it."

"Owns it?" The girl looked at him curiously, but then shook her head. "What about the people who go into the tower? The old men and women who don't live there, but meet to discuss the Empire and such? They wear these bronze amulets," The girl used her finger to draw a diamond in the mud and poked a hole at the center. "Like this. They're not very shiny, but they're good for other things. Do you think you could get your han- err, talons on one of those, or would that be off-limits as well?"

"Hmm. I'm not sure. Might have to ask boss about that."

"I don't see why he'd care. Or why he'd have to know. Come on Karsh, I gave you lots of food up in Skyrim. I could do that now too if you want. Or more shinies. Ones that look nicer than the amulet anyway." She dug into one of her pouches and produced a gleaming silver band. "See? It's a good trade."

"Shiny indeed." said Karsh, slightly hypnotized by the silver. "Depends. Do you know where to find these people?"

"They come and go from the big tower." she said. "You can tell which ones they are by their nice clothes and personal guards. You could follow any one of them home if you wanted."

"Then what? Stealing jewelry isn't easy if it isn't laying around inside a room with an open window."

"It isn't something that you'd have to rush. You could wait for an open window, or however else you want to go about it. Get me one of those amulets and I'll get you better shinies, and maybe some other treat if you want."

"I'll try, but no promises."

That excited the little human. Smiling, she said "That's all I'm asking for."

"Now can I get that shiny from you as payment for trying?" Karsh looked closer at the silver, thinking about maybe just stealing it then and there.

"You haven't tried yet." The girl closed her hand around the ring and smirked. "I'll reward you once I've seen the amulet. Can't afford to do anything else."

"So when and where shall we meet next time?" said Karsh, trying to not sound annoyed by the fact that he didn't get the shiny. 

"How about here, at midday one week from now? If you don't have by it then, we can try again the week after."

"Okay." Karsh then paused for a second. "Will I get anything before I leave?"

"One moment." The human rummaged through her pocket again and picked out what looked like a small, flat pebble. "Ahh, I didn't exactly come out today prepared to run into a talking bird. 'Specially not one that I'd be inclined to share with. Don't suppose you'd want a water skipping rock?"

"Meh, not shiny enough. Keep it."

"I figured. Still, thought I'd try for old times' sake. It has been strange, but good to see you, Karsh. Certainly never thought I would again. That's for sure."

"Well bye then. I got more shinies to gather." Karsh then jumped off her shoulder and flew up into the air, high above the rooftops. Karsh knew he'd have to consult his boss on which Elder Councilor he would be allowed to steal from. But he was in no hurry to go ask as boss would hate being interrupted when he was bumping the spymaster, nor did Karsh want to see the bumping.
Then as Karsh flew over the Talos Plaza District he saw another hooded figure exit through the backdoor of a building, carrying a small pouch in the left hand. With glee he flew down to follow the most likely thief, intending to see if he would have better luck this time. If anything else he would probably at least get a good laugh.

Power corrupts, absolute power... is a whole lot of fun!

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Avitus Agrippa, 
Bruma, Frigid Wastes, 
Night
,

The blaring cry of war hounds echoed, as did Avitus’s heavy breathing. The distinctive sound of an Imperial horn, was regimental, rigid but not overly loud, giving off a commanding tone.  Even after decades of wearing heavy equipment, the blasted stuff still weighed him down. The only thought he had in his mind was to reach the encampment. Between the sounds of his men screaming in terror, the most terrifying, horrible, noise erupted from the camp. It sent shivers down the Legate’s spine, It sounded like something from his nightmares. One thing was certain, he needed to get there soon, and fast.  His men were counting on him. Behind him, going as fast as him the two Immunes, and the Tribune trailed behind.. There speed may have been slightly dampened by the knee high snow, but they wouldn’t let that stop them from reaching their destination. 

The blizzard had picked up, but Avitus knew where to go, even if his vision was clouded by flurries of snow. He just needed to follow the sounds. As they approached the camp they spotted a sight of the wooden palisade, even with their vision clouded by white, they could tell the defensive structure had been breached. The wooden gate was nothing more than a makeshift barricade to ward off predators such as wolves or bears. Whatever had smashed a portion of it down, was no simple animal, and going by the size of the gap it made, was massive. Slumpt on the wooden walls side, a legionary coughed up sanguine blood, gripping his blood-soaked intestines, which were leaking from his stomach. Rushing up to him, the trio surrounded the downed soldier. Avitus gripped his shoulder tightly, as he asked, his voice surprisingly warm, and soft, “Auxiliary, what in Arkay’s name happened? Who did this too you?!” 

The legionary barely managed to stutter out, “Legate...Agrippa? Thank the gods...you're...alive….”   Avitus gripped tighter, as he gently shook the dying soldier, “Come on stay with me soldier!”  The legionaries light brown eyes faded, before regaining a bit of focus, as he coughed up another mouthful of blood. He was very young. 

You could tell by his stare, “A…. beast sir...a daemon of darkness….it broke through are defenses like a blade cutting through grass... “ He paused, taking a deep breath of air, before continuing, “I still remember those...terrible fangs….Prefect Bear-Breath was rallying us when it….gutted me with it’s claws….” His pale face gave a sad smile, “I ran.” He admitted, “By the time I got here, I noticed my body was going entirely on adrenaline...the end results you can plainly see…I failed in my duty…”

“You did, auxiliary.” Avitus said, almost sad. He spoke solemnly, “Your cowardice shames the Cohort, and the Dragon of our Legion.”

The wind howled, among the blizzard. The snowfall blanketing the area in white. Letting out a grunt of pain, the auxiliary cried out, his body shivering, “So cold sir...i’m so cold….” Interrupting the two, Tribune Jiub placed his hand on his commanding officer's shoulder, saying, “A skilled healer will do little for him now. We cannot linger, the rest of the Contubernium needs us.”  Sighing, Avitus muttered, “I know.” The legionary gripped Avitus’s arm in an iron vice, saying, “Please don’t leave me here, sir. Forgive me, Legate Agrippa.”  As if in a trance, Avitus rose, drawing his silver gladius. Jiub’s face looked blank, but his voice was surprised, 

“What are you doing?” 

“Doing my duty.” Avitus without warning, slashed the neck of the auxiliary with his blade, spraying crimson blood over the pale white snow, and wooden wall in a delayed burst of sanguine.  The strike was instant, as was the sheaving of his blade. The already mortally wounded legionary, expired in practically a second, as the shock of having his throat cut open was too much to bear. Kneeling. he whispered, “I forgive you, rest now, soldier of the red legion.” The last look he gave was one of betrayal. The trio behind him said nothing, but you could tell they hadn’t expected what they had witnessed

Before getting up, Avitus’s removed his helmet, and smothered the dead soldier’s blood all over his face, the salty liquids taste linger in his mouth, before putting his helmet back on. Just as he did, another blaze of a warhorn sounded, causing Avitus and the others to rush from the scene, without another comment, and into the basecamp. By now, the group of men were depsperate to reach the battle that was certainly raging  inside, so the harrowing weather was seemingly ignored. 

“Hroar, ******* wreck it!!!” Suddenly, the voice of Prefect Judaue reached Avitus’s ears, the chilling wind dying for a moment. Things that sounded distant before, were now perfectly legible. 

The sounds of steel clashing, men screaming, and beasts howling assaulted Avitus’s hearing, as he rushed forward, through destroyed supply crates, and cast aside tents. Although, moments before, the blizzard, along with it’s horrid snow, cloaked the camp in a haze of white, the subdued wind falling, seemingly caused a good deal of the snow to slow, and reveal the camp. 

In the center, a battle was raging. All of the Contubernium was assembled in half-formation, weapons drawn. Perfect Hroar, and Perfect Judea were in the front, leading the formation of men. Avitus used the word “half formation” to describe the bastardisation of an Imperial battle formation he saw before him. The lines weren’t even, with the right flank being completely non existent. Spearmen, crossbowmen, and swordsmen lingered freely with each other. The shieldwall that was to be expected consisted of a handful of tower shields raised upward, with most soldiers bearing only their weapons. Hroar, his brown beard covered in frost, wielded his greataxe, the monstrous weapon double edged, and made from steel. 

To be expected, Judeau was right beside him, wielding a Spartha, and a tower-shield, with his trademark hand-crossbow safetly tucked away on his leather belt. The legionaries bore there equipment heavy, with faces of exhaustion, and pure, unbridled fear had taken its dreaded grip on them. When Avitus saw what they faced, he instantly knew why his brave, trusted men, displayed something legionaries were never supposed to express. The  imperial-templar armor clad men of the Imperial Dragon Cohort faced nightmare incarnate. 

Beyond the column of soldiers, about a hundred feet away, and amidst the torrent of snow, a horror awaited. 

Long-mawed, and massive, a wolf-like creature roared, The beast was a good twenty feet tall, and clad in white fur. Sprouting massive, disgustingly skinny, yet muscular limbs, one could clearly see it’s hair was imperfect, and much of it’s body was naked, with a handful of white, long strands coming from the naked skin. Each limb, both arm and leg, ended in gigantic, sharp claws, colored in the blackness of the abyss, with splots of crimson blood sprayed over them. For a head, the monster seemed to have a skull of a great deer, but that couldn’t be the case, as the skull was over a long, disgustingly narrow maw, if it was monstrous crocodile. Hundreds of jagged teeth lined the mouth, and it was frozen eternally in a horrific wolf-like grin. The creature was hunched over on all fours, screaming in garbled tongues at the soldiers of the Legion. It’s movies were erratic, and violent.

The sight of the monster sent jabs of fear into Avitus, but he pushed forward to his men. His companions, similarly shocked by such grotesque horror. Followed behind.  Pushing his way through the unit of Imperial Soldiers, Avitus made his way to the frontline, and too Perfect Judea. The two Immunes had fallen to the back, with their longbows drawn, already notching ebony tipped arrows, while the Tribune followed closely behind Avitus, his hand filled with flame. Going beside the Prefect, Avitus asked, his voice as cold, and emotionless as usual, “Report, Prefect!” Judae’s gaze was glued on the horror in front of him, as he said, his voice betraying his usual carefree attitude, 

“Were quite fucked, sir. That’s my report….” 

The monster howled once more, briefly standing up on it’s hind legs. The unspeakable noise that emerged from it’s twisted throat, seemed to be a mixture of animals, most noticeably a wolf and a fox. The soldiers around him shuddered, as they began to talk among themselves, 

“Talos protect us…”
“We cant fight that thing!” 
“We can take it!” 

Avitus, his brow covered in sweat despite the freezing temperatures, yelled, “Tribune Jiub, what the hell is that monster!?” 

The dumner responded nonchalantly, and professionally, despite looking clearly unhinged, “An abomination of Hircine, I presume, Legatus. The animal motif, and deer-skull iconography certainly point to that. Some kind of twisted Lycantope I summarise. Although from ancient texts i’ve read, I know there's far older, and more terrible beasts that stalk the Hunting ground then simple werewolves.” 

Avitus asked deadpanly, “Does that look like a werewolf to you, Tribune?” He eyed him with skepticism, “No sir.” The dark elf inspected the macabre scene before him, talking in every little detail, and absorbing as much facts as he could with a simple look. Despite Avitus being a very cable strategist, the officer relied on the Dumner’s uncanny ability to examine any battlefield, and gather the weaknesses, and strengths of the combatants. Watching the abomination intensely, a grin formed on his lips, “It’s hesitating... “ The monster roared in rage, but every time it seemingly made a move to charge towards the imperial line, it stopped. “It’s the silver we’re wearing….” Avitus briefly glanced down, indeed, Imperial Templar armor was made from the valuable metal. Jiub’s face lit up in a “eureka” moment, “The devil is weak to silver! Of course! Daedric beasts, especially ones of Hircine such as Lycanthropes, have an acute weakness to the metal. This gives us time to form a plan...though we should hurry…” He paused, “Every time it hesitates, it still takes a little step forward. I think it will overcome its fear soon enough.” He was right. The monstrous wolf-like beast was edging closer, ever slowly to the Imperial lines. Jiub muttered, “What should we do, Legatus?”

Tis, a walk around the snow paved park. Nothing more…

Avitus’s grabbed the whistle around his neck with his mouth, and blowed into it, causing the familiar screeching sound of an Imperial Officer's whistle, which echoed, and overcame the howling. The assembled legionaries, some of them just noticing their leader had rejoined them, glanced at the Legate. While they were all scared, they were quite happy to finally have some concrete orders. Avitus drew his blood soaked gladius, and pointed forward with the blade, speaking in a commanding, authoritarian tone of voice, 

“Legionaries Senitores! Hold your positions, form up in formation!  Men with shields, up to the front, and form a shield wall, half-circle! Archers, and crossbowmen to the rear! Everyone else, go to the middle!” 

Everyone assembled, shouted in unison, “Yes Legatus!” Soldiers without shields melted to the back, while one’s with shields, whether they wielded spears or swords, advanced, forming a solid wall of flesh and metal with the others already in front. Armor gleaming silver, they legionaries raised there tower-shields and planted them firmly in the snow. As the Legatus ordered, the formation utilized by the front line of shields was a half circle, covering the flanks. Jagged spears of ebony, and dark gladius formed a sharp edge of the defense.  

The men behind the shield wall, the ones who didn’t have a chance to grab all of their equipment during the chaos that followed the beast attacking, prepared for battle, spearmen wielding their weapons with two hands for maximum force and damage, and swordsmen readying the blades they wielded. They archers, which included the handful of legionaries who wielded bows, and crossbows, took up positions just behind the unshielded infantry. After that was done, Avitus once more raised his ornate gladius, and ordered “Shields, stay infront! Infantry, form two rows right by the two edge of the shield-wall, Stay crouched, and face each other! Archers, advance to the front, and stay right behind the shields! Be ready to fire on the mark of my whistle, and be ready to jump to the safety of the unshielded infantry on the second whistle blow!” 

They assembled soldiers all looked confused, but nevertheless did what they were told. Curious, Jiub asked, “Shouldn’t we have the unshielded infantry reinforce the wall with their weight? I doubt the shield wall will hold in it’s state.” In response, Avitus smiled, “I intend for the shieldwall to fall.” Jiub’s eyebrows raised, “What?” Avitus eyed the dumner harshly, “Do not question my orders, Tribune. Just be ready to unleash hell.” Jiub nodded, “Yes sir…”  
 
Avitus went up to Prefect Hroar, who was on the left downward line, in the middle. Avitus said, “Prefect, I need your assistance.” The nordic legionary said, “Anything, sir!” Avitus pointed towards the middle of the formation, right behind the shieldwall, and archers, “I need you to take position there! When the shieldwall melts, you are to toss that axe with all your might at the target, preferably at it’s skull-head!, and at the last second jump out the way!” Nodding his head, Hroar made his way to behind the shield-line, and readied his axe, “I’ll make the wolf-fucker pay, sir!” 

Avitus sharply responded with, “That’s what I like to hear soldier, get it done!”  Avitus quickly took position at the front, joining the shield wall. His eyes darted to the beast in front, whom was seemingly about to charge. It reared its hind legs, letting out primal screams of hate, and despair, Saliva oozed from it’s mouth, and it’s soulless, husk of eyes, which were nothing more then big skeletal eyelids on it’s skull, looked hungry, if vacant.

Oh great. The puppy wants a snack…

Avitus yelled, “ Center shield-wall, when that lumbering beast is breathing down your neck, drop your shield, and jump to the side!” He raised his voice so everyone around could hear him, “Hroar will ground the fucker! Even if it’s nothing more then a second, we’ll have the chance to surround the beast, and lay waste to it! Once that happens, don’t stop for anything, wail away on it, cut it, stab it, slash it, rend it! No matter how horrifying it looks, it is one, we are many!” He screamed, his voice resolute, “Now soldiers of the second legion , what do we live by?!” 

Every Legionnaire there yelled, the ones with shields banging them with their weapons as they did, “We are the Dragon to your sheep!” Fear had finally left their bodies. They placed their full faith in no god, but their leader, their commanding officer. And that commanding officer placed his full faith in them. A legionary was nothing without his officer. And an officer was nothing without his men. They could do this, together.  They had learned it in basic training, but carried it throughout there lives, a legionary of the Empire was strongest when he surrounded by comrades, and despite the bleak nature of their situation, they were still many of them. They fought not as individuals but as one unit. A single sword wielded by everyone in the Cohort.

At that display, the monstrous wolf-like beast screamed it’s horrible cry, and finally, charged forward. Running on all fours, the monster, despite it’s size, was lighting fast,so fast it seemed like a giant blur of white fur among the snowfall. Avitus without wasting a second, let loose the first whistle blow, behind him, the dozen or so archers let loose a volley of arrows and crossbow bolts, which stormed towards the monstrous. The horrors hide was like steel, but ebony could pierce steel. Yelping out in both rage, and pain, the arrows and bolts hit their marks perfectly, but the monster, despite being wounded by arrow-fire, made no signs of slowing down. All that did was make it angrier, after confirming the arrows had hit there mark, Avitus blew the whistle once again, not risking another hail of arrows. The archers threw aside their ranged weapons, and ran to the side, drawing their daggers, and gladius as they joined the two lines. 

The beast was very close now; the screaming so loud it was causing immense pain to the ear drums of the soldiers. Hroar readed himself and his axe, lifting the massive weapon, overhead. He would only have one chance at this. 

As the beast was a few meters away from them, it’s wild charge almost at it’s destination, and point of collision, Avitus screamed at the top of his lungs, “NOW!!!” He dove to his side, as did the rest of the shield men around him, barely managing to avoid the horrors mass by a single inch. In response, Hroar let out an ear-splitting warcry, heaving the two-handed weapon of destruction and tossing it with all of his strength, and force he could muster up, overhead. 

Wasting not a single second, Hroar, not even confirming if the axe hit or not, jumped away, safely evading the charging monster. Realizing too late, the trap that had been sprung, the monster could only charge forward into the battle axe flying through the air. Hroar had good aim, seemingly, as the weapon hit were the Legate wanted it to hit. The center of it’s skull. The force behind the axes impact caused a loud splitting sound to be heard, as it embedded itself into the skull, screaming in pain, and rage, the monster was stopped in the air, and landed in the snow, grounded, and seemingly stunned. 

As ordered, the legionaries, starting with the two lines by it’s right and left charged forward, letting out war cries of there own, along with the soldiers that stayed in the front, attacking it’s rear. The warriors whacked away at it’s hide, drawing blood. The organised unit had become a mob, as ordered, and seemingly didn’t care about anything else, ever, then to cause as much damage as humanly possible. The soldiers hacked, slashed, stab, gouged, and ripped at the wolf monster, and after a few tiny seconds, had received over two dozen attacks from the frenzied legionaries. The monster howled, and cried in pain, getting out of its stupor in practically an instant. Avitus, screaming, “**** it up!!!”, charged blindly at the creature, raining strong blows with his Gladius. The first strike that made contact cut deeply through the beasts gargantuan arm, causing the monster to scream even louder. Smiling, as he delivered a diagonal slash towards its chest, Avitus yelled like a maniac, “You like that fucker? Its pure silver!!! PURE MOTHER ******* SILVER!!!”Avitus, wielding the Gladius with his two hands, unleashed an onslaught of blows against the creature,

Snarling like a wolf, the monster had seemingly recovered from the initial attack. Screeching like a beast, it went on it’s hind legs, causing several of the legionaries to back away from fright, raising its massive limbs upwards into the snow blazing sky.  It’s two, large talon like claws formed together into a fist, and brought it down on the ground with such force, that caused the ground around it to shake, propelling about a dozen legion soldiers into the air, backwards.  

Hroar, who had picked up a discarded Sparta, wielded the long blade with both of his hands, went behind the monster and slashed at it’s exposed hind legs, putting his significant strength into the strike, he yelled, along with a nordic battlecry, “Give me back my axe you overgrown goblin!”  Hitting his mark, the blade bite deeply into it’s flesh, embedding itself into it. Screaming, the monster turned it’s top half semi-around, it’s hungry wolf-like smile aimed at the nordic NCO. Screeching, the beast let loose an attack using it’s claws in an arc aimed at swatting Hroar like a fly,  Dauntless, Hroar, displaying extreme endurance and athletic ability, rolled through it’s leg, avoiding the claw-strike by a centimeter. He left his Spatha in the monster's leg, causing him to draw his dagger. Roaring like a animal, Hroar, rammed the blade straight into the creatures hairy private area, delivering the blade with a quick strike, “Take that in your nether region,, you twisted dog!”  Wasting no time to savor his his blow, Hroar avoided the beasts rage filled barrage of quick, but strong attack, but jumping forward and into a snowbank. 

The beast’s anger only grew at such a brutal tenderisation of it’s privates, as it had something akin to a childish temper tantrum. Flailing his arms around, it cried out in pure hate, throwing several soldiers into the air. Braving the monster, Rickett aimed his handcrossbow, deftly avoiding a strike or two, with one hand, a throwing dagger in the other. Pulling the trigger, Ricket tpropelled a crossbow bolt it's the beast's chest,  moments afterwards, drawing the silver throwing knife, and flinging it by the tip towards the monsters skull-head, which landed near where Hroar's axe was currently embedded in. 

The duo of projectiles seemed to hurt it, as the already enraged abomination seemingly got angrier, delivering a torrent of slashes with razor claws. Yelling, “OH shit!!”  The young redguard leapt from his position, and into the snowpack were Hroar was. Peaking out, the Nord was watching the ensuing battle, trying to figure out how he was going to reacquire his axe, when a large person landed right beside him. His annoying companion, Ricket. The redguard shrugged, giving him the usual mocking smile underneath his helmet, “Eh, the beastie isn’t as bad as we thought. Pretty easy…” 

Hroar shook his his head, yelling with an angry voice, “Just shut up you moron! Do you have any knives left? We need to carve that **** up, like a roast boar!” Ricket drew a throwing blade from his belt, and handed it to the nord, before grabbing one for himself. The two legionaries flourished there tiny blades, and charged forward, once again joining the hectic battle with a warcry, 

Tribune Jiub, was behind the other soldiers, both of his hands basked in red flame, radiating heat in the frozen tundra. When he saw an opening, he would launch a barrage of fireballs, scorching the monster’s skin with black ash.. Legate Agrippa was in the thick of the battle, slashing at the monster, whom had finally had enough. It was hoping for an easy meal, and instead, discovered fierce resistance that was a huge threat to it’s own life. Screaming outloud, a horrific bestial cry of primal horror, the creature, with surprising speed, jumped into the air, and leaped across the mob of Imperial soldiers, and to safety, preparing to run on all fours to the literal safety of the frozen hills, cowardly withdrawing to fight another day. However, as the monster gracefully flew through the air, Avitus noticed something strange. Nestled in it’s jaws, was a screaming  Imperial soldier. The beast needed to eat, and after such a disastrous hunt, it couldn’t go back to it’s lair empty handed. When it was safe from intrusion, it would partake in a meal of manflesh. 

Not on my watch…

As if the Mehunes Dagon himself was on his heels, Avitus sprinted forward, throwing off his helmet, and chestguard, the metal equipment landing softly on the snow with a thud. With surprise, Tribune Jiub called out behind him as he saw his officer run after the creature, , but the sound of his heartbeat blocked everything else out of his head. Avitus solely focused on that sound. 

Thump. Thump. 

The wolf-like monstrosity, due to its many injuries, and overconfidence, ran quickly, but not at the speed it had before. Instead of a lighting bolt, it seemed like a lumbering behemoth. 

Thump. Thump. 

Avitus unclasped his cloak, letting the heavy winter garb fly in the blizzard’s winds. He drew his silver gladius, and flourished the sword. His arms swung back and forth, propelling him through the snow

Thump. Thump.
 
When the beast had realized it was being followed by a single, human, it was already too late. Avitus, used his legs to propel himself forward into the air. 

Avitus collided with the monster’s back, instantly, ramming his gladius into the unprotected flesh, to keep himself in place. He used his free hand to grapple onto a clump of fur, and secure himself further, struggling to hold on. The monster reacted with a yelp of pain, not expecting such an utterly insane act. In response, it further increased it’s speed, ignoring it’s many injuries to shake off the annoying human from it’s back. Wind and snow assailed Avitus’s now unprotected face,  as he struggled to hold on. Howling madly, the creature, running on all fours through the snow covered tundra, made quick distance in seconds. In no time, Avitus could briefly see blurs of shriveled up trees around him. The wolf-thing was covering seemingly impossible distances in minutes.  Showing, it ever was well-adapted to the snowy, frigid environment, or was very familiar with the surrounding area. Maybe both. 

Gripping both the clump of fur, and his Gladius hilt, Avitus put all of his strength into his hands, pushing down on the sword, causing the blade to sink deeper into the monster's back. Crying out in pure pain, the creature stumbled, tripping on its gnarled limbs, and rearing off it’s course. Avitus prepared himself for the worse, but thankfully, the snow cushioned his collision into the ground, as he fell off the monster's back. It was nevertheless, a rough landing. Pain assailed his limbs when he came too, but nothing, thankfully, seemed broken. Glancing at his surroundings, he noticed numerous fallen trees, among a large forest, and, much more surprisingly, a cliff, to Avitus’s back, a little distance away. Oddly the cliff appeared to be made from ice., not stone, and was...quite small, being more of a large outcrop, then a true cliff side. It was still large enogh to hold the two beings.. Just a few yards away, the monstrous wolf-creature was on the ground, struggling to get back up, the unlucky legionnaire nowhere in sight. Seemingly having been dropped during the monsters fall. Avitus had not the luxury to worry for him, so his mind instead raced for a solution to the problem he faced. The beast let out a screeching, cry of horrible noise, getting back up, and standing on it’s four, lanky limbs.. To the Legate’s horror, he noticed his gladius was still embedded into  its back.

Meaning Avitus had nothing more than his dagger.with him

Martullus had always called Avitus a lightning bolt. The legate could formulate a battle plan in a second, and strike when the iron was hot. He knew what needed to be done.

Drawing his dagger, and wielding the blade in a reverse grip, Avitus yelled, “Face me, monster!” And with that, the Legate turned around, and  ran with all the speed he could muster towards the icy cliff, avoiding fallen logs, and enrooted trees. Behind him, tree’s snapping, and mad animal roars, told him the beast was pursuing him. Avitus ran through the snow covered ground, desperate to reach his destination. As he approached the icy cliff, he made sure to watch his steps, trying to avoid slipping and cracking his unprotected skull on the slippery, frozen land. Finally reaching the edge of the cliff, he briefly peered over, to look upon the dreaded abyss that awaited him. 

“Yep...that’s a long fall…” He dryly muttered under his breath. He turned his body to face the broken forest of dead, darkened tree’s, and the horror that stalked these frigid wastes. Indeed, the monster was there, walking on all fours, it’s massive size overwhelming the surroundings, and Avitus sight. It stalked the Legate, it’s cold breath emanating frost, as it growled in hatred.  It’s long, black claws, baked in wet crimson blood, angrily reached forward, to rip the Legate limb from limb. The monster walked slowly, savoring every little bit of fear it could squeeze out of Avitus before it slowly tore him apart. 

"Upon my honor I do swear undying loyalty to the Empress…” He coldly muttered, 

Nothing but the howling cold wind acted as a backdrop to the stand off, 

"...and unwavering obedience to the officers of her great Empire." He said, his voice downcast, but retaining the cold, authoritarian edge he used when speaking to soldiers under him, 

When the monstrous abomination was about half way, to Avitus, and firmly on the smallish cliff, the Legate grinned, a cruel, cold smile. The monster stopped dead in it’s tracks at the Legate’s indifference to his horrible incoming death. He spoke in a mocking, tone towards the beast, “Wretched little thing. It seems you're no less stupid than your average bitch!”  The monster screeched flailing it’s claws at the Legate, in anger towards the insult. “Shut the **** up.” He grinned once more, his smile ever present. He crossed his arms, and said, “Did you really think this cliff could support the weight of an Imperial Soldier, and a monstrous creature such as yourself?”

The creature stared at the man,, freezing all of it’s muscles, it’s massive body stopping completely. Avitus smiled like a hungry wolf, as he said, in the same voice before,

"May those above judge me, and those below take me, if I fail in my duty."

Crack 

A strange light flickered in Avitus’s eyes, as he yelled, with absolute will, and his face wracked with emotions, “"Long live the Empress! Long live the Empire!”

With a loud sounding crack, the ice cliff, connected to the edge of the larger area, split off. Before the monster could use it’s impressive agility to jump to safely, Avitus flourished his blade, stepping forward, and launching himself at the creature, jamming his blade into’s it’s stomach while roaring and using all of his strength, and weight to pull it backwards, and prevent it from flying upwards. As the cliff collapsed, the beast, and Avitus plummeted to whatever awaited them below in the dark depths.  

Power corrupts, absolute power... is a whole lot of fun!

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Theodore Adrard

Camlorn

Afternoon

 

Theodore rode quickly into the yard of his castle, swinging himself down from his horse before it had completely stomped. He strode into the great hall, were his wife, mother in law, and daughter in law were waiting for him. Roland was right on his heels, but separated to go to his wife, Lyenna. Theodore went to his wife, who he noticed was somewhat flushed around the cheeks and neck. He couldn’t focus on that now, though, as he had much to do before his army marched for Wyrd Hill Keep in the morning.

“Has anything happened while I was gone?” Theodore asked.

Elayne answered, “Lady Loseph arrived. Apparently there was some urgent business concerning Wayrest they needed to discuss.”

Unexpected, but not important. “Anything else?”

“We discovered the spies in your court. It was the singers, the Montclairs,” Lady Gaerhart said. “They are currently awaiting your justice.”

“They will pay for their treachery,” Theodore said, but it was less threat than simply a statement of fact.

“And what of the mage? Did the Direnni confirm his identity?” Lyenna asked.

“They did. I also struck a deal with them, so that they might prove they are not loyal to the Thalmor, and so as not to raise the ire of any Elf hating humans,” Theodore said.

“We heard about Mon,” Elayne said. “Will you be going tomorrow?”

“Yes, as soon as I can,” Theodore said. “He will soon cease to be a threat. Until then, though, I shall rest. The seas were choppy this morning, and I feel somewhat tired.”

The royal family, trailed by their guards, went to their private quarters. Theodore was truly tired, though a feeling of eagerness was settling in the back of his mind. Though not excited, per se, he now wanted nothing more than to be rid of Mon once and for all, an was cherishing the thought of putting that smug man down. His feelings quickly shifted to annoyance, though, upon opening his bedroom door to find his royal wizard sitting on the bed. Winvale rose, leaning on his gnarled wooden staff as he pulled himself up.

“What is it, Winvale?” Theodore asked.

“I have a new proposition for you.”

“And that is?”

“I heard about the new Elven trainers you brought back from Balifera. I would also like train help your battlemages. Into shadow mages,” Winvale said, his crackled lips twisted into a perverse grin Theo didn’t want to try and comprehend.

Theodore didn’t know how Winvale had heard that, considering Theo hadn’t yet mentioned it to anyone since his arrival, but he was beyond guessing the man’s capabilities. “Why? What’s in it for you?”

“I do not want the art of shadow magic to be lost to time, and I shudder at the thought of training only a single apprentice to use it. Those villagers that helped me could barely use destruction, much less something this intricate. But your army is a pool large enough that only the very best would learn, and thus continue the magic through the minds of the skilled, and not the mundane.”

“Sir Virelande will have to agree. And Sir Maric will help train them in the use of short arms. Though I see no reason why not. You may discuss it with them and begin the selection process as soon as you see fit. But you will not, under any circumstances, teach the Elves this magic. It will stay within my mages, is that clear?”

“Of course.” Winvale then walked into the corner of the room, where the light from the windows did not quite reach, and even as Theodore watched, he disappeared.

In truth, Theo thought it a great idea, as the shadow mages would serve as spies, assassins, commandos, and they would be his to command. Not even the Thalmor could claim mages with the abilities they would possess. Though, he knew Winvale must have some ulterior motive, as the man was much too selfish to just pass knowledge on. But shadow magic was so far beyond his normal magical study, and that knowing what might come from it was impossible. Nevertheless, Theodore could deal with that in good time. All things he could deal with, in time, just so long as he was free of that snake in the grass Mon. And soon, very soon, he would be.

Theodore rode from Camlorn at dawn the next day. Roland and Lord General Estermont rode alongside him, with a dozen Knights of the Bull, including Sir Maric, rode in a protective circle around the king. Behind Theodore rode five hundred mounted soldiers. For the sake of time, Theodore chose to bring only mounted forces. The great war destriers pounded the stones of the Breton rode beneath their powerful hooves, as farmers and villagers peaked out from their fields and windows to gape at the passing army. Theodore was fully armored in his exquisitely crafted steel plate armor, his chest emblazoned with his bull sigil. He also wore a cloak of dyed brown silk around his shoulders, with the bull stitched on the back. He wore no helmet, but had his crown tucked into one of the saddlebags. This day he would be equal parts king and conqueror.

They arrived at Wyrd Hill Keep sometime in the afternoon. The siege was still on, though from what Theodore could tell, there hadn’t been much, if any, fighting. Mon and his guard were trapped in their castle, awaiting Theodore’s arrival. His vassals had taken the tavern in the village as their command center, and that was where Theodore rode. A few archers and mages atop Mon’s walls fired at the King’s entourage, but the arrows and magical missiles fell short. Many knights, men at arms, archers, and mages stood in loose battle lines within the town itself. The knights were dismounted, so that in the event they attacked, their horses could not be shot out from under them, while the arrows would do considerably less damage to themselves. They were formed directly in front of the lone castle gate, though outside the range of enemy fire.

Theodore dismounted and placed his crown atop his bald head, and then fixed his greatsword at his side. He stroked his mustache once before turning around and staring over Mon’s castle. He spat in its direction before walking toward the tavern. When Theodore, Roland, and Lord Estermont walked into the tavern, they found Lord Admiral Theirry assembled with his nephew, Duke Theirry, as well as Baron Brutya. That meant Sir Bridwell, commander of the Knights of the Dragon from Daggerfall, as well as Baron Copperfield, were out amongst their men.

“What’s happened since the siege began?” Theodore asked.

Lord Admiral Theirry, who sat with his wooden legged propped on a chair, rose and responded. “Mon and his forces are holed up in the castle. Sir Bridwell commands our forces in the village, while Baron Copperfield has positioned himself at an apparent secret tunnel, though we’ve been unable to access it. But, no one has tried to leave it either.”

“We arrived just as someone was about to leave, as the gates were open and horses drawn up in the courtyard,” the large, white haired Baron Brutya said. “But they shut them as soon as they saw us.”

“Have they made any attempt to contact you?” Theodore asked.

“None. They’ve been silent, aside from the occasional volley of magic and arrows if someone wanders too close. But we’ve sustained nothing but a few injuries, so far. A few of Mon’s men from his watch towers in the countryside were captured and are being held prisoner,” the Lord Admiral said.

“I will go talk to them. Those soldiers will hear the voice of their king, see their futile situation, and will either surrender or be put to the sword.”

Theodore then left, and promptly marched to the front line. The officers assembled in the tavern all followed, as did his personal guard. Sir Maric quickly approached and fell in lockstep with his king. Once they arrived at the front, Sir Bridwell and his men parted to allow Theo to pass.

The men on the walls all stared at him, some notching arrows, while others lowered their bows altogether. Theodore placed a finger to his throat, and when he spoke, his voice was amplified, so that everyone on the battlefield might hear. “Who commands these traitors?”

Some men on the walls yelled down jeers, while one archer fired an arrow that landed a few paces in front of Theo. Eventually, atop the gatehouse, a man in full plate appeared. He carried his helmet beneath his arm, and had his other hand on his sword. “I, Sir Noleon Auline, am in command here.”

“You, and not you liege lord? And that sniveling coward who attempted to murder me, who worked with the Thalmor to overthrow me, where is he? Why does he not show his face?”

“I am in command, as I said,” the knight commander answered.

“Then I trust you will be more reasonable than Duke Mon. You have two options, Sir. You and your men surrender, or you die. There is no victory you can win here, no escape for you, unless you throw out your lord and turn the castle over to me.”

“My oath demands I protect my lord. My honor depends on it.”

“As King of High Rock and all the Bretons, I release you from that oath. Unless you choose to be so, nothing binds you to that man,” Theodore said.

“An oath sworn to the gods, only the gods can undo.”

“So you choose death, for all your men?”

At that, several of the soldiers atop the walls fidgeted, very doubtful that they were ready to die. It was as Theodore suspected. If this knight would not turn over the castle, his men would turn him over.

The knight hung his head for a few moments, before he finally lifted it and said. “I will hand the castle to you. But I refuse to submit myself to you. I request a duel. If I win, my lord goes free. If not, he is yours. But I will not turn Mon over so long as I live.”

Theodore was disgusted that this man held a traitor in such high regard as to die for him. He knew this might happen, but it was displeasing all the same. “So be it. Descend and fight me, and you will die and honorable death.”

“Surely I could fight a champion of yours, so as not take arms against my king.”

“You took arms against me when you barred that gate.”

The knight disappeared into one of the gate’s towers. Theodore turned, and saw the concerned looks on all his men’s faces. His son was the most openly unhappy. “This is foolish. Sir Maric could be that man with one arm, and yet you would risk your life so stupidly?"

Theodore frowned, but did not anger. He dissipated the amplification spell and said, “I will fight that man, and kill him. I am my own champion.”

Theodore, of course, knew it was a far riskier endeavor than to have Sir Maric fight the man. But when he won, he would have the undying respect of all those assembled hear, and those that heard tale of their warrior king. Ruling was not only pragmatism, but also knowing what risks to take, and this one was more than worth taking. Sir Maric fetched Theodore’s great helm, and by the time he arrived, Sir Auline had walked through the gates. He strode across the no man’s land between castle and village, shield on his left arm, longsword in the other.

The king and the knight stood about ten paces, each with weapons drawn. Theodore closed his helm, and said through the small air slit, “Son, signal for us to begin.”

Roland hesitated for a few moments, then said, “You may start the duel.”

Theodore circled to his right, while the knight took a few steps forward before circling as well. His shield was of fine metal, his sword the same, Theodore noted. He took a few steps forward a well, and swung a looping slash at the man. The knight parried with his blade, but was soon pressed by another swing. Theodore was wasting no time, and this blow the knight was forced to catch with his shield. Theo disengaged his greatsword, though, in time to parry the man’s stab aimed at his midsection. He then countered with a thrust of his own, but allowed the man to deflect the blade upward. Theo used that moment in his downward blow, which slammed right into the middle of the knight’s shield.

The man staggered back, but Theodore did not allow him to create separation. He closed quickly, stabbing and cutting and slicing at the knight, who was forced to parry more quickly than he likely expected, facing a greatsword. Several of the blows, however, caught his shield, and after a particularly fierce strike, Theodore knew the man’s arm was either already broken or would be soon. His next swing once again caught the shield right in the middle, and it fell from the man’s grip. The pain in his left arm distracted him, and his next swing was too weak. Theodore, his hand’s covered chain and plates, caught the sword on the flat part of the blade. The knight’s eyes widened in disbelief, but by the time he attempted to wretch it free, Theo had grabbed the man’s wrist.

Theo twisted the metal, wrenching the man’s arm back so far he was forced to drop his sword. The knight’s other arm punch at Theo’s side, but his broken armed blows barely registered. Theodore forced the knight to his knees, then ripped off his helmet. He did not look scared, facing his death, and Theo could at least respect that. As the King of High Rock brought down his greatsword on the man’s neck, he said, “You are absolved of your oath.”

Theodore removed his helmet and handed his sword off to a soldier to clean. He felt a bit more tired than he should have, but aside from a few bruises, he was fine. He put his crown back on and turned to address Mon’s soldiers. In his amplified voice, he said, “Fulfill your captain’s dying wish and go free, but leave the Mon family. There is nothing you can do for them.”

After a few moments, during which a few soldiers seemed to argue about what to do, the gate swung open. Sir Bridwell and his knights quickly moved to secure the courtyard, and began disarming Mon’s men. Theodore followed the soldiers in, Sir Maric and Roland right behind him. The castle had two curtain walls surrounding it, with the gate to the second already open. When Theodore arrived, Sir Bridwell’s men were stopped before the door to the keep, which was still barred from the inside.

“Do we know of another entrance?” Theodore asked.

Sir Bridwell said, “I don’t believe so. We will have this one down momentarily, Your Highness.”

Theodore stepped away, as did the knights. Once a safe distance back, they sheathed their swords and lowered their shields, and the crackling sound of fire filled the air. Several of them conjured balls of fierce orange flames, and on Sir Bridwell’s command, they let loose a barrage of explosive fireballs that blew the door to splinters. Sir Bridwell and his knights stormed in, and Theo could hear the clanging of metal inside the hall. It subsided after a several minutes, when Sir Bridwell reappeared through the smoke.   

“We have cleared the castle. Most of the men were on the walls. Mon and his family are in the great hall, my lord,” he said.

Theodore entered the captured keep, and followed the hallway around until it connected to the great hall. Sure enough, Duke Mon was gathered with his family, under the guard of a half dozen of Theodore’s men. Theo thought he looked pitiful, his plain riding clothes in a state of dishevelment. The knights had forced Mon and his family to the floor, so Theo towered over them.

He looked down his nose as Mon, and shook his head in disappointment. “To think, you would put your family through this. Your grandchildren, your wife, all of them are now sentenced to death because of your stupidity and arrogance. What lies do you have for them, to justify this?”

“Only you can sentence them to death. This quarrel was ours, not theirs. Let them go, let them flee to Cyrodiil, or Skyrim. But don’t punish them for my treason,” Mon said, his voice pleading and sad.

Theodore laughed a deep laugh, a body-shaking laugh. “Am I to understand that what you would have done with my family? Allowed them to flee? I think not. In fact, I know you openly attempted to kill my son with your worthless assassins, when they assailed us on the road. My family would have received no quarter from you, and yours will get none here.”

Theodore turned to look at each of Mon’s family members. His wife, a plump, old woman with tears streaming down her face. His son, a quivering coward of a man, his eyes smashed shut, tight as a fist. His daughter, the most defiant, yet obviously still scared member, who clutched her own daughter close. Her husband held her, while Mon’s son’s wife hugged their son. He felt sorry for the children, pitied them that they belonged to a family who would allow this to happen to them. But no amount of pity would spare them.

“But first, I would expose you to the people you attempted to deceive. You and your family will go to Camlorn, and there you will admit to my subjects all the lies you told. Then, and only then, will I allow you to die. And when that time comes, you will long for death. Sir Maric, have them prepared for our return.”

Theodore left, back into the courtyard where he found Baron Copperfield, Baron Brutya, Duke Theirry, and Lord Admiral Theirry assembled. They all seemed rather pleased with themselves, save Duke Theirry, who even after the Pretender’s War seemed unadjusted to death. “Good sirs, I must thank you for helping me put down these traitors. Now, though, I request one more job from you. Have your men tear down this castle, stone by stone. I want it reduced to rubble. Let this cairn be a testament to what happens when I am crossed.”

“It will be done, King Adrard,” Lord Admiral Theirry said.

Theodore then made his way back to the tavern, and to his horse. He and Roland mounted their steeds, and oversaw Sir Maric shackling Mon and his family in heavy chains. The armored wagon was brought for the prisoners, and they were loaded inside.

“We are ready to leave, my lord. I have left a detachment of my men to help with the destruction of the castle, and they will return once they are finished,” Sir Maric said.

“Very good. Now let us return home,” Theodore said.

They had only traveled for a couple of minutes when Roland said, “Before we left Camlorn, I heard about Winvale’s plan. I don’t trust him, father. How are we to believe he doesn’t have some alternative plan?”

“I believe he does. Whatever it is, though, it is almost entirely self-serving. And as long as that self interest does not conflict with our rule, he is no greater a threat than he’s always been.”

“But we don’t know what he might do with the shadow magic, or what might happen if his power grows.”

“Then we will have to keep an eye on him, won’t we, Sir Maric?”

“Sir Virelande and I will make sure to watch him closely. You need not worry, my Prince.”

Roland seemed only somewhat content with that answer, and Theodore did not blame him. What Winvale was capable of was nearly unknowable, especially as far as shadow magic was concerned. But any doubts Theodore had about the man were assuaged by the fact he was likely the only mage in High Rock powerful enough to lift the curse, if Endar Drenim and Corrick Tilwald came through. But Theodore would not allow himself to worry, not in the moment of his triumph. They rode on a while longer, before they came to the top of a hill a few miles away from the village. Theodore turned around to see smoke rising from the castle, and he grinned. 

Power corrupts, absolute power... is a whole lot of fun!

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Matilda
The Sailer's Rest, Waterfront

"Hello, Matilda, any nightmares last night?" Anrich Vulol asked, a snarky grin on his big-nosed face.

"No." the young thief replied, annoyed as she walked up to the tavern counter. Last week one of the others had found her muttering in her sleep. Apparently, she had sounded afraid. They had not let her forget it. "What about you? Botched any jobs lately? Maybe in a brothel?"

"Twenty years and you people still won't let me forget about that." The Imperial took off his gray cap and scratched his brown hair. It was matted down from being covered all day long. "How did you hear about that business anyway?"

"I have my ways." In truth, it had been none other than the fence's own wife who had told her. Though she was not technically a member of the Thieves Guild herself, Olenna Vulol was known and loved by every member in the city. The plump little woman had taken a particular liking to Matilda the moment she'd seen her, skinny and frail as she'd been. Within the hour she had baked up a batch of sweetrolls and had some pork chops roasting on the spit. All the while, she had scolded her husband for not just giving the 'poor child' some food in the first place.
Matilda was still skinny, but that had always been the case. At least now there was some color to her, and she didn't feel weak all the time. And best of all, there were no more hunger pains. It had taken some getting used to at first, but in truth, the girl quite liked life in the Thieves Guild. "Speaking of ways, you won't believe who I met a few days ago."

"This should be good."

"Someone with friends in the White Gold Tower. He didn't give any names, but the way he spoke, I think he was actually talking about the Emperor."

Matilda had never seen Anrich's eyes so wide. "The Emperor? Matilda, you're treadin' on dangerous grounds here. Who is this friend?"

"He's a personal servant." she answered, leaving out the fact that Karsh was a bird. As much as she wanted to share that detail, it would only serve to make Anrich think the whole thing was a joke. "He comes and goes as often as he pleases. And he even promised me that he could get me one of those Elder Council amulets."

"He did, did he?" the older thief frowned, and "What does he want in return?"

"That's the best part. Practically nothing! I could handle it all myself. The Guild wouldn't have to even get involved."

"I don't like it, Matilda. You've only been with us a few weeks now, and you clearly have yet to learn restraint. We don't mess with targets who can wipe us out if we go too far. The less attention we draw our way, the better. This could very easily be a trap, you know."

There was no way to tell him that she knew Karsh from Skyrim, or that he was more interested in 'shiny' things than scheming behind anyone's back. "It's not a trap!"

"How can you know that?"

"I just know, okay?

"I see, thanks for the compelling argument. No, Matilda. I forbid you from continuing down this line. You could endanger yourself and the entire Guild."

"You can't forbid me! This is my own deal and I'm not breaking any rules!"

"This isn't about the rules. This is about you possibly screwing up and doing somethin' that'll get us all arrested!" Anrich shook his head. "No. I won't allow it. Even if you were to bring me the amulet on a velvet pillow, I would just throw it into the Rumare rather than fence it off. It's too hot and you're too inexperienced for me to know you covered your tracks."

"You've got to be kidding me. I-"

"That's enough. I'll hear no more. Now, do you have anything for me besides incredibly dangerous ventures? And be quick about it, it's almost breakfast time and we'll be gettin' customers soon."

Matilda scowled, Fine. I'll find someone else to buy the amulet. She reached into her pocket and took out a necklace and two silver rings. She'd been carrying them for days now and was anxious to see what they would be worth. "I swiped these from that jeweler prick in the market. The one who sells the fakes claiming they're real. You could probably get away with doing the same."

"The Market District?" Anrich sighed. "You just insist on taking risks, don't you, girl?"

"I got them, didn't I?" Matilda liked Anrich, but she hated the way he treated her like a child. What did it matter where she got these things, so long as she did it without getting caught? "How much are you offering?"

"Well the necklace is in fact a fake." said the fence. "As is one of these rings. But the other, this is real silver. I'll give you twenty-five septims for all three."

"Twenty-five? I could probably sell them on the street for twenty each." haggling was a new skill Matilda had picked up since she joined up. Other members had told her that it was the only way to get a reasonable price from Anrich, as he never made a fair offer from the start. "I want fifty."

The man's laugh was like a bark. "For two fakes and a tiny band? Girl, you can go ahead and try selling them on the street. But I wager you'd get caught before your first sell. I'll give you thirty septims."

"Forty. Or I'll tell Olenna you're ripping me off."

The old Imperial grumbled. "How about forty-three, and you promise to stop using my wife when we haggle?"

Matilda smiled. "Deal." She watched Anrich carefully as he counted the coins into a small bag, and only handed over the stolen jewelry when she reached forty-three. "Thank you very much." she said, drawing a string around the bag before she pocketed it. "I'll have more next week."

"I don't suppose there's anything I can say to keep you from running straight back to the Market District, is there?"

"How about finally giving me some real guild work? An actual job would give me something good to do. Otherwise, I'll keep doing things my way."

The fence shook his head. "Guild jobs are risky. You botch one and we usually don't get another chance at it, and that means trouble for me. I only give out jobs when I can be reasonably confident that the person carrying them out will not fail. When I find work that I think you're ready for, you will be the first to know, I promise you."

"Fine." Matilda would not get mad over this. It wasn't the first time they'd had this talk, and Anrich was quite firm on the matter. She would need to prove herself before she'd be allowed to take on real guild work. It had been the girl's hope that news of a possible Elder Council amulet would be enough to warrant some gain in faith, but obviously she had misjudged the fence on this. "Well if that's all, I think I'll be on my way."

"On your way where? You still squatting in that run-down old shack by the beach?"

"It serves well enough."

"That thing gets half flooded every night." Anrich took off his cap again and ran a hand through his hair. "You know, you could sleep here if you want. You could do some cleanin' and such, and maybe start the fires come morn so the place is nice and warm when customers start comin' in."

As nice as that sounded, Matilda preferred the solitude that her own home, downtrodden as it is, allowed her. The tavern would be crowded all day and much of the night. "I'll have to pass. But thanks, really."

"Had to offer. Olenna would never let me hear the end of it if I didn't. How about you at least grab some breakfast from the kitchen before you leave?"

"Gladly. Thank you."

The girl headed into the same room that she'd stolen into only a few weeks prior. It was strange now, how much less remarkable all the food looked when she wasn't starving. She picked out half a loaf of bread and stuffed it into her pocket, then grabbed a strip of dried venison for the road. She considered also grabbing a couple of eggs to fry, but decided against it. It seemed wrong to get greedy when being offered free food. 
The first customers had already arrived when she returned to the main room of the tavern. A pair of sailers, most likely from the crew that had come up from Bravil a couple days ago. Matilda figured this because one of them was a Bosmer, and she distinctively remembered there being more elves on that ship than most other vessels docked in the Waterfront. Anrich's serving girl had taken ill yesterday, so the tavern owner himself was currently at the long table taking their orders. He looked up when he saw her making for the door.
"Remember what I told you about that amulet, girl. Don't bother with it."

"I'll see you in a week, Anrich." she said through a mouthful of though deer meat. "Thanks again for the breakfast!"

"Matil-"

She shut the door behind her and started off. The heavens would fall before she'd pass up on an opportunity like Karsh. Hopefully the raven would come through. If not, well no harm done. But Matilda really wanted this to work out. Elder Council Amulets were said to be incredibly valuable. In fact, they were something of a mythical object among the Waterfront thieves. People talked about the fabled 'Gray Fox', their apparent leader (though no one knew for certain if he even existed) who had supposedly amassed a small collection of the trinkets, and was capable of using them to trick even the city watch into treating him like royalty. Of course, this was just a tale. No one that Matilda knew of had ever even seen one of the amulets in person, so she may very well have just sent Karsh on a wild goose chase.

"Hey, Matilda!"

The girl knew the voice before she'd even turned to see the speaker. It was the Redguard Sharda, a Prowler of the guild, and one of Matilda's trainers, despite being only five years her senior. "What's up, Sharda?"

The dark-skinned woman approached her from around the side of the Sailer's Rest. There was no telling how long she had been there. "Plenty. But first, how did things go in there with ol' Anrich? He didn't rip you off too hard, did he?"

Matilda shook the little bag of gold so that it jingled. "It went well. He even threw in some free breakfast."

"A free breakfast? That man's going soft. But what about the good stuff? Did he have any work for you?"

"None. Seems I haven't proven myself to him yet. Even though I've already had three good hits in the Market District and have done just fine elsewhere."

"Sounds to me like the man's just looking out for you. He doesn't want to send our youngest member into a dangerous situation. It was the same for me when I was a child."

"I'm not a child."

"I know, I know. Remember, I was there. Still, I think that even though he won't say it, Anrich is even softer than his wife when it comes to young folks like yourself. My theory's that they used to have a kid of their own or something."

Matilda had gotten a similar vibe from the guild's branch leader. He didn't seem to see her quite like a daughter, but if there was some position between that and 'just guildmate', it would be what he treated her like. The girl honestly wished that could stop. As much as she liked Anrich, Matilda- no, Mila had already had a father, and he had died years ago. And then the next closest thing came along, lifting her hopes up again and again only to die as well. Matilda had no desire to allow a third person to fill that role. She didn't need family. Even the guild was just a means to get by.
"Probably." she answered finally, realizing that Sharda was still waiting for a response. "But I can handle myself. I wish he'd let me prove that."

"In that case, I think you'll like what I have to say next." The Redguard's big dark eyes shined with a strange mixture of craftiness and enjoyment, "You might not be getting any jobs, but as it just so happens, I've got one now. And I need help from someone who's got the fingers of a monkey."

"What's a monkey?" Matilda asked, unfamiliar with the word.

"What's a-" Sharda seemed a little shocked. "It's an animal, like a little dumb... furry person, with a tail. Look, they live in trees and climb a lot. That's what I'm getting at. I need you because you're a great climber."

"Scaled Dragonsreach before I was ten." the girl responded proudly. "This is your job though. What's in this for me?"

"You want to prove yourself, right? Help me and I'll put in a good word for you to Anrich. I'll tell him of how I couldn't have done it without your help."

"Is that true, though?"

"Probably not, no. But I want to help you, and you would genuinely be making my job easier. You see, the place I'm trying to get into belongs to an Imperial nobleman. His name is Helvo Sintav. He comes from a very old and very large family. And they have lots of powerful friends. And as it happens, Helvo's niece Millona is getting married tomorrow, to an even wealthier man named Lurio Atius. Apparently, this wedding holds some sort of historic importance. It's supposed to be a symbolic end to some centuries-feud between the two clans. The thing is, the Guild doesn't want the feud to end. In fact, we want to see it spark back up."

"That's a little strange. Why would we want that?"

"The Atius family have always taken a strong stance against organized crime in our city, but their tendency to piss off every noble and watch captain who can do something about it has kept them from actually being any good at preventing it. The Sintavs however, are considerably more popular. Anrich is worried that if the two clans join together, the Atius husband will push for his wife to convince the watch to pick up their slack and come after us with a considerably stronger arm. They could easily fund a campaign to put the entire guild behind bars."

"That sounds pretty serious."

"It is. That's why Anrich has kept a very close eye on the situation for some time now. It's how we know exactly how to break things up. You see, tensions aren't as high between the two clans as they used to be. In fact, with Helvo's generation and the one below it, they've all but died out completely. This has apparently happened before. Two times, actually. And both of those times it was thanks to the two clans' elders that the hatred reemerged. Just like then, we'll use the bitter old coots to turn them back against one another, break up the wedding, and ruin any chance of the Sintavs aiding the Atiuses in any sort of crime busting. What do you say? Sound fun?"

'Fun' wasn't exactly the word Matilda was thinking of. "It sounds a little... wrong, don't ya think?"

"Wrong? We're thieves. Not priestesses of Mara. Sure, sometimes we help the poor and mostly steal from rich folks who deserve it, but we still have to look out for ourselves first and foremost. It's how we survive. If it helps, the Atius family really are a bunch of holier-than-thou scamp-lickers who think themselves heroes for marrying off one of their own in order to end a two-hundred year old feud that they probably started anyway. Like I said, even the most of the watch captains don't like them."

Matilda was still not convinced that this made it any more okay to ruin these families' happiness, but Sharda was right. They were thieves. Criminals. It was her choice to survive in this way, and if she wanted it to last, she would have to learn to embrace it. "Alright." the girl finally said. "I'll help you."

The Redguard smiled. "That's what I like to hear. Meet me at the Garden of Dareloth at midnight and I'll fill you in on the details."

***

Talos Plaza District
The Next Day

Silent and still as the grave, Matilda knelt low in the shadows near the manse of Lurio Atius. Behind the thick stone walls of that large dwelling, sounds of music and laughter joined together to form what seemed like the perfect occasion of happiness and revelry. But it was not the Atius home that Matilda would be entering today. It was Sharda who would get to enjoy that side of their business. The younger thief's destination a block away was a tad less impressive.
Of course, the Sintav family residence was no poor dwelling by any stretch. She had seen that well enough while staking it out that morning. It looked large and expensive from the outside just like every other house in the Talos Plaza District. But it lacked the blatantly regal decor that adorned Atius's home. Also, it housed the entire Sintav clan, all twelve of them, unlike the larger dwelling, which Lurio had bought for himself with his father's coin.

This is the kind of place I should be stealing from. Matilda had avoided Talos Plaza in the past, for it was much too close to Sibbi and his thugs for her liking. In fact, coming here she had recognized two of the same sellswords who had crossed the Jeralls with her some time ago. The pair had been chatting as they walked down the street on what was probably supposed to be a patrol. Though they were so distracted, Matilda doubted they would've spotted her even if she had not hidden. And it made her realize that if she was careful, she could make a lot of gold by risking similar ventures into this district in the future.

Of course for now she had a job to do. The girl pushed back her hood and emerged onto the street, crossing it quickly but nonchalantly, as if she belonged. But when she reached the other side, she quickly darted into the shadows between two large, closely-built, dwellings and threw her hood up once more. The Sintav residence was not far, and she would not need to expose herself again. There were gaps between the old walls of the building to her left, wide enough to easily grab ahold of and use as a foothold, which is why she chose to start here in the first place. Careful to wait for a moment when no guards or citizens were passing by the alley, Matilda began her ascent. Her hands and feet found no trouble finding purchase, and within the minute, the young thief was pulling herself up onto the roof three stories up. This was where Matilda knew she would have to be extra careful, for as blind as the guards below would be to the rooftops, those on patrol atop the northern inner wall would notice her in a heartbeat if she slipped up. Luckily, there were only two men at the moment, and from here it looked like neither of them were particularly attentive.

And so, her eyes never leaving the guards, Matilda rose to her feet and began to creep across the roof, slowly at first, but as she became more confident in her footing, she began to move more quickly. It was just fast enough to bring her to the other side of the dwelling before one of the men on the wall turned around his attention away from the Elven Gardens on one side of the wall, and towards Talos Plaza. Matilda had just enough time to slide down from the flat top of the roof and cling onto the gradually sloped edge, where he could not see her. If someone on the street happened to look up at that moment, they would spot her immediately, but the girl had learned long before she became a thief that people seldom looked up without reason to. 
Peering over the edge of the roof, Matilda spent the next couple of minutes watching the bored guard blankly stare off in her direction. Eventually, the second man said something that made him laugh, and the guard turned back around, scratching his ass while he did. Smiling, Matilda climbed back onto the flat of the roof and continued on to the ledge, which went straight down into the next alley. Sintav's house was just across from here, standing a few feet shorter than the one she was on now. The building itself was obviously newer than most of the others in the district. The bricks where an even lighter shade of gray, and smooth, with no cracks to be found. There were many windows on the top floor, and Matilda had no idea which one would lead to the room she sought, but of course, first came the scariest part of this entire job. She had to leap across the alley.

Matilda rummaged in her pocket for the small clear vial Sharda had given her the previous night. Supposedly, it would fortify her strength and speed, make her more athletic. According to Sharda, thieves used the stuff to make difficult jumps all the time. The casual manner in which she regarded the stuff did make the younger thief feel better about trusting it, but still, she had never consumed a potion in her life, and had no idea what to expect.

Hopefully not the ground rushing toward me. thought the girl. From this height, the fall would surely break her legs. Just her legs if she was exceedingly lucky. Even so, this was Matilda's first real job for the guild. This was what it would take to prove herself. The reward will be worth the risk. It'll work.
Filled with determination, Matilda twisted the topper off of the vial and downed the tasteless liquid. It better.
The girl took several paces back, and then sprinted toward the ledge.

The leap was simultaneously the most terrifying and exhilarating thing she had ever done. There was a heart-stopping moment in which it set in that nothing was beneath her feet save for the ground so far below, but ahead awaited Sintav's roof, and it rushed toward her as if thrown, far more quickly than she had imagined. And just like that, Matilda's feet skidded on the shingles, and she fell down to her knees a solid five feet past the point she'd been aiming for. It worked! The girl almost choked in her attempt to stop the adrenaline-fueled bout of insane laughter that tried to escape her throat. I am definitely buying more of that stuff.

The young thief took a few moments to grin stupidly and let the excited thumping in her chest subside, and then it was back to business. She lowered herself down to a corner window overlooking the alley, where she'd be invisible to guards on both the wall and the street. It was closed, but thankfully unlocked. After she pushed it open, Matilda threw her legs over the sill and leapt inside, into what looked to be someone's study. It was deserted, of course. And given the silence, the rest of the house seemed to be as well.
Hopefully all the Sintavs are at the celebration. Matilda thought. The wedding would be later that evening, but it seemed that the Atius family wanted this to be an occasion that many of the city's nobility would remember, and so rather than saving the party for afterwards, they made it a day-long affair. Perhaps this was just how Cyrodiilic nobles handled weddings. Matilda didn't know, and she didn't much care.

The little study clearly did not have the item she sought, and so, silent as a mouse, Matilda left the room through the door and entered into a long hallway. Ahead of her was a flight of stairs going down, and to her left were two rows of doors, four on her side of the hall, and three on the side with the stairs. Time to start looking.
The thief moved from one room to the next, a dark ghost in an empty house, leaving no trace of her presence every time she moved on. The rooms were plain enough: mostly more studies, and offices, with a library and a gigantic bedroom on opposite sides at the far end of the hall. Thorough as she was in her search, Matilda did not find the item she was after on the top floor, and so she eventually crept on down to the second level.
Down here, the entire hall was a long, square balcony that looked down onto the lower floor of the house. The rooms across from the railing were all smaller than the ones above, and as Matilda quickly realized, they were all bedrooms. Some of them were clearly children's rooms, with smaller beds and toys scattered across the floor. Others belonged to the hardworking adults of the family. One was filled with almost as many books as the library above, and another had a Legion shield on the wall next to an old display case containing a silver longsword. One of the rooms were covered in dust, and looked as though nobody had visited it in years, though they clearly had once belonged to a little boy, based on the big open box of toy soldiers and wooden swords. For some reason, Matilda felt wrong searching this room, and spent as little time in there as possible.

Next came the main level. It did not take Matilda long to find that this was not right either. The dining room and kitchen were easy to rule out, and so was the family's main lounging room nearby. Fortunately, the Sintavs had a one-room basement, that would have been too dark to see in without a torch if not for the dim blue glow that emitted from within. It was the moment Matilda saw this that she knew she'd found what she was looking for. The glow came from crystals, each of them larger than the girl's own head and lining the walls housed in its individual glass display cases. This was it. This was where the Colovian family's elder kept his collection of Ayleid artifacts.

Those must be welkynd stones. Matilda thought as she made her way into the room. Sharda had told her about the stones, and about how as tempted as she'd be, Matilda was not to so much as touch them. Getting greedy could jeopardize the job. Deeper inside, she found a few other cases containing strange, though less impressive ornaments that she didn't even know how to identify. One looked like a metal ball with carvings on it. Some more just seemed to be plain ol' rocks. In one case was a very strange knife made of a strange white metal. But it was the case at the very back that held what Matilda had come for: A round metallic amulet that housed a white crystal which glowed far brighter than any of the blue stones around her. And you must be the Varla gem.
The lock was complicated, but Matilda had spent a lot of time practicing over the past month, and she managed to crack it after breaking only one pick. Feeling proud, and perhaps a tiny bit guilty, Matilda slid the slid the metal chain around her neck.

***

The party was still going strong back at the Atius residence, as she and everyone else within the block could hear. When Matilda found Sharda outside behind the mansion, she was surprised to see the Redguard wearing an exquisite blue silken dress. "Ah, Matilda, it is so lovely to see you." she said in a fake accent that Matilda assumed was supposed to be how rich people talk in Cyrodiil.

"I got it." said the young thief. She handed the amulet over. "What's next?"

Sharda tucked the glowing jewel into what seemed to be a hidden pocket in her sleeve. "Next, we attend the party. I have already been inside for some time, fraternizing with the guests. It would be wonderful to have you join me."

"Join you?" Matilda looked down at her dirty wools and leathers. "I'd stand out in there like a troll."

"I'm sure that it's Rankin who stands out like a troll. You'll see him for yourself, no doubt. As for clothing, there happens to be a very beautiful dress that looks to be your size hanging up just down this alley and around the corner with an invitation beside it. You can put it on and meet me inside near the entrance."

Matilda wasn't happy to find out she'd have to dress up for this. When they'd planned this, Sharda had only told her that she'd be stealing the amulet. The party wasn't supposed to be something she had to get involved with. Apparently, the Redguard noticed her apprehension. 
"Don't look at me like that." she said, suddenly reverting back to her normal manner of speech. "Your part in this is done. What I'm offering you now is a rare opportunity to enjoy the yourself in style for a spell, and to see how all this plays out." Sharda turned and started to walk away. "It could be fun, but it's your choice."

Matilda almost left then and there. She had done her job, and would be rewarded for it. She didn't care about the Imperial party and certainly didn't want to wear a fancy dress. But something stopped the young thief before she even took her first step. She'd done all this work to set up whatever was about to happen. Did she really want to just leave without seeing the results?
What could it hurt just to see?

Ten minutes later, a girl walked out of that alley who looked nothing like the one who had walked in. Her long, normally mussed up hair was tied back in one long tail, and her face was clean without a trace of dirt to be found. She wore an extravagant dress made of fine green-dyed linens beneath a gray winter cloak that was clasped together at her neck. The two clasps were made of silver, one of them the head and neck of a boar, and the other, fastened to it through a hidden link at the back, a spear. Together, they formed the image of the spear going through the boar's back. It seemed awfully bloody for a noble's attire, but the girl whose name was on her invitation came from a bloody house. That name was Jeanne Brutya, daughter of Baron Istirus Brutya of High Rock.

Matilda, or "Jeanne", as she forced herself to memorize, walked along the huge manor until she came upon the front gate, where an overweight Nordic guardsman stood vigil. "Invitation."

She handed the Nord the little square of parchment, and he allowed her to head on through. Inside, she came upon a wide courtyard filled with gardens of flowers and dozens upon dozens of guests. A small band of minstrels played a jolly tune off to one side, to which some of the younger guests, and even a painted fool, danced and cheered. There were jugglers as well, and servants running to and fro carrying drinks and trays of food, and there was also a troll.
Shor's bones! Matilda had to do a double take when she realized what she had seen. Sure enough, at the center of one guarded, surrounded mostly by small children, was a great shaggy beast with three eyes and arms longer than the excited kids were tall. To Matilda's shock and awe, the monster gently tossed one of the children into the air and then caught him with all the tenderness of a loving mother. What in the-

"Now you see what I meant when I said that Rankin is the one who stands out like a troll." said Sharda's voice from behind her. Matilda turned and looked at the Redguard incredulously. "I've never seen... How did they-"

"I asked around and apparently he's for hire. This woman Isadia trained him, gods know how, and now she charges exuberant prices to let people bring him in at weddings and parties to juggle and play with the children."

"He juggles?"

"That's what they're saying. Though I'm more surprised by the people letting their brats go near the thing than I am at his apparent talents as a performer. I mean look at that."

The troll was making some obscene barking sound that almost resembled a laugh as it jumped up and down with a boy and a girl laughing hysterically as they clung onto its massive shoulders. Matilda had never seen anything like it in her life. 

"You look beautiful, by the way." said the Redguard. "I'm actually jealous. The Breton nobles have a better sense of style than we do, with their violent coats of arms and such. Still, I figured it'd suit you better, with your accent and all. I doubt many here will know the difference between High Rock and Skyrim in that regard. They'll just hear you speak and call it 'foreign'."

"I don't plan on doing a lot of talking."

"Then you will stand out. Not as much as Rankin, but people will notice the girl who's keeping to herself. Enjoy yourself. Try the food. Make up some stories to go along with your name. Just relax. You're not here as a thief, after all. That's my job."

Matilda had almost forgotten that Sharda still carried the amulet, and apparently had more to do here still. "What are you gonna take?"

"Don't worry about it, Jeanne." the Redguard smiled as she turned to leave, "We only just met."

Matilda watched the thief go for a short time, and then realized that she was the only person out here who was just standing around alone, and that it did look suspicious. She considered going over to see more of Rankin, but she valued her bones intact more than she did the novelty of a friendly troll, so she decided to give him a wide berth, and headed over to see the band of minstrels instead.

"There once was a hardy young lad of the sea," their leader sang in a deep, but jovial voice.
"A Redguard of courage and honor was he,"
"Sail on, my Cyrus, sail on."

"Quite good, aren't they?" asked an Imperial lady with blonde hair and a big giddy smile that suggested she was already a few drinks under. "I love foreign music."

"They seem good." Matilda answered.

"That's quite the broach you're wearing." the woman went on excitedly, "Why, it is very menacing. Where is it from, exactly?"

"High Rock." the girl answered. "I'm Jeanne Brutya, from-"

"High Rock?!" the woman looked amazed for some reason, "How exotic! Is that where your accent comes from?"

Gods, lady. "Yeah." she said, trying to hide her annoyance, "My father is Baron-"

"Wow! Just a moment, my husband would love to meet you. Codrick!" the woman turned her head for a moment as she called out, and Matilda considered using that window to slip away. Unfortunately, she was too slow. "Codrick! Come here," she gestured at Matilda. "This is Jeanne. She's the daughter of a Baron. All the way from High Rock."

"High Rock, eh" the dark-haired man who approached them, apparently named 'Codrick', did not seem quite as excited to meet a daughter of High Rock as his wife had been. "That's great. How's that new king of yours?"

New King?  Matilda didn't even know High Rock had a new king. Though she was fairly certain that they left the Empire recently. Taking a leap for the second time that day, she put on her angriest, most disgusted expression, and spat in the grass, "Hopefully itchy from all the pigs he lays with."

That seemed to startle Codrick's wife, but the man himself slowly broke into a smile. "That's what I like to hear! True Imperial patriotism, and from a good and noble Breton, no less! Gods bless you, girl! But what brings you all the way down here? Surely not the wedding. Did Fat King Theodore drive your family out for refusing to betray your ancient friends?"

"Codrick," interjected his wife, "I don't think she wants to talk about-"

"It's okay." Matilda said, quietly satisfied to cut off the woman who had continually interrupted her. Turning to Codrick, she said, "No, most of my family is still in High Rock, serving the Pig. But only because they have no choice. Theodore won the war, and we have no means to oppose him. It is the same for many families. My family sent me here in secret when he tried to make me marry a cousin of his."

"Gods, the brute. Marrying off girls from other families to suit his own needs. Do not worry, Jeanne, he cannot reach you in Cyrodiil. And you do not lack for friends here. Some day soon, after we've dealt with the heathen elves in the south, Emperor Krojun will lead our Legions north and overthrow all the false kings, and you will be able to return home again."

"I long for the day. It was nice to meet you, Sir." She nodded to Codrick, and then to his wife, who looked as though she had all but lost interest in the matter by now. "Ma'am."
Matilda walked away feeling like the perfect criminal. Sharda had been right. That was fun!
The next place she visited was one of the long food tables, but before she could try anything, a loud, magically amplified voice spoke out across the yard, turning all heads and prompting Rankin to let out a loud roar.

"Thank you all for coming!" The man who spoke was a dark-haired Imperial whose face was still red from dancing. He stepped up onto a small stage flanked by a beautiful young woman in white who could have only been the bride. "And thank you Rankin, for helping me get everyone's attention."

That prompted a laugh from the audience, and the troll made a low rumbling sound at the mention of its name. 

"As you many of you know, my niece Millona has been pining over Lurio for years. Ever since the two of them met over a broken wheel outside the city."

The bride blushed, and a handful of people laughed as if they remembered the fond memory. 

"Since then, the two of them have been inseparable. A true romance of the ages. They've spent more time together in the Arboretum than they have in their own houses. And looking at our lots, I can hardly blame them!"

The crowd laughed again, though this time Matilda noticed a couple of older folks who only looked on in silence.

"And it is proudly, but with a heavy heart, that I turn my the girl- no, the woman who is like a daughter to me, over to the Atius family. And together, our family has put together this dowery to show our commitment."

Two men came forth carrying a large chest and sat it down atop the stage. The groom stepped up now. He was a brawny man, with long blonde hair tied back, and a very handsome complexion. He smiled graciously as he knelt down and opened the chest, revealing to the entire crowd a small mountain of gold, and even more notably, a glowing white amulet on top with a note beside it.

The courtyard very quickly grew quiet. Matilda noticed the looks some of the people gave. Those who didn't know what had happened smiled happily, but it seemed as though every Sintav in the audience wore a look of either anger or fear. Even Millona's uncle looked stunned. Despite it all, Matilda noticed Sharda standing near the entrance, wearing a mischievous grin. Lurio didn't notice any of these things, however, and picked up both the amulet and the note, and read it aloud: "In the gentle eyes of Mara, may this offering bring peace and love between our families that will last throughout the ages."

The silence that followed did not last long. "What in all the realms of Oblivion are you doing with my varla stone?"

Lurio Atius seemed confused. It even took Matilda a few moments to pick out the man who had spoken. He was an older Colovian, gray-haired, gray-bearded. He marched up to the front of the stage, fists balled. "Huh?" Lurio looked around, hoping to get an explanation for what was going on.

"You!" the old man pointed at Millona and her uncle, his own kin, "Which one of you had the bold idea to give my treasure, my greatest treasure, passed down from my father, to a gods damned Atius!"

Millona looked horrified, but her uncle raised his hands defensively, "Arvos, calm down. I'm sure there's an explana-"

"So it was YOU!" shouted the old-timer, pointing at the bride. "You would try to win the heart of this man with your own family's heirlooms. And under our noses. The audacity!"

"That's my wife!" shouted Lurio in defense of the terrified and confused woman. "I won't let you talk to her that way. You can take the amulet back if it means so much to you!"

"Oh I will, boy." said the man as he snatched the chain from the groom's grasp. "And you can have that thieving woman I've called my granddaughter. I want nothing to do with her!"

"I didn't steal it!" Millona finally said, desperately. "I would never, ever do a thing like that. Especially not to you!"

"Then who did, eh?" The old man spun around and pointed at a cluster of members of the Atius family. "Was it you lot then? Trying to use my granddaughter to steal from me?!"

"Don't be absurd, Arvos." said an old man with blonde hair. "Why would we give a damn about a glowing rock?"

"Somebody clearly does!" shouted Arvos. He turned back to Millona. "Prove it to me right now, child. Tell me that it was not you so I can know for certain that these no-good Atiuses have always been the backstabbers I know them for."

"It wasn't me!' Millona pleaded. "But it wasn't them either! It couldn't have been! Why would they-"

"Enough!" Arvos spat on the ground in the Atius's direction. "I knew better. I knew, but I wanted to believe that my own kin had good judgement. Clearly I was wrong!"

"You're ridiculous, old man." said a different Atius. There were so many now that Matilda was having a hard time keeping up. "Millona, I think I can speak for everyone when I say that nobody blames you for this man. He's obviously losing his wits. We can still make this right if we-"

"Hold on a minute!" It was a different Sintav. "Who are you to speak for everyone? Pa's not losing his wits. In case you forgot, amulets do not just vanish and appear in the hands of others. Something is clearly up here!"

"Forget this!" shouted another Sintav. He pointed at Lurio. "I don't believe for a second that you don't know what's going on here! You were the one who'd have gotten the amulet. Nobody but you could have benefitted from this!"

At that point, the argument became impossible to follow as both families devolved to a great war of shouting and insult-throwing. Matilda had had enough. Like many others in the procession, she quickly made her way to the exit, turning around only when Arvos stepped up onto the stage and boomed in a magically enhanced voice. "I'm done with this!" he looked at the bride, who was now in tears. "You can marry this man, and leave our family for good. We'll have nothing to do with their like. Or you can come home with me, right now, and put this whole business behind us."

Matilda could not hear the answer she gave over the roars of the two families. She didn't care. She turned and exited the courtyard grounds, for the first time realizing why Anrich had been hesitant to give her real jobs. Now you know I've got the stomach for it. thought Mila. Now we both know. 

Power corrupts, absolute power... is a whole lot of fun!

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Senna Silver

The Imperial City

Midday

Senna and Sosia rode side by side across the bridge leading to the Imperial City. Behind them were two of their soldiers, both Breton men. Senna wore her steel scale cuirass along with her vambraces, gauntlets, along with her leg armor down to her knees. She didn’t want to walk covered head to two in armor, but neither did she want to go without any protection. To hide the armor, somewhat, she wore a double over the cuirass, and a large cloak she could pull to conceal most of her body, as well as the shortsword and dagger she wore. Sosia wore armor an identical set of armor and had a cloak on as well, though hers hid a mace and two small throwing axes. Her sister also had her hair pitch-black hair down, while Senna’s was pulled back into a bun.

They soon reached the gates of the city and left their horses with one of the stables there. The crowds were bustling about, and the four sellswords made their way to a space undisturbed by flowing crowds, the statue of Tiber Septim.

“Where should we look first?” the man named Frostien asked.

“A tavern,” Sosia answered, her voice deep and raspy.

Senna agreed, so they made their way north, along the main street, into the Elven Gardens district. Senna marveled at the number of buildings in the city, most pressed nearly up against each other. She wondered how many people lived here, and speculated it must be near a million. They soon came upon one that had a bear or a wolf or a dog on its sign, Senna didn’t really care what it was, and they entered. It was fairly crowded, with more of the tables filled than not. But the Sisters of Silver were not interested in sitting. They walked to the bar, where the tavern keeper greeted them with a look of suspicion, but not open hostility.

“We’re looking for work. Mercenary work,” Senna said.

"Mmm. Figures." grumbled the older Imperial man in a tired voice, "I don't sell work. I sell drinks, but never you mind my livelihood. Let me help you with yours." the man slowly bent down and started rummaging for something beneath the counter. When he came back up, he was holding a crinkled up note. "He told me to give one of these out to any of you mercenary types looking for work. Supposedly it's a good opportunity."

Senna took the crumbled note and unfolded it. It read:

Sellswords wanted. Must be, discrete, capable, and willing to take on long-term work that may entail leaving the Imperial City. The pay is good for anyone who brings these things to the table. Ask for Nelvar at the Tiber Septim Hotel for more information.

Senna handed it to Sosia, who read it quickly then shoved it inside her cloak pocket. She gave her sister a look, that Senna knew to mean they should go. 

"Talos Plaza District. One of the big buildings, right next to the dragon statue."

"Thanks," Senna said and dropped a couple of septims on the counter.

She and the other mercenaries left, and headed back down toward the gate. The crowds made movement difficult, but the eventually found the hotel. It was one of the larger buildings, and Senna thought it looked like a palace when they entered. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceilings, and plush carpets covered the stone floor. Obviously wealthy patrons lounged about in the entrance hall, drinking and conversing with others of their class. Senna led the group up to the counter, and addressed the receptionist. 

"We're here to see Nelvar," Senna said.

"He's in the back corner." replied the man, looking them up and down, "Over near the fire."

The sisters spotted the Nord easily enough. He was a big brute of a man, bald-headed and with a thick graying beard. He had a book in his hand and seemed to be quite engrossed in it.

Senna looked to the two men with them and said, "Find somewhere you can watch him."

She and Sosia then moved over and sat down across from Nelvar, but didn't say anything. Senna thought it might be rude to interrupt him, and he would eventually find a stopping point. She had to admit, this was a nice hotel, and she wondered how it was this man got such a cozy job.

"Hmm." The Nord's eyes traveled across the pages for just a few seconds before he marked his page with a feather and closed the book. "Not used to people waiting for me to finish." he said in a voice that matched his appearance almost too perfectly, "You looking for work?"

"We are," Senna answered. "You the one hiring?"

"Aye." The Nord's narrow eyes examined them both. Senna noticed it when they stopped for a moment on her sister's scar. "But only after I know who it is I'm talking to... So who is it that I'm talking to?"

"Sosia Silver," Sosia said with a sarcastic grin.

"Senna Silver," Senna said. She had a hard time figuring this man. He had a fighter's build, but she didn't know many fighters who read. Even fewer who stayed in places like this.

"Silver. Fitting name for sellswords. I take it you two are sisters?"

"Oh, does she look like me?" Sosia asked. "I hadn't noticed."

Senna chuckled and said, "We are. And now that we've been properly introduced, let's hear about this job."

"Bounty hunting. My employer is looking for a pair of fugitives from Skyrim. Is this the kind of work you're willing to take up?"

"More than willing. The question is, will your employer hire our company to hunt only two fugitives?"

"Company?" One of the Nord's dark, bushy eyebrows went up. "How big a company are we talking about?"

Senna grinned impishly. "Two hundred."

The Nord's surprise couldn't have been more palpable if Tiber Septim himself had walked in and ordered a drink. At least, that's how the sisters read his expression. In truth, this Nelvar fellow was clearly not the most expressive of people, but the way his eyes finally opened all the way as if cold water had been thrown onto his face seemed to be the closest he was able to get to looking 'ecstatic'. 

"Yes," he said after several moments' silence, "I think you'll do nicely. A group your size is too big for me to make the call though. I'll have to take you to my employer."

Senna figured that would be the case, but was nonetheless happy Nelvar confirmed it. Still, she was somewhat surprised that whoever was looking for sellswords could afford, much less use, the numbers the Silver Brigade had. 

"Lead the way, sir," Senna said.

"I will, but first I have to know one thing, and I won't judge you for your answer." The northerner's face somehow grew even more serious than it already had been, "What are your boundaries?"

Senna frowned when she thought about the Emperor's threat, and the possibility they might incite his wrath. She hoped his threat didn't stop them from getting paid. "We, uh, recently worked with the Legion, and made a deal we wouldn't do anything illegal. So long as these two people are fugitives, and we aren't asked to do anything that might upset the Emperor, we will do whatever your employer needs."

"They are fugitives." answered Nelvar. "Responsible for murder and treason. But one of them is quite young, and I have turned away others who did not have the stomach to go after children. Even wanted ones."

Senna tried to hide her displeasure, but wasn't sure if she did. As the leader of her company, though, she couldn't refuse work just because it was uncomfortable. Not when they needed work if they were to establish themselves here. "We have no qualms hunting men, women, or children, so long as they are fugitives. If they are old enough to kill and commit treason, they're old enough to be punished for it."

"Agreed." Nelvar rose and picked up his book. "Now, if you'll follow me."

Senna and Sosia followed the Nord out the door, and the two men they sent out amongst the hotel patrons fell in step behind them. If the Nord was surprised to see that the men had been watching him, he didn't show it. The group followed their guide south across the main plaza of the district. With the plaza behind equidistance from the gate to another district ahead, the Nord stopped in front of a large, luxurious looking manor. When they entered through the main gate, they were greeted by two guards standing amidst a garden of small trees fragrant flowers. Senna told their two guards to wait outside.

Nelvar showed them into the house, which made the Tiber Septim Hotel look like a shanty in comparison. The colors of the tapestries were brighter, the carpets even more plush, the ornate vases and decorative swords exquisitely crafted. Inside sat two men, both Nords, one dressed in what Senna could only assume to be Nordic nobleman's wear. The other was clearly a guard, judging by his armor and the sword he wore, and the hardened appearance Senna recognized as belonging to a sellsword. 

"I wasn't expecting any visitors today." said the nobleman. As they drew in closer Senna noticed that the dark-bearded man looked tired enough to sleep for weeks. Despite this, his voice relayed a commanding tone that said he had grown accustomed to giving orders. 

"No matter." he waved at a couch across from him, "Nelvar brought you, so I'm guessing you're here to help. Take a seat."

Senna and Sosia sat down. It was somewhat uncomfortable, sitting on the couch in armor, but beat standing. "We heard you were looking for mercenaries."

"That's right. And Nelvar here was tasked with recruiting them, which begs the question of why you are here."

"They run a company." Nelvar said before either sister could. "Two hundred strong."

"Two hundred?" The nobleman looked at the sisters with a clearly enhanced interest. "Well now I can see why my friend brought you to meet me in person. I'm Sibbi Black-Briar. What should I call the two of you?"

"I'm Senna Silver, and this is my sister, Sosia," Senna said. She had to admit, she liked it here in Cyrodiil, where two hundred men set you out from the pack, unlike High Rock.

"Black-Briar? Like the mead?" Sosia asked. 

"Aye, like the mead. I'd offer you some now, but I'm afraid my men have drunk this place dry. But on to the matter at hand... You two may not know it, but what you're bringing to the table right now is nearly a godsend. My own men, while capable, are too few these days to mount a proper search. I presume Nelver told you about the job I'm hiring for?"

"He did. But before we agree to anything, we have to know if you intend on hiring our entire company. We can't accept anything less, unfortunately," Senna said. 

"Of course. Finding these people is very important to me. I want no less than every capable man and woman you have at your disposal."

"And what would our capable soldiers be doing, exactly? Searching here, another city, or the countryside?" Senna asked. 

"Here and the countryside." answered Sibbi. "The first fugitive, a large Nord named Boldir Iron-Brow, is here in the city. I know this because he seeks to kill me. He should not be too difficult to find with numbers like yours on the case, as any time he pokes his head out the door it draws attention. He's a large man, you see. Inches taller than most Nords, with dark hair some burn scars on his face and body. I am honestly surprised he has not been discovered already. The City Watch has been notified to keep an eye out for him as well, which means he is likely being very careful not to move around too frequently."

Senna made a point to remember the man's features, though she agreed with Sibbi that the man should be recognizable enough. It was reassuring, though, that the Imperial guards were notified. It meant they wouldn't be breaking the law and raising the Emperor's ire. "So the other fugitive must be the young one.

"Aye, and this is where I suspect you will find the most difficulty. The girl is Boldir's daughter, Mila. She's a little thing, only fourteen years of age. But don't let that fool you. She's got as much fight in her as her father does. Unfortunately, unlike Boldir, she lacks many features to distinguish her from most other young girls. Long brown hair, fair skin, brown eyes. And she's clever enough to know that she doesn't stand out, so she could literally be anywhere in the city."

"We do have reason to believe she might try to return to Skyrim," said Nelvar. "Which is why we sent six men up north near the border, to keep an eye on the roads and make sure she doesn't cross over."

"Aye." Sibbi nodded. "That's a lot of ground to cover though, and she could be anywhere in between. Now you see why we are looking for all the help we can get."

A young girl, then. She didn't like that, even though she knew plenty of woman who at that age has likely killed more men than Mila. It still didn't make the idea of hunting a relative child down any easier. Though, the pay might soothe her conscience over, if Sibbi was as rich as she suspected.

"So we would split our forces between blocking off the northern roads and searching the city," Senna said. It sounded like a good plan, but there were a lot of places, in both this city and the countryside, and one person might hide. It wouldn't be an easy job, though there was little risk of death, which her soldiers would surely like. "How would you have us split up our troops? One hundred for the north, one hundred hear, or something else?"

"I do think that is a good strategy." Sibbi said. "When Boldir is found, we can send more up north to help, as it is crucial she does not leave Cyrodiil. We will never find her if she does."

The other man in the room, who had been with Sibbi when they arrived, spoke for the first time, "I can find someone to make some sketches of Mila. All of us either already know what she looks like or have been paired with someone who does. That won't work with your numbers though."

"Good idea." said Sibbi, without looking away from the sisters, "That way your people won't be bringing in every brown-haired girl they find on the streets."

"That's probably for the best," Sosia said. "Probably.

"What'll the command structure be? Will we report to them," Senna looked at Nelvar and the other man, "or directly to you?

"Under normal circumstances, you would report to Nelvar," said Sibbi, "but with a force of two hundred under your command, I want you reporting to me." He looked over at the big Nordic sellsword, who's expression had not changed. "You will work alongside Nelvar, not under him. I figure your people will be more comfortable taking orders from you. That said, he's been doing this for a long time and he knows the people you're after. I expect you to listen to what he has to say, just as he will listen to you."

Senna and Sosia exchanged a glance, and the former said, "That arrangement will work perfectly for us. Like you said, our people will better follow our orders, while your man knows these fugitives. It works best for everyone if we cooperate.

"What about lodging, here in the city and in the north? Presumably your men stay here, but that won't work for ours," Sosia asked. By the end of her question, her voice was grating and hoarse, as it usually was if she talked for too long. 

"Those in the city could stay in taverns near where they're searching," Senna suggested. 

"I can arrange a boarding situation for those of you who remain here" Sibbi replied, "As for those of you who travel north, the only nearby city is Bruma, and it is too far from the main road north to make for an effective place to stay. Currently, my own men up there are staying at an inn where the Silver and Orange Roads meet, but that will only be large enough to house a few of you. The rest will have to make camp somewhere off the road. You can kick a few of my own boys out of the inn if you like, but that is the best I can do."

"Our soldiers there can camp off the road. With only a hundred soldiers in the camp, they won't be too crowded and should be comfortable enough. We can also send the other halves' blankets and cloaks, to stave off the cold," Senna said. 

"What about the pay?" Sosia asked, seemingly tired of her sister avoiding that subject.

Sibbi's brow went up, as if he had completely forgotten. "How does a fifty thousand septims sound? Up front, and just for this job." He said it so off-handedly it almost seemed like he was kidding, though when the Nord continued, it was clear that he was completely serious. "By my count that's two hundred and fifty for every man and woman among you, though you can divide it up however you please. Bring me the girl within one month and I'll throw in an extra, say... twenty thousand."

Senna knew she didn't hide her happiness. She was accustomed to large sums in payment, but usually closer to a hundred septims per person, not two hundred and fifty, with potentially more if they worked quickly. "That will work nicely, I think. Very nicely."

"Is there anything else we should know?" Sosia asked, smiling along with her sister. 

"Only that discretion is important." said the noble. "I will remind you that the Nord Boldir wants me dead. The less my name is uttered outside of this house, the better."

"Then you will have discretion. We in agreement, then?" Senna asked. 

"I believe we are." Sibbi shook hands with Senna first, then Sosia. "I look forward to seeing you work."

"We will head back to our camp today, and split our when we arrive. The northern group will take about three to four days to arrive, but the city group should be here in two. We look forward to working with you all," Senna said. 

Her sister nodded, then they and their two men left. 

**

Senna and Sosia arrived back at their camp, a bit south of the battle site with the Crimson Chevaliers, late at night. They woke up and gathered the officers, which included one of the men who went with them to the Imperial City, Frostien Charascel. The other two officers were a mage named Jolie Bielle and a disgraced knight by the name of Sir Lywel Liric. They sat in the Sister's tent, around a small table with a map of Cyrodiil on it.

 

 

“We’ve taken a job,” Senna said. “A man in the Imperial City has hired us, at 250 septims per person, to find two fugitives for him.”

“He hired us to find two people? At that price? Did you two and Frostien show him that good a time?” Jolie asked.

“You’re damn right we did,” Frostien said, beaming.

Senna chuckled, but continued with the report. “To find them, he wants to split our company up. I’ll take half and head north, to where the Silver and Orange roads meet, to stop the fugitives from fleeing to Skyrim, as he thinks they might do.”

“I’ll take the other half to the Imperial City,” Sosia said.

“We are to look for and capture a man named Boldir Iron-Brow and a gir-a young woman named Mila. She’s the daughter of Iron-Brow,” Senna said.

“Since when do we hunt children?” Sir Liric asked.

“We don’t. She’s a fugitive from the law, and the Imperial City Watch is after her father. She wouldn’t be the first to kill that young, so she’s not to be taken lightly,” Senna said. “Now, Boldir is a giant of a Nord with burns on his face and body. You should recognize him easy enough. Our employer will provide us with sketches of the girl, which Sosia will send us from the Imperial City.”

“And who’s going where?” Frostien asked.

“You will come with me to the north with a little less than half our men. Sosia, Jolie, and Lywel will go to the city with a little more than half. The extra men they take will bring the sketches and our half of the payment north, once they receive it,” Senna said.

“We’ll move out in the morning,” Sosia added.

“Right. So go on and get some sleep,” Senna said.

The three officers left, leaving the Sisters alone. After they were well and gone, Sosia said, “You didn’t tell them about the bonus.”

“You expected me to? If we find that girl, they’ll get some of the bonus. But if they know how much he promised us, that’s how much they’d want. This way, we get to take a little extra. Which we deserve, for taking the risk of brining the company here, and for finding this job,” Senna said. She was by no means greedy, as far as sellswords went, but she also knew that the perks that came with being the leader of a company. “What, don’t tell me you disapprove.”

“Not in the least,” Sosia said, grinning from ear to ear.

Senna reflected hers sister's smile. We're going to do well here, I think. Very well. 

Power corrupts, absolute power... is a whole lot of fun!

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Empress Dales Moitre, 
Noon,
Imperial City, 

The Empresses brow furrowed, as she annoyingly placed her hand to her chin. The weight of the Red Dragon Crown never grew more bearable to her. The highly valuable crown, the symbol of the Imperial monarchy, was surprisingly bare in comparison to what one would expect the jeweled crown of the Empire to look like. The Headgear was made from the finest dark steel, and adorned with blood red, flawless rubies. The centerpiece, a sinister looking black dragon’s head, had ruby eyes, and was breathing red flame, which was made from the red brilliant gem.  She didn’t know if she would keep it, when her “dear” husband ascended, but she liked it nonetheless. She had earned the crown, by cutting down her father. It was hers, by right of her blade. 

The weapon itself, her blackened wraith dagger, was safely tucked away, and given a place of honor among the rest of her precious knives. At the moment, she carried an ornate gladius for self defense . It’s scabbard was adorned with jewels, but the blade itself was rather plain, being a standard Imperial sword, besides the material, which was ebony. 

Empress Moitre wore a very long dress, which went all the way down to her shoes, which had ruby adorned slippers, as if it doubled as a robe. Colored red and black, it went nicely with her crown, though it clashed with her pale blonde hair.. It was made from rich fabric, and embroidered with snarling Drakes. The symbol of her Empire was that of the mighty Dragon, and when making public appearances, she made sure to cover herself in that iconography. Even moreso now, that dark rumors were spreading. She needed to seem like the powerful Empress who freed Cyrodili from the clutches of The Dominion, and remind her subjects she was there monarch. The woman she wasn’t, but wanted, to become. For the sake of her subjects.

I think Tiber Septim had a Dragon as a soldier. A mighty warrior, and a loyal vassal.  Nafaalilargus. Master has a pet Dragon. I wonder if we could use him as a symbol of Imperial power….

Her symbol of power, which she was currently sitting in, which was usually vacant except for when she held court, was much taller than herself. The Ruby Throne, stood proudly. The throne was splendid, made from white marble stone, carved into it was the veins of true roots. The front part, the chair, held a back of red pillows for comfort, but still did little to ease the stress one person would endure as the monarch of the Cyrodilic Empire.  Behind the chair, the rest of the throne stretched upwards, until it reached the top, which held a massive, helmet-sized, crimson gem, which was surrounded by gold embroidment. 

The throne room as a whole was quite massive. A long, crimson carpet went from the great doorway. All the way to the Ruby Throne itself. Massive stone pillars flanked the carpet, of white stone marble,  going from one side of the throne room to the other. The throne room was guarded by a large, wooden gate, that could be reinforced if needed, if somehow the palace was breached. Which was very unlikely to happen, as the place was built like a fortress. The White-Gold tower could hold out in a siege for months, possibly years! And that wasn’t even going into the actual Imperial City. 

Her posture was hunched, and the weight of her crown heavy. Like most Monarchs. 

“And that’s how it is, you're majesty. The letters are unquestionable proof. The Baron was planning to murder you.” The Occultus soldier said, outloud. Normally, she would take these kind of meetings in her office, but she had little else on her schedule today, so the Throne Room would do. The place was horribly empty, and unusually quiet, due to the fact not many people were here, besides the many guards, and servants running around doing their duties. The soldiers stationed to guard her were mostly Imperial Palace Guards of the Imperia Palatina . The core of her elite bodyguards were made up of Veteran Legionaries, and highly distinguished, Imperial Watchmen. Although some members of Grey Wolf, officially known as Occultus Lupina, her personal guard and spies, lingered here and there. They proudly bore their white-plate mail, and white-gold blades with fevor, and unmatched courage. 

The Imperial Palatina was more like a second garrison inside the palace district, then her actual, personal bodyguards, which she used Grey Wolf personnel for. Say what you would about the man, but soldiers personally trained by her disgraced wolf-legate would be uncanny, and highly dangerous hunters.  

Despite this, she knew many Palace Guardsmen from her Princess day’s, and valued their friendship immensely. She knew she could rely on them to their duty, and protect her. 

About sixty or so Palace Guards lined the Throne Room, stalwart guards of heavy-white plate. On the upper levels that flanked the Throne, about twenty or so, Imperial Ballistarii guarded, aiming there white-oak crossbows down upon the Throne Room for any threats that lurked below. 

Must I always deal with pesky nobles…

The soldier in question spoke in an impeccably smooth voice, crisp and very professional. One of Lilly’s best agents or so she heard.Captain Ocellaris. He wore the dark leather armor, that bore the all-seeing eye of the Pentiulas Occultus, along with a purple hood with silver lining,and a porcelain white-mask, that he held over his face, signifying him as well a member of the Colleague of Whispers. His grey hair showed his age, but it seems he hadn’t lost his edge. Truth be told, she didn’t even know what race he belonged to, due to his mask, but she assumed Altmer because of his name.

Dales placed her hands to her lap, reclining on her throne. She spoke in a cold, authoritarian voice, “I thought we had rooted out, my father's most loyal supporters from the nobility and Elder council. Why was Baron Tiridus allowed to operate undaunted for so long?” 

Baron Tiridus. It seemed not too long ago, she was calling him “Uncle T”. The man was a very close friend to Dales and her family. Heck, the young monarch had not two hours ago, considered the man like family to her. But it seemed, he too had betrayed her. According to these letters, the good Baron was plotting to have her eliminated for killing Amaund. Betrayal could not be tolerated. 

Maybe once, Dales mind would be clouded by human frailty, such as morality, and emotion, but that needed to end. The evidence was clear, and backed up by a servant’s testimony, not going even into the letters. Written in the duke's hand-writing, and bound with his official seal. 

The Occultus agent cleared his throat, “Indeed, my Empress. The Baron had covered his tracks so well. If it weren't for Sergeant’s Loki’s interception of his correspondence, we wouldn’t have even known his plotting. Allies of your deceased father, are also allies of the Dominion, and must be handled accordingly.” He motioned towards the man standing beside him. A very tall nord. He wore a longcoat, lined with dark leather, and chainmail. On his back, he carried a sinister looking sword, some kind of two-handed scimitar. He wore a chainmail coif that covered everything but his eyes, and had a steel helmet, which was nordic indesign going by the horns sprouting from the sides. The wolf patch on his right shoulder, showed him to be a member of Greywolf. 

While the Occultus was technically one organisation, a little rivalry was brewing between the regular agents, and the elite, almost paramilitary Grey-Wolf. Even still, the two groups highly respected one another, and could easily work together for a common goal.

The Empress gave a slight smile, raising her hand, “Well done. Both of you. You do the Occultus credit with your skill.

Sergeant Loki nodded his head, letting it fall down for a second in a bow, he spoke in a thick nordic accent, pointing to him having been raised in either Skyrim, or Bruma. “Thank ye, your Majesty. I do not require your praise, however. I did my duty, nothing more. What matters now is we, strike hard and fast, before this traitorous filth has a chance to spread his tendrils of corruption.” 

The Empress, her voice tinged with curiosity, placed her hands back on her lap, saying, “What do you propose then, sergeant?” 

The nord responded quickly, “We slaughter him now. Go in to his villa, and butcher him, along with his retainers.” She could assume the nord grinned underneath his mail, “The one thing better about our nobility, compared to the Bretons, is we don’t allow them to field a standing army of traitorous peasants, and knights. It wouldn’t take too long too-” 

The Empress interrupted him, “Yes. His villa is near the Imperial City.” The nord nodded his head, “Aye, that it is. I could gather elements of Second Legion, and launch an assault on the place. I already checked myself, the Baron’s residence is lightly defended with only a handful of sellswords. We go, capture the Baron and his family,  afterwards burn the place to the ground as a message to show the price of treason to any would be assassins in the nobility, and defiance to your will!”

The Empress's eyes betrayed no emotion, as she fidgeted in her throne, she asked, “Captain, what’s your opinion on this...response?” 

The masked captain coughed, briefly putting his hand to his mouth, speaking once more in rigid, tone of voice, “The sergeant’s logic is sound. Furthermore, it would require little from us. The villa is in striking distance from the Imperial City. We could have this plot ended in mere hours!” 

Dales wasted no time, saying, in an excited voice, roaring so the assembled soldiers could hear her, “Then so shall it be. The blood of traitors shall be spilled today! You have my blessing then, Captain, Sergeant. Gather as many men as you need, and commence the bloodbath. Purge this traitorous filth from Cyrodili!” She leaned back, reclining in her throne, as her Imperial Palintina yelled, the entire eighty man unit, saluted with gusto, “Kill those traitors! For the Empress! For the Empire!” Her Palace Guards were her most loyal soldiers. They would never betray her, as the Baron had.  The duo of Occultus agents saluted sharply, as they turned around, there capes blowing in the wind, ready to carry out their orders. It seems she would need to make a decision  today, after all. Something so measley as condemning someone who used to be very close to her. She felt nothing for her “uncle”. Anyone who betrayed her, or her Empire, would receive no mercy from her. 

It amazed her how much a single night could change a person. How much somene could change in a few weeks. Already the disgusting self-pity that defined her, has been replaced by a burning venom, that compelled her to destroy everything, and anyone, that got in her way.  Dales as a person didn’t matter anymore. The only thing she cared about, was making sure her people endured, and prospered. If any of her emotions got in the way of that. She would override it. She would destroy it. She would rip it to shreds. Dales didn’t care if she became a soulless husk of a person. She welcomed that. 

She glanced at the twin Imperial banners flanking the entrance to the throne room. Not at the fabric, but the symbol depicted on the fabric. A black, monstrous dragon. 

She would become that Dragon. And all who opposed her, would be her prey. 

***********
The Duke’s Villa, 
Noon

“Legionaries Comitatenses. advance!” The tight formation of Imperial infantry, marched through the villa’s ground, under the strict orders of there Centurion. The place was really big. The Baron owned quite a hefty piece of land, which showed how close he was to the former Imperial family. A very wealthy grape trader, as well as a member of the upper nobility. He was, infact a former Elder Councilor, but had given up his seat once Dales took the Throne. He said to the young Empress, it was due to him wanting to finally retire, but it seemingly had a more sinister purpose. To further his own plans in relative secrecy. 

No more though. 

Behind them, lay fields, and farms, all of which would be spared the inferno, along with the farmers, and peasants themselves. They were not to blame for there lords treachery, and would not be punished for it. The Empresses orders. The Imperial soldiers present were all from the Martullus’s Second Legion. At the Empresses order, Martullus had provided a century of men, under the command of Centurion Ghezvok.  They wore standard Imperial steel armor, along with dark blue capes. Except the Centurion, whom was leading in the front. The Orc wore twisted armor, that was orcish in make, and design. The Orismer were peerless blacksmiths, and many of them served in the Legion as shock troopers. Many Orc legionaries wore Imperial armor forged by there blacksmiths, made from Orichalcum. It was jagged, but sturdy, taking notes from both Orc, and Imperial armor.  Quality-wise, all the legionaries were all veterans of numerous battles, and had served in their Legion admirable. Some of them even wore wreaths over there heads, gifts given to them by their General to show their valor. Their rectangular steel Scutum’s were drawn, and held up, as the line continuously pressed forward, leaving behind a small trail of dead bodies, blood stained gladius in hand.  

The sellswords had barely put up a fight, and the fight itself had barely lasted two minutes. All they could do was wail away on the Imperial shield wall, while being stabbed through by the Imperial’s gladius. The crushing fist of the Legion would not be challenged by cheap mercenaries!

Despire the lack of any real resistance, no legionary dared leave their formation to pursue any looting. They were disciplined, professional soldiers, and needed to retain their wall of flesh, and steel, regardless of how tame the situation was. The group went deeper through the courtyard, before reaching the doorway into the main building. The Villa itself. 

Stopping the advancing column, the orc centurion lifted his arm, halting the advance. The orc had a sense that something was amiss. This had been far too easy. 

His suspicions were confirmed, when the sound of arrows whistling through the air, could be heard in the distance. The centurion screamed at the top of his lungs, “Legionaries Comitatenses , form Tseudo!” The assembled cohort screamed in unison, as they did, “YES, Centurion!” The front row of legionaries pushed their shields forward, as the middle group raised their shields upwards, and the side group placed themselves, so there flanks would be covered. In a few seconds, a testudo formation was enacted to perfection with perfect teamwork, and the raining arrows were being caught by the shield wall.  The courtyard was surrounded by three walls, two on the side, and one of the front, that had the only door. On each side of the walls, there were about a dozen or so windows, which had now been smashed open, and archers were raining arrows below. 

It seemed the  Baron had caught wind of what was happening, and made preparations. 

Even still, to the 70th Cohort of the Second Legion, this was nothing more than a minor hinderance! 

The Legionaries maintained their cool, and focus. The group advanced forward in its tight wall of shields, ignoring the barrage of arrows, as the Centurion barked, “Legionaries, we need to reach the door, march forward!”. They had to reach the door. Which was certainly barred. For now. 

Beyond, inside the building, about a dozen or so armed guards stood, equipped with a variety of weapons, mostly spears, and swords, though you could see the odd mace or two among the group. All of them were dressed filthy, in decrepit leather armor, or rusty chainmail. They looked more like bandits, then proper sellswords. Each one of them was desperate for gold though. And the Baron had been paying them quite a bit of it. Some fancy, Imperial milk-drinkers weren’t going to take that away from them! 

The door had been locked, barred with wooden planks, fortified with chains, and blocked with a makeshift barricade of furniture. The baron had told them, they simply had to hold for a bit, and prevent the soldiers from getting through for awhile while him and his family made there escape! The Baron would then give them a signal, and the lot of them would follow the Baron’s path in escape, and meet him on the outside. The lot of them weren’t the brightest bunch. Regardless, the Legionaries wouldn’t be getting though for quite some time! 

But it wasn’t legionaries they needed to be worried about.

All of a sudden, a massive, roaring ball of electricity flew towards them at blinding speed, sizzling in horror. And before any of them could react, collided with the group. It sent dozens of spark bolts towards them, hitting about half the group, electrocuting them, and sending unbearable stabs of pain. The ones who weren’t lucky, dropped their weapons, screaming in pure agony. Behind them, a group of four men stood.  They were clad in leathercoats, with pieces of metal armor attached here and there, on there shoulders, hands, wrists, and knees. There faces were covered by leather masks. As if they were all synced, they fell to one knee, as they did, they drew from their backs, steel longswords. 

Without wasting any time, silently, the masked men rushed forward, sprinting insanely fast and collided with the group of mercenaries. With both speed, and ferocity, they cut through them like grass, laying waste to the group The half-a dozen or so that hadn’t been incapacitated by the electric spell, were cut down in mere seconds, by the four soldiers of Grey Wolf, and soon, the ones whom were incapacitated were swiftly cut by the throat, and left to bleed out on the dirty villa ground.  

In seconds, the Wolves of the Empress laid asunder there enemies, 

Swiftly, the group of four worked to disassemble the barricade, and allow the legionaries entrance into the manor. One of there numbers, turned to face another, “Go take the private, and find the Baron and his family. Bring them back alive!” 

The masked soldier nodded his head, as him and another one of Grey Wolf followed behind, disappearing up a staircase. The sounds of swords clashing, and steel flashing soon followed, as battle was joined above. In their search for the Baron and his family, they would have to deal with the remaining mercenaries, especially the many archers that still prowled the mansion. 

The doors finally burst open a few minutes later, as about two dozen or so legionaries stormed inside. Of course, the entire group of one hundred couldn’t go all in. It would only take this amount to remove the remaining mercenaries, and effectively search the mansion. Leading the group, was the Centurion himself. A very tall, and muscular orc. He scanned the surroundings, including the dead bodies, before grunting, “Well, well. It seems you spectre’s reputation isn’t exaggerated…not bad.”

The member of Grey Wolf silently nodded his head, before saying, in a cold and detached voice, “We’re under orders to secure the Baron, and his family unharmed. Have your men help in the search. Kill everyone else.” 

The Orc puffed his chest in annoyance. He didn’t like non-legion personnel giving him orders, but, nonetheless, relented his command. Raising his blade, the Centurion ordered, “All right men! We’ve made it! Now for the real mission. The Empress herself has ordered this to be so. The family here, is a family of treacherous betrayers! We need to round them up, and deliver them to the Empresses feet, alive, and unspoiled! Do you understand?” He made emphasis on the last two, “Alive, and unspoiled, got it?!”

The assembled Legionaries all shouted in unison, “Yes Centurion!” 

*****
Imperial Palace
Sundown 

The Empress had waited around four hours. Court, as predicted, was very slow, and uneventful. The only remotely interesting thing, besides the whole, Baron’s betrayal, was a wealthy Dumner cheese merchant offering a trade deal. The Imperial City would receive an abundance of low price cheese, for the low price of additional security for his caravans! Of course, she would need to consult her trade minister, and advisors, but the deal seemed very tempting, and was open at the Empresses convenience.  

The sun was already fading, and her back, aching from the discomfort of her throne, when word has reached her, that military operation was a complete success. She was almost falling asleep. Normally, she would be alert till the final second of her day. But nobody, but her guards, and servants were here! The Baron and his family had been taken alive, and with very limited Imperial casualties, Apparently, the Cohort had ransacked the villa for all of its valuables before torching the place. Thankfully, there was no collateral damage in regards to the outlining village, and farmlands. Some peasants were even seen cheering, as the soldiers led the Baron away in chains! 

The Empress felt a little bad, for not informing Gracchus about the situation, but it required only a miniscule amount of Imperial forces, that she didn’t see the need. She would tell him the entire situation first chance she got! 

Jolting her awake, the doors to the throne room slammed open. About a dozen or so second Legion legionaries walked through the door, and into the throne room, there metal armor wrattling as they walked, In the middle of the group, was the chained Baron and his family. The man Dales once called uncle, walked with dignity, despite his predicament, though his mannerism, and appearance completely clashed. The clothes he wore, though clearly of fine make, were filthy covered in dirt, and dried blood. His face was covered in sweat, and his black hair, oily and rough. His wife, little daughter, and son, looked better in comparison, though there tear-stained faces didn’t look like true nobility. Unlike the Baron, his wife and children, were not chained, but still kept very close to blade-drawn legionaries. 

When they reached the steps of the Throne, the dozen legionaries fell to their knee’s, bowing their heads deeply to their monarch. The one in front of the group, a tan looking Imperial, whose side-ways horse-hair helm identified him as a Centurion, spoke, “Your majesty. We retrieved the traitor. Just as you ordered.” 

The Empress eyed the group, before smirking, “Good. You’ve done well, Centurion. Bring him forward.” 

The Empress had contemplated on the absurdity of the situation. Just a few days, she was remembering all the fun times she and the Baron had when she was younger. He was always very kind to her. Much more then her father. And in the span of twenty four hours, she had learned of his treachery, ordered an assault on his villa, and brought him to her throne in chains.  

The Baron was roughly shoved to the front by an Orc legionary, his iron chains dragging behind him. When he refused to kneel, the same Orc rammed the butt of his sword into the back of his knee, causing him to be thrown to the ground, in a kneeling position, pain clearly visible on his face. His wife gasped, as tears flooded her vision. 

The Empress, reclining in her throne, raising her hand, she simply said “Do you deny your treason, Arveus?” 

In response, the ragged looking man, spat on the marble floor, shouting at the top of his lungs, “I do not respond to a patricidal slug-queen! A filthy whore that deserves to be bullwhipped, and put in her place! You disgusting ****!!! Your no true Empress!!! Your father was a greater monarch then you ever could be!!!”  His rage and his rant was plain and clear to everyone in the room. Dale’s brows raised, as she got out of her throne. She slowly strided towards the Baron, until he was inches away from her, the iron chains barely keeping him back from attempting to rip her apart with his bare hands. 

Dales let out a small chuckle, as she raised her hand, and whispered in his ears, “Do you know the real difference between me and my father, dear uncle? “ She placed her fist at his chest, “I don't require an executioner….” With a flash, at the discharge of magic, a great, ice spear appeared in the Empress’s hand, ramming itself into the Baron’s flesh, spraying crimson blood all across himself, and over the young monarch’s dress and face. The Ice-spear embedded itself into the Baron, impaling him. His face, shocked, and eyes agape, stuttered out, “What….” The Empress her face betraying no emotion, melachonically, removed the weapon, tearing it out of his chest, and in a delayed burst of crimson, spaying more blood all over her, and the carpet.

His wife, and his children screamed out in terror, “My love!” She said, tears coming forth like a river. 

Dales dispelled her weapon,as she wielded it one hand, the ice spear disappearing from her hand. She pushed the Baron forward using one of hand hands, and a jolt of a strength spell, and let his corpse fall onto the steps of her throne. Yawning the Empress said, “;Lop off his head, and stick it onto a spike adoring the gate. Show the rest of the world who would dare plot against me, the price of such tom foolery. And throw the body in the sewer.” She made a motion with her hand. Saluting, a palace guard rushed forward, dragging the Baron’s dead body out of the Throne Room with a hook jammed into his mouth, and chain. She went back onto her throne reclining once more, her imperfect posture greeting her prisoners, and soldiers. 

“Show me his family.”  She ordered. 

Despire protests and tears, the legionaries pushed the trio forward, until they were inches away from the young woman, whose entire body was wet with her husband, and their fathers blood. The young Empress looked each and every one of them in the eye, and inspected each of them. The girl had brown hair like her mother, and looked no older than twelve her face was covered in wet tears, and her cheeks, crimson from the stinging drops of tears, as she held onto a small doll. Her brother, a young boy of six, looked no better. Though unlike her, who was sniffling, the boy was outright weeping. He wanted his daddy. His black hair was messy, and the rest of his face looked no better. Both childrens clothing was filthy with dirt, just like  The wife was the worse, wailing, crying, and screaming unitilegiable babbles. Her once pretty face, was marred with both extreme sadness, and extreme hatred. 

Letting out a sigh, the Empress had made her decision. She ordered, “There’s an East Empire ship docked in the harbor, that’s going to establish a remote mining colony, on an island far out in the ocean.It’s leaving in an hour. Make sure these three are on it…” Dale’s icy blue eyes closed, as the other womans green eyes filled with surprise. The Palace Guard quickly grabbed her and her children, escorting them outside of the Throne Room, before Dales could see there reactions. 

Gratitude? Anger? Despair? Sorrow?  The Empress didn’t know. She didn’t want to know. What mattered, was Dales had shown mercy. Did it make her look weak in front of her men? Was is the right thing to do? Questions poured into the monarch’s mind, as she placed her hand to her chin inquisitively. Thinking about the events that had occurred today.  And what she had done

They had...done nothing to me. They had no part in Areveus’s plot. They were innocent children. His innocent wife. I’m...not a monster. I couldn’t kill them. They didn’t deserve it.  

***** 
Imperial Palace, Empresses Study
Night 

Dales usually returned to her personal study at night. She didn’t really like sleeping with her master. More to do with the fact he always had...company with him. Try sleeping to the sounds of a horny nord ******* something. It’s impossible. Her master, respected her sexuality, and didn’t force her to do anything she didn’t want to with him, unless it was an act of necessity, but it was always uneasy for her to share the bed with a man.  She loved him. Like a father. Or maybe it wasn’t love? But the binding. She didn’t know. 

Regardless, the Empress would spend most of her nights sleeping on her couch. A miserable affair for someone as high ranked as her, but oddly comfortable. She had gotten used to the piece of furniture and could honestly fall asleep on it in seconds. 

Dales would usually spend a good three or four hours reading through the various books she had. Instead of non-fiction, or the latest Bathory novel, Dales had, for the last few weeks, been reading books solely on military tactics, philosophy, and statecraft. If she wanted to be become a proper monarch, she needed to sharpen her mind, and make it up to task. Which amounted to expensive tutors, and reading a hell of alot of old books. 

Right now, she was reading Tactics of the Legion Volume I by Legate Vitallion Ramidus , a Legionary who served under Uriel Septim in the Third Era. While slightly outdated, it gave a fascinating perspective to the tactics employed the red Legion of the Empire.She was reading a passage about why Legionaries choose their columns by seniority, and veterancy, when the sound of cleaning, brought her from her book. There was another person in the room with her. 

Her wooden desk was being scrubbed by one of her servants, a young Imperial by the name of Alessia. She had tan skin,hazel eyes, and brown hair. She was very attractive and had rather large...assets. Skinny too. The woman was being very loud, and the Empress focused on her for a second. Just a single, close glance at her, showed her how beautiful she was. Her smooth skin, buxom looks, and...assets, made the Empress feel...excited.

The servant, noticing her gaze, gave the Empress a sly smile, as she seductively lowered her maid’s dress to show off more of her large, inviting cleavage, “Does my...appearance...please you your majesty? I can...do more. And show you more if you want…” She placed a finger to her lip, as she seductively placed it in her mouth. So it was her intention to get the attention of the Empress all along..

Just a few days ago, the Empress remembered her talking about just how much she loved her husband, and the son they had together. 

Ah...so it’s this…

In contrast to how her close friends portrayed her as a horribly failed lady-killer, The Empress was...offered sex, quite a bit. It was an open secret among the servants, that the Empress loved the company of lovely ladies. And quite a few servants thought it possible to become the Empress concubine. Their thought process was if they became that, they would be set for life. And would be showered in gold, and jewels by the Empress. All for physical gain of course. None of them..loved her. Or wanted to make her happy. It was all for the gold.

Before, Dales didn’t care. She...was lonely. She wanted the company of any pair of breasts that came her way. She wanted to bury herself in vaginas so she could forget the pain of….losing that person so dear to her heart. Dales, when doing it, would often imagine the other woman was...her She knew she was being exploiting by these girls for her wealth. She was exploiting them for there body. It was a vicious cycle,

The Empresses stomach filled with disgust. 

Closing her eyes, Dales said to herself, No

She monotoned, her face, and voice losing all sense of warmth, “Get out of my office.” 

The girls eyes opened in surprise , as she stuttered out, “What? Dont you want too-”

“Leave. That’s an order from your Empress.” The young Empress said, her icy blue eyes piercing the servant. Fixing her uniform, the young servant bowed her head, her face practically in tears, “Please your majesty. I’m so sorry...I...really need this job, please don't….i’m sorry….” 

The Empress’s voice, and face didn’t softened, but her body relaxed slightly, “Don’t worry. You’ll still have a job when you return to work tomorrow. But make no mistake. Do not repeat what you just did. Ever.” She gave her a slight smile, her voice warming up slightly, “Go to your family and enjoy the rest of the evening. Ask the guard outside to escort you to your apartment.”

The maid bowed her head deeply, and rushed outside the door.  Sighing, Dales took a deep breath of air.

She would never again accept pity-sex from a straight woman who wanted Dales solely so the Empress could shower her in gold, and rich fabric. 

Never again would she degrade herself like that. 

Dales glanced back at her book, and read all throughout the night. 

Power corrupts, absolute power... is a whole lot of fun!

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Avitus Agrippa, 
Frigid Wastes, The Defiled Forest 
Twilight,

"Upon my honor I do swear undying loyalty to the Emperor, Titus Mede II..."
"...and unwavering obedience to the officers of his great Empire."
"May those above judge me, and those below take me, if I fail in my duty."
"Long live the Emperor! Long live the Empire!"

Avitus fell long and hard, as he repeated the oath he made, all those years ago in his head. Since then, the person he swore that oath too had changed twice. His life flashed before his eyes, as he plummeted into the depths of the earth below. The creature was falling with him, it slashed at him with it’s claws, while Avitus returned attacks with his fist. What would be seconds in real life felt like minutes, as Avitus struggled against the monstrosity before him. At last he saw the ground. 

Time froze to a crawl, before rushing forward at the last moment, as he collided to the ground. His vision blackened.

 *********

Ahhhh...my ******* head... 

Avitus’s head felt horrible, as the Imperial Legate’s eyes opened wide. Pain assailed his mind, and tinges of red formed on the corners of his vision, which was heavily blurred, though he seemingly saw an abundance of white color. He was greeted with the sounds of howling wind as he awoke, and regained consciousness. His entire body seethed, crippling, horrible pain. Instinctively, the Legate crushed his hands into a ball to test his ability to move. Despite some aches, his motor reflexes seemed fine. The legionnaire wiggled his toes. Those were fine too.  The Legate groaned in discomfort, as he struggled, to make sure the vertigo he was experiencing, wouldn’t consume his vision. Regardless, an aching headache was the least of the soldier’s concerns. 

I remember everything. 

The dead stormcloaks. The monster him and his men faced down. The extended skirmish. The frightful flight, on the back of the beast. And the long fall… 

The last thing he remembered seeing, was that pale wolf-beast, and him struggling against one another in mid-air, before colliding into the ground. To be honest with himself, Avitus had figured that would be his end. To be felled in the snow, from the fall, his bones laid asunder, and broken.  He had made peace with himself, and his duty, in his suicidal charges against the monster. A legionaries duty never ended it seemed, and Avitus remained in the land of the living. Or so he thought. Still, the fact he had survived his fateful fall, greatly surprised him 

Avitus’s vision finally came through, as the vertigo dissipated. He could see clearly now. Instantly, his body moved forward, and he lifted himself up, and glanced at his surroundings. The snow had stopped falling now, though the howling, freezing wind lingered. The icy grip of death hadn’t left the place, it seemed, as all around, broken, and skeletal outlines of dead trees stood, acting as a graveyard of sorts for the many trees. Oddly enough,  a faint, vermillion red haze stretched out in the sky, giving a sense of light to the surrounding darkness. Splashes of the reddish-orange light tinged the skeleton tree-line, and made the place seem a little less cold.  Seemingly, the hour of twilight  had fallen Though the sight of the sky in this state was, even to a  hardened, cold soldier like Avitus...nothing short of breathtaking, it made the soldier feel even more at unease. 

He was sure when he had fallen, the moon was darting above in the sky, and the night had taken hold.  How long had he been unconscious for? And why hadn’t he frozen to death if he was asleep so long, exposed in the elements? 

Speaking of which, Avitus felt cold as all hell. The environment surely would end him if he didn’t find shelter soon. Avitus shivered, as he put his arms together. He was sure Skyrim itself wasn’t as freezing.

Holy ****...it’s cold. If I wanted to freeze to death, I would ******* go to Winterhold, you **** ****. 

The Legate, thinking it would be a waste of time to bitch about the weather, like a little shit, thought it more prudent to figure where he ******* was. (If you couldn't tell, even in his thoughts and descriptions, the Imperial officer loved swearing.)  He needed to think positive!

At least it isn’t that dark out. Though if it’s the hour of twilight, I really need to find shelter soon, before that changes. 

Glancing in all directions, the legionary tried to take in all the details he could. As mentioned before, the Legate was surrounded by dozens, no hundreds, of dead tree’s. There shriveled up trunks were wretched, as were there rickety, skinny branches. The snow on the ground, was pretty deep. He could thank it for dampening his fall, but Avitus, hated snow. Like, really hated.  Glancing upwards, he could distantly make out the peak he had fallen from, which was highly in the sky. In front of him, the large, foreboding cliff side, acted as a barrier, and spread far and wide. Perhaps the Imperial officer had fallen into some kind of valley?  He put his ears to the test, seeing if he could make out the sounds of wildlife, and civilisation,

Nothing but the cold, howling wind in the distance.

The pale-wolf beast was nowhere to be in sight, though he certainly saw signs of it. Dozens of tree’s were uprooted, and large snowprints were visible, in a direction, along with scores of black blood. The monster had stupidly, ignored his unconscious body it seemed, instead of finishing the legate off. Running off to the woods instead out of desperation. To be fair, it had taken quite a beating from Avitus and his Dragon Cohort. Any sane creature would surely flee, and fight another day, then face the man who nearly succeeded in killing him.  

Such a shame. I was truly hoping I could turn you into a ******* coat, so I could endure this damn weather… 

As if fate itself had answered Avitus’s demand for something to make a coat of, suddenly a low, foul growling could be heard from the distance. Emerging in the distance, crimson, glowing eyes entered Avitus’s vision. And by “eyes” he meant pairs of eyes.  Knowing his life was in danger, Avitus scanned around the clearing, looking for anything to use as a weapon. Nothing, Both of his blades, his Gladius, and dagger, were embedded into that hairy weasel. So instead, he raised his fists, and appeared tall, maybe intimidation would work.  The roaring grew louder, and louder as suddenly Avitus faced a new threat. Wolves. Or something that loosely resembled them.

Prowling on all fours, the shriveled remains of human faces haunted Avitus’s view. Human faces attached to the bodies of beasts, that is. Covered in head to toe, in thick straggly, black fur, that blended them in darkness. They had long, disgustingly narrow limbs, like the creature from before, that ended in hands, which had dark bird-talons coming from there fingers. There bodies were long, and skinny. Going by the amount of skin hanging from them, and pronounced rib cages, they looked practically starved, as if they hadn’t eaten in weeks. The worst part of them, however, that sent shivers of fear into Avitus, were there faces. Looking like cruel imitations, and visages of men, there human-like faces gave off an expression of eternal agony, as if they were frozen in time. Their skin, cold and grey, were covered in horrible boils, and looked dead, lifeless. As eyes, dark red orbs, hauntingly glowed luminous rays of evil forebodance. For teeth, in their tiny mouths, lay, small, razor sharp fangs. Besides the growling, occasionally, Avitus could hear moaning coming from them.   

Needless to say, Avitus felt sick, just by looking at them.

At first sight, the creatures moaned in what seemed like vigor filled happiness, spotting Avitus, as they instantly charged forward, running on there four legs, overjoyed by the prospect of finally tasting man-flesh once more. The sight of these monstrous beings, would send lesser men screaming in terror, and into the nameless night, in fear. But Avitus was not a normal man. He was a Legionary of the Empire. A peerless soldier. A professional warrior! His skill and strength unmatched! Truly, if anyone could face down these horrid beasts, it was him! Right? In response...
...
Avitus turned heel, and ran the other direction as fast as his legs could carry him, he yelled, his usually stoic voice, filled with desperation, and surprise, “**** this shit, i’m outta here!” 

The creatures, yelping like Hyenas spurned from their meal, followed behind, sprinting towards their intended victim, at super fast speeds. Luckily for Avitus, he had abandoned his heavy armor, behind when chasing his previous foe, so it didn’t weigh him down, and he could successfully flee from the incoming monsters. For now.

He didn’t even know their numbers. Though he could tell by the pitter patter of feet behinds him, there numbers were many. In his blur of speed, Avitus passed by many tree’s, and annoyingly, needed to avoid colliding into them. Even at his advance running, the...creatures were gaining ground, and would soon by in striking distance. His speed increased, when he heard from behind, a surprisingly human scream coming from one of the hounds. There pace increased, and as they got closer, they got faster. As if the lure of a meal was so much to them, they got stronger as they got closer to their prey. Even if he wasn’t unarmed, Avitus’s first response to whatever the **** these “things” were, would be to run away.  As he was, he doubted he could survive an encounter with them. Their appearance was that horrifying. He’d rather that pale-wolf beast chase after him. 

Under the vermillion twilight sky, and in the frozen tree’s of some unknown forest, Avitus ran for his life, sprinting. He had forgotten the cold, as sweat dropped from his brow, and his entire body felt like it was on fire. They were so close. He could practically feel there foul breathing on his heels.

However, in Avitus’s haste to escape horrible death, his usual concentration was broken. Yelping in surprise, Avitus fell to the snow covered floor suddenly, his feet tripping on a tree’s root, behind him, the terrible voices of those creatures right behind him.  Laughing.  Avitus turned his head around, along with his entire body, bringing his fists up. Too late. They were upon him. One of them, pounced, and grappled onto the legionary. Avitus was thrown onto his back, as he barely kept the creatures face away from his face, and his throat, using his hands. As he was this close, he could see the monsters details clearier. And he wish he couldn’t. The putrid sores on it’s face oozed black, bile, as did its mouth, spitting out dark saliva as it salivated at the prospect of tearing Avitus limb from limb. It screamed, horrible amalgamations of the sounds grown men would make crossed with a pig. Normally, Avitus might get a kick from imagining the face of the Breton pig king on it, but Avitus was currently beyond terrified. The Imperial soldier put all of his strength into his arm, as he delivered punches aimed at it’s face. They were crawling over his legs now, as he felt slivery hands reach for his feet. He kicked with as much force as he could muster. His entire body flailing around, as he struggled against the pack. He knew this was the end. He had survived the fall, only to be devoured by these mockeries of men. Slowly devoured was his destined fate. Truly, his lack of belief in any god was proven here. 

Avitus wouldn’t give up without a fight though. 

Screaming at the top of his lungs like a nordic berserker, Avitus’s face lost any sense of fear, as the terror he had felt previous was  now replaced with pure and utter rage, ‘COME ON YOU FUCKERS, I’LL GUT YOU ALL LIKE PIGS!!!” the Legate defiantly yelled. Avitus grabbed the first one that assaulted him by the throat, squeezing as hard he could, he rammed his fist into it’s face, using his fingernails to dig into it’s eyes. The creature's screams confirmed Avitus reached his destination. Another one bite Avitus’s foot biting through the heavy armored boots he was wearing, causing sharp pain to the soldier. In response, Avitus slammed his foot upwards, with enough force towards the monsters face sending it flying backwards. As they swarmed him, Avitus fought harder. A creature reached for his arm, Avitus roaring like an animal, punched it in the gut, throwing it aside. In response to the fierce resistance the beasts were facing, they large group of foul, creatures lunged forward, and dog piled the soldier. While they had expecting easy prey, they could win through sheer numbers. Avitus was being clawed, bitten, and attacked everywhere, as he struggled in vain, to get free from there hold.  It was no use. They had pinned him to the floor, and there were simply too many. The Legate was completely overrun.  Avitus now faced Oblivion. The slow and painful act of being devoured alive, by nameless horrors of the backwoods. This was his fate. Closing his eyes, Avitus prepared for the end, and the extreme pain that would follow in the next ten minutes. 

“FUS ROH DAH!!!” 

As if the heavens themselves had splintered, a booming noise erupted in the forest. Something louder then thunder and lightning splitting the air. Avitus, and the pack of creatures were thrown in the air, as a loud, and heavy shock wave hit them square in the face. The monsters were thrown aside, and landed in trees with Avitus being lucky. hitting the ground, although quite hard.  Head pained assailed him once more, as he struggled to get his bearings, as he picked himself up from the floor. Hunched over, and decrepit, one of the gibbering beasts in front of Avitus, lunged forward talons drawn with a scream of vicarious hatred, standing on two legs, Avitus placed his hands in front of himself to defend his face. 

The monster had only moved a single inch, when a long sword emerged from it’s stomach. The blade in question, was quite a good deal larger than an Imperial gladius, though it clearly took some design cues from the Imperial sword. The blade’s tip ended the same way. Oddly enough, strange runes glittered on the sword’s blade, which Avitus could tell were Nordic. Oh, and the blade was bathed in fire. The creature’s eyes twitched, as his insides boiled from the exposure to such extreme heat. The owner of the weapon stepped forward, and cut through the monster's flesh, the flaming blade cauterising the flesh before a single drop of blood could be spilt. Avitus could now see his rescuer. 

Clad in a very old fashioned suit of Imperial armor, a legionary stood, wielding his flaming sword. The armor itself was brilliant gold, and red. Being composed of golden chainmail, and red plate, the soldier stood tall and proud.  For a helmet, he wore a full face Imperial helmet, though it was quite odd, in that it had large steel wings coming from it’s side, as if it was nordic make. His armor set was adorned with crimson jewels, that proudly bore the Imperial Dragon at the front of it. The man’s entire equipment seemed to be of nordic make, as even the Imperial armor had a lot of nordic influence interwoven into it. Finally, on his back, he bore a brilliant cape, of red and blue, clashing colors, that nevertheless, looked stunning. Such vivid, and rich dye would have costed a fortune. 

Another creature lunged at him from behind, in an attempted ambush. Without glancing back, the man cut the creature mid-flight in-half, severing his midsection with his sword with a single flick of his sword, Another one, sprinting at lightning speeds rushed forward on all fours snarling. The legionary dug his feet into snow, and at the last second, launched his gauntleted fist into the monster's face, flattening it, and causing it to flip over from the strength and force of the punch. Bits of brain, and shards of bone now lingered on his hands. Without saying anything, it was clear the legionary had punched clean through the beast's skull, and into its brain   

Surrounded on all sides by the hungering daemons, that were screaming, and yelping like mad dogs, the man roared once more like he had done before, but what Avitus could assume were words, were different this time, 

“Yol Grah Dun!” 

His flaming sword, was set alit even more, bursting, and being consumed by a large torrent of fire. The blade, now instead of being on fire, seemed more like it was being devoured by the flame, was lifted above, as the man let loose a way cry, challenging any of the mongrels to challenge his might. The display of flame, and courage was more than enough to achieve it’s goal of completely demoralizing the sniveling monsters.  Shivering in fear, the creatures turned heel, and ran away like mad men in terror, albeit reluctant to leave behind a meal. 

And so it was over. 

Calling out, Avitus could have sworn he heard the man, yell in his direction “Norjr, i’m coming!”
 
Collapsing onto the ground, Avitus let out a huge sigh of air. He had survived. He had endured. He wasn’t in the stomach of some twisted abomination of the daedric prince with antlers! Relief filled his body, but so did tiredness. He had sprinted for ten minutes straight, had fought for his life, and had the wind been thrown out of him by a shockwave of force.  Exhaustion hit him like a massive ocean wave. Avitus was on the ground gasping for air seconds later. 

The masked legionary sheathed his flaming blade, inside his scabbard, the flames on it’s edge dying as he did. The man rushed forward, clearly his heavy armor didn’t slow him down at all. The man grabbed Avitus by the shoulder, gently, but firmly saying, “On thou feet, soldier. This whole place is blackened.  More creatures of foul intent, and terrible power will fall upon us soon! We must flee to safety... “ You could tell just by a few seconds of listening to his voice, he was a nord. His accent was so thick, Avitus could barely understand him. Born and raised in Skyrim then.

Underneath his heavy head, Avitus managed to stutter, “Who..are you?” The man’s grip hardened, when he saw Avitus’s up close. Underneath his helmet, in the slots, you could see pale blue, eyes. They quivered for a brief second, as they gazed at Avitus’s own. After a few second, he replied, glancing at away for a brief moment, as if he was afraid of the Imperials gaze, “Who am I…? I…” He took a few moments to answer, “I watched thou fight that great beast before on the ice cliff. I’ve been tracking you ever since.” He pointed towards himself with his thumb, “I am Wulf.”  

“Avitus” The Imperial responded. A monstrous roar echoed behind, though it was seemingly a huge distance away. Wulf, or so he called him, glanced behind his shoulder in fear.  The horrible wind howling soon became the only thing hearable.  Avitus, still in a daze, asked “What the hell is going on, here?!” 

Wulf chuckled underneath his breath, though his tone was of voice was still quite serious. “The good news? Thou are in the land of the living. Bad news? Thou has happened upon a valley deep in Twilight.” 

What the **** does that mean? 

Another roar, this time closer. Wulf swore, before leaning down, and helping Avitus back up “We must be away! I could handle these foul spawns of Hircine, myself, but I have you to worry about thou.” Before Avitus could protest, Wulf lifted Avitus bridal style, using the extreme strength in his muscles, carrying him without any trouble. Before Avitus knew it Wulf was sprinting through the forest, the vermillion twilight above them lighting their way through the forest. 

********
Wulf had taken Avitus to a cave deep within the forest. When asked if they were going to be able to find there way back, Wulf told him “It didn’t matter.” While cryptic, the nord had saved Avitus, and appeared to be a fellow member of the Legion, so Avitus had decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. It wasn’t long, till the two of them managed to get a fire going. The nord had also helped Avitus treat his many wounds, using makeshift bandages of fabric from his blue tunic. The nord had given Avitus some hides to use as a makeshift cloak, so he didn’t have to worry about death by exposure yet. The cave itself was rather large. It was a perfect hideaway in such a hostile environment though.  The entrance to it was a rather large crack, that only a man could fit through, in a larger cliffside. Deeper inside, led to a large circular room, made from the stonewall of the mountain. Not only did it provide shelter from the elements, it also protected the duo from monsters. Going by his display earlier, Avitus was sure he was the only one who needed protection though. 

Avitus was deep in thought, warming his hands by the roaring fire, when Wulf sat in front of him, so the two were facing, the nord asked, his voice still covered in that deep nordic accent, “You fought well, considering you lacked a blade. Thou shouldn’t be ashamed in your defeat. It was a brave thing to do. To fight to the end, despite all odds.” Wulf drew his longsword, placing it on his lap. He took out a whetstone, and began to sharpen the sword. Avitus could see a better picture of it now. The blade looked like a cross between a nordic longsword, and Imperial gladius. It’s pommel looked like a gladius, but the crossguard was nordic. The blade itself, like he mentioned before, was quite long. Much longer than any gladius, but still had a similar look to it.  On it’s edges, carved onto them were nordic runes, that had a faint blue glow. A runeblade then. The sword was seemingly made from Mithril, but it had a darker hue than most blades made from the exotic ore. Maybe it was some alloy, a mixture of Ebony, and Mithril?  Regardless, it was certainly a beautiful weapon. 

Slightly odd, but the nord hadn't taken off his helmet, or any of his armor. Maybe he felt more comfortable wearing it.

Avitus had a huge question at the back of his mind, and being...Avitus, was horribly blunt, “Back there...did you use the thu’um?” Avitus had heard tales of the power of Nord wielders of the voice, and the strength of the Dragonborn. He couldn’t believe he just witnessed a display of that power back there, “Yes.” Wulf answered bluntly, and simply. Avitus raised another question, fidgeting, “How? I heard it was a lost art. Only taught by the Greybeards on their mountain of High Hrgothar. Nobody knows it!” 

“Maybe in this age….” The nord answered cryptically. He knew by his tone, this would be the last thing he said on the manner. 

In the background, the howling wind roared outside, Avitus asked, not wanting the silence to get uncomfortable, “What were those...things?”

“Abominations of Hircine.” Answered the nord, as he continued to sharpened his sword. “Lesser Thralls to be sure. But still very dangerous in numbers to the unprepared. And quite horrifying to look at. 

Shivering, even among the flames, Avitus knew what would be haunting his nightmares from now on. Those faces would remain with him till death. Avitus buried his face into his arms, “I thought Hircines sphere extended only to Lycanthropes. The events of today, and yesterday showed me how stupidly naive  I was being…”  Wulf chuckled a little, the sounds of the whet stone hitting the sword echoing across the cave, “Indeed, Legate. The twilight sky calls them forth. When true night falls, that’s when the real horrors crawl from the depths of there abyss to haunt these woods. They run away back to their holes like the craven they are when the true demons prowl.” 

Avitus’s eyes lit up in surprise, “I never told you my rank,  Wulf.” Wulf laughed in response, “I could tell by though mannerism and voice. A proper Legate speaks, and acts a certain way. You fit all the criteria.” A reasonable reason. Though this confirmed he was quite familiar with the Legion. Avitus asked a question, his face lit by the fire, “So you're a member of the Legion?” Wulf chuckled, “Aye I am. Or at the very least, was. A long time ago.” The way Wulf said it, seemed to point to him considering it a laughable joke. If you could see past his helmet, it looked like the nord was trying to hold in a laugh. 

Avitus’s eyebrows raised, as his eyes narrowed, “What do you mean, “was”?”  Many Stormcloaks were ex-legionaries. And Wulf was a Nord. A Nord born and raised in his home province, going by his accent. His nature, compelled Avitus to be slightly suspicious. Wulf, smiling a bright grin, put his head to an odd angle sideways, “Legate are ye asking me if i’m a Stormcloak?” His accent emphasised the last word. The Legates cheeks blushed a deep shade of red, at the embarrassment of being caught. Wulf laughed, before saying, 

“Thou can rest easy, Legate. Truth be told, I didn’t know about the organization until a year ago anyhow.” He paused, before staring into the fire, pausing his sword sharpening, “To be honest with you, brother...” Imperial soldiers often referred to each other as that, especially nordic ones, “I agree with much of what the Stormcloaks apparently preach. But I’m too loyal to the Empire, to switch my personally allegiances to them. Besides…” He gazed up to the ceiling of the cave, putting down his whetstone, and sheathing his blade,  “A legionary is a legionary for life. Beyond life too. We remain as stalwart soldiers to the ideals, and memory of General Hjalti, regardless of our allegiance. At least in my opinion, i’m sure those Stormcloaks would vehemently disagree with me.”  

Avitus’s eyebrows raised in surprise, “General Hjalti?” The Nord, once again, let out his trademark laugh, “Ah, yes. My memory fails me. You Imperials know him as Tiber Septim. Other nords, as Talos of Atmora. Either way, a war god. Some seem to forget he was once a simple man. I prefer to refer to him as his true name. He watches over us all. ” 

Avitus shrugged, anger becoming present, “Yeah, war god.” Avitus said sarcastically.  Wulf’s eyes narrowed, “Hmmm?” Avitus answered, “Nothing….” before continuing, “Regardless, I don’t  know why you think he would care for the lives of two lost legionaries. “ He stared deeper into the fire, “Especially considering the Stormcloaks consider themselves his sons. And claim we betrayed him. Or so they would say. I don't think someone can betray someone who's already dead!” Avitus angrily clenched his fist, this was a sore topic to him. Almost heretical to most, his opinion on the divine. Heathen he may be. He thought it better to be that then the alternative. 

“You doubt his divinity?” The nord said. Most would respond with angry violence towards such heresy, but Wulf remained cool and collected. Avitus spat, “I think it doesn't matter, if he’s divine or not. If he isn’t a god, then mankind is fucked. If he is, mankind is still fucked. And he’s a ******* fuckwit.”  

“Hjalti loves you, as he loves me. He loves his Red Legion, and the people we protect as Legionaries of the Empire. He built us.  That doesn't mean he doesn't love the Stormcloaks, as well. He is the father of all humanity, and he loves his children equally.” Wulf said, his tone warm, and tempered. The nord was taking the insult to his most precious deity surprising well.

The Legate blew up.

Avitus’s voice quaked with pure, and utter loathing, as his face became wracked with rage. His hands began to shake in anger, as he yelled, his voice tinged with venom “Have you been  ******* listening to a word i’ve said, you rot-brained shit fucker Nord?! It doesn't ******* matter whose victorious. It doesn't matter, who even lives or dies, Stormcloak. Imperial, Thalmor, all are dead corpses in the end!  Blood is spilled upon the snow, as it always has. There is nothing else, in this, forsaken existence!” Despair gripped Avitus’s voice, as all hope left his body. He was sure, if any of the divine still existed, they were laughing at him, and the thousands of fallen legionaries. Nothing existed in this universe, but death, and the laughter of thirsting gods, If they existed at all. 

Wulf’s downcast eyes underneath his golden helmet lit up, as he said, simply, his voice calm and collected. Despite Avitus’s antagonism, he used the same courtesy as before, his nordic accent ever present, “No legionary in Hjalti’s service, died without cause, brother.” Avitus’s rage, dimly reflected by the blazing fire  only grew, as the soldier lashed out, his nails digging into his fists so hard they drew blood, “They tell us in basics, legionaries are brothers in-arms, and no matter what happens, a Legionary is a legionary for life, and that the soldier beside you is your brother. Tell me then, when hundreds of our brothers deserted us to fight for that damnable traitor, Ulfric Stormcloak,” Avitus spat the name with such contempt, it seemed like he was talking about Jagar Tharn, “Where was your Hjalti? Hmmmm?! Where was he?!” The Legate was practically screeching, hatred and fury growing inside him  “When brother fought brother, in bloody war! The Stormcloaks consider themselves the sons of there god, Talos. We Imperials, and every other human race thinks the same! And yet humans fight, kill, steal from, murder, maim, rape, savage, and tear each other apart the most, even compared to the other races! Does Talos enjoy seeing blood fight against blood, for all eternity?! You, the Stormcloaks, and the rest of the Legion have been deceived, “brother”!” He said the word with much scorn, and mockery, “Tiber Septim was a man. A great man, yes. He’s dead now, though. And the rest of the Imperial Pantheon with him. No god’s could exist in a world with so much suffering. If what you say is true, and Tiber Septim really is a god, along with many others, then you should despair at your own belief! That would imply, him, and all the others of his ilk enjoy watching the suffering of mortals, and their own followers! They eat death and despair, laugh at the struggles, and trials of their simple, tiny, monkeys!” He got up from his seat, the rage boiling inside his body and mind. With a yelp of anger, he said, “The only thing that exists in this ******* life, is despair! Nothing more. Nothing less. If you are preserve until your insignificant death, one must abandon all hope…” He smashed his fist against the wall of the cave, ignoring the pain welling up because of his punch, yelling like a madman, His resolute anger, and rage was absolute, and unending. Avitus had seen hundreds of legionaries, young men and woman, the people he swore to lead and protect, cut down in front of his eyes. He had seen the results of a city looting, as men abandoned their humanity, and engaged in acts of inhuman depravity against innocent civilians.  He had seen the ugly, guilty and wretched smile of one of his own men, caught and charged, for raping, and murdering little children. He had watch his wife go to battle from the Skyrim-Cyrodiil border,and perish in the fires of Whiterun. He had seen the ugliest of humanity, the capacity for cruelty all men were cable of.  No gods that were good, would let these atrocities happen, if it was in there power to stop. No good god would take a mother from her little girl.  Avitus wouldn’t break down, and cry like a little bitch. He would march, march, march, and march, killing anyone whom he was ordered too, until he too was buried in the wretched earth, with the worms. 

He would keep fighting in that despair, and embrace it. Until he was something other than human. He was certainly fucked like everyone else. But he would take as many of his enemies down with him! 

In response, Wulf sighed...before smiling underneath his helmet. He muttered in a low tone of voice, that Avitus could barely make out, “You truly are her phantom…” Standing up from the ground, his crimson and gold armor shined, and reflected light from the roaring fire, Avitus, his body still drenched in rage, roared, “Where are you going?” Wulf smirked, as he bowed his head, his thick nordic accent butchering the common words, “This won’t be our last meeting Legate, don’t worry..” He paused, before sharply saluting, “I’ll give you this last piece of advice, for now, soldier.” His voice faded, as did his body in a flash of white light. The last thing Avitus heard from him, echoing across the cave,  was, “Seeketh the crimson butterfly, champion of the Dragon.” 

Power corrupts, absolute power... is a whole lot of fun!

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Corrick Tilwald

Imperial City

Afternoon

 

Corrick stuck close to Manis as they walked the halls of the Imperial Palace. This was the day, they day he’d come here for. After enough visits to the palace, and enough observations of the guards, he and Manis had finally discovered just when Corrick could slip away. Manis was here under the guise of meeting with one of the Elder Councilors, who Corrick had been surprised to learn was his wife’s aunt, Synette Perrick. He had forgotten that she was an Elder Councilor, until Manis mentioned it. Corrick, of course, could not see her, or risk endangering her, as Manis said she and all the other Breton councilors were under watch by the Oculatus.

Manis was first leading them to her office on the lower floors of the Imperial Palace, near the Elder Council chambers. He entered her office, and once he closed the door to her inner office, Corrick slipped by to the window in the outer seating area. He quickly opened it, and in flew Erer. Clutched tight in his talons was a small vial, holding an invisibility potion. With the searches the guards put on all who entered the palace, there was no way to slip in something that way. Thankfully, no one would be watching for a bird. Corrick took the vial and sent Erer off, hoping his pet would be all right if anything happened to him.

Once the putrid potion was down, Corrick snuck back into the hallway and quickly ascended the stairs. On the way he passed a few guards, but never came close enough to risk being caught. The master wizard’s laboratory was only a few stories up, and was relatively easy to find, though it occupied only a quarter of a floor. Fortunately, it was easy to identify which floor, as it smelled of various boiling brews and miscellaneous herbs, while the sound of experimentation also echoed off the walls. A guard stood outside the first door, which was noticeably more heavily reinforced than the others, but right on cue he walked away, his shift giving way to someone else’s. Corrick only had a few moments, though, so he practically ran to the door and went inside as quickly as he could. Turning around, he conjured a small flame to his fingers, and dispelled the invisibility potion. He thought that would reveal himself to Master Denim, but instead the black robe clad mage was busy at work, hunched over an alchemy bench, though it wasn't any sort of alchemy bench Corrick had seen before.

"Um, excuse me?"

"Oh," the voice that responded sounded very feminine. Corrick saw why when the robed figure turned around and revealed herself to be a young Breton woman instead of the old Dunmer wizard he'd been expecting. "That was fast. Master Drenim told me to tell you he just left. Are you here to steal from him?"

“No, I'm, uh-how did he know I was coming, exactly?" Corrick asked, his face scrunched together inscrutably.

The woman looked relieved. "He's placed, err- I suppose magical triggers would be the easiest way to describe them. They're all over this floor. Master Drenim knows any time someone is coming. That's why he had the guard leave when you approached."

"But, the shift change, we had the timing worked out," Corrick mumbled to himself. He suddenly felt very out of his depth, and aware of just how far away help was. "Where is he now? Will he be back soon?"

"Probably the basement." The woman turned and started shuffling around through some items on a desk next to the alchemy bench. "This room wasn't big enough for some of his experiments. Especially the- Hold on, I swear I was just holding it a minute ag- aha!"

Smiling, she turned back around, now holding a rune-covered scroll. "He told me to give you this if you weren't here to steal from him. It should take you to him."

Corrick grabbed it, but held it at arms length away from his body. "How can I be sure that's what it'll do?"

The woman shrugged. "Well he's not often wrong about these things. Still, I understand the hesitancy. I've got a book you can borrow that can translate those runes if you wanna you wanna verify them... Though that could take a few hours. I'm not sure he'll be in the same place by then."

Corrick sighed and shook his head. "No, I don't have time for that. Thank you for the offer."

He then unfurled the scroll and the read the runes, the magic of recall appearing in his hands. He waved the purple light across his face, and suddenly he felt himself weightless. But it was only for a moment, as his feet once again found purchase. When he looked up, he was standing in the palace basement.

It was obvious now why the wizard had commandeered this part of the palace for his bigger experiments. Lit by a strange blue glow mixed with normal torches along the walls, the huge basement was only just large enough to hold some of the more massive instruments whose purposes were lost to Corrick. Off to one side were a series of cages, most of them covered, though a strange yellow light could be seen shining under the cloth, and lining the round wall further down were twelve- no, thirteen mirrors of differing shapes and sizes.

"Watch your step." said an old, raspy voice that could have only belonged to a Dark Elf of Morrowind. Sure enough, the wizard himself appeared from behind a large column accompanied by a strange, citrusy smell. The red-robed Dunmer's dark hair and beard were long and poorly kept, and his bright red eyes were set ahead as he strode past Corrick without even so much as glancing his way. "There is ectoplasm all over the floor."

Corrick looked down to see the pale green goo covering the stone floor. He tiptoed around it, but his eyes were continually being drawn to the curious instruments and objects within the basement. He had moved off to the side, hoping he wasn't in the way of the experiments, though he truly couldn't tell what was going on with most of it. "Well, I suppose I should introduce myself. I'm Christophe Sele."

"Fascinating." Endar continued on over to a workbench that was covered in little shards of glowing blue and white gems. One of them levitated in front of the wizard, despite him not casting any apparent spells. He plucked it out of the air and tossed it into his mouth. Several moments later, he spat it back onto the table and started scribbling something into a journal.

Corrick felt like he was living in a fever dream, but ignored all the fantastic things in the basement. "I have a letter I need you to read. It's of the utmost importance."

Corrick fished the letter from his robe and held it out to Endar. "Someone important requires your expertise. It all there in the letter."

For the first time, the wizard turned and looked at him. "Utmost importance, you say? Does this pertain to the Thalmor or dawn magic?"

Corrick locked eyes with Endar, in the hope of keeping his attention focused on the letter and not his experiments. "No, it doesn't. What it does pertain to the Daedra, and a Daedric curse. I was led to believe you're an expert on that."

The Dunmer regarded him for several long seconds, and then he took the letter, ripping off the seal with a spell before unfolding the parchment. His red eyes rapidly tore across it for a few seconds before he glanced back up at Corrick. "Based on the symptoms listed here, it would seem that your friend Dryston is correct. The Blighted Lord has a history with the kings and queens of High Rock, and not a good one. It would seem that your king's family has inherited his ire."

"The curse has already taken his father in law and his two newborns. My king wants it cured, and quickly. Can you- will you do that?" Corrick asked.

"No." Endar answered flatly. "To perform such a feat would require me to leave my research and travel to High Rock, where I would no doubt have to expend a great deal of time and effort preparing the necessary ritual. I could, however, share with you some of my considerable research on the subject, including a probable solution. But there are two conditions."

"That will do perfectly," Corrick said, clearly very happy. "What are your conditions?"

"First off," The wizard looked at him sternly, "Until the day I see fit to make it otherwise, this research is mine and mine alone. You and anyone else involved in carrying it out must swear not to share it with a soul."

"Of course. We won't share it with a soul, I swear it," Corrick said, his smile disappearing as he showed Endar he was serious about the promise. "And the second condition?"

"Your king must perform an ancient rite, to the specifications that I lay out. It will bind him to obey any three commands of my choosing, no matter where he is or what he's doing." Endar's face darkened, "lest his soul be condemned to Cold Harbor for as long as time goes on."

Corrick froze then, caught off guard by the mage's demand. He knew, though, that King Adrard would gladly trade his body three times for the life of his family. Or so Corrick hoped. "So long as you commands won't force him to rejoin the Empire, or kill his family, I think he would agree to those terms."

Endar stared at him for a few moments, expressionless. "Actually... I have changed my mind. Just tell him and his kin to vomit into a box, seal it with magic, and send it to me, and we'll call it a fair trade."

It was so brief and so subtle, Corrick was not entirely sure it wasn't just a trick in the light, but he could swear that the corner of the mage's mouth had twitched as if to laugh. 

"That they can definitely do. From what I understand, in his father in law's last few months, all he did was vomit green bile," Corrick said. He was more than relieved the wizard had changed the favor he wanted. He almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of all this, and might have had the mage not seemed so strange and the situation so dire.

"That would be the preferable color, yes." Endar said dismissively. He turned away from Corrick once again and cast a spell onto another of the crystal shards before picking it up and handing it to the confused Breton. "I'll have to find my journal on the topic. Hold this. If it gets hot, just ignore it." 

Before Corrick had time to respond, Endar vanished in a bright purple flash of light. Corrick stood there, in the basement of the Imperial Palace, surround by ectoplasm, huge mirrors, and strong caged lights, holding a crystal shard that was growing ever hotter while waiting for an Telvanni wizard to give him notes on how to end a Daedric curse, and he contemplated just how he ended up here. He never would have expected that this trip would end up quite like this, not if he was given a million chances to do so. He was snapped out of his contemplation by the crystal shard becoming unbearably hot, so he switched it to his other hand, and put the sleeve of his robe between it and his fingers.

Almost a minute later, when the shard was becoming so hot that the Breton considered just dropping it, Endar returned with yet another flash of light. The mage took the near-burning crystal from Corrick, and gave it a sniff before shoving it into a pouch at his side. "Much obliged. Here," He held out a leather-bound journal with Daedric scribblings all across the front. "It's all in there, though apparently my notes are nigh-impossible to make out, so Elara insisted that she translate the ingredients on a separate sheet. It's in there as well. All of this should all be easy to obtain but for the dust, the blood, the shadowseed, and the root."

"King Adrard is forever in your debt, and I promise that he will fulfill your conditions. And, if you ever need something else, I'm sure he would be happy to oblige." Though Corrick had no way of knowing that, he strongly suspected that the king would do just about anything for the man who had saved his family. If not, he may not care for them as much as Corrick thought. "I suppose this is goodbye then. Thank you for you help, Master Drenim. Oh, and if you wouldn't mind, please do not mention any of this to anyone. The Empire isn't exactly happy with King Adrard right now."

"They don't ask a lot of questions." the wizard admitted. "And I have little interest in filling them in on matters that do not pertain to them. Now it's best that you be off quickly, Breton. Your king's health will not improve while he waits."

Corrick agreed, so he pulled out his recall scroll. Dryston had marked the arrival point somewhere in Camlorn's castle, though Corrick did not know the exact location. The purple light enveloped Corrick, and he felt a momentary weightlessness as before. But when he looked up, he was standing in the exact same place, with Endar still before him. Corrick searched for the words, as he watched the runes on the scroll fade away. His pathway home was gone. "I don't understand, what happened?"

The mage shook his head. "Well, based on your stunned expression I'm going to assume you just attempted to recall back home, correct? The Palace wards prevent that sort of coming and going."

"The wards?" Corrick asked, still dumbfounded. But of course it made sense, to have the palace protected by wards. Only, with the frequent recalling that he and Endar were doing, it had not occurred that recalling only worked from two points inside the palace. "Yes, the blasted wards. My recall scroll is used up, though, and I must leave at once. How would one leave this basement, if they wanted to remain unseen?" 

"The stairs are the only exit." replied Endar. "In the interest of seeing my work delivered safely, I can offer you some invisibility scrolls to make the journey easier."

Corrick, after becoming exceptionally happy, began to wonder just how many other emotional peaks and valleys this day might hold. "Thank you, once again."

"You can thank me with a box of plague bile." said the elf as he turned and, with a wave of his hand and a flash of light, magically pulled a large trunk from across the room. There were dozens of scrolls inside, but Endar seemed to know exactly which ones he was looking for. "Here." he said, handing over three of the rolled up pieces of magical parchment. "The spells should last about half an hour each. But they will break when you open doors or bump into people, so I'd suggest waiting for others to do these things for you."

Corrick gladly took the scrolls, and with an appreciative nod, he climbed the stairs. He waited until he'd reached and opened the door at the top to use the first scroll. The red, sparkling spell quickly rendered him invisible. After that his escape was a breeze, though there were a few times he stood patiently beside doors waiting for someone to open them. He even managed to escape using only one scroll, which he thought was the biggest break he'd caught today. 

He was visible now, and he headed back to the Breton Embassy. When he arrived, though, something seemed amiss. The guards were not stationed by door, instead two obviously Imperial soldiers stood in their place. They both wore black leather armor, with some different iteration of the Imperial sigil on their chests. They had stopped Manis from entering the embassy, and were having a rather heated conversation. Corrick ducked out of the flow of traffic and into a small, dark alley, where he used the second invisibility scroll. He then made his way to Manis and the soldiers, and got plenty close enough to hear the conversation.

“I told you, I don’t know where he went. One moment he was behind me, the next he wasn’t. You should be searching the palace, not badgering me,” Manis said.

“Yeah, well I find it hard to believe you don’t have something to do with this, Breton. You better be careful, any indication you’re using this job to spy on the Empire won’t end so well for you,” one of the soldiers said.

“Don’t you dare threaten me. I don’t have to stand here and take this, and until you find some actual proof I did anything wrong, I suggest you leave me the hell alone,” Manis said, then pushed his way between the soldiers and into the embassy.

Once he was gone, the soldiers walked away, but did not end their conversation. One said, “We’ll need to request we increase our observation of the ambassador and the embassy.”

“And start our search for his scribe. If he comes back around here, we’ll catch him,” the second said.

Corrick fell away from them at that point, not wanting to follow them back into the district that held the Imperial Palace. He cursed under his breath, and tried to determine his next move. He couldn’t leave today, as it was already growing dark, and he likely wouldn’t be able to get far before nightfall. That meant finding a place to sleep here for the night. He made his way north, into the Elven Gardens District, and after spending a few minutes in an alley waiting for the invisibility spell to wear off, he found a small tavern off a side street. It didn’t look very cozy at all, but it would keep him out of sight.

After buying a room and washing up a bit, he went back downstairs and ordered some food. He got a simple beef stew, with a few vegetables, half a loaf of bread, and a bottle of ale. He wasn’t all that hungry, but it gave him something to keep his mind occupied while he tried to ignore just how poorly the escape had gone. Now, instead of the curse ending within a couple of weeks, it could stretch into months, depending on how quickly he could get back to High Rock. Not to mention the huge room for error, as anything could happen on the way back.

Corrick pushed his stew away, only half eaten, and tried to occupy his mind elsewhere. Being in this tavern, dressed like a commoner, reminded him of the forays he took back home, wherein he would disappear into the countryside for a few days with Evelyn, both in disguise, and live like their subjects did. He of course knew it was a sham, since in the end they would always go back to their cushy castles, but it was always an eye opening experience to see how others lived.

He watched the commoners, these Imperial ones, drink their ale and discuss the current events. He didn’t focus on any one group, until he saw several armed men and women off in the corner. Though they wore cloaks to hide their steel, it was quite clear to anyone looking closely they were not just armed, but soldiers of some sort. Not Imperial guardsmen, for sure, as their raggedy look and various assortment of weapons and armor pointed to sellswords.

After a few minutes, in which they were finishing their own meal, they got up and began making their way around the room, showing every person a piece of paper and asking some questions. Everyone they asked was saying no to the man clearly in charge of the group, who wore most of a suit of plate armor. It looked Breton to Corrick, and the man also wore a longsword at his side. The man even seemed somewhat familiar, though Corrick couldn’t think of anyone he knew in Cyrodiil. A guard from the embassy, maybe? Eventually, the group got to Corrick, and when he met eyes with the leader, he instantly knew who the man was. And the man recognized him.

“Baron Tilwald?” Sir Lywel Liric, of the Silver Brigade, asked.

Sir Liric had been a knight for Corrick family, only a few years ago, but was exiled after he was found to have been working with a group of bandits who were attacking trade caravans in the land. Evidently, he had found work much more in line with his moral code. Before Corrick could answer, or explain why he was in Cyrodiil, a large mail fist hit him square in the face, and the world turned black. 

Power corrupts, absolute power... is a whole lot of fun!

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Boldir
Elven Gardens

Two days. That was how long it had been since Boldir had left his room at the old inn, and he had spent the vast majority of that time awake. Papers were scattered about with scrawled out ideas for how he could approach Black-Briar in the Elder Councilor's guarded manse. He had fought Sibbi's goons before, and was confident that in tight quarters with his armor, he could handle a good number of them alone. But smuggling his armor into the city would be difficult, even if he bought another invisibility potion just for the task. And since his deal with the warehouses, his stolen treasure was over three-quarters spent. Well-spent, sure, but money alone would not be enough to see his quest through. Boldir needed a plan.

Perhaps you should rest a bit. he heard his wife's voice whisper, Who knows what a good night's sleep could do for you?

"I will." he muttered. "Ten more minutes, and if I don't come up with anything, I will."

"Hey! Who were you just talkin' to?"

"What the-" Boldir swung around, already going for his axe. He hadn't even heard the door open, but as it went wide he knew there was no danger. The woman was other side was cleaner than she'd been when they last met, and better dressed too, but Boldir still knew her to be his favorite beggar, or hopefully ex-beggar now.
"Marthe, what are you doing here?
" A hopeful thought struck him. "Did the guild send you? Have they changed their mind?"

"What?" Marthe shook her head. "No no no, I ain't here for the guild."

"Damn." The Thieves Guild could have been his ticket inside. "Then why are you here?"

The beggar smiled, revealing two rows of healthy-looking teeth. "Why, to help you of course. Feels like the least I can do." She came into the room, taking care to close the door quietly. "My kids no longer beg for dinner every night. They do it for fun now. I got you to thank for that... So when I learned of danger coming your way, I knew it were only right to warn you."

"Wait a moment..." Boldir frowned. "Before we get into that, how did you even find me?"

Marthe laughed. "I'm one o' the fox's ears in this city. The little ones too. Not a lot that I can't find if I'm lookin'. 'Sides, it ain't been too long since last we met. One o' mine followed you for a while after you did in that poor sod we found for ya. Didn't have to look far since you ain't moved since then."

"I haven't needed to." Boldir didn't like the idea that he'd been followed. If one of Marthe's children could do it, then surely one of Sibbi's men could as well. "So back to the warning..."

"Right." Marthe glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice before continuing. "I come down here now to tell you that there be mercenaries in the city that are lookin' for you."

"No." 

"Yes!" she said, apparently missing the thick sarcasm in his tone. "They know your name, what you look like... And I seen dozens of 'em today alone, which means there's gotta be more'n that."

"Dozens?" When Boldir had last been to the Talos Plaza District, there had only been a handful of sellswords in the area. He had assumed that there were more throughout the city, but they'd have found him by now if they had any sort of real numbers.

"Aye. They're in every inn and on every corner. 'Tis a good thing you haven't been goin' outside, 'cause they'd have spotted you in a heartbeat."

The big Nord frowned. How could Sibbi have gotten so much help so quickly? "I don't suppose you have any thoughts on solutions to this problem."

"You wound me, m'lord. Matter of fact, I do. There's a ship in the Waterfront, bound for Bravil in three days' time. Gettin' there'll be tricky, but I think we can manage if we go by night. Now I ain't part o' the guild, but I know they've dabbled in person-smugglin' with this lot in the past. With funds like yours, it shouldn't be hard to get a ride."

"Thanks Marthe, but I can't leave this city. Not until I get what I came for."

"You want into that house, right? The big one in Talos Plaza? Let me go ahead and say that that ain't happenin'. That's where all these folk after you are comin' from. You won't be gettin' in there without the guild's help and like I said, they're not willing. I don't blame them, honestly. You're so hot I wouldn't poke you with a stick if I didn't feel I owed ya."

"I understand. Thanks for the warning Marthe, but I can't leave. They have my daughter."

The beggar sighed. "I remember, m'lord. And I understand. Perhaps there's some other way I could help you. This inn, for instance... it ain't safe. There be two of them in the tavern below right now. Stayin' here you won't last long. I can take you somewhere they won't think to look: My place, over in the Market."

"You got a home in the Market District?"

"Yeah, Right above my new shop. It ain't nothin' fancy. You'll be sleepin' on a mat. But that's a whole lot better than next door to people who want you dead."

"It is." Boldir's frown that felt almost perpetual these days faded, "Thank you, Marthe. I know you're taking a risk by helping me."

"Oh, a big one. Somethin' tells me these folks ain't the type to sympathize with those who make their job more difficult. I don't know what to say for you'n that house you want into, or what it is that can be done about this predicament. But perhaps bein' safe for a while will give you some time to clear your head and come up with an idea. 'Haps we could come up with some sort o' trade for your daughter."

"I don't know about that. There is little that the man who has her cannot get already."

"We'll think of somethin'." She smiled, again, encouraginly. It was very strange, seeing the one-time beggar with all those teeth. Boldir wondered if she'd gotten a mage to regrow them, or if they were just very convincing fakes. Either way, it was surprising to see her as such a comely woman considering how ugly she had been only a short time ago. "For now, we should focus on gettin' you to the Market. I say we wait for nightfall, when most of the searchers are like to be asleep."

"I stand out even more at night than I do at day." said Boldir. "At least then there are hundreds of other people to hide among."

"Maybe a week ago that were so, but this lot that's after you now are far too numerous to not pick you out in the daylight. Believe me, there are many. You'll know them for the armor they do so poor a job of hidin'. And some got a silver man painted on their shields and shirts. We go by night and we'll at least have the shadows on our side. I know the city's alleys and backstreets. I can get you there tonight, I promise."

"You are better at this than me." Boldir relented. "I'll trust your judgement."

"Good. Get your things together then. We'll leave tonight."

By the time night had fallen, Boldir and Marthe had already gone over the plan more times than he could count. So when she went down into the tavern and announced in a drunken tone that she was going to sing them a song, the Nord knew to make his way around the room as quickly and quietly as he could manage. Sure enough, he spotted a shield against one visitor's table that bore the sigil of a silver man. Boldir wasn't sure who this coat-of-arms belonged to, but that was a question for another time. Once outside, he immediately darted around behind the building and waited. Marthe must have been enjoying herself in there, for it had to be a solid fifteen to twenty minutes before she finally appeared out of the darkness. 

"Don't know why I ever begged when the gods blessed me with such a voice." she said, grinning. "Come on. It's not far." Sticking to the shadows behind the various buildings and statues of the Elven Gardens, Marthe led Boldir through the district without passing into sight of even one guard, let alone potential sellsword. He didn't see another soul until they reached the main gate leading to the Market District, where a bored guard only nodded at them as they passed through.
Luckily, Marthe's store was not very far into the district, and within minutes the two of them passed beneath the sign, which read: Marthe's Used Merchandise. Inside was a quant little shop, most of which was filled shelves and display cases, with two long tables boxing in the back half of the room that he assumed Marthe operated from on a normal work day. Most of the 'merchandise' consisted of clothing, toys, and cheap looking jewelry. Though behind the glass of one locked cabinet, he saw a glass dagger, some old book, and a few glimmering potion bottles.
"Impressed?" asked Marthe as she threw her legs over the counter and slid over. "It took near everything you gave me to make this setup happen. Still a bit of a mess, but I got a supplier'n everything. So things are already movin' up. The little ones love it."

Boldir had to admit, he was impressed. Less than a month ago, this woman had been begging on the streets. He was glad to see that, of all the things he'd done as of late, at least one of them had led to someone's life actually improving. 
"Where are the children now?"

She shrugged and motioned for him to follow as she headed to a doorway in the back. "Outside, probably. They like to watch 'n follow people even more'n I do. Now that I got this place, they've more or less taken up that business altogether. I expect some of them will come in later tonight. They all got their own keys."

She led Boldir upstairs. The loft was nothing fancy, but it was better than he had expected. It consisted of three rooms and a privy. The first was just a sitting area, with a couch and two chairs in front of a fireplace, and a floor covered in toys. Behind the couch was a small table where Boldir assumed they ate their meals. The next two rooms Marthe showed him as a formality, as she made it clear that they weren't where he'd be staying. Marthe's room was a meager thing, with a large bed and a single dresser. The children's was slightly larger, and had three little beds and a couple pieces of wooden furniture. Like with the main room, there were toys all over the floor. 
"I got some blankets and a pillow you can use to make yourself a nice spot somewhere off to the side." said Marthe. "I trust a hardy Nord such as yourself won't be needin' too much."

"I'll be happy with whatever you're willing to give." Boldir said graciously. "I can't remember the last time I've been in a place like this."

"What, you mean a house?"

"Aye, a house." Or any place for a family. Gods know mine was too short-lived. "I'd like to get some sleep now, if that is fine by you."

"Long as you're still here come morn', sleep away. But as long as you're here I don't want you sneakin' in OR out without my say-so. You gotta understand that I can't risk you bein' seen on my property."

"Of course. You have my word that I won't leave without your permission."

That night, Boldir stretched out on a patch of blankets just beneath the room's single window. As tired as he was, sleep would not come easy. He was too deep in thought. 

Feels good, doesn't it? His wife's voice echoed in his ear. You really helped this family.

And now they can help me. I'm getting into that house, Carlotta. Marthe said that the Thieves Guild is unwilling to assist me in this, but she definitely implied that they could.

The 'unwilling' detail is an important one. How do you intend to change their minds?

Marthe. I cannot contact them myself. I've been trying for weeks. But despite all of her denials, I think she can. And I think if I push her enough, she will relent. And if she pushes them enough, maybe, just maybe, they will relent as well. I have to try. This isn't something I can do alone.
When Carlotta did not answer, nor any other voice chime in, Boldir knew his mind was made up. He turned over on his side and got comfortable, finally able to get some sleep.

Power corrupts, absolute power... is a whole lot of fun!

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