Open Reforging an Empire 2

[Simus]

This is a restart of Reforging an Empire. The old thread and OOC can now be archived.

Ulfric and his Stormcloaks have won the Civil War, freeing Skyrim from the Empire and breaking the shackles of the Imperial Legion. The victory was celebrated all over Skyrim as the Empire and the Thalmor were cast out and peace finally returned to the land. Ulfric now sits on the throne as High King of Skyrim with all of the Jarls, old and new, swearing fealty to him. However, all is not well. Non-Nords are subjugated and persecuted in the name of purity. All that do not leave Skyrim are thrown into ghettos across the holds. The Grey Quarter in Windhelm has been put under martial law after a failed uprising. Worst of all, the bodies of General Tullius and Legate Rikke have been shamefully treated. Ulfric turns a blind eye to all of this while maintaining his noble image, dismissing the injustices as necissairy steps to secure his kingdom.

This policy of indiffernce, as well as the shameful treatment of two of the Empire's greatest heroes, has shocked not only imperial loyalists, but many of Ulfric's own soldiers. Many Stormcloaks were men and women who wanted a free, independent Skyrim, not a cruel and bloody regime that violently stamps out all who oppose it. Many now see that they were wrong to follow Ulfric and cannot bear the sight of Tullius and Rikke's headless bodies hanging from Solitude's gates, preserved to last forever and their heads adorning Ulfric's throne wall.

A resistance movement has formed, consisting of both Stormcloaks and Legion soldiers, along with those who fought and followed Ulfric during the war. Their goal is to rescue the bodies of General Tullius and Legate Rikke, return them to Cyrodiil to recieve proper treatment and return to Skyrim to stop the monster they helped create.

Rules:

1. No godding. (That means no super-duper Nirn killing powers, character ideas, abilities or anything else that ruins other people's fun. If you're not sure if your idea crosses the line, please ask.)
2. No Thu'ums (I'm afraid none of us are the Dragonborn and none of us were trained by the Greybeards.)
3. Master-level skills and spells are fine, but please keep rule number 1 in mind.
4. Please try and keep cursing and lewd speech to a minimum in the RP itself. I don't care what you guys do in the OOC chat (this thread here).
5. Make all of your posts at least a paragraph (Five sentences.) and please try to post every other day. More is better. Anyone who does not post for two weeks or more and has not posted a reason why will be considered inactive and have their character suffer a terrible death at the claws of a thousand mudcrabs be parked somewhere for when and if they decide to come back.
6. If you know you have an upcoming commitment, you get bored with the RP, life hijaks you or you become otherwise unable to post for an extended number of days, please let us know in the OOC chat or PM me. That way the group knows what's going on with you, we can park you somewhere until you get back, and the story can move along smoothly. More importantly, you don't get badgered about where you are and you can do whatever it is you have to do in peace.
7. I will start this RP when we have 4-6 people, but it will remain open. If you're new and you wish to join, please introduce yourself and submit a character card. You must also provide a generous sample of your own roleplaying along with your character card. This can be something you've written before or something new. Whichever gives you less of a migrane. This includes everyone from the old story in the intererst of fairness. Also, please note which color you want your dialogue to be. Colors are first come first served. NPC's will be standard gray unless Sheogorath deems otherwise.
8. You may have one or two characters in this RP and any NPC's you feel would add to the story. However, please take note of who is doubling up on characters before doing so yourself and be mindful of how it would affect the group. A 20 man party over 10 members is a bit unwieldy. If you need to drop a character because two is too hard to manage, that's fine. Just let us know.
9. Have fun! This is the most importaint rule. If you have any questions about anything, plese speak up.

All of the above rules are common sense stuff. I don't think anything is too hard to follow. If I forgot to address anything, please let me know.​

​

Cast:​

​

Simus as Simus Psyrakon and Alice Psyrakon​

Fellowknight as Barnan Frand​

TheShadedOne as Shadari​

Andre Marek as Andre Marek​

Madrar as Salthar Vivarian​

Dabiene Caristinaa as Dabiene Caristiana and Soldin Snowknight​

Aethalia as Aliah Stormwind​

Zander Farendon as Zander Feredon​

Vixen Blackbriar as Vivianne Rikke​

Gunnbjorn as Arillious Decimus Peleus​

Hale Loneshadow as Hale Loneshadow​

Padfoot as Padfoot​

 

[Simus]

Whiterun's Hall of the Dead was a good place to keep secrets. They were large, cavernous, cloistered and quite confusing for those who did not know the way. For those that did, it was a place for meetings unseen and unheard. Only the dead lived in these catacombs and Arkay would see that they would not interfere.

This was exactly what Simus and Alice Psyrakon were hoping for. As father and daughter they helped Ulfric Stormcloak attain power. They led his soldiers, watered Skyrim with their blood in his name and they called him brother. Despite being Imperials and hailing from the Imperial Province they both had the hearts of Nords. They thought they were fighting to free Skyrim from a dying Empire that refused to take care of its people. One that was fractured and decaying, no longer able to do the job it was supposed to do. They thought that if they won and Ulfric were High King, he would rebuild the Empire into the land Tiber Septim intended it to be. Skyrim was supposed to be a beacon of hope for all Tamriel, and Ulfric was to be the one who brought the Aldmeri Dominon to justice.

They couldn't have been more wrong.

That was why there were here, in this chamber (think Namira's shrine with all the dinner guests, just no human-carving machinery) with Vignar Grey-Mane, the new Jarl of Whiterun. They were all planning to stop Ulfric and, by extension, comitting high treason.

Vignar stood at the head of the ancient table with the rest of his kin, Olfina, Fralia, Eorlund, Avelstein and Thorald. Plus there was Brill, his steward. Simus and Alice were also in attendence, along with their kin. Titus, Alice's hot-headed twin brother, Cilla, Simus' youngest who had barely seen eleven summers, and Carlotta and Mila Valentia. Simus and Carlotta had grown close over the last couple of years and had pooled their resources to raise their children together. The table was laiden with a feast but no ate and no one sat. Their guets would arrive in a few minutes and they would have dangerous business to conduct. There would be little time for food and laughter until that business was done. Skyrim was on the path to destruction and Ulfric Stormcloak had to die.

"It's almost midnight." Vignar said to Simus. "Are you sure anyone else is coming?"

"They'll come." Simus said reassuringly. "They'll have to. This is their only chance to fight back."

He cast a concerned look towards his daughter standing between him and Vignar. "Alice? Do you see anything?"

"They'll come." Alice said. "The Battle-Borns have decided their pride's too hard to swallow to sit down with Grey-Manes, but there are others. I"m not sure how many though. Not enough for an army, but it's a place to start."

"Well, at this point we'll take what we can get." Simus said. "There's a lot of angry people out there, especially after the Grey Quarter Massacre, but taking up arms against the High King is never an easy decision."

"Ulfric's only the High King as long as the people say he is." Vignar said. "Personally, he's lost my vote. A few of the other Jarls think so too, but not all of them. We can't throw him out without a unanimous vote and that's not going to happen while Ulfric's got most of them in his pocket."

"And I suppose there's no way to open Ulfric's eyes?" Simus asked. "Make him see the damage he's doing."

"Simus, do you really think we'd be here if there was?" Vignar asked with a heavy sigh. "You know the man better than anyone else here. You know how warped his mind has become. Plus, if your fortune teller of a daughter can't see anything, then there's no way out."

"With all due respect My Jarl" Alice said with a mixture of civility and anger "I'm not just some book you can open and see whatever part of the future strikes your fancy. I can't see everything and I do make mistakes. There may yet be a way to save Ulfric from himself. The ghettos, the attackes, the mistreatment of foreigners, the rising racism, he's never officially supported any of that. It's the extriemism of his subordinates tha's caused the most damage."

"But he's allowed it all to happen sweetheart." Simus said. "Ulfric himself may not be a racist, but if he does nothing while the Stormcloaks push everyone that's not them out of Skyrim, than he might as well be one. I know you love Ulfric Alice. So do I, but he is not the man we thought he was. We all have to help make this right. With or without the Empire's help."

"I'm afraind your papa's right sweetheart." Carlotta said, squeezing Simus' hand and he returning the gesture. "As bad as the racism has gotten, being quiet about it is even worse. Ulfric's no good for Skyrim and things will only get worse if he stays High King. How much help can we expet from Cyrodiil Vignar?"

"I wouldn't count on much." Vignar said. "The Empire's abandoned what's left of General Tullius' legion. The Thalmor are preparing to invade again and the Empire's the only thing between us and them. All of its strength is needed in Cyrodiil."

"Than I guess it's up to us to get our house in order. Skyrim may no longer be part of the Empire, bu we still have a duty to save it. It's gong to need all the help it can get against the Aldmeri Dominion and Skyrim will be there to answer the call. Ulfric was right about that at least."

Just then, a young Stormcloak (Think Sven's voice) came down the stairs from the exit. He addressed Vignar.

"My Lord, the first of your guests has arrived."

"Send them down." Vignar said. He was worried about Ulfric's spies finding out about this, but Simus and Brill had assured him that all attending were loyal to him. At the very least, they all hated Ulfric. He would have to trust their judgement and, Talos willing, this would all work out.

 

[fellowknight]

Barnan dismounted his horse, Shadow, and began walking him to the stables. He had heard rumor of an uprising against The High King, Ulfric. He was ever disappointed with Ulfric's behavior. He had made and broken so many promises, all to uphold his "Public Image". Honesty, Integrity, Nobility, Loyalty. The way he disrespected the bodies of Legate Rikke And General Tullius was just, Unhonorable.

He halted in the stables and handed the reins to the stable boy, letting him settle Shadow and lock him up. Then he turned and headed up the path to Whiterun. He stopped at the wooden gates, that had endured the wear and tear of war and depression. The guards nodded and the gate slid open, revealing the one neutral city of Whiterun.

The smith shop was Ablaze with the sound of pounding metal and the heat of the forge. The guards were relatively busy with the small crooks here and there. And the citizens were, as always, walking around and conversing amongst one another. He heaved a heavy sigh and made his way to the most busy part of town, The Marketplace.

As he leaned against the well, he pondered on where the rebels may be hiding at. The inn? No, too public. Dragonsreach? No, too obvious. The Hall Of The Dead? Hmm, possible.......i'll start there. He thought, as he began walking to the White Tree, in the city's center. From there he headed west, to the hall of the dead. He stopped at it's doors and looked behind himself, making sure there was no one following him.


Seeing no spies or rouges trailing him, he grabbed the door knob and entered the Hall of the dead, ready for anything.

 

[Andre Marek]

Andre Marek strode up the path between Whiterun cities outer and inner gates with one hand on the hilt of his sword and his slate grey eyes boring holes into every guard he met. It was a clear message. Do not bother me. Whiterun was perhaps his least favorite city in all of Skyrim. With its bitter, windswept streets and uninvitingly cold atmosphere, it was pretty near the bottom of his list of vacation retreats. And for some reason, which Marek had been so far unable to identify, they made the most god awful coffee in all the province. The only reason he now found himself there was business, plain and simple. On his last visit to Riften, one of his contacts there had informed him of a potential long term employment opportunity, one that had the potential to become a rather lucrative one as well.

"This had better be worth my time or Keeran will be paying for my troubles himself," Marek muttered to himself as he arrived at the cities main gate. Neither of the two guards gave him any trouble as he strode through the short tunnel and into Whiterun itself. Now, he thought, where did he say this meeting was taking place? Marek stopped for a moment and simply stood in the street as he thought about what his acquaintance had said. Not one of the men on watch seemed too interested in trying their hand at moving the menacing, armed, and armored mercenary standing in the middle of the street, even at this ungodly hour. Wracking his brain, Marek pulled the conversation to the forefront of his mind. Hall of the dead, down in the crypts if I'm not mistaken, he thought as he turned and started up the steps into the aptly named Wind District.

Although it had been a while since he had last been in the city, it still didn't take him long to find Whiteruns burial crypts. Pushing open the aged wooden door guarding the entrance he found himself in a small antechamber with a couple of doors leading off in different directions. Directly in front of him were a pair of large double doors, which undoubtedly led further into the crypts beneath the city, and standing on either side of them was a Stormcloak soldier.

"Hold there! What's yur business here sir?" Both men immediately stood straighter and pulled their swords part way out of their sheaths.

Marek stopped and raised an eyebrow as he evaluated the pair. Definitely the right place, he thought. "My business is whatever I say it is." He cracked his knuckles ominously and paused for a moment, "Although, in this case I'm willing to bet that our purposes are, if not identical, somewhat similar. I'm here for the meeting."

The two men eyed him suspiciously and exchanged a look before the one to his left said, "...Right, if that be the case then go on inside. Take a left, then a right then continue straight past two halls and its the last door on the left." With that both men stood aside, allowing Marek to push his way into the bowels of the crypts.


Following the guards directions he arrived at an unremarkable door through which he could hear the sounds of conversation. Sighing heavily he pushed the door open, grimacing as the hinges squeaked loudly, to reveal a rather large room set as though for a banquet. Around the perimeter of the room stood several people, all of whom were standing in small groups talking quietly amongst themselves. After a quick look at the faces of those in attendance, Marek spotted the man who was apparently in charge of the whole operation; General Simus Psyrakon of the prestigious Stormcloak army stood at the head of the long trestle table talking with an older man and a very young looking woman.

Marek slowly walked down the steps as he looked about the room. Directly in front of him was a man garbed in blue and gold armor and carrying the trademark tools of the ranger. It seemed he had only arrived just moments ago, as he had yet to address anyone in the room. Keeping the man in his peripheral, Marek sidestepped so that his back was against the wall and then preceded to look over everyone in the room.

 

[Dabiene Caristiana]

(OOC: Ok, here it goes. This time, Soldin and Dabs have already met on the road. Soldin saved her from the 'Chosen' and helped her recover. Details you ask? Read on my friends... Read on... Flashback first, details a close second.)

The sound of hooves pounded in the distance, followed by yelling and flashes of light. In the darkness a tall figure with pure white hair looked down upon the chase. He was young, well built and was loyal to the Dawnguard and of Skyrim's people. But he didn't agree with Ulfric from the start. He had a light stubble with high cheekbones with Ocean blue eyes that displayed his emotions easily. The proud Nord had a hand on his Great Steel Claymore upon his back deciding on what to do. He was a proud fighter foremost, but a loyal avenger second. Albeit they were both close in importance to him. But this man like every other had some secret. He was a child of Hircine. And damned proud of it.

The rider being chased was a Breton Woman. Wanted for her open display of defiance of Ulfric. Her maid Marie dragged off into the night as a warning she had ran after that. She had recieved word of a resistance but it had been a trap. Sly Khajiit... Ulfric although thick at times could be crafty at best. The woman was a powerful mage. And she also carried the same burden as the man upon the hill, watching. She too was a child of Hircine. But Hircine wasn't as proud of her. She was cursed in a cruel manner and had sinced long abandoned the thought of happiness. After all, who could love a cursed monster?

The Nord watched. He knew she was wolf-kin. He could smell it, even at this distance. And he did the only thing he could think of. He unleashed the beast.

The Chosen didn't stand a chance between two children of Hircine. They spared them no mercy, if only a quick death.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Dabiene Caristiana was slumped againsted the broad chest of Soldin Snowknight. Firenze walked smoothly and quietly. Dabiene's horse accepted Soldin surprisingly well given the fact he didn't take kind to strangers. Then again Dabiene could swear that at times he could read people more than she could. And that said a lot.

Soldin guided Firenze to the stables quietly and with one hand on the reins he nudged his passenger and owner of the horse with his other hand. "Miss, we're here." He said softly.

The woman's eyes blinked tiredly and looked at her surroundings. Yes they were here. Whiterun.

The two had agreed after the man saved her that after confessing to each other of wanting a change in leadership in Skyrim that they would seek out the resistance together. That and Soldin had made a silent oath to keep watch over the woman. Not that he said anything to the strict woman of course. He had to admit though, she was somewhat of an enigma. All she had mentioned was Ulfric didn't like her and something on the lines of "the bastard not taking a joke for what it was, a joke". Whatever that meant.

After dismounting the tall Nord helped Dabiene dismount and silently the woman tied up her stead and the two went up to the gates without a word. Upon entering Soldin whispered down to the woman's ear. He had to lean down low due to their height difference.

"Any ideas....?" He asked. It was obvious he was inquiring about the meeting. He still couldn't believe they made it on the exact date. What a stroke of luck.
"Hm.." Dabiene murmured. She silently took in the smells around them along with the sounds that came with them. She also pondered her options. The Inn was out. Only a fool would host a meeting in such an open place. And from what she heard Simus Psyrakon was no fool. He wasn't made a proud General by twiddling his thumbs and shoving beer bottles up his arse like an troll. That meant the Drunken Huntsman was out. Dragonsreach would be a possibility but due to officials coming and going all the time things could get... Caught in the wind so to speak.

That left one other valid possibility since the Companions Hall was out of the question. They did not care much for politics. Although rumors heard they were a tad bit unhappy, as long as the coin kept coming in for their services they could make ends meet.

"This way." She strode down the west street up the small incline toward the Hall of the Dead with Soldin obediently following. They were both on high alert and made subtle glances this way and that. Stopping short a ways from the Hall she whispered to Soldin, "Enter shortly after I do." She knew he understood and after a nod to the gaurds with a softly muttered, "I trust an intelligent woman can find her way, gentlemen." which effectively cut them off and the Nord watched her glide on inside.

Soldin had sat down on a nearby rock wall an waited for a few minutes. After a not so fake yawn and stretch he got up and nodded his head to the other gaurds and walked inside.

Looking at her Soldin smirked, "You know, that was a failed attempt." It was true, any idiot would know the two were together. But her reply was immediate.

"Doesn't hurt to try."

"You forgot didn't you?"

"Better to be last minute than too late."

"Guess that's true... To a fault." He chuckld and she joined in quietly as they walked down side by side.

"We would have heard and smelled them Soldin."

"Mhm."

When they reached the door they saw two people already walking in. One appeared to be a ranger and the other... Soldin couldn't tell but Dabiene guessed him to be a Mercenary.

With one gliding through the door and the other marching in like the disciplined soldier he was the two stood in the room looking at everyone. Immediately Soldin went to sit down and rest for a moment. Yea he sat on a horse for the better part of the day but man... Riding could kill your thighs and buns. Especially if you weren't used to riding in a while.

Dabiene surveyed the room and its occupants and also strode over to side down near Soldin waiting for the meeting to start as well as the arrival of more allies.


(OOC: Yea, long awaited appearance. Also posting in the other roleplays. Posting CC's Tomorrow or should I say today lol.)

 

[Madrar]

Salthar walked towards the gates of Whiterun the night coalescing around his tall, hooded and robed frame. The guards stationed at the city gates moved forwards, one raising in his hand to stop the stranger, but the vampires eyes flashed dangerously, and the guard decided he valued his life more than his job. Nodding to his companion, they allowed the vampire into the city. According to his spies in Whiterun, the dissident group had been meeting in the hall of the dead. Judging by the pair of Stormcloaks outside the door to the crypt, those reports were true.

Usually, Salthar would have nothing to do with any form of rebellion. They were all about the few against the many, overthrowing tyranny. What they didn't mention was the chaos that followed afterwords. The purges, the executions of 'traitors' and in the end, nothing really changed. He strode purposefully towards the two sentries, his eyes narrowed in irritation. The Stormcloaks shouted in equal parts surprise and anger upon seeing a Thalmor robed Altmer approaching. Their hands shot to their weapons, but the vampire simply flicked his fingers at the men. Both slammed into the wall on either side of the wall, their weapons clattering to the ground.

They weren't dead, Salthar had no desire to kill any of the Stormcloaks. Yet. "Stay down, if you wish to live" he said coldly, entering the crypt, and searching for the emanations of life energy in the lifeless place. Opening another door, he came across four people. A man dressed as a mercenary,two people that stank of werewolves, the jarl of Whiterun, Vignar, and two people he recognized from a few years ago. "General Psyrakon.Still alive, I see. And dear Alice, regrettably still human...a pity" the vampire took a seat, and rested his hands on the table, showing no ill intent.

 

[TheShadedOne]

Shadari growled to herself as she tossed a coin purse towards the gate guard. The man didn't even blink as he caught it and placed it on his own belt. "Enjoy your stay in Whiterun, ma'am" the guard said politely, and the Khajiit assassin scowled even more. "Every one wants something these days" she complained, striding into the city and glancing around. "Every one' included Shadari as well, but it wasn't gold she was after. No, she was after something much sweeter.Revenge. She'd tracked the mage, Jorn Blackstone all the way to Skyrim but in this frozen wasteland, his trail had gone cold. One of her contacts in Riften had heard the he had been taken in with the Stormcloaks, which was the main reason she was here.

A different contact, in Rorikstead, had informed her that some sort of resistance to Ulfrics' rule was being organized in Whiterun. Shadari knew she wouldn't get a better chance to take Blackstone down once and for all. She was planning on offering the leader of this resistance, someone named Psyrakon, a deal. She'd fight for him, free of charge, on the terms that when the time came, she would be the one to kill the mage. Only an idiot would turn down an offer like that. According to her sources, the group was meeting this very night, in the hall of the dead. A strange place for a meeting, but Shadari had been in stranger places, and met with worse people. "Here goes nothing" she muttered to herself, approaching the entrance.

A pair of Stormcloaks stood on either side of the door, looking slightly winded, and rather unhappy. They glanced at her, confirming the information she'd received. 'You think they'd be somewhere out of sight' the assassin thought critically. A pair of guards standing outside of the doors nearly screamed: 'Hey, there's a secret meeting taking place right now! Why don't you come and have a look?' She approached, and the gazes of the two men fell from her face to the rest of her body. The dark grey leather armour was all she wore, from her feet to her throat, (besides her boots, of course). She'd deliberately undone the top laces of the armour, giving the men a fair view of her...assets. Breezing past the pair, she entered the hall.

It stank of decay and dust, but she didn't mind too much. She was here for a meeting, not to critique their house cleaning. Well, crypt cleaning, really, as she doubted anyone lived here. She listened carefully, her sensitive Khajiit ears picking out the sounds of conversation. Heading that way, she pushed open a door and then stopped. A group of warrior types stood or sat at a table, along with a teenager, the jarl, and a Thalmor. 'I think I might have wandered into the wrong secret meeting' she took a seat but kept her hands under the table, ready to draw and throw her concealed knives if it all went to hell.

 

[Aethalia]

Aliah Stormwind entered the city, a stiff wind blowing her leather, knee length coat open, revealing the dark red shirt she wore beneath it. That, plus the two ebony swords on her left and right sides. The way the tall, slender, red headed vampiress walked made it clear that she knew how to use the weapons. She'd heard whispers of some resistance coming together in Whiterun. That had been three days ago, when Aliah was near Markarth. Now she was in the city, tired, irritated, and had no idea where this damnable meeting was taking place.

Well, the guards outside the hall of the dead gave her some idea, but she couldn't exactly walk up to them. She imagined the scene, an Altmer vampiress strolling up to a pair of Stormcloak Nords, and saying "Excuse me, guardsmen, but do you know where the secret meeting of rebels against Ulfric is taking place?" Oh yeah, that wouldn't end in a fight. Huffing in exasperation, the woman went over her options. One: wait for the guards to get tired and try to slip past them. Two: Wait for dawn, and see if anyone left the crypts. Or Three, distract the guards, and make a dash for the door. One was no good because they probably had comrades ready to switch with them. Two wouldn't work because she was pretty sure they'd get suspicious if an Altmer woman stared at the doors to a crypt all night.

So that left option three, hardly her favourite course of action, but she didn't want to wait around too long. Walking at a reasonable pace, as one on business might do, she passed the guards, close enough that they took notice, but not so close that they could see her pale gold skin and pointed ears. Stepping into an alleyway, she drew prepared a minor flame spell. She was no mage, but bladesingers were taught minor spells in order to disorient the enemy during combat. Shattering an empty barrel with her boots, she set the dry wood on fire, waiting for the smoke to begin drifting above the roofs of shops and houses.

An alarmed shout had the vampiress leaping up onto the roof, and moving quickly to get back to street level. Both guards had gone to investigate, and she estimated she had a couple of minutes before they put out the fire and returned to their posts. Slinking through the winding side passages, Aliah was starting to think she should have asked the soldiers for directions. Within minutes, she was hopelessly lost, coming across rooms and rooms full of bodies. "I'll bet that half of these people died trying to find there way out of here" she growled to herself, trying to get the disgusting scent of dusty, preserved corpses out of her nose and mouth.

She could hear voices, faint, but definitively there. Unfortunately, she had no real idea where to start looking. Eventually, the voices began to get louder and more defined, and she picked up the scent of living flesh and blood. That meant she must be close, because, while some vampires senses were heightened to the point they could smell mortals thousands of metres away, Aliah could only smell them within about twenty metres or so. Five minutes later, she stumbled across a closed door, almost certainly containing the rebels. She pushed open the door, and stepped inside. She took in the people already inside, surprisingly, a Khajiit and a Thalmor robed vampire among them. She took a spot near the door, resting her hands on the pommels of her swords.

 

[Zander Feredon]

Zander lifted himself from the well in Whiterun's center, a look of disdain smeared across his face. ''I should have just used the front gate.'' He said to himself. the main reason he had not used the gate was to avoid any questions. He found it much easier to sneak in rather than converse with the guards, people always seem to pity a blind man and there's nothing Zander hates more than pity. Sighing deeply, Zander closes his eyes and relaxes, a somewhat normal routine for him now. Focusing on the place he is located usually allows him a temporary ''sight.''

Not like actually seeing but instead he can see the Aura of people, Their very essence. Tuning in on a specific group he was looking for , A secret meeting, somewhere discreet and away from prying eyes. ''Aha.'' He said. He had spotted a fairly large group of people in what would appear to be an underground location. ''That has to be the place.'' He thought to himself. Standing and brushing the dust from his cloak he went in the direction that he had seen the Aura's.

Arriving at the entrance to what he assumed to be a cellar, he pressed on. As he descended the steps he was slightly startled by a somewhat loud and obnoxious voice. ''What business have you in the hall of the dead traveler?'' The voice had asked him. Turning in the general direction the voice had came from, he simply replied. ''My business is my own, Please leave me to it.'' As he said the words a small spark of what looked like smoke wound its way out of his mouth and into the mans ears. ''My apologies sir, please carry on.'' The man replied in a somewhat monotone voice.

Smiling to himself, Zander went along the path. After what seemed like ages, he arrived at a door, upon opening the door he walked directly into a wall. ''What kind of idiots build a wall behind a door? The typical Nordic architecture seems to grow less and less intricate every year.'' He said to himself after uttering a few vile curses at the walls direction. After retracing his steps and noting that he took a wrong turn and went down toward the altar instead of veering off and taking the door he should have, He arrived. Standing in front of a wrought iron door, he began focusing once again, simply to avoid running into anymore wall-doors. ''Two wolves, Many Mortals, And one who appears dead yet clearly is not. This is the right place.'' He said to himself. Disconnecting from his sight, he pushed the door open, and walked toward the left side of the room, leaning against a wall, and awaiting the rest of the ''group'' to arrive.

 

[Vixen Blackbriar]

Vivienne had been in Whiterun for almost three days. The drone of the bard and the familiar "Can I help you?" of the barmaid had begun to dig in under her skin. She had been out among the city, but she was tired of waiting. Tired of listening to bards sing about her cousin’s glorious desecrated corpse. Tired of hearing about Ulfric’s failures as High King. Tired of inaction.
"And as the blood dripped,
From ‘ole Rikke’s neck" the bard continued.
Enough. She moved like lightning across the room, grabbing the lute from the pompous man’s hands and throwing it immediately into the fire. The noise of the bar grew to a halt. She looked around, suddenly realizing what she’d done. The last thing she needed was attention on herself.
"I was tired of the music," she remarked. Her words were icy and emotionless. "Here."
She threw the bard a sack full of coins. "Retire."
With that, she left the bar and walked into the city. As she walked out, a blind man crawled out of a well. She stopped. Well. That doesn’t happen very often. She followed behind him, suddenly very curious. He was walking straight for the Hall of the Dead. She followed a few paces behind, seeing him cast a simple spell to make his way past the guards. She walked up, and the guards immediately stopped her.
"What’s your business?"
She looked at the guards coyly, smiling. Time to break out that finishing school charm.
"I’m afraid my grandmother passed recently, and I wasn’t there in time for the funeral. I need to return this brooch," she lied, pulling an old gold trinket from her satchel, "to her."
The guards looked at her skeptically. "I’m afraid no one is allowed in, Stormcloak business."
"I’ll just be a second. I know exactly where she was... put."
One of the guards sighed. "I doubt it can hurt. Be quick. Stay to the right where the bodies are though. The enblaming area is strictly off limits to the public right now."
Wiping the tears she’d managed from her eyes, she pushed past the guards. She turned and waved as they closed the door behind her, heading off immediately to the left.

Although she found herself in the embalming part of the crypt, she was definitely lost. "Honestly, I have no idea why I decided to follow a blind man," she muttered. "He probably walked into a wall."

She continued on through the labyrinth of passages, getting turned around multiple times. Finally, she found a pair of massive, fortified doors. "That looks off limits," she whispered, half in awe. She pushed open the door, surprised at the ready party waiting for her inside.

 

[Dabiene Caristiana]

As more people started to pile in Dabiene noticed the smell of two vampires. Immediately after registering it Soldin tensed and the Breton raised a calm hand and placed it upon the arm closest to her. Her voice, dispite wanting it to be carried out between the two, carried out louder than intended due to the stone work of the Hall causing echoes.

"Easy, pup. I doubt it wold be helpful to cause a scene." She withdrew her hand and placed it over her other in her lap. If one were to take a glance at her, one would think she was of nobility. Her posture was pristine. Her voice unwavering as well as smooth yet somewhat deep. She carried the customary arragance that her fellow Bretons held and yet also had the nature of caring and undenying devotion and loyalty. That and werewolves could be very loyal.

Her brown hair had a very subtle wave to it, although it wasn't noticable because her hair was tied back into a stylish bun. A few strans of hair were lose, possibly due to the bumpy ride to Whiterun. She had a straight nose, thin lips and full cheeks yet her eyes betrayed no fear. They were a brownish-green hazel with a tinge of gold in a certain lighting and could silence an imbicile with a single scathing glare and a cutting remark. Dabiene Caristiana was a no nonsense and all business person. And almost the exact opposite of Soldin.

The man who sat next to her was of Nordic origin. His family sent away due to the Civil War conflict along with the Thalmor. He stayed to serve Skyrim's people, but didn't want to get into politics much and as such stayed out of the Civil War conflict. But he secretly always favored the Empire as his parents had deep down. But unlike his parents who loved Talos and worshipped him, he didn't worship much of anyone. Sure he asked for strength at times to the heavens but that was only during dire times. His hair was pure white but he was only approaching his mid Twenties. So he was very young and in his prime still. Dabiene was basically approaching 40 in a few years time. Which was still young in Breton standards given that they had some elven blood. The man was well built and very strong both naturally and due to his wolf gifts. But he was kind and gentle. He handsome and remarkably had no scars on his face. But his main body was another story. Although a lot of women thought him handsome and 'cute' he didn't want any of them. He wanted a smart, funny...Kind, strict but gentle. But above all, he wanted someone who could accept him. That and put up with some of his drunken escapades.

The man was a playful yet well disciplined young soldier though. In fact he'd pledged his alliegance to the Dawnguard but shortly after the near discovery of his lycanthropy... Isran went up front with him. And it almost ended in disaster.

------------------------------------------------------------

(Flashback)

The white haired blue eyed Nord sat while polishing his blade. He saved a few farmers from a vampire attack yesterday and the day before that, got into a bit of a tangle with some summoned demons. He shuddered at the memory. He hadn't a clue as to how he lived through that. It was by sheer luck that when the last demon threw him to the ground at the edge of a rock cliff, impossible for escape. But that served as an advantage when he tucked his Claymore to his side, blade up like a spear or large stick. The monster had already leaped at him from a higher cliff ready to body slam him when he noticed the Nord's tactic. But it was too late for the creature. Soldin had the thing impaled then kicked and flung the beast off of him over the cliff, it's inhuman screams and shrills getting more distant until it had become eerily silent.

The man shook himself from his thoughts when he heard pounding footsteps. Soldin knew it was Isran before he looked up. The man reeked of vengence.

The Redguard stopped short in front of the Nord and gave him an unreadable expression. But Soldin new better. The younger of the two knew the man was boiling. For what reason... Soldin could give a guess.

"We need to talk. Now." He spoke in a dead quiet murmur. Oh yes... He was angry. The man had sworn to have every daedra spawn wiped out and to have one in his Order didn't set well with him at all.

"No. We don't." The Nord stood up against the leader. If he was going to die dispite helping humanity then he would die with the honor of not being a coward. Begging for his life.

Isran narrowed his eyes at the man's boldness. "You. I should have known there was something dark about you. And--"

"--Everyone has something dark about them. You're cruel. A disciplinarian."

"Why you, how dare you come up to me and--"

Soldin held up his hand between the room remaining between them. "No. You came up to me. You accuse me of being a dark cruel monster, and yet you give no remorse for other beings that aren't 'pure' or 'enlightened'. Yet you know nothing of me. I'm not the monster you speak of."

Soldin tried his hand at lying. He knew or figured Isran would never understand. Isran was silent for moment, prepared to list off evidence and possible proof but he looked into the man's eyes and huffed. "Fine. But mark my words boy, if I catch you or have any undeniable evidence that you were lying... I'll have you executed, like the thing that is downstairs." He was refering to the vampire down in the main chamber that saved one of the men's life. "And you will do well to remember that I always keep my promises." And with that he walked away.

Once he was out of earshot Soldin let out his inner beast and he growled deeply before making a silent vow to himself. "Oh believe me... I will." and he folded his arms across his chest in defiance.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Soldin brought himself out of his memory by hearing Dabiene clear her throat. She gave him a pointed look that said, "That was then. This is now. Focus." And Soldin did just that.

(OOC: Part two coming. It takes almost 5-10 seconds to type a single average word. and even then it doesn't show. So I'm sorry for any spelling mistakes. Also, notice the references? There are two. One is about another character ingame and another from a 'princess movie'. Can you guess? Rep rewards because I'm nice... That and I feel like I abandoned you all for a time on Fading Hope.)

 

[Andre Marek]

'A ranger, two werewolves, two vampires, a Khajiit, and a blind man,' Marek rolled his eyes as he looked over the motley group of strangers who had entered not long after him. Just then the door creaked open again and a rather young looking Nord woman slipped inside, blinking like an owl as she took in the scene before her. This job was bound to get interesting if this was the crew supposedly going to be at it's heart. The wolves and the vampires were bound to create some conflict and personally, he was none too pleased to see the Thalmor robes worn by one of the latter. He'd have to keep an eye on the pair of Altmer. Apart from the woman who had just entered, only Marek and the blind man were standing, giving him a slight edge should anything, drastic, happen. Slowly moving his gaze from person to person, he attempted to get a read on them and determine what he could about each of them.

The ranger seemed somewhat distracted but otherwise he looked capable enough. The man and the woman whom he had identified as werewolves from the distinct and pungent smell about them. Both looked equally weary but he suspected they were capable in their own right, the man had the look of a soldier and the woman had an air of authority about her. As for the vampires, Marek was more concerned with ways he could quickly kill them should he have to. The man in the Thalmor robes appeared to be trying to come off as peaceful, with both hands plainly visible on the table before him, but Marek remained wary none the less. He was always on edge whenever he found himself in the presence of an Altmer, ever wary of their sinister agents, and having two in the same room only served to darken his already black mood.

'As if being in Whiterun wasn't enough...' Sighing he looked over at the Khajiit who was sitting with her hands concealed beneath the table. Flicking his eyes down he noticed that concealed in her belt were several small steel throwing knives, their hilts just barely visible, and her hands were positioned so that she could easily and quickly reach them. Marek admired her preparedness, but he wasn't overly worried about the rather small girl. He was positioned directly behind her, no more than five feet from the back of her chair. She would have to move exceptionally fast if she were to have any chance of escaping either the blade of his sword or his steel encased fist.

Marek swiveled his head to look pointedly at the blind man leaning against the opposite wall. The dark skinned Dunmer carried two daggers of the finest make on his belt causing Marek to assume that his disability was not all that incapacitating. The mer probably resorted to some type of magic to augment his abilities. Marek sneered as he looked the man over, he hated magic. The mer immediately jumped onto his 'list' along with the two vampires. The most recent addition to their little club was a different story however.

The young woman wore scaled steel armor and had a broadsword hung from her belt. She carried herself confidently. Marek had seen her type occasionally back when he had been traveling through Cyrodiil. Duelists were somewhat more common in the Imperial homeland than here in Skyrim so Marek suspected she wasn't at home in the cold, northerly province. She was most likely a traveler like himself which made her that much more interesting in his eyes. It had been awhile since he had worked with anybody from Cyrodiil. Returning his focus to the group at the head of the table, Marek again adopted his trademark disdainful frown and patiently waited to see what the General would have to say.

 

[Vixen Blackbriar]

Vivi stayed close to the door, resigning herself against the wall. Her tussled red mane was out of control, so she pulled it back, using the distraction as a reason to get a closer look at the people in the room. She first noticed the pair of Altmer, one draped over in classic Thalmor apparel. Unlike most Nords, she didn’t hate the Thalmor. She had little reason to. Her father had had an advisor from the Thalmor, a strict woman, but a kind one at that. As she pulled her hair tighter from her face, she noticed a man staring at her. She hadn’t taken too much notice of him until now, but she realized the reason for this. He looked almost… familiar. Not that she knew him, but something about him reminded her of Cyrodiil, of home. She sighed.
“Home. This is home know,” she thought to herself.
The feeling of nostalgia was unpleasant, and she rapidly moved her gaze to the pair emitting a pungent smell. She didn’t recognize the smell, or the people, but something about them read “partnership” in the way they seemed in their own world. She moved her gaze again, feeling intrusive when she read closer into the pair. Her gaze fell onto the blind man she’d followed into the room. Knowing he couldn’t see her staring, she began to really pay attention to him now. How he’d found his way to the room was nothing short of miraculous, and he was the entire reason for her being there. She knew nothing of what was going on, or who these people were, but without an invitation to leave, she decided she’d be best served to wait and find out what the congregation was all about.

 

[fellowknight]

The Ragged Ranger scanned across the room, sizing up the different people that had entered. There was a Mercenary, Two Werewolves, Two Vampires, A Khajiit, A blind Dunmer And a young Nord woman. The mercenary's look was quite obvious; a cold, hard look that revealed his true care for the money he had most likely been offered. He had the same look as The Breton, focused, stone-faced, ready for anything Tamriel had to throw at him. Otherwise than his intentions, he looked like he could take down his fair share of Stormcloaks. Barnan was ever eager to learn more about the man, in due time. He shifted in the wooden chair by the right wall, shifting his gaze to the pair of Werewolves.

The two, one Breton the other Nord, looked to be quite attached to one another, as they sat next to each other and spoke in hushed tones. But at that, it was only a guess, they could hate each other for all he knew. He could smell them as soon as they entered, as he was taught to smell out the different dangers of Tamriel in his ranger training. He had no strong hatred for werewolves, they actually came in handy in tight spots and were strong allies. But, aside from their powers, they both looked capable and Battle hardened, and he looked forward to fighting by their sides. He then looked to the pair of Altmer Vampires, a frown coming to his hidden lips.

He had heard heard the old story of their intentions, to rule Tamriel, to be above all other races. This was what got the him to...dislike, the overly confident race. Though he disliked the race, he had to take in the fact that not all of them are the same, but most are. Otherwise than that, the two looked quite at home, save the obvious unconcerned looks. The first one, a Male Robed Thalmor, was sitting quite plainly in sight with his hands visibly on the table. An obvious trick, he knew. He was merely APPEARING to show no ill intent. But, should the need arise, should he get angry, he'd be up, armed, and slicing his way out in seconds. Besides that, he was pretty well built and looked battle ready. The second, a cloaked female vampiress, Was leaning against the wall, quite near the door. It was a smart move. Should anything go down, she'd be up, out, and gone in mere seconds. Aside from her position, she looked like she could handle herself well; with the ebony blades hanging from her belt, her hands firmly planted on the pommels. Then he, again, shifted his gaze towards the female Khajiit seated across the way from him.

He sometimes saw the discrimination against the feline race. Constantly they are called thieves and pickpockets, forced to stay out of cities and away from anything rare and precious. Most actually were theives, but that is most likely because they had been forced into that life. But others actually carried themselves well and were accepted into most cities, leaving others to fend for themselves. It was a hard life, but they survived and even thrived in it. To the untrained eye, she was but a harmless Khajiit, resting her hands on her lap. But to Barnan, she was a potential fighter, her fingertips mere inches from many throwing daggers hidden under her belt. She was good, a strong and smart fighter. She would fight well. He then shifted his gaze to the blind Dunmer, whom was leaning against the wall, nearest the Ranger.

To begin, he felt quite bad for ANY disabled, hurt, wounded, crippled citizen he could find. And, in his case, he would never have sight again. Yet, he found his way into the crypt easy, not what your average blind citizen would be able to do. Barnan guessed that he had some type of magic, like Aura, casted constantly. Again, just another guess. His eyes wavered over the Dunmer, as he saw the mer's finely crafted daggers hanging from his belt. He was smart as well, using magic to find his way around and his daggers to slay any he needed to. His future battles would be......interesting. Then he finally shifted his gaze to the newest patron of the party, a young redhead nord, fiddling with her hair as she rested by the door.

There was little he could gather from looking her over, besides her obvious Nordic look. He did catch her, as she was fiddling with her hair again. She was using that as a mere distraction so she could eye the patrons in the room. Size them up, study them. She had the weary look of a traveler, yet the look of any confident warrior. A Duelist. He hadn't seen that many, one, maybe two total. She had chosen her spot well and seemed quite at home amongst the strangers. Closest to the door, she could fight her way back and out in seconds, right behind the vampire. If it came to fighting, She would fare well, in his opinion. Then, he stood from the chair he adopted and walked in the center of the room, his cloak wavering behind him as he removed his hood and mouth mask (See CC on the first page of the OOC for more details.) Fairly presented to the general, he could tell from the armor and posture, he spoke, loud and clear.

"Now that we are all here, or most of us at least, i believe we are ready to begin this meeting. When your'e ready, General. " He said, kneeling and putting his fist on his chest, before standing back up.

 

[Dabiene Caristiana]

Soldin couldn't help but let out a low pitched growl but it was cut off really short by Dabiene subtly mashing her foot on his Dawnguard boots. Even though they were metal tipped the rest was mere buckles and heavily fortified leather, the woman was a werewolf, her shoes were made of hard material and she was pretty much trying to shut him up. So it wasn't hard for her to inflict some 'warning' stab of pain in his feet.

Soldin refrained from wincing but instead put out a tiny smirk at the woman's bluntness. Only she would probably mash someones toes secretly to keep them from blabbing their mouth or to shut them up. Classy. Just like the woman.

Soldin took his time to survey the group of them. As did the woman next to him but she was just about finished anyway.

The vampires he had an inner war with himself, but his honorability and curiousity won in the end. Obviously they were good or calm. He didn't agree with the theory that every vampire had some good in them but he knew that not all were born evil. Which is why he decided to give those two a chance. Unless they were here to have a nice blood buffet, which he doubted, they had no reason to be here to waste their times. From what he had learnt in his time Vampire and Daedra hunting, vampires had HUGE time management issues. Which in any case was a good thing. They had to be lest they stay too long and get ambushed after a reporting. They were clever, and in a way he liked that.

The Khajiit he didn't worry about. Much. Even someone as thick as him would see the placement of her hands under the table. If he noticed it was most likely a public display of "If any of you thick headed pigs try anything funny... Say hello to 'stabby' and 'I'mma-slit-your-throat'." Next to him Dabiene had the same thought in mind.

Both of the werewolves agreed to themselves that the Mercenary was no threat. He had a loyal yet sinister air about him that said, "I'm in it for the money, so don't try me." Well, pretty much every mercenary had that about them. The serious ones anyway. Which the man obviously was so they needn't a problem.

Dabiene had noticed the blind Breton in the corner. To the untrained eye he was a blind man and in order to help must have trained long and hard to trust his instincts and hearing. But she on the otherhand picked up faint waves of magic rolling off him. But she could sense it even farther away if she wanted to. She held no pity. More like a... Droplet of admiration. Soldin however only saw a blind man. Of course he had no magic training besides Illusion for boosting troops and startling enemies. So obviously the Nord pitied him.

The young Nord Dabiene thought looked familiar. Seemed so familiar. Glancing away to ponder for a second, the cogs in her head turning, she mentally went through all the pictures of the papers. Especially in the aftermath of the Civil War. Suddenly a lightbulb went off in her head. Dabiene was very intelligent but she didn't flaunt it around. She found it more to her advantage if everyone thought she was a snobbish rich middle aged woman and then finished them off in the back. Sneaky, but she was a strategist.

But as she glanced more at the young Nord woman she remembered. She remembered of a clan or family name of Rikke. Her own family were a bunch of snobbish diplomats. And to go along with the package her own parents were very verbally abusive. She grew up into a 'lady' at a very young age of 5. She never knew how to play, never knew how to 'pretend'. No. She had no childhood to remember of. And even to this day it hurt a tad bit.

But she heard of the horrible tragedies of the Rikke family. She had read it in the paper she had been sent from the Empire's capital. In fact she had every available official newspaper from every country of Tamriel shipped, except for the Elven Island. She already got enough gossip to cover the news coverage there. Besides she didn't really want to heard about or read about their news. It was probably full of Aldemiri Dominion garbage anyway.

But Dabiene was fairly certain that was a member of the Rikke family. When she was little her parents and guests of their Estate would come and talk about politics and trival gossip. However, Dabiene as of now didn't say anything. She young Nord wanted her identity shut tight in a chest. And in her position she would have done the same. So as such unless the woman revealed herself Dabiene would keep her lips sealed.

At last someone finally spoke up. It was the ranger that Dabiene thought was decent in fighting from the look of it. Soldin agreed of course. After all everyone in the Dawnguard was trained using a crossbow. But the man liked getting upclose and personal. Whereas Dabiene... Couldn't shot an arrow to save her life. She could fight using swords yes, but heavy weapons, no. Magic? Healing, Destruction, Conjuration and a pinch of Alteration? Oh hell yes.

The ranger in both of the werewolves eyes seemed capable. So they weren't worried.

"Now that we are all here, or most of us at least, I believe we are ready to begin this meeting. When your'e ready, General. " He said, kneeling and putting his fist on his chest, before standing back up. Soldin was confused as to why the man did that. But Dabiene new that it was a ranger's salute. Some Knights and Royal Guardsmen had done this when escorting nobels.

Raising a brow at the man Dabiene muttered quietly, "Indeed." with Soldin adding, "Sooner the better." under his breath.

 

[Simus]

Simus and Vignar looked over everyone carefully as they entered. Many of the esteemed company before them had been contacted directly, some found their way here on their own. No one was a complete stranger however. Alice had dutifully reported and recorded all the people she had seen in her visions over the past few weeks and Simus worked with his contacts in the Thieves Guild and Dark Brotherhood to obtain information on all of them. It seemed that the people Alice saw most frequently had all shown up, which was fortunate since they had the most information on them. Simus was looking forward to getting to know everyone but they had business to conduct first.

As his guests started to arrrive, two Altmer entered. One, a female, Simus didn't recognize but Alice had seen and given him a good enough description to know what to look for. The other however he recognized very well: A blatent Thalmor vampire named Salthar Vivarian. They had a rather interesting encounter in Ivarstead a few months ago, along with a rather self-assure Nord vampire who enjoyed being an ass to everyone around him. Normally Simus killed Thalmor on sight thanks to his blistering hatred for them and his authority as a Stormcloak General allowing him to do so. Salthar however had proven an ally of convienence and as such he was tolerated by Simus...but only just so.

"General Psyrakon." Salthar said. "Still alive, I see. And dear Alice, regrettably still human...a pity"

"Salthar." Simus said, putting forth great effort to be civil. "I'm suprised someone hasn't shoved a stake through your heart by now and turned you into a bloody mess. Lucky me. And yes, my daugter is still human. She will stay that way so long as I have a say in it."

Alice stepped forward, putting a tempering hand on her father's shoulder. His blue dragonplate armor remained warm despite the cold of the crypt. Alice could feel it through her brown leather gloves and it felt nice. She gave Salthar a polite courtsy, smoothing out the skirt of her thigh length blue dress. Its enchantments offered a second layer of protection over her one pice white leather armor that covered all but her head and hands, as well as giving her a very fashionable appearence. Her knee high brown leather boots, gloves, silver ring and silver and sapphire earrings complemented her outfit very nicely.

"Hello again Salthar, nice to see you again." She said with her usual smile, extending her hand as if inviting him to kiss it. "It's been a while since Ivarstead. How have you been?"

Alice had suffered at the hands of the Thalmor just as badly as her father and the rest of their family, but she had a more open mind than he did. Her hatreds didn't run as deep and she was quicker to forgive. She had stopped her father from making many foolish decisions simply by taking his hands into hers, giving him a sincere look and slowly shaking her head. They may both be soldiers but she was still his little faerie and she knew exactly what prompts he couldn't say no to.

Two others in the room, a Breton and a white haired but young looking Nord, also seemed uneasy by the vampire's presence. Simus immediately knew what these two were by the unique smell they gave off considering the experiences he and his son had in the Companions. He wasn't sure who else knew however, or how they would react to being exposed, so he would keep it to himself and let them reveal it if they wished.

"Easy, pup. I doubt it wold be helpful to cause a scene." The Breton woman whispered to her companion. Simus heard them and made eye contact with them. He held a hand up and mouthed "Listen to your friend wolf brother." He hoped he would get the message.

"Now that we are all here, or most of us at least, i believe we are ready to begin this meeting. When your'e ready, General. " The Breton ranger said, kneeling and putting his fist on his chest, before standing back up. Simus appreciated the salute and returned it.

"We've got a few more coming son." He said. "Be patient."

As if on cue, a large group of people entered the chamber. They weren't trying to be quiet but two of them, a pair of wood elves, were particularly loud.

"I told you it was hawk, hawk, bear. If you had just listened to me we wouldn't be late." Anoriath, the meat vendor from the Whiterun market said.

"No you didn't." Elrandir, his brother and owner of The Drunken Huntsman responded. "You said it was bear, hawk, hawk. We tried that and then a wandring skeever got pelted by darts. Ysolda was the one who figured it out, of all people."

"That's what I kept trying to tell you oafs but you wouldn't stop arguing." Ysolda, an aspring merchant, said. "Pretty childlike, eh Belethor?"

"Oh no, not at all." Belethor, the general store owner, said. "I simply love it when two wood elves argue over a simple puzzle built a thousand years ago while we're on our way to a secret meeting to depose our new High King. That's at the very top of things that make my day!"

"All right, all right." Ysolda said. "You don't have to dampen the mood for everyone.

"Shut up! All of you!" Ri'saad snapped. "I think this is the correct door."

The door opened and the Khajiit merchant led the five of them in, along with Adrianne Avannici the blacksmith, Hulda the innkeeper and Nazeem, the rich owner of Chillfurrow Farm outside of town.

"General Psyrakon." Ri'saad said with a bow. "Our apologies for being late, we got a little lost along the way."

"A little lost?!" Nazeem protested. "You fools have been leading us in circles for over an hour! Why I'm footsore like a common begger! And look at this place! What a filthy mortuary to hold a meeting! I swear I'll never get all of this dust out of my-"

"SHUT UP NAZEEM!" All of the merchants yelled. He had been complaining the whole way here and they were sick of it. Ri'saad then turned to Shadari, a small buldge in his pants.

"Well, greetings to you my fine lady." He said rather suavly. "You are a refreshing change of scenery from dust and drauger, a change Khajiit welcomes. This one is Ri'saad, owner and operator of all the caravans in Skyrim. Should you ever need anything at all, material or...otherwise, this one will provide. There are many dark places in these crypts for instance. Places where two Khajiit may...shall we say...get aquainted."

He gave Shadari a toothy smile, waiting for her response.

 

[Dabiene Caristiana]

As the two werewolves watched the tension nearly spiral a young Imperial stepped up to the plate and defused the situation. Unforunately before business could get down a noisy group of civilians, most likely aiding the rebellion Dabiene mused, and created an argument.

Upon entering one of the Khajiit merchants, Ri'saad, started to impress the Khajiit female at one of the tables, hinting his wealth and generosity. After hearing the hinting of having a 'roll in the hay' as they said back at home, Dabiene made a cutting remark that was put in before the female.

"As much as I find this very entertaining, I doubt the young lass would find a dashing young Khajiit such as yourself satisfactory. As I recall the merchants saying one time... Oh what was it... Complaining about the lack of items in the package? Hm?" Drumming her manicured nails on the wooden table Soldin let out an undescised snort and tried to hold back laughter.

Her smooth condesending voice carried out once again, "Now, if you lot are done fiddling around with yourselves I believe we have some business to attend to! And I'm not talking about night time business Ri'saad." She lowered her head and sent a well placed glare through her long lashes at him before tilting her head back up. Turning her head back at the General she glared one last time at the Khajiit before asking politely but with a straight serious face. "Is that everyone or are there more coming, Commander?"

She was going to make another cutting remark earlier at Nazeem but he already had his hands full with the rest of the arrivals at his neck.

 

[Zander Feredon]

Listening to all the exchanges taking place had made Zander reconsider coming here. He didnt have the foresight...or any sight for that matter, to gather information on any other potential visitors. He knew for a fact that General Simus was here, and the vampires name was Salthar. Otherwise he had no knowledge on any of the people who attended. Smiling he turned a 'blind eye' toward the general. ''Sir, The more time we waste waiting on stragglers, the more ground we lose against Ulfric. That is ground we cannot afford to be losing.'' He said, giving a slight bow.

''I respectfully suggest we move on, Late comers are obviously not as concerned about the stability of skyrim as they claim.'' He said. He walked to the table and took a seat at the far end at the base of the table. He then pulled a book from his satchel and began running a finger over the text, He had a contact in winterhold that made him a special type of book called 'Braille'. The words were actually raised from the page with candle wax so that the ''reader'' can feel the shape of the letter and sound out the word. '' But as i said previously, it is only a suggestion.'' he said and continued reading his book.

(OOC: Zander is a Dunmer (dark elf) Not Breton.)

 

[Vixen Blackbriar]

Vivi was startled when the elf spoke. She'd been so fascinated by him it'd put her in a near reverie, closing her from noticing the new additions to the room.
''Sir, The more time we waste waiting on stragglers, the more ground we lose against Ulfric. That is ground we cannot afford to be losing.''
Ulfric. There was a name she recognized. She felt heat enter through her body. Rage. Even his name was intolerable. She pictured herself younger, more innocent. Less angry. She huffed, trying to alleviate a minute amount of the heat.
"Focus," she told herself. She watched as the elf then sat, pulling out a book. She smiled as he ran his fingers across the page. What an oddity. Something about him helped her calm down. She looked back to the man who'd been called General, ignoring the new entries to the room. She continued to stay in her head, analyzing the situation with a keener eye. So it seemed this was an anti-Ulfric group. A rebellion. Looked like she'd hit the jackpot. Still, her gut told her to keep herself on the low. She caught Hulda from the corner of her eye, smiling at the raucous she'd made earlier at the inn. She'd keep her identity secret for now.
"Vivi Cross," she whispered, remembering the false name she'd given Hulda earlier. That worked. For now.

 

[Madrar]

The vampire raised a bemused eyebrow at Simus' barely civil greeting. Then, he wasn't terribly surprise by it. The general and Salthar would have cut each other to ribbons on their first meeting in Ivarstead, if they hadn't been forced to work together by an attack of Draugr. His daughter's reaction was much more surprising, as she curtsied and greeted him politely, even offering her hand. 'Interesting.Perhaps my stay here will not be as tedious as I had thought'. With a smile, he accepted her hand with his own, and although it was covered by a leather glove, he planted a short kiss on it. It was a simple kiss, nothing obscene about it. Vampire though he was, Alice was still a child, by his reckoning. Actually, Simus was barely more than an adolescent, as were most of the people in the room.



"Hello again Salthar, nice to see you again." The girl said with a surprisingly sincere smile. "It's been a while since Ivarstead. How have you been?"
"I've been well, my dear girl. I suppose you've been keeping your father in line?" He smiled at the young woman, before shooting a smirk at the general himself. He released her hand, allowing her to go back to her father if she so wished it, or perhaps greet the others. 'Yes, this will be a very interesting adventure' he thought to himself, sweeping his gave over the assembled guests. A mercenary who looked like he had a perpetual scowl in place, a small, Khajiit woman, who was currently being...courted, by the merchant, Ri'Saad, a blind Dunmer, a ranger, two wolves, stinking like only their kind could, a Nord woman, which elicited a sneer, and behind him, he sensed, but didn't see, another vampire. It didn't escape the Altmers' notice that all, or at least most of them looked ready to spring into action.

'Well, I hope they aren't thinking of springing at me' he thought, 'I'd hate to have to incinerate them before we even spoke' Altogether, it seemed Simus had assembled a rather interesting group. As long as they didn't all kill each other before the meeting was over, the resistance would be an unique experience. Honestly, curiosity was the main reason Salthar had even bothered to travel to Whiterun. Sure, he wanted Ulfric dead, but more for the reason of consolidating his power in the holds. Already he controlled a small amount of taxes, and took a small tribute of bodies for his coven. Any jarl that objected to strenuously was reminded, sometimes at the point of a dagger, that he could easily be replaced. Once upon a time, Salthar had held a boiling hatred for Ulfric Stormcloak. Now, it was more of a tempered, professional hate. Now the blind Dunmer spoke up.


''Sir, The more time we waste waiting on stragglers, the more ground we lose against Ulfric. That is ground we cannot afford to be losing.'' The vampire sneered, but said nothing. Instead, he simply thought 'That hastiness will be the death of him...though I suppose those that don't have an eternity tend to act a little faster' . Once again, he turned his attention to the general, interested in seeing how the man would handle the situation. He made a mental note to get acquainted with the Khajiit female, who'd had her hands near the hilts of carefully concealed knives throughout the meeting, and the other vampire. It would be important to gain allies, in case he needed to hammer a point into some particularly thick headed mortals head.