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    Signus

    Well-Known Member
    The man who'd introduced himself as Miller, followed by his band of thugs, ushered Cassius and the others out of the tavern and down the street, towards the gates of the town. The mercenaries weren't shy about shouting and shoving civilians out of their way. The few guardsmen Cassius saw along their route averted their eyes, apparently wanting no quarrel with the band of sellswords. Or maybe there was more to it. Whoever the lord Miller served was, they clearly had enough sway to convince the authorities in Northpoint to look the other way. Through bribery or intimidation, the old soldier wasn't sure. In all honesty, he wasn't sure he wanted to know the truth either. Something tasted foul about the whole situation.

    Thanks mostly to the mercenaries uncouth approach to clearing a path, they and the group Cassius had met with, made it to the gate in good time. A trio of figures were waiting just inside, sharing the appearance of Cassius and some of the others who'd shown up in Northpoint. A fourth person, a woman who seemed to know the leader of the group that had shown up at the tavern, was with them. "Is this all of them, Miller?" She called out.

    Miller shrugged "didn't see any more. If they're not here now, they aren't coming. Are the wagons ready?"

    The woman looked out the open gateway before turning back. "Just getting here now."

    Apparently satisfied, Miller turned to the group he'd brought from the tavern. "All right. Get yourselves to a wagon, I don't care who goes where or in what order. We're movin' out immediately!" With that, he lead the rest of them outside, where a number of men and women on foot and on horses were waiting. Bracketed between them were three carriages, boxy and with a window on either side of a small doorway. A driver sat on the bench of each, a man with a heavy crossbow beside them. Miller looked at Cassius and cocked an eyebrow. "You waiting for an invitation or what?" Ignoring the impending sense of doom, Cassius boarded the lead carriage, noting their was room for three other individuals inside.
     

    TheArgonianDrell

    Well-Known Member
    Aurem-Dei glanced at his new companions, hand on his sword. The argonian knight was uncomfortable with whatever it was that was going on. He, like the others in the tavern, had been promised an audience with a lord. Now, it seemed they were being dragged into it. No one said the word, but Aurem-Dei felt like they were , in all but name. There was no disguising that the mercenaries who supposedly served this lord had the drop on them. He had little doubt that if any of them refused to come along peacefully, there would be violence. Despite his confidence in his own skills, that was something the knight did not want. He had come to High Rock to help the people, and this lord in particular. He very much doubted that the lord would thank them for killing his men.

    The group of adventurers were shepherded out of the city, picking up more presumably likeminded individuals along with as many mercenary types. Three carriages awaited them, notably not of the greatest make, but protected from the elements. Aurem-Dei watched the imperial man, the only one who'd spoken up at the tavern, climb into the first of the carriages. With a shrug directed towards his corralled companions, he followed suit, noting the upholstered interior could fit four people. Two, now that he and the imperial were inside. "Greetings" the argonian said, "I don't think we've had the chance to introduce ourselves. I, am Aurem-Dei. Knight of Black Marsh."
     

    Thesius

    The Imperial Paladin
    Before the khajiit or the human mercenary could answer him, another man joined the little group, a nord, unless Lorius was mistaken. The man, like the rest of them it seemed, was looking for the lord that had summoned them to Northpoint in the first place. "You and me both, friend" Lorius said, but before the man could respond, a commotion from the deeper inside the city grabbed his attention. A large group of armed men were shoving their way none too gently towards the gate. The woman with them seemed to recognize the leader, a man she referred to as 'Miller'. An alias if he had ever heard one. The female human shepherded the three, khajiit, imperial, and nord, to join with the main group headed out of the town. A little counterproductive, Lorius supposed, since they had only just gotten there.

    Outside, a group of horsemen waited, guarding three boxy carriages, with armed protection on each. Not only was the lord who had summoned them discreet, it seemed, but they certainly weren't lacking money. He spent some time looking at the assembled mercenaries, if that what they were, seeking some sort of sigil or emblem. He heard their leader, the man known as Miller, demand they started piling into wagons. Lorius was torn between the lead wagon and the middle. He assumed their employer would be in one of the two, either the middle for added security, or the first, because it appealed to their sense of propriety. Finally, he chose the lead wagon, clambering inside and coming face to face with a gruff looking imperial, and a heavily armoured argonian. "Begging your pardon, but neither of you look much like a lord."
     

    Morbidbread

    Fight for the lost
    Firior had barely sat down with the others when a thuggish looking man stepped inside, spotted Firior and the others who had slowly been filing inside, and made a beeline for them. The man, Miller, it turned out his name was, made himself comfortable, and it was quickly revealed why he was so at ease joining a table full of strangers that badly outnumbered him. All around the tavern, men in similar garb and temperment to 'Miller' stood, eyeing the group. The numbers were now looking much more even, and there was no guarantee the others at the table would fight. Fortunately, Miller declared his intention was to bring them to the very same lord that had summoned them to Northpoint. Why, exactly, that lord was not in the city he'd summoned Firior and the others to was a mystery.

    As they were escorted outside and through the streets, the blood hunter noted several more individuals waiting by the gates to the city. A khajiit and two humans, escorted by another mercenary. One who seemed to recognize Miller. After a brief conversation, the smaller group joined up with them, and they continued outside Northpoint. There, a series of wagons waited, guarded by yet more mercenaries, mounted and some, he saw, were armed with heavy crossbows. Apparently, trouble was expected. With a shrug to his companions, Firior climbed into the middle carriage.
     

    fellowknight

    The Devil In The Details
    Baroth's eyes nearly rolled as the argonian, Aurem-Dei as he'd said, introduced himself and questioned their elusive employer. True, the noble lord hadn't plastered signs with directions, or sent tour guides to flag down the mercenaries. And to his expectations, Aurem-Dei knew and suspected little more of the ship-wreck than he himself did. Baroth knew someone had seen it go down since it had started, but the old knight was hardly concerned about that, or anything really as the warrior spoke.

    In fact, his mind had gone blisteringly numb for a few moments, as the nostalgic stench of Argonian blood flooded his senses. How had he forgotten something so decadent, so smooth?

    He recovered subtly and been ready to answer, when a Redguard woman caught his eye on approach to the pair. Deliberately, Baroth held his tongue long enough for her to interrupt and watched the two skip pleasantries, inquiring as to where their employer was. Straight to business, the girl was, and Baroth was grateful for that.

    Again he'd wanted to reply, when a voice from his flank caught him off-guard, and he placed eyes on a newcomer-- or perhaps a nosy merchant. No-- he was far too shaped and comfortable for that, and his name "Hale Loneshadow".. It came off familiar, but Baroth had to let it go after a thought. He'd seen a million faces over a thousand lifetimes, so forgetting one hardly bothered him. Still..

    He followed as the others agreed to join Hale in the nearest tavern, and took a seat quietly at a table where several others had assembled. Elves, humans, all mixed, all capable. All prey, he mused to himself, if I should tempt myself again. Naturally, he kept to himself until another man entered and spoke loudly as he sat at the table, later standing in unison with others-- his own guard, as it were.

    The tension in the room was thick, so thick Baroth blissfully bathed in it. So many blades, so much potential for chaos.. His thumb toyed with the clasp that secured his blade, under the table and out of sight, as heartbeats filled his ears.. why not?

    A man, imperial from the looks, stood and was the first to leave with the man, as the others followed suit. Oh well. Baroth tailed the group down to the south gate, making note of the escort's nonchalant methods to make way. The lord had made it clear, that the mercenaries were to behave themselves, and what awaited them outside the gates only clarified that. Obvious, but a waste of muscle nonetheless.

    With little fanfare, they were prompted to pick a carriage, and one-by-one, everyone split up. In spite of himself and his aching curiosities, Baroth chose the carriage on the far end, recognizing the cabin's potential to hold three others. Six, he smirked, if they shared laps.
     

    Rell

    Champion of Malacath!
    Arbjorn scowled at the lack of answers he was getting. The trip from Skyrim to High Rock had not been quick nor easy, but here he was being ignored by some scruffy looking mercenary. His mood was not improved when a much larger group of sell swords shoved their way through the crowd of commoners and merchants. He noted with some disapproval that even the guards didn't speak against them. Before he could repeat his question, he and several others were swept outside. A line of wagons and horsemen were waiting. Arbjorn frowned...he could have sworn they weren't present beforehand.

    One of the sellswords indicated that he and the others should claim a wagon, and they would be taken to their destination. Several of the others did as told, and Arbjorn shrugged, following a breton looking man into the carriage at the end of the line. He sat across from the man and nodded. "Are you as out of the loop on this as I am? Seems we're being dragged off for no well explained reason." He offered his hand "Arbjorn Harstrom"
     

    Signus

    Well-Known Member
    Cassius cocked an eyebrow at the imperial man. The man seemed a mercenary of some sort, but he guessed there was more to him than what met the eye. The steel plates protecting his torso suggested he was no stranger to combat, but not a knight like the argonian Cassius had seen entering the tavern, or the breton who had questioned him about the ships' wreckage. So someone who wanted to be able to hide in a crowd, as well as hold their own in a fight. Perhaps an assassin, though the mace at his side discouraged that idea. Whatever he was, it looked like he'd been dragged into the mercenary group as well. "No offense, but you don't look like much a lord yourself." He reached across the carriage, extending a hand "Cassius Bratnius, at your service."
     

    Screeching Spasmodically

    Spasmodic Screecher
    Seren wasn't pleased to be 'escorted' out of the city by the gang of mercenaries. She generally disliked being told what to do, and even less so when the people telling her to do something out numbered her. She didn't put much faith in her companions, and the guards seemed more cowed than they were. The mercenaries, at least that's who Seren assumed they were, brought them to the gates, where they met yet more looking to join up with this so far elusive lord. Outside the town, three carriages waited. Apparently, they were to bring the group to meet with the lord they were seeking. "Or quietly dispose of us", she muttered, climbing into the lead carriage.
     

    TheShadedOne

    The Angry One
    Tsara watched the newcomers with more than a little interest. She had no answers for the two men, the nord and imperial who were looking for the breton lord, same as her. Soon, a large group, the same as the mercenary woman that had accosted Tsara and others who were dressed in a variation of gear and weaponry, much like herself and the two adventurer-mercenaries that had joined her just inside the city of Northpoint. She could not help but notice there was a tension in the air. The group the mercenaries had formed a loose ring around seemed somewhat less than thrilled to be herded along like sheep.

    She couldn't blame them. Like a bird, or perhaps a cat, Tsara was a free spirit. Being told 'sit and stay' by some mercenary woman didn't suit her. If she'd had any idea where the lord she was supposed to have met by now was, she would have gone off on her own already. They were ushered outside, where a large group was already assembling, complete with wagons and mounted escorts. Seeing the others head towards the carriages, Tsara did the same, picking the middle wagon as hers. Already an elven man sat within, features mostly hidden beneath a hood. "Hello" the khajiit said politely.
     

    Aspen

    Member
    Imrior stuck close to Lathraels' side, glaring out of his mask at any of the mercenaries foolish enough to get within sword range. He was beginning to have serious doubts about joining up with this band of ruffians. Not least of all because there seemed to be a distinct difference between those who had entered the tavern, and those who claimed to serve the breton lord. Lathrael kept a cold, seemingly indifferent expression plastered across her fair features as they were 'escorted' out of the city. There, they were met with even more mercenaries, and Imrior placed a hand on the hilt of his blade, even more on edge.

    Lathrael was quick to calm him with a gentle hand on his forearm. She listened as the mercenary leader instructed them to take their places in one of the three wagons. Imrior glanced over his shoulder towards his companion. She gestured to the middle wagon, that seemed somewhat unnoccupied. The pair stepped inside, sitting beside one another, and facing a third altmer, though most of his features were hidden beneath a hood. "I don't suppose you were expecting such means of transport, were you?" Lathrael asked him.
     

    fellowknight

    The Devil In The Details
    Baroth snuck a glance of the man as he lumbered into the carriage and sat across from him, setting aside a worn axe. The weapon was, to a fault, a dead giveaway that spoke to its handler's abilities, maybe even his past-- flat-blade, extended shaft for more powerful swings, wielded by a lean man with little armor past his chest and a crooked nose. A nord that travels light and expects to stay on the outside of a fight.. An ex-executioner, turned trouble-seeking mercenary? Baroth smiled as he took Arbjorn's hand in his own, noting his exceptionally strong grip. Executioner, then.

    "Who knows, maybe he'll pay our travel expenses. In my experience, lords and ladies tend to watch these sorts of exchanges very closely. Lot like us makes them nervous. Baroth Hjarksson," He nodded to the axe, leering ever so slightly at the blade's edge. Just for a moment. "Long way from Skyrim, headsman. Don't tell me you came for the trade-- your plans might've gone up in smoke."
     

    Rell

    Champion of Malacath!
    Arbjorn noted the other man, Baroth, glance at the edge of his blade, but made nothing of it. He wasn't one to judge someone if they were fascinated with death and the tools that dealt it. He would have been quite a hypocrite if he had, considering his line of work. Baroth noted that he may have wasted his time coming to High Rock if he planned on plying his headsmans' trade in the province. "Don't let the axe fool you." He said, "it can chop down someone in a fight as well as it can a neck on the block." He looked out the carriage window, "might be you'll get a chance to see it in action sooner than later." He carefully avoided mentioning his reasons for leaving Skyrim. After all, they had just met, and while Baroth seemed...decent enough, the former executioner wasn't about to lay out his whole story just because someone started to pry. With nothing more to add, the nord leaned back in his seat, surprised that the upholstery was so accommodating. Whoever had arranged the transportation clearly hadn't given much thought to expenses.
     

    Signus

    Well-Known Member
    Cassius grinned at the other imperial as the wagons lurched, then started to move. "You don't seem the lordly type yourself." The former soldier pointed out, with a meaningful glance at the mans gear. "In fact, you seem more the hunter type than one to stride around manors' having servants' wait on you." He glanced out the narrow window built into the carriage door. He could see mounted mercenaries riding alongside the carriage, trees and undergrowth slowly passing by. "So how did you come to arrive in Northpoint? High Rock isn't as hostile to outsiders as say, Skyrim, but it's not exactly welcoming." Never mind the sudden destruction of the black ship in the harbour...the captains' stalwart face, attempting to speak to him, still haunted Cassius when he thought on it for too long. "Don't suppose you've heard of black ships coming into harbour, have you?" Realizing he was being vague, he clarified, "in the empire or elsewhere, I mean."
     

    Thesius

    The Imperial Paladin
    Lorius frowned, wondering if the other imperial had realized that he'd introduced himself twice now. "Well, your right, I'm no lord. Don't have the stomach for court" he half joked. "As for how I arrived, I suppose it was the same way as everyone else. I heard some lord in High Rock needed blades and bodies. Didn't realize we'd be shoved into these carriages and made to go..." he shrugged, gesturing to the wilderness outside. "Somewhere." He glanced at the other two that shared the carriage with them, before saying "can't say I've heard about black ships. Though I don't typically spend much time near the harbours. In the empire or elsewhere." He chose to ignore how strange that last question was. This whole situation seemed a little strange to him.
     

    Morbidbread

    Fight for the lost
    Firior kept to himself as the others chose and mounted their own carriages. By the time the middle carriage was moving he was sharing it with two other altmer and a khajiit, to his surprise. He had thought that one altmer was strange enough, but three? Then there was the khajiit, not dressed quite as stealth oriented as others he had met. The amulet of Kynareth she wore gave him some inclination to her alignments. He nodded politely at her greeting, before turning to his fellow altmer who had asked him a question about their mode of transport. "Honestly I wasn't expecting transport at all. Or an armed escort, for that matter," he said with a meaningful glance out the window. "Seems this lord is taking great pains to get a group of hired blades to work for him."
     

    Rell

    Champion of Malacath!
    The former headsman eyed the breton knight. There was something...off about the man. "So, you lived in High Rock long?" He asked, "or are you a wandering blade like most of these others?" He'd seen his fair share of bretons in Skyrim, but it seemed the knight was familiar with the area. Or perhaps he had contacts near or in the city.
     

    fellowknight

    The Devil In The Details
    "Visiting an old friend, actually. Seems they're older and fewer in number these days." Baroth fell silent with strange reminiscence as he recalled his last conversation with the late Brannt Lord, opting to dismiss its implication for the Brannt heirs, or that it had decomposed from witty banter to senile deathbed whispers of an obscurely powerful artifact. The older man smiled warmly and let himself relax back into the cushioned seats.

    "But, in a state ruled by nasty politics with nastier methods, I suppose we can't expect many friendly faces. Less so in my trade of defending their courts. Nice place to lay your sword down, you know, retire and disappear and all that muck." He caught the edge of the cabin's swaying curtains on his fingers, peering out on a beautiful afternoon. Without any indication, he spoke again, but the levity had fallen gracefully in a lapse of bored sincerity. Perhaps, in the dim, rumbling dark of the space, it could be mistaken for philosophical meandering.

    "I could do it for you, Harstrom. Two nights' time and you could be anywhere in West Tamriel, or wayfinding the Abecean Sea, new man with new plans. Hang up that old axe, have a woman make you honest, get out clean.." He chuckled softly, in abrupt interruption of his own thoughts, before smoothly changing the subject. "You never really answered my question, but I should rephrase: How does a.. public servant, such as yourself, end up this far from home? I can't Imagine Skyrim is terribly tropical these days, but, well-- it is the place for heads to roll."
     
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    Rell

    Champion of Malacath!
    Arbjorn hesitated before answering, wondering if the knights' rambling was referring to his own wants, as he rambled on about hanging up ones' weapon and finding a nice woman. He didn't have time to question that before the knight moved on to asking what he was doing in High Rock, especially since headsmen weren't especially known for wandering on their own. He could have tried to disregard the question, but they were stuck in a moving carriage together. Besides, they'd have to work together whenever they got to where they were going.

    Still, honesty wouldn't really help him in this case. His past wasn't exactly something he wanted the others judging him for. "My...employers and I didn't exactly agree on what 'justice' was. So we parted ways." Not the whole truth,but it was better than outright ignoring the man.
     

    Screeching Spasmodically

    Spasmodic Screecher
    Not particulary interested in the banter between the two imperials, Seren peaked out the window of their carriage. The countryside rolled past, the colours muted by the grey day outside. She wasn't thrilled with the weather, but a commission from a wealthy breton noble would make the trip worth her time. Probably. Hopefully. Or, she'd traveled all this way to die in some forgotten corner of the breton countryside. The mercenaries outside hadn't been exactly forthcoming about where they were headed.

    Seeking to take her mind off of doom and gloom that the secrecy, weather, and their 'escort' had drawn into her mind, she glanced at the fourth occupant of the carriage. The heavily armoured argonian that she'd met at the docks. "So. Aurem-Dei, right? How'd you end up here? Not many argonians choose to go north."
     

    TheArgonianDrell

    Well-Known Member
    Aurem-Dei had been watching the countryside rolling by, unused to such mountainous climes. Of course, he'd wandered for years before hearing of the lords' summon to High Rock. New experiences were not something to be passed over and the chance to help someone, noble or not, always appealed to the knight. The redguard woman noted that his kind were not often seen this far north. Especially not in the homeland of the bretons. He nodded, "true enough. But I'm not some random argonian. I am a knight. I'm sworn to help those who need it."
     

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