Private Kingdoms of Tamriel

[Kimrisvik]

Spring had come to The Western Empire, and now the lightly frosted fields had been changed with small beds of flowers across the wide wilderness outside of the walls of Stonedale. There were a few light clouds on the skies, but not enough for the people to worry about rain. Inside the walls, people were doing their daily things like visiting the market, and chat with friendly faces.

Over by the northern wall, the slaves were working hard as usual. Ali, one of the slaves, was peeking over at the small marketplace close by. They had finally removed the corpse of his friend Khari, who they had hung for all of them to see. “You there! Get back to work!” One of the bosses yelled at him and slashed his whip. After the rebel during the winter, the number of bosses on each station had been increased.


Garret entered Theo’s room early in the morning. “Have you told father about the ritual?” He asked as he looked at his brother who was lying on the floor lifting some iron balls. “No!” Theo talked in-between his heavy breaths. “Was thinking on… doing it… today!” He stopped and got up on his feet. “You know. Thomas Franklin is arriving today, and father wants both of us to attend at a meeting. Discussing war stuff I hope.” He added as he laid the iron balls in one of the drawers. “Looking forward to it.” Garret laughed and gave Theo an arrogant look.


“Ah. General Franklin! A pleasure to see you at the capital again!” One of the guards by the main western gate said as he saw the general riding towards him. “Good day.” Thomas Franklin mumbled as he rode through the gates of Stonedale. He went straight over to the castle where King Renold stood waiting for him.
“Thomas! So good to see you again!” Renold said and gave his old friend a hug as he climbed off his horse.
“Renold! It’s been too long!” Thomas said with a large smile.
“About eight months I believe.” Renold answered. “How is things going in the west?”
“Our men are still attacked by the rebels. They seem to call themselves the Chosen.” Thomas laughed mockingly. “But we take more of their land by each day that passes. So nothing to worry about. But why don’t we take the chat in a more suited location.” He looked around at everyone watching them. “And I also want to meet your sons and wife again!” Both of them laughed.
“Right, let us walk inside! I have summoned my sons to the council room, that should be a fitting location for our chat.” Renold said, and they walked inside.

When they got inside the council room, Garret and Theo was both already present. Theo was tapping his fingers impatiently at the table, while Garret was looking at some old maps of The Western Empire that hung upon the wall.
“Hello boys!” Thomas said as he entered the room.
“Thomas!” Theo jumped up from his chair and paced over to the general and gave him a friendly hug. Garret turned around from the map with a smile.
“Both of you have grown a lot!” Thomas said and measured both of them closely. “Theo! You would become a great warrior!” He added with a laugh.
“Yes… About that.” Theo started and looked at Garret, then his father. “I was considering on taking the ritual.”
“The ritual!?” Renold yelled at him. “My son don’t need to take the ritual! You’re not going to be an Elite! You’re a noble!”
“Renold. Look at the boy.” Thomas said. “He sure as hell got what it takes. And he’s not going to become a king after all.” He said and smiled at Garret. “Let him do it.”
Renold looked at Thomas with a suspicious look. “Okay. Fine.” He mumbled. “Now let’s talk about the current situation with the slaves. I had to hang one of them again. A few weeks ago.” He started, and soon they were all discussing what to do.

After about an hour of discussing, a raven flew in trough the window and landed on the table in front of Renold. The king looked at the bird, who hopped around on the table. On its leg there was a letter. “Hmm…” Renold said and unwrapped the paper. He then cleared his throat.
"Honoured kings and queens of Tamriel.It is in these testing times, that the new dominates the old, it ascends as the pyres, devouring the old in it's wake.We are all, that pyre. From the ashes of the war, a new kingdom has risen. By the fires of industry, and the devotion to it's savior, it has grown too strong to remain a vassal of others. It has been unchained, and truth has been revealed to it's devoted men and women. And those men and women, have chosen their King.Under the ever-watching eye of our Lord, Hermaeus Mora, the Prince of knowledge, I declare the island of Solstheim, from now on known as the Silvermoon Isle, an independent kingdom of it's own, and with the power declared upon me by this, I ask for your acknowledgement to my claim.
I shall patiently await your answers, and return to my duties of king, duties you are all aware of, kings and queens of Tamriel.
Signed, Thirlin of House Hledhlen."


There was a short pause. “Theo. Garret. You’re dismissed.” He said, and the boys left the room. “Please have me excused while I answer this letter. After that, we have much to discuss.” He looked at Thomas before he fetched a quill and some paper.

“To Thirlin of Silvermoon Isle.
I, Emperor Renold Berg of the Western Empire, ruler of the west, acknowledge your presence. However, I rule my lands under no gods or deadras watch. I fear they have abandoned Hammerfell, and left it all for me to rule as I please.
I will however wish you good luck with your kingdom.
Renold Berg of The Western Empire.”


He sealed the letter with the royal seal and tied it back on the birds foot. “Off you go.”

 

[Blackdoom59]

It was dark, cold night in the city of Sharnhelm, High Rock. The raindrops fell from the sky like an army, waiting to ravage the muddy ground. The local militia of the town, all gathered at it's gates. No more then 70 men, all awaiting their doom. Their leader, Abelle Kingcroft, stood there in the cold rain, for it was her city.

About a 500 meters away, stood the bulk of the Orismer Army, led by Nakgu, the warchief of the Bloody Fang Clan.

"Lay down your weapons, bretons. You stand no chance against the might of The Bloody Fang!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the lands. His words were accompanied by the cheers and screams of his army.

"I am Lady Abelle Kingcroft of Sharnhelm, one of the strongest remaining breton dynasties in High Rock! Every town, village and settlement from here to Northpoint belong to my family! Attack me and your pathetic clan, will face a wrath stronger then that of the Woodstons!" she shouted, and then started panting. This whole speech reminded Nakgu of the bretons and their dynasties - Woodstons, Kingcrofts, Ashsmiths, Hawkfields and last but not least the Masterwings. Each of those families had influence over a piece of land in High Rock

The Woodstons fell first when the Bloody Fang raised, they had the largest army, but with their downfall, that army became Bloody Fang. The Masterwings are arguably the strongest family in High Rock, Daggerfall being a well protected trade center. The Ashsmiths are pacifistic, always trying to remain neutral while the families fought one another, and that costed them dearly. The Kingcroft are by far the richest of all the families, having so many Iron and Silver mines in their territory. The Hawkfields are in utter chaos, as they are constantly attacked by the forsworn.

"We have conquered Wayrest, we have defeated the Woodstons! You will share their fate, if you don't lay down your weapons!" He said, encouraged by the cheers of his people. "NEVER!"

And so both armies charged at one another. The battle was utterly short, half of the Kingcroft army fled in the middle of the battle. It all ended with Abelle's head on a pike. The city of Shamhelm has been conquered.

"Alright men, listen up! There are towns and villages close to this city! Tell them the city has fallen, and that they will be next if they don't lay down their weapons and agree to be part of the Bloody Fang!"

The rain stopped, a few solders remained on the battlefield, cleaning up the mess they've laid. Xorguk came close to Nakgu for a chat. "Are you sure this was wise, warchief? Wrukaog didn't said anything about attacking a province in his absence."

Nakgu turned back and spoke with anger towards Xorguk "While he's gone, it is ME who makes the decisions, not you, not him, not anyone else. The reasons one would not attack this city are foolishness and cowardice"

Xorguk apologised and left.

Meanwhile, at the city of Stonedale, High Chief Wrukaog Will-Bender, along with his trusted adviser Luciena Viviene and their royal guard, approach the Castle of Stonedale.

"Oh my! You must be the orcish chief! Let me show you to the meeting room, right this way!" a guard spoke as he pushed open the doors of Stonedale Castle. "I've never in my life met an orc before. I heard so much about your kind! You care about honor, unlike the other elves." he stated.

Wrukaog raised an eyebrow "There are many honorable Altmer, just like there are some traitorous Orismer" He sat on the chair in the meeting room, next to Luciena, waiting.

King Renold finally showed himself, along with Thomas Franklin, a general, who presented himself. After the two rulers greeted each other, Wrukaog started talking.

"I won't lie to you, our economy is in danger. We have too much of this and not enough of that. We need open trade with another kingdom, the bretons consider us foes. Your kingdom seems friendly enough, what do you say?" Wrukaog asked, placing both his hands on the table next to him.

"Well. First of all, let me thank you for the gift." Renold smiled to the orc. "I do not know much about your kingdom, but it might seem that a friendship could suit both of us. Just tell me what you need, and what you can offer. I believe your men already told me, but I must say I don't really remember what it was."

"We can offer many things- ingots, trained beasts, leather, food. What we need is good, strong lumber for our constructions. The lumber from our forest is week, and it's hard to find good trees, without invading enemy territory. But in this part of Hamerfell, the lumber is very good indeed."


"Ah, lumber yes. We got a lot of that indeed. However most of it is yet to be cut down and readied for use. But I can set some of my workers on the job at once! As for what we want in return... Those beast of yours. Do they have a beastmaster, or can you set my generals as their masters? I don't mind having some of your men in my army, just asking"

"The beasts are forever loyal to their beastmaster OR the one the beastmaster tells them to obey. They will, however never hurt their beastmaster, but it won't come to that I hope. So far many have tried taking the path of the beastmaster, but none are fully fledged beastmasters yet. The only beastmaster we have is Xorguk the Old. So, are you taking this deal?"

"I think we have ourself a deal. I'm looking forward to our friendship! I think that together we can make the west feared by others. And don't be scared to take a look at the city before you leave! Pleasure meeting you."

 

[Wolfbane]

-Anya-​

She relaxed her arm, focusing on what was in front of her. The sounds around faded away just for a moment, then she let loose, hitting the target dead center. "You on your way to becoming quite the archer. Aegwen would be impressed!" She turned with happiness to find that her brother, Jonn, was there and saw that she hit the target. "Jonn!" She jumped, wrapping her arms and legs around him to give him a hug. "Did you see that? I put that arrow dead in the center!" Jonn wrapped his arms around her, hugging her while laughing at her enthusiasm " I did! That was impressive! If you work hard enough, then maybe Aegwen will teach you. She'll be happy to see a girl take up archery instead of knitting or making a blanket." They both laughed at the sheer thought of Anya acting like a proper lady. Jonn and Anya were close for that reason. He taught her how to shoot a bow, and began teaching her swordplay. Her other, Rhys, would also help with the training of the sword. Being closer to Jonn, she often seeked him for stories, help, and came to him if she was scared , which wasn't very often. Anya herself differed; While most girls wouldn't dare swing a sword or shoot a bow, Anya jumps at the chance to do so, and practices most days and loving it. ​

​

"A raven came in the morn. Have you seen Rhys? Father needs us." Jonn knelt down to let her go, his hair blowing in the slight wind. "I've him not for the day. I think I heard him in the training room however. What did the raven hold? Was it something bad like last time?" She got a slight curious yet worried look on her face, but was relieved by Jonn's warm eyes and smile, "Nothing is wrong, my dear sister. The raven held news of a king claiming his right to his land. Nothing of import. Father just wants us boys to discuss it." She let out a sigh of relief before answering Jonn's question. Her brother pushed himself onto two feet, then looked towards the south wall, "Working on his technique, I hope. It's a little sluggish. Thanks Anya, I need to be on my way" He messed her hair up a bit, then calmly made his way to where his brother was.​

​

"If I work hard enough. If I work hard enough." She repeated, like errands on a list. She pulled another long, steel headed arrow, and released it into the target. "I hope it's nothing serious. I bet it's some boring matter that they need to discuss." She thought out loud,pulling the arrows out of the hay target with a slight jerk, then walked back to her spot to repeat the process.​

​

-Jonn-​

"Where is he? Father needs to discuss the letter the raven sent, and he needs us. I hope he's not in the city over indulging himself" He quickly walked towards the south entrance, but slowly stopping once he saw his little sister releasing an arrow right into the middle of the target. "You on your way to becoming quite the archer. Aegwen would be impressed!" She turned to see that it was him and had a look of surprise. "Jonn!" She ran at full speed and gave him a jumping hug. "Did you see that? I put that arrow dead in the center!" He wrapped his arms around her neck, laughing at her happiness and enthusiasm. "I did! That was impressive! If you work hard enough, then maybe Aegwen will teach you. She'll be happy to see a girl take up archery instead of being a proper lady." They both chuckled at the thought. Jonn taught Anya how shoot a bow, and is also teaching her how to use the sword. Out of the two brothers, Anya was closer to Jonn, coming to him for most things whether it be for training, help on the bow or sword, or just when she's scared or sad. "A raven came in the morn. Have you seen Rhys? Father needs us."He knelt down, carefully putting Anya on her two feet.​

​

"I've not for the day. I think I heard him in the training room What did the raven hold? Was it something bad like last time?" He noticed that she was beginning to worry just by the look on her face. ​

"Nothing is wrong, my dear sister. The raven held news of a king claiming his right to his land. Nothing of import. Father just wants us boys to discuss it. I hope he is working on his technique. It's a bit sluggish. Thanks Anya, I need to be on my way.He stood up with haste, messed her hair up a little and walked towards the training room. The sound of steel striking a wooden target lead him to his brother taking swings at a wooden figure with basic shape of a man.​

​

"Father needs us. Ravens have arrived, and they're important." Rhys stopped swinging his sword, wiping sweat from his face. ​

"Why does he need us? Did he say in detail?" He sheathed his sword with an exhale and began to stretch his arms and upper torso as to not pull anything later that day ​

"No, but I assume it's important to want to speak to us immediately. Throw your shirt on and let's go with speed." The sounds of their boots hitting the stone echoed through out the hallway. Walking as fast as they could, they could hear their father discussing the letter with the steward.​

​

​

"Honoured kings and queens of Tamriel.​

It is in these testing times, that the new dominates the old, it ascends as the pyres, devouring the old in it's wake.​

We are all, that pyre. ​

From the ashes of the war, a new kingdom has risen. By the fires of industry, and the devotion to it's savior, it has grown too strong to remain a vassal of others. It has been unchained, and truth has been revealed to it's devoted men and women. ​

And those men and women, have chosen their King.​

Under the ever-watching eye of our Lord, Hermaeus Mora, the Prince of knowledge, I declare the island of Solstheim, from now on known as the Silvermoon Isle, an independent kingdom of it's own, and with the power declared upon me by this, I ask for your acknowledgement to my claim.​

​

I shall patiently await your answers, and return to my duties of king, duties you are all aware of, kings and queens of Tamriel.​

​

Signed, Thirlin of House Hledhlen."​

​

Their steward, a imperial by the name of Duvius Crexius, read the letter out loud, his light voice echoing through the throne room. Thorin let out a say, positioning himself yet again on the throne.​

​

"Let him have his land. We have no quarrel with them. Duvius, send a raven to King War-blade and tell him I welcome the alliance. Then send another to King Thirlin and state that we accept his claim. Oh and send ravens to the other kingdoms to ask if they would agree to a trade deal. Boys, come join us. What's your say in the matter?" He waved them forward, giving each a smile. "Well, As long as Thirlin doesn't try to invade, then we can't hurt to accept his claim. An alliance with the War-blades bolsters our defenses. Trade is also a good idea. A city needs supplies just as much as an army." Jonn stated with out pause, Rhys simply agreeing.​

​

"Right away my king."​

​

The three men gave a hug, then walked to discuss whatever else was on the list at the time. So far, the Wolves have been fair, and peaceful.​

​

 

[tdatapina]

The rebuilding of Alesarius was going well, as usual. Trees were starting to grow now and most of the rubble in The Great Forest and The Heartlands was cleared. The Gold, Green, and Yellow road were all cleared of obstructions, allowing for free passage between cities. Although the primary focus was the Imperial City, some work was done on returning Bruma to its former beauty.

General Lerexus stood at the King's throne once again. "My Lord, it has come to my attention that most of the Imperial City has been rebuilt. We just need to finish the docks and we'll be finished. Perhaps we could begin building our army?" Dion stared blankly at him and sighed. "Very well. Go. Gather a team to get resources. I'll inform the citizens in a few days."


Loredas, 20th day of Second Seed 5E 2
6:00 PM

Dion stood in the center of the Arena and waited as the citizens took their seats in the stands. Once everyone was seated a sudden hush fell over the Arena. "Citizens of Alesarius! I am here to make a few announcements, but first, let me just state how proud I am of everyone for completing their duties. You have all worked very hard and because of your dedication, we have completed the Imperial City." The crowd cheered in excitement. Some were jumping in the air and most were applauding. "I want everyone to take the rest of tonight off. Be with your families and friends. No, better yet, I want you all to take tomorrow off as well." At this the crowd cheered even louder. The shouts of happiness seemed to never end. Dion looked around, smiling at his subjects.

He let their excitement go on for a few more minutes before he raised a hand and the crowd fell silent once again. "Now, on to business. Why we really came here. As you all know we are a rather small kingdom with a large amount of land; and as I'm sure you can all know, it is also highly valued. When we finish rebuilding chances are we will be attacked, and I'm not willing to sit by and let them have our kingdom. We've worked too hard to lose it to some other jealous ruler, have we not?" The crowd yelled their agreements fiercely. "Very well. Since I know the majority of us are in agreement, I have decided to open up a training school where each and every one of you will be trained in various arts of battle. Now, in a sense of war, only those who sign up to be the first on the battle field will have to fight. They will also be the first to train. However, in the case that we should need more soldiers, the rest of you may be drafted in."

There was no real need to add that last statement. Most of the citizens of Alesarius would gladly give their lives to defend the throne and needed no further encouragement.

"For now don't worry about the sign up. We'll leave that for Morndas. For now, everyone enjoy your day off." Dion raised his hand over his head and waved goodbye as he exited the stadium.

==================

"I'm glad the citizens reacted positively about the formation of the military." "Had you any doubt?" Vilena looked over to Dion and smiled. "Of course not." Dion closed his eyes and thought about the events that may occur. It was true that he did have the most conquered land so far, but that was merely because it was in rubble and nobody wanted to waste the resources to rebuild. The worst of all the battles were fought in Cyrodiil, and although conquering it was a prize, it left him the furthest behind in building a new kingdom. We need to slow down our rebuilding... If we finish rebuilding all of Alesarius before we have a strong military we're done for. He sighed and closed his eyes and began to fall into a deep sleep.

"My lord! A message from Blackfrost!" Dion's eyes jumped open and he was awake and out of bed immediately. "It came by raven just a few minutes ago." Dion grabbed the letter form the Chancellor's hand and began to read. "Trade? They're proposing a trade alliance. Thank you Venius." The Chancellor bowed and left the room.

Dion left the room and went to his study to write the letter, hoping not to wake his wife. He lit a candle, dipped his quill in ink, and began writing.

King Thorin Blackfrost, I have received your message and I gladly accept. I believe an alliance more than just trade will be advantageous to the both of us. Being directly south of you and I can get my troops and resources to you quicker than most kingdoms in Tamriel. Of course the same applies the other way around.

Now in terms of resources. I am in need of wood and from what I hear, the forests of Skyrim have plenty. Of course I don't plan on taking your resources for free; here in Alesarius we have plenty of crops and weaponry and I'd happily share if you are willing to share what you have.

Together we can prosper, so please consider your response heavily.

~King Dion Asiius of Alesarius

 

[Khaotic3]

The voyage had truly been blessed, Mora watched over them as a mother watching her children, not even once had the famous storms of east struck the vessels, and the sea was as calm as the experienced crews of the petty flottilla.
But the priests and wise men were no friends of the sea, and they filled the seas with an orange flood of vomit.

But as the shores of Argonia could be seen upon the horizon, their stomachs rose in a last stand, containing their contains until their feet touched the new land, the land they had only ever visited as invaders earlier.
A black dot increased in sight, the further towards Argonia they came. Until they could see the masts rise from the argonian ship.

“Prepare the archers, this could get bloody.” Captain Veloth said worryingly, as the argonian architecture could be seen from their own ships. True they were three against one, but the ships were made for trade and escort, not battle, and they were filled with minerals and old men, the next hour could change the fate between the Silvermoon Dunmer and the Argonians for better or worse.
______________________________________________________________________________

Bunei could just make out 3 small ships on the water, against the light blue sky.
“Mush-Ei!” He called to the captain from behind the wheel of the ship, pointing out the strange ships with the odd emblems on their sails, representing a large eye, with green tentacles spreading from it, giving the impression of a twisted, daedric sun. “It appears we have company.”

Mush-Ei calmly looked around his ship, franticallly trying to think of what to do. They were a simple merchant ship, not fit for battle. They had only two cannons, and very few cannonballs. If these ships meant trouble, Mush-Ei would most likely have to demand “abandon ship”.

“Milsh!” Mush-Ei called. He knew the man had been trained as a spy, perhaps he could find out what these strange voyagers wanted.

“Yes, Captain,” Milsh Perithees turned to face the captain, soluting him.
“You think you can swim over there?” Mush-Ei asked quietly, pointing to the daedric-sun ships who now seemed to engage into intercept-course, heading straight towards them. Mush-Ei was now a bit worried.
“I can try... I’m sure I can make it over there, but getting on the ship unnoticed could prove...someone with more skill than I may be needed,” Milsh explained. He did not exactly want to be blown to bits or shot at by a ship he knew nothing about.

“Take Keersha with you.” Hopefully at least one of them could make it back, Mush-Ei thought.
“Aye, Captain,” Milsh saluted him once again before talking to Keersha and diving off the ship.

Milsh heard another small sploosh as he went under, a sign that Keersha had followed. He opened his mouth to let water in, and felt his gills release most of it, leaving only the dissolved oxygen to fill his lungs. The strange ship was closing in fast, so it was not too far of a swim.

Underneath the boat, Milsh and Keersha dug their claws into the wood, trying to grab hold of it. Finding no other ways in, they climbed up opposite sides of the boat, unable to hide from whoever might be onboard.
______________________________________________________________________________

“Give the signal, Vyrn. We are to engage the ship, but do not attack, only contain it. You don’t want to be the one to start a war, first mate.” Veloth said calm, as he studied the ship ahead of him. It did not seem to be of military origin, a trading vessel maybe? If so, perhaps they had diplomats on board, this could well have worked in their favour after all.

First mate Vyrn sent small sparks flames away from his finger tips, signaling the other ships, Thirlin had taken to give each ship of his expanding fleet a novice spellcaster as first mate, to use flames and sparks for communication between ships and fleets, the larger the vessel, the stronger the mage.
Since these ships were nothing but smaller galleys, their mages had no true mastery of their magicka, but only sent small glimpses of sparks and embers out into the air, almost immediately dispersing of their entire magicka reserves.

Veloth watched as his orders were executed, and the other two galleys sailed past him, towards each side of the Argonian vessel ahead, he thought for a second he saw crocodiles in the waves, but they dissappeared out of his vision, as Veloth’s ship passed them.
“Vyrn, tell archers to stand by. They haven’t prepared any soldiers themselves.” He was sweating now, both from the increasingly moist and warm climate, as well as from the pressure of the situation, any miscalculation, and war could unfurl. He represented his king now, the pressure almost pulled him down into the depth, never to return again. He swallowed dryly as he saw the Argonians aboard the ship ahead. And Veloth’s vessel stopped dead in it’s tracks.
______________________________________________________________________________

As Milsh pulled himself onto the deck, he almost bumped into a Dark Elf with a bow in his hands. So much for stealthy he thought to himself. He stumbled as the ship came to a halt, and looked around to find Keersha on deck directly across from him. The archer grabbed Milsh by the neck, and he instinctively fought back, but after managing to get the archer off of him he decided it would not be wise to start a battle, as more Dunmer closed in, daggers in their hands, and curses filling the air around them. Milsh let the Dunmer lead him up to their Captain. He gave the signal to Keersha to do the same, but he was sure she knew what to do. Their code was a simple word in Jel, the ancient language of the Native Argonians, but nowadays it was mostly used for religious ceremonies and codes such as this one. Not only did other cultures not understand the language, but most of its sounds could only be made properly by Argonians.

“Sir! Argonian infiltrators boarded the ship!” The archer shouted at the top of his lungs, the adrenaline pumping in his veins.
Veloth was taken aback, if they sent infiltrators, was the ship hostile? He suddenly saw the small windows on the sides, were cannons would fit perfectly. And the pressure almost engulfed him.N’swah! He cursed to himself, before he turned to the two Argonians, held down by the archers, daggers at their throats.
“What am I to take of this? The war between Dunmer and Argonian is ended, yet you attempt to sabotage our vessels, before you know of our purpose in these waters?! Explain yourselves!” The pressure was showing upon Veloth, and he realised so, and tried to focus his breathing, calming down.

As the captain of the ship shouted at them, Milsh felt this was probably not going to end well. the captain was breathing heavily, and as he tried to calm himself, Milsh realized how worried this captain was. He was hiding it now, but it was too late.

“Sir, you must see things from our perspective, we are a simple merchant ship, and suddenly three vessels with archers and strange flags appear in our waters, do we not have the right to ask their intentions?” Milsh inquired, not letting his nerves show in his voice.

“By sending spies and saboteurs onto our ships? I know little of your Argonian culture, but I know enough to say this is no way of seeking intention!” Veloth barked, and began walking back and forth, trying to reassemble his mind, planning his next move.

“What are your names, Argonians?” He asked, not looking to the two, but rather still looking down, as he planned his next steps, killing them would result in war, that was unacceptable. Crowds of priests and other missionaries filled the deck now, all eagerly watching the spectacle in front of them.

Milsh glanced at Keersha. She was studying the surrounding Dunmer, trying to figure out what they could possibly want with “Black Marsh.”

“My name is Milsh Perithees, a dock worker of the vessel The Helstrom. My captain sent Keersha and I to find information about you, since no Naval ships appear to be nearby.” Milsh said calmly. “May I ask why you are here? After all, it wouldn’t be the first time Dunmer came after our people.”

“Sheathe those daggers for Mora’s sake! You’re bleeding them!” Veloth shouted, as he pointed to the necks of Milsh and Keersha. Each Argonian took a deep breath after the daggers were taken from their necks.

“We are here no spearhead for an invasion, if that is what you ask… Milsh?” Veloth spoke the name with trouble, the letters tripped over his tongue.

“We come from Silvermoon Isle, we are not the Dunmer of Morrowind. Blessed king Thirlin has brought these men and women to you, along with the mythed minerals of our homeland, to show his good will to the denizens of Black Marsh.” Veloth said, realizing how fake it seemed to speak of good-will, straight after carving their necks with daggers and pointing bows to them.

Keersha looked around once again. Most of the ships passengers did not appear to be trained, or even armored.
Milsh was trying to remember which place Silvermoon Isle was. Then he remembered the Daedric-sun flags, and realized it was probably the cult-kingdom. It had only seemed like rumor before now that such a people could even exist, and now he was aboard one of their ships. He wasn’t sure whether to be proud or scared. But during his years of training in the academy of Xeirmus, he had been taught to know no fear, so decided he should be proud to have been the first to speak with these strange people.

“So even after you aim archers at us and take us hostage you mean to tell us you have good intentions? I will admit, The Helstrom may not be able to stop you, but if you are lying, your crew will not make it past the docks. Now if you would be so kind as to let us return to our vessel, Keersha and I would be very thankful.”

“Do understand, if our warriors would be found upon your own vessel, you would do the same as us. We shall let you return, Milsh Perithees, and Keersha.”

Milsh and Keersha dipped their heads in respect and thanks, but before they could leave one of the priest stepped forward from the crowds, an old man, his beard white as snow, clad in the robes of the Mora cult. With a crackling voice he spoke. “Tell your commander we come with nothing but peace and understanding between our two kingdoms in mind. We bring education and minerals, not war, as the Dunmer of Morrowind would. The ignorant, blind fools.” He almost spat the last part out. The conversion to Hermaeus Mora had created a gruesome abyss of differences for many of the Dunmer in Raven Rock, almost as if they were no longer kin.

“We will keep your words in mind,” Milsh replied before he and Keersha made their way to the edge of the boat, and dove into the dark waters, their reptile-silhouettes quickly fading, until the Dunmer once again were alone upon their vessel.

Onboard The Helstrom, Milsh relayed what the Dunmer Captain had told them. Captain Mush-Ei decided it would be best to let the Silvermoon Isle boats pass, although they were in more f a position to keep his ship from moving. Almost immediately afterwards, the ships moved off, giving The Helstrom the opening they needed to escape the circle of Dunmer, as if they read his mind.
“Commander Tun-Kai and his men are near our docks I hear, and I’m sure he will personally escort them to the Queen if need be,” he told his crew..

(OOC: All Dunmer parts written by JoJo)

 

[Blackdoom59]

1st day of Mid Year - Orsinium​

After the High Chief's return, things look grim in the council. Important business are to be debated.

"It's all because of this useless old fool! He knows nothing about animals, yet he calls himself beastmaster!" Nakgu shouted, pointing his finger at Xorguk.
"It's not my fault some of them died off! We keep them locked up in little space, with horrible conditions, what did you expect?" Xorguk screamed back, the roars of Cripple, his pet bear, could be heard from outside the Red Wolf.
"Don't you dare raise you tongue at me, old plops!"

"Stop this nonsense, Nakgu, I'm sure it's not his fault, don't be so harsh on him. We'l trade the remaining animals for lumber, and we'l build another bestiary." Wrukaog spoke slowly. He had a rough time coming back to Orsinium, as his caravan was attacked by men who called themselves "The Chosen" multiple times.

"Now, my mission was a success, the Western Empire agrees to trade with us, however I'm afraid I must depart again. In eastern Hamerfell, there is a kingdom called New Yokuda. I received a letter from a princess there - Shastta. They request open trade with our clan. I will depart tomorrow, and again, in my absence, Nakgu will lead this clan" he stated. Then raised up from his throne.


"I will do a good job, unless this city orc screws it up again" Nakgu grunted, eyeing Xorguk. Wrukaog turned around and and spoke to Nakgu "Why are you so offensive, what did Xorguk do?"

Nakgu stood silent for a few seconds, before Xorguk replied "He's probably afraid I'l tell you his...secret"
Wrukaog raised an eyebrow. "Secret?"

Raymond chuckled and stepped forward "So, you haven't got around to telling him, have you Nakgu?" Nakgu frowned "In your absence, our warchief here attacked The Kingcrofts, leaving them only with only North Point."

Luciena erupted with anger, dropping her bag as she shouted "Are you crazy!? The Kingcrofts are blood-bound allies with the Hawkfields! We cannot afford a two front war, the western empire seems friendly towards us, but if we're already in war, what stops them from invading us?"

"That won't happen!" he yelled, then turned around and faced Wrukaog, who had a frown upon his face and his arms crossed. "Think about it chief, the Hawkfields are in deep war with the forsworn, they won't waste their army to fight us! In my fight against the Kingcrofts, I haven't lost a single solider! And more from Shornhelm join as as we speak!"

Wrukaog sighed "Make sure next time you take a decision like this, you have my approval. We'l discuss this another time, I'm too tired at the moment." and so he walked up the stairs, Nakgu gave Raymond a hateful glance.

After the High Chief left for Sentinel, Nakgu gathered his commanders in his own room.

"It's time to end what we started." He stated, as he left for Sharnhelm, while the other commanders gathered their armies.

 

[Colonelscout312]

Nomad had been dozing off a lot on this journey. It was all boring, on the road. He shook himself awake once more, looking around and rubbing his eyes.
"Didn't get much sleep last night sir?" Lugot asked from the front of the party. He appeared to be enjoying the journey. Of course, he would. It was all camping and hunting, no bandit attacks, or wolves, or anything adventurous.
Not that camping and hunting were all together bad things, Nomad loved to hunt and camp. But his blade hadn't cut through anything in so long.
"I got plenty of sleep. This is just boring." He said, giving a groggy smile, as he was still waking up. Lugot smiled back.
"It's peaceful. Do you not enjoy peace?" He asked.
"Never got the chance to. So it makes me nervous." He said, a gleam in his eye. He looked up to see a raven flying up ahead.
"Look!" Nomad pointed out the bird, and they girded it down. Nomad pulled a note off of it, stating that King Blackfrost accepted the alliance offer.
"Here." Nomad said, handing the letter to one of the guards.
"Take this to Windhelm, tell Richard that we have struck an alliance with The Blackfrosts." He said. The man turned his horse around and trotted back to windhelm.

Windhelm, one day later.
Richard paced through the halls of the palace. It was his job to act as king in Nomad's stead, and so far it was incredibly stressful. If Ylvir didn't want to be the general, and not the King, then he would have half a mind to have him try being king.
"Sir!" A guard shouted as he entered. Richard saw the man approaching with some parchment in his hand.
"Yes, what is it?" He asked as the guard stopped walking.
"We have struck an alliance with King Blackfrost. King
War-Blade says that we should send them our finest metals and chickens as a gift to solidify the alliance, along with a letter of thanks."
"Indeed. Well, if the King wishes it, it shall be so. Send the order across Sondheim."
"Yes sir." The guard said, running out to prepare the gift as soon as possible.

5 miles from the sea of beasts. One day later.
Nomad was once again getting tired. The only thing exciting was that there had been a storm the night before. Besides that it was boring. He was about to doze off when everyone halted. Nomad looked around the people. A giant tree lay in the middle of the road. The road ahead had been destroyed by the storm.
"Well that's just great." Lugot said. "What do we do now?"
Nomad smiled.
"Enter the wild." He said. "Most of you will have to leave your horses behind. The wild is no place for your tame horses." He said, riding into the woods next to them. Now it was fun, now it was a challenge. Nomad knew skyrim like the back of his hand, but he was ever vigilant. The only problems they came upon were a few wolves scattered about. Not much. It was two hours later that something happened. Not much, just a noise, but it was enough to put Nomad on edge. He continued trotting cautiously. Lugot sniffed the air.
"Something smells odd." He said. Nomad stopped and drew his sword.
"Everyone, get ready. We're being attacked by rebels." He said. It was obvious. He would have noticed bandits by now, and Lugot would have remained silent if it were an animal. Suddenly, a dart was blown into the neck of one of the guards. He collapsed and died quickly by the poison. Nomad pulled out his bow, sheathing his sword, and aimed it. Two more darts, two more dead guards.
"You, run. Hide." Nomad said to one of the guards. "If we are captured, return to Windhelm and alert one of the council." The guard nodes his head and ran. But not a minute after he left, everything went dark for Nomad as he fell to the ground, unconscious.

Windhelm, a day later.
The guard galloped into Windhelm.
"Open the gate!" He shouted to the guards, and rode his horse into the city and up the stairs to the Palace.
He barged in quickly.
"My lord Richard!" Richard turned as his name was mentioned. He was in the middle of having tea with his friends.
"Yes?" He said.
"Pardon the interruption, but I have urgent news. King War-Blade has been captured by Rebels."
"What!?" Richard said, standing up. "I must tell the rest of the council. This is grave news indeed." Richard turned and began to walk to the council chambers.
"My lord, since we have become allies with Clan Blackfrost, should we ask them for help?" The guard asked.
"No. We need not bother him with our troubles. Besides, news travels fast. He will likely here from a merchant who can't hold his tongue. If and when he hears, he can choose for himself whether or not to help us in this situation." Richard said. And with that, he was off. Hurrying to speak with the council.

 

[Jo'rak Vandeni]

Droth roared in agony as his already ash-coloured body was fed to the pyre raised for him. Chained onto a large wooden pole in the middle of the pile of wood and oil, he had hung for days, and now his day had come, and his service as High-priest was over.


Thirlin stood closest to the flames, unflinching he watched the flames snap and crackle around the melting carcass of the late High-priest, the High-priest that plotted to betray him, the High-priest that days earlier had sought to overthrow Thirlin, and announce himself as heir to the kingdom. The same High-priest that now fed the flames.

By Thirlin's side stood his newfound master of finance, Lord Undryn, the farmer that earlier that year had granted him the blade Sceptre, which now hung proudly within The Apocrypha. Undryn was not used to brutality, and so his eyes often wavered away from the dying traitor in front of him, but Thirlin did not need him for courage, only to calculate and plan.

As a priest walked upon the pile of ash and ember, and spoke of the justification that just had occured, Thirlin would just open his voice to pray along with the priests and subjects that had defied the ash storms surrounding them to watch Droth's death. A recognisable voice whispered into his ear.

"My king, ravens have returned." Thirlin turned to see the Raven-master watch him carefully, his heavy Morrowind-accent now sounded more alien than it should. Morrowind was after all the birthplace of all his men.

He gave a solemn nod to the man, and excused himself to the nearby priests as he and his party of guardsmen and Undyr and his proud militia men walked off toward the district guard post, built into the massive Bulwark dividing the south-west district from the east.


Once inside, the raven-master unfurled a grand map, as well as placing the various letters of response upon the table. Thirlin studied the papers shortly, before he looked to the Raven-master yet again.


"Your claim to your kingdom is heeded, the rulers of Tamriel acknowledge you as king." At this, Thirlin's Stalhrim-clad guards grunted approvingly, and nodded to each other, and Lord Undryn let out a sigh of relief, and then clapped Thirlin's shoulder lightly.


"I see seven letters. Where is the raven of Windhelm?" He eyed the raven-master, who seemed not to care at all with the cold tone of his ruler, as he shrugged upon his heavy shoulders and inclined his head.


"I'd believe she's off t-..." A loud screech filled the room, as the wooden door was scratched from outside, and a grand noise overtook the sound of ash winds outside.

As a guardsman opened the door, sword raised, a massive eagle fell down upon the ashe-filled earth. Coughing and grasping for air, but only inhaling more and more ashe, it performed a last screech. and a spasm, before it finally stopped moving, and the ashe filled it's eyes.
At this moment, the guard grabbed the once majestic bird by its legs, and threw it onto the table, and a layer of ashe fell from its feathers, nostrils and eyes. Strapped to it's leg was a bleached parchment, which Thirlin grabbed hold of, just as Undryn exclaimed the presence of said parchment.

"House of Hledhlen. We do not acknowledge your freedom from the countries of tamriel. Solstheim was once skyrim's, and now Sondheim will take it back for the Nord's. Prepare yourself for war. We declare war on Silvermoon Island." Undryn and his militia gasped in surprise, and the guards spat and cursed the nords, as Thirlin looked up from the paper.
"Signed king Nomad War-Blade of Sondheim."

"My king, if the Nords refuse your claim, they will pay in blood, let me teach them the error of their ways, I will bring honour to you and our god." The Stalhrim-clad guard spoke with a dark tone, the man was born in Tear, and had worked as a slaver, he later was given the nickname Hound, for his blind loyalty to his master, as well as his great tracking skills, never would he give up a chase, if his target was still eluding him.


"Erhem, honoured lord. Truly, the error is all theirs, the Nords again show their ignorance in matters other than honour, but may I advise caution in this matter? Our armies are still much too weak for an invasion, the Nords are ravaged by rebels true, but they have enough men to afford casualties, where we do not..."

Thirlin smiled as he decided, and turned his gaze to his new Master of Finance.
"So we won't let them kill us then." Undryn saw the fire in his master's gaze, and bowed to his decision.

"I shall let the word be known, my King." He said, as he walked out the building, wrapping his head in his cowl, to protect him from the ash storm outside, his militia equipped their various Chitin helmets, and walked after their lord, after bowing to their King.


"Hound, choose sixty of our best, and take four Raiders, set sail to Sondheim." The hound smiled excitedly at this commandment, and thanked him a thousand times for the honour of presenting the first taste of battle for the men of Silvermoon.

True, Thirlin did not have men to spare for any serious casualties, so they had to utilise speed and shock to their advantage, how could the Nords remain defiant, knowing their homes are sacked by Dunmer raid parties? The raiders would burn all to the ground, and escape onto sea again, before the Nords could react at all. Sixty men were a bit less than half of his current army, but who could waste that amount of men and resources upon a sea invasion so far away? Only their kin from Morrowind posed a real threat, but Morrowind itself was still left in turmoil, clans slaughtering each other, claiming their own clans as royalty.

Skyrim would feel the wrath of a god, and his most devout children, first-hand. And Thirlin knew, that in his realm of Apocrypha, Hermaeus Mora laughed at this all, as if it all was a piece of drama, written by philosophers and poets.

Maybe it was.

 

[halcyondaiz]

In the hidden dusty alcoves of the Arcananic Librarium, Ji'Ro twitched his tail nervously as he reviewed his notes.

The Maneless had ordered diplomats to be sent, but where? She did not say, and he was not gifted enough with the magicka to read her mind. According to his notes, he had two imperials he could send to the cities of men, three bosmeri he could send to those who were ruled by the Wood-Elves, but that left him with questions of who to send for the others.

Khajiiti feared no race, this much was true, but he had learned that sometimes it was best to send races that could be easily accepted by their targets. He had no idea what to do for Orsimer and Dunmer ruled kingdoms.

He sighed heavily and shook his head. It was the rise of summer, and S'ira-Rii, despite not showing it, grew impatient, he was sure. Do'Tasaar was most likely whispering thoughts in her ears of war, of sending out small squadrons instead of diplomats.

Would she listen? Most likely, no, but the idea of it possibly happening still bothered him. Who could he send and where? Fast alliances were needed, he knew. If Do'Tasaar had his way, Draxiis would be headed for another war.

He re-read the scouting notes, and finally made up his mind.

He would send an Imperial diplomat, the good Lady Ariani Spelsheak, to the Kingdom of Alesarius. A small alliance, if possible, would at least soothe S'ira-Rii's nerves and Do'Tasaar would lose a small bit of ground in his argument for war. It was only one, yes, but for the moment, it would be enough. Draxiis needed a trading alliance anyhow.

Yes, he would offer the city meat, archery trainers, and gold, if they would in return offer wheat and vegetables. In the event either kingdom was called into war, each would have reinforcements from the other.

It was a small offer, but the best he could do.

He would speak to Ariani tomorrow. She had been raised in a diplomatic family, and if worse case scenario occurred, she was a well-trained battlemage capable of holding her own. He doubted that would be necessary, however. Based on what he had read in report, the King was fair and reasonable.

Yes, this was a smart choice, he decided. Then, if things went well with Alesarius, he would send a Khajiiti caravan to Silvermoon Isles. Surely the King there would be willing to help out one who had acknowledged his claim. If anything, he was interested what alliances could be formed. Khajiiti and Dunmer were not always on the best of terms, but it was a new age, and perhaps bygones could be bygones.

He let out a contented purr as he gathered his notes and headed to the war room. S'ira-Rii would approve of his idea, he was sure.
_______________

"I feel Lady Ariani would be best sent," he said with a nervous glance at the Imperial in question. Although well-trained to hold her tongue and speak reasonably while in court, this was an informal meeting, and he feared angering her. Her skill with magicka rivaled his own, and more than once in the past, he had been on the end of an Ice Spike spell of her casting.

S'ira frowned, considering his words carefully. Finally, she turned to the Imperial and spoke. "Ariani, would you like to accompany this one to Alesarius?"

Ji'Ro scoffed, not even giving Ariani a chance to speak. "The Maneless has no need to travel herself! S'ira-Rii, Ariani can handle this on her own."

She turned and gave him a cold stare, and he swallowed the rest of his argument.

"S'ira is Maneless, leader of Draxiis. It is only proper that leader meets leader. M'roshki needs to see diplomacy in action. Ariani can accompany S'ira-Rii and the kit and perhaps the three can accomplish an alliance, yes?"

"M'roshki is but a cub! S'ira-Rii! Be reasonable!"

A growl escaped her, and he saw her hands resting on her blades' hilts. "Ji'Ro dares question the Mane?"

Thinking quickly, he shook his head. "This one feels that a cub that young should not be exposed to dangers like this is all." It was a weak argument. The Mane should stay with her people, like the Manes of old. This was not how his people did things! This was not the Khajiiti way! He resisted the urge to growl at her, instead giving her a small smile.

She flattened her ears and dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "Ji'Ro has angered S'ira. Leave. This one has no further need of you at the moment."

He angrily turned and walked away. No further need of him, huh? Ji'Ro was talented in many ways, a much needed member of this court. If S'ira did not need him, then he would find someone else who appreciated his talents and wisdom.

_____________________________
Watching Ji'Ro leave, she turned back to Ariani.

"Ariani has a choice: either stay or accompany S'ira and the kit."

The Imperial gave a small nod. "I will accompany you, S'ira. It will be good to see my homeland again. I love Elsweyr, but I find myself missing the forests and cities of home at times."

S'ira gave a small smile.

"This one understands. It is part of why this one is going. Ariani can visit and catch up with old friends while S'ira handles business, yes?"

Ariani laughed. "You're a sly one, Mane. But I much appreciate this. We should leave in two days' time. If we plan it right, we can arrive in the capital just as summer blooms. I hope so. It is such a lovely sight to see."

"Very well. Begin packing. In two days' time, we leave for Alesarius."

S'ira dismissed her and left the war room to find M'roshki. If she knew her little brother, he was most likely training with Do'Tasaar in the courtyard. She hummed to herself the hymn of the Mad Cat as she walked. It would do her well to get away for a while. Crime rates were down, food was available for her people in steady supplies, the Krin were patrolling and preparing, and a new order of battle mages was forming. She had done much in very little time.

Reaching the court yard, she grinned as an orange blur that was M'roshki tackled Do'Tasaar to the ground. Do'Tasaar managed to fling the kit off of him and roll to his feet, but M'roshki was ready, and using a spell, duplicated himself. While Do'Tasaar focused on the clone, the real M'roshki snuck among the shadows to higher ground. S'ira's breath caught in her throat as she watched, pride filling her chest as her younger brother leapt and landed on her general, knife hilts touching what would have been a killing pounce as he tapped the shoulder blades and ribcage.

She clapped loudly as Do'Tasaar laid on the ground, playing out a dramatic death scene.

"What is this? Do'Tasaar has been wounded?! Oh by the nine, save this one! It grows colder... Mother, is that you this one hears purring sweetly in his ears? Mother...? Moth..." he trailed off, eyes slowly closing and mouth hanging wide.

M'roshki puffed out his chest and stood triumphantly, one foot perched on her "dead" general's chest. "The Fearless M'roshki has vanquished his foe and saved his Mane from the deadly attack! This calls for a celebration and lots of sweetened venison with extra moon sugar, yes?"

Do'Tasaar cracked open an eye. "There will be extra, yes? For the poor slaughtered general of the Mane?"

"Do'Tasaar is supposed to be dead! No!"

Do'Tasaar grabbed the kit's foot, and with a simple pull, knocked the kit flat on his rear.

S'ira laughed as the two still fought. "Since both Do'Tasaar and M'roshki are dead, S'ira gets all the sweetened vension then, it seems."

Both heads shot up. "No!" they both cried in dramatic unison.

She shook her head. "This one teases. However, there is much to discuss before lunch. M'roshki will be accompanying this one on a trip to the North. "

M'roshki's ears perked forward with excitement. "A trip?! This one? Really?"

"Yes, kit. In two days, we leave. Best begin packing soon."

"To where? Will I get to fight? What?"

"To a kingdom in the north, Kit. No, it is a diplomacy mission. Ariani will be accompanying us. This one thinks M'roshki could use a lesson in diplomacy, yes?"

He frowned in disappointment at the idea of not fighting, but excitement quickly replaced it. In his thirteen years, he had never been out of Elsweyr. This was exciting.

He gave his sister a tight hug and ran off to pack. S'ira smiled as she watched him go before turning her attention to Do'Tassar.

"Will Do'Tasaar be coming?" he asked.

"No. There is something more troubling that requires Do'Tasaar."

"Speak. Do'Tasaar will find it and fix it."

She frowned sightly. "Ji'Ro concerns this one. S'ira will be going to Alesarius and Ji'Ro is upset because his suggestion was not followed. This one fears a revolt or a rebellion is rising. While S'ira is gone, Do'Tasaar is to stay and watch Draxiis. Keep eyes on Ji'Ro."

"This one does not trust the mage. It will be done as S'ira-Rii requests. If Ji'Ro is caught doing something...?"

"Ji'Ro is to be held in a cell, stripped of mana, until S'ira comes back. This one will deal with him then."

"Understood, S'ira-Rii." A grin spread on his face. If Ji'Ro picked a fight, he would have to defend himself, and then? He'd have a perfectly good excuse for cutting off his head.

"Excellent. This one believes it is time for lunch, then. A certain young kit has most likely eaten all the sweetmeats by now," she chuckled.

The two turned and headed to the Feast-Hall, minds both drifting to a certain mage in court.

_______________________________________

Two days later, S'ira stood waiting at the gates of her city. M'roshki was wrapped tightly in a light blanket, napping in the back of the wagon bearing gold and other gifts for their meeting. She let out a yawn herself. The past few days had not seen easy slumbers and a good rest was on her to-do list.

But it would have to wait. Ariani approached, wearing her battlemage armor proudly. She offered a small grin.

"Ready for an adventure, Mane?"

"When is this one never up for one?"

The two chuckled as they got into the wagon. With a soft click, the Bosmer driving directed the horses out of the gates and toward the north. Alesarius was a mere four day ride away.

 

[Blackdoom59]

5th day of Mid Year, Hammerfell, the city of Sentinel​

​

Wrukaog and Luciena arrived at the the glorious city of Sentinel. In the middle of the summer, Hamerfell's temperature is devastating, and Sentinel is a city in pain - beggars everywhere on the streets and alleys filled with wars. Sentinel was a warzone. The army of the New Yokudan Kingdom, the Order of the Candle is spread across eastern Hammerfell, fighting off the rebellion.

In the middle of the city stood the Sentinel Palace, a large structure with 3 tall towers. At it's gates, Wrukoag is politely invited inside by a guard, and escorted to a quiet and peaceful room. There, the high chief meets the young and beautiful princess of New Yokuda, Shastta.

She walked into the room with no guards, and begun chatting with Wrukaog like she already knew him
"I see you got a hold of my letter, chief, and now, not one week letter, here you are. Your clan should be thankful to have such a... reliable ruler"

Wrukaog smiled and nodded in agreement "Yes, my people are happy to have me as their leader, but..from what I heard, the same cannot be said about yours" a brief moment of silence passed after Wrukaog's last statement.

"Perhaps you're right. My father wouldn't want this to happen to our kingdom...Let me explain our situation, I am elder daughter of Rinadal, the Sultan of the New Yokudan Kingdom. After father passed, I was supposed to take my rightful place as queen, but my brother, Rolde, wouldn't see a woman on the throne. He amassed a rebel army that supported him and started terrorizing our country. The eastern part of our kingdom was cut away from the bulk, they started calling themselves The Chosen and amassed war against the slavers from the east"

Wruakog stopped her "What slavers?". She sighed and explained "In the eastern part of Hamerfell there is a large kingdom. They have taken our lands from us and enslaved our people, forcing them into manual labor. They call themselves the Western Empire"
Luciena and Wrukaog glumped, realizing what they just did. They set up a trading route with slavers. That was beneath the honor of The Bloody Fang. Shastta raised an eyebrow, then continued.

"As I was saying, for some reason, my brother betrayed us and he must pay for it. That's were you come in. My people go through a crisis - we lack food. As much as I hate to admit it, we cannot survive in the far east like this, we need to be a part of a larger kingdom, but I would not see my people slaves. I will rip off our flags and replace them with the flags of The Bloody Fang, we will be loyal to you until death, as long as you can feed us. All I ask, is that my brother dies. As soon as you can, lead a part of your army to the city of Sunkeep. When the rebels see our armies combined they will surely give up, and those who don't will die quickly. What do you say, chief"

He looked over at Luciena, who blinked slowly. "I accept your offer, Princess of Hammerfell. The rebels shall be vanquished and I will do my best to take care of your kingdom, as it is was mine" With those words he departed, returning to Orsinium. Where he would Gather his army, and help the new yokudans.

7th day of Mid Year, High Rock, The siege of North Point​

​

It was a hot summer day in High Rock, and the smoke columns raising from the city didn't help with the heat. Nakgu was standing outside the city walls, next to the catapult that were firing ferociously at the port city of North Point. He was just standing on the high ground, with his arms crossed enjoying the scenery.​

​

An orismer came running from the city towards Nakgu. He was filled with mud, and he had the clothes of a miner. "STOP FIRING!" he begged as he fell on his knees next to Nakgu, wheezing. "The...The Kingcrofts give up...you...you can have North Point..."​

​

Nakgu begun to laugh. "Bring your leaders here"​

​

The assault has stopped, and the Bloody Fang Army cheered as the Kingcroft Dynasty walked towards Nakgu, with blood dripping from their bodies, barely able to walk. There were a lot of them, 3 children, one of them closing maturity, a mother and a father. The father and head of the family Anttienkzav Kingcroft stepped forward and mocked Nakgu​

"You...just dug your own hole, orc rat. When my Hawkfield cousins hear about what you did, Orsinium will be leveled, and your entire clan will die out. Starting with you!" he stopped talking as he spat on Nakgu's face. The adrenaline flew through the warchief's veins. The rage was building up inside him, and within an instant, he grabbed his greatsword and chopped off Anttienkzav's leggs. His screams of pain could be heard through the cheers of the Bloody Fang solders. "Now, stop crying and open your eyes, I'm going to throw a bloody show for you"​

​

He grabbed Anttienkzav's elder son by the neck and whispered to him "If you want to save your brothers and your father, get this dagger and slit down your mother's neck" the lad grabbed the dagger and rushed towards Nakgu, as he filled all his anger into one blow. But Nakgu was a bladesmaster, a master of the greatsword that moves swiftly and hits both strong and fast. The warchief skillfully dodged the lad's strike, and grabbed his arm, forcing the dagger down his throat. His mother and Anttienkzav shouted and screamed, pleading for mercy. But Nakgu's cruelty was greater then the suffering Anttienkzav was going through. He grabbed his wife by the hair and showed her head to the ruler of North Point. "Please, let her go! It is me you want!" he pleaded, but Nakgu ignored his cries and snapped her neck, dropping her lifeless body on Anttienkzav's chest.​

​

He came close to the widower and spoke quietly "One of your children survives, and one dosen't. Chose the one that dies" Anttienkzav pleaded him begging and shouting through his lungs "Please don't hurt them, I'l do anyth-" Nakgu punched him in the stomach and repeated "Choose the one that dies or they both die!". Anttienkzav pointed at his child, Grant, who was 14 years old, choosing to spare his other son that was only 6. Upon pointing at Grant, an arrow pierced through the boy's neck.​

"You are doing well Anttienkzav" Nakgu said as he walked behind his small kid and raised his sword. "Look your son in the eyes and tell him everything is going to be alright. Hurry up now, my hands get slippery" Anttienkzav glumped and spoke with a warm voice "Son, everything is going to be alright, I promise!".​

​

Nakgu started laughing. "You're pathetic!" as he cut the boy's head in half. Anttienkzav started screaming in agony. The other orcs were more terrified then entertained by how things turned out. The army left for Orsinium, leaving Anttienkzav's crippled body next to his dead family, to die in pain and agony.​

 

[tdatapina]

"Side step cut! Left Jab! Overhead Swipe!" General Lerexus watched in approval as the trainees performed the moves flawlessly and without hesitation. Not a single student fell out of form during the entire exercise. " Well done. You have a ten minute break then it is on to one on one matches." The students all sheathed their practice weapons. The weapons were made of a cheap iron with the edges dulled. The hilts were in the shape of a plain wooden cross providing no extra comfort. In Lerexus' eyes, if one trains with the worst possible weapons, one should be able to fight with anything.

"They're doing well, aren't they?" Bassianus leaned over and spoke quietly to Lerexus. "Of course. It's me that's training them." Bassianus laughed and Lerexus simply looked him the eye, showing him that he wasn't joking. Bassianus cleared his throat awkwardly. "Anyway... I should go prepare to train the mages. I'll see you later friend."

Bassianus waved as he exited the courtyard. As he reached the top of the stairs he looked back slightly. "Keep up the good work everyone!" A few students waved, but most were focused on equipping their poorly made leather armor.

"Alright ten minutes is up! Everyone pick a sparring partner and line up!"

Training went well for the rest of the day. No major injuries were inflicted on any students. Of course, not the same could be said for the buildings in the mages training courtyard. The courtyard walls were covered in soot and ash from the flames. Everyone was given a target of a chunk of ice, but accuracy was not too high, at least for the day.

===================

"My Lord, two Khajiit arrived from Elsweyr. They wish to discuss terms for an alliance." "Very well, fetch Roderic for me." The servant nodded and left the room.

Roderic entered the room shortly after. "Two Khajiit wish to discuss terms for an alliance." He said quietly to his diplomat. He nodded in response and Dion gestured for Roderic to open the door. The Khajiit stepped in and bowed in greeting. Dion smiled at the Khajiit with caution and gestured for them to take their seats. “King Dion, this one is much pleased to make your acquaintance. S’ira the nameless of Elsweyr has come to seek an alliance with your kingdom. It is a small offer, Elsweyr is not yet regained her former glory, but we can offer friendship, and excellent soldiers to offer training in archery, stealth and strategy. This one has heard tales of war blossoming.”


Dion studied the Khajiit for a moment. He then looked to Roderic and nodded his approval. “Very well, S’ira. My king trusts you and therefor, as do I. We would welcome an alliance between us, but first, answer me this; what is it you would like in exchange for all you are offering us? You must remember, and as I’m sure you saw on your way here, Alesarius is not in good shape, we do however, have plenty of crop and ore. As far as that goes, I’m afraid I cannot offer much more at the moment.”

S’ira smiled warmly, likely happy that things went well. “Excellent. In the event of war, Alesarius can count on the Renrijra Krin to be at its side. In fair exchange, Draxiis only asks for crop in return. The lands of Elsweyr were scarred by the war, and crops are difficult to grow at times. This one believes it to be fair trade, yes?”

Dion and Roderic exchanged looks once again, both giving nods of approval. Roderic smiled to the Khajiit. “More than fair S’ira. And in times of war you can count on our warriors defending you with their lives. Now then, I assume you have a method to carry the crop we give you?”

“This one will send word back to Elsweyr. The warriors that come as part of Draxiis’ bargain will arrive, with extra crops. It will take four days for the journey here. Will it be alright for this one and her group to stay in the city until then? The young kit M’roshki has never been outside Elsweyr and this one was hoping that while here, some lessons in foreign diplomacy could be taught.”

“Ok. We will inform you when they arrive, and you are more than welcome to stay in the city.” Dion stood now, speaking to the Khajiits directly for the first time. “Did you need anything? Money, food, clothing, anything to help you get by?”

S’ira bowed low and shook her head. “Such hospitality is most touching and appreciated, good King Dion. This one appreciates your kindness – it is something rarely given to this one and her people. Many times, it is name calling and violence that greet the Khajiit. This one and her group have packed well and have supplies, but a warm place to stay would be lovely. Is there an inn near that will house this one and her friends?”

Dion frowned at the thought of how he knew so many Khajiit were treated. It is a shame how many of them are shunned for others dealing in Skooma. “Well they are missing out on some great potential friends. Yes there is an inn nearby, the Tiber Septim Hotel. The nicest of its kind in all of Alesarius. You may wait outside and I’ll have someone escort you there. And if you have any further questions don’t hesitate to ask. Good day friends.” Dion ended the meeting with a warm smile and a bow before turning to his quarters.

“Good day, friend. May your sands stay warm.”

He took a seat at his desk and rested his head on the backs of his hands. Good. We're making friends. No one has come to attack yet and we've already allied with two neighboring countries. Perhaps we can ally with Argonia so we can have free passage to the Topal Sea. Or maybe we could take them in battle... The king sat there for hours, alone, by candlelight lost in his thoughts. All night he tried to make plans. Now whether that was for war or for an alliance, he wasn't too sure.

 

[Jo'rak Vandeni]

"Quiet now, row faster." Hound whispered over the armed soldiers of the small landing boat, as he watched their Raider vessel disappear further into the mist, until it was next to invisible.
Ahead, the strong layer of ice covering the northern shores of Skyrim broadened out ahead of them, and further back from that, dim lights emanated from cottages and buildings, revealing the complete location of the village ahead.

He watched his hand-picked raiders unsheathing their swords, setting arrows onto their bows, as the boat closed upon the parts of ice strong enough for them to march upon, there were 10 in this ship, and one other vessel crept up upon the unsuspecting village further north of them, tasked with engaging any guardsmen moving to protect the village west of Winterhold.


The boat hit the ice, abruptly stopping the movement of the small vessel, and with the force emanated from the sudden stop, the warriors jumped out of the boat onto the shores of the enemy, the Nords of Sondheim.

"Leave none alive, Mora watches us this day, and so does our king." Hound whispered through clenched teeth, as he too marched upon the village, drawing his massive Stalhrim broadsword and sliding it into his armoured fists, the sounds of civilization growing ever louder in his elven ears.

An arrow whistled beside him, and a thump could be heard from the village ahead, as a dark silhoutte fell to the ice, arrows falling out of a quiver, rolling around on the slippery ice. A dog begun barking, and The Hound barked back.

"Silvermoon!" He roared, as a cloud of small, flaming arrows and torches flew toward the thatched roofs of the village, and the Dunmeri raiders roared as well, as they rose from the ice, and charged the village ahead.

Now, screams could be heard from the village, and men and women ran out of their cottages, to identify the happenings outside, and most ran as they spotted the Dunmer warriors sprinting towards them, weapons held high, the war-cry of their kingdom echoing through the damp, night air.

Hound roared as he rose from the ground with his entire figure, as he swung his broadsword down in an arc, cleaving a peasant in half, and then landing upon the wavering carcass, knocking it over in a maelstrom of blood and intestines, the arrows and torches did not work as effective as he thought, due to the damp mist surrounding them, but at least one cottage had begun burning, large flames licking the night-sky above, illuminating the Dunmer warriors in an array of dark colours and shadows.

A band of peasants and militia ran to face the invaders, but the Dunmer were prepared, and slowly moved backwards, forming a shield wall behind the butchered Nords in front of them.

"Javelins!" Hound ordered, and ten shortspears flew onward to the vengeful Nord milita ahead, as three men hit the ice below, and another followed, falling upon his dead brethren.
But the others were now skipping through their dead friends and families now, almost upon the Dunmer. Hound counted up to twenty militia men in front of them, but the Dunmer were better equipped, and probably also more experienced. The battle would be even.

"Brace!" he roared again, and his men did the same, as came the crashing of shields and swords, as the first battle between Dunmer and Nord came after hundreds of peaceful years.
Hound swung his broadsword above his head, and arced it downwards with the fury of a blacksmith, striking his anvil, and a crude leather helmet split open, and the blood and gore of a Nord came spilling out, covering his usually blue sword in pink and red.

The Dunmer responded to the charge well, the large Chitin shields blocked many strikes, and all were now engaged in desperate duels with their Nord counterparts, the small space between the cottages worked in the favour of the Dunmer.

Another man was slain by the Hound, impaled upon his broadsword, and one of his raiders fell screaming to the ground, as a large axe found a weak-spot in his helmet, digging into the flesh and eyes beneath the mask. Hound executed swift vengeance upon the Nord, twisting his neck with his left hand, throwing him onto his brethren behind him, knocking back two, and the Dunmer raiders fell upon them swiftly, daggers raised.

As he parried a thrust from a steel sword, a familiar war-cry filled the air from inside the mist ahead, and in came roaring silhouttes of dark elves, swords raised high into the night, cleaving through the peasants standing in their way, and onwards to aid their brothers locked in combat.

At the sight of this new threat, the militia broke, and many dropped their arms and fled, or begged for their lives. They were stopped with either arrow in their back or dagger past their throat, until only a band of four Nords were left, kneeling upon the ice, surrounded by their burning homes and dead family.

The Hound took one grim look upon them, blood dripping from a wound in his shoulder.
"No survivors." He said, and four daggers ended the men before any protest could be heard.
Hound turned to look at the rest of his men, setting the village to the torch, and slaughtering men and women trembling with fear, and he smiled broadly.

This was what he was made to do.
______________________________________________________

The journey had been long and tiresome, and his stomach had emptied into the sea on several occassion, but King Thirlin had given him an order, and so he would serve, no matter how much vomit now filled the Sea of Ghosts.

Tildryn wore the traditional red robes of Dunmer, and a dark scarf hung around his neck, offering suitable protection from both ash and cold, if his beard would fail him that was.
Behind him was his escort, a hulking Dunmer warrior clad in Stalhrim, one of Thirlin's own guardsmen, a massive and fearsome man, a likewise massive and fearsome sword and shield upon his side and back. The boat seemed relieved as he stepped upon the docks and out of it's brittle wooden deck. And behind him were a large group of merchants and priests, wearing the robes of Silvermoon, as well as the typical linens of merchants.

Ahead of them lay Dawnstar, the capital of West Skyrim, now under the command of House Blackfrost, if Tildryn's information was correct.
As the crew tended to their vessel, Tildryn and his unnamed guard walked up toward the great gates of Dawnstar, where a band of guardsmen halted them, swords raised nervously towards the massive warrior and the small colourful diplomat and pack behind him.

"Why does Dunmer come to Skyrim?" One guard snapped, this one did not seem nervous of the band in front of him.

Tildryn smiled as he raised a parchment in front of the guards.

"Blessed King Thirlin, Ruler of The Silvermoon isle, requests audience and passage for his subjects, both men and women, under their time in the lands of Skyrim." He lowered the document and smiled toward the guardsman.
"We wish to speak with your king, my dear sir."

 

[Colonelscout312]

Runsultare had not been prepared when he was thrust into the role of king. He already had his hands full with his duties as the head battlemage. He now sat, waiting for a search party to return, hopefully with Nomad. It was an hour later when the search party returned, with no progress. Runsul was quickly losing hope. Sondheim was falling apart, and he was not the right man to lead it, Nomad was. He hoped that soon he would be found, he couldn't spend many more time or resources on this venture.

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

Guard Patrol, Same Time

Veldor walked along the road of the sea of beasts. He was one of many guards who patrolled in this area. They're only provisions were what they could get at villages. And the one he was approaching was his favourite, Helgorath was its name. They were quaint and peaceful. Unlike most of Sondheims inhabitants, who did not fear death, would welcome a fight, and rush off on adventures, they preferred to remain peaceful. They had a lovely little tavern, and beautiful women. He couldn't wait to arrive.
"Sir, look, smoke." One of the guards said. His captain looked up, and broke into a sprint. Veldor and the other guards followed quickly behind. To his dismay, when they arrived at the smoke, it was a burning village. Not just any village, but Helgorath. Burnt corpses lay around, but even more corpses that were laying in pools of blood, some cut open, others completely indistinguishable as nords, or whatever race they were. The town smelled of death and decay. Veldor knelt by the body of a young girl, only 19. Her name was Lea. She had been Veldor's lover. They had planned to marry in the following month. She lay, gripping a cross necklace in her hand. Next to her lay her father, a blacksmith, he was still barely breathing.
"Over here!" Veldor shouted. Two of the guards ran over and began bandaging the blacksmiths wounds.
"Veldor!" The captain shouted. "Return to windhelm. Tell them what has happened, and take this. We found a dead dark elf. There may be a clue here. Bring the body along."
"Yes sir." Veldor said, hopping on his horse and riding for Windhelm.

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

Rebel Base

Nomad awoke, his head throbbing. He had no idea how long he'd been out for. He looked around and saw that he was in a cell. He quickly scanned the room for a way out. He jerked his head when he heard a door open and a man walk in.
"Well, well, well. The great Nomad War-Blade in my prison. I thought you'd be tougher." Nomad stood up, his head still hurting.
"Where am I? How long have I been out?" He asked.
"You're at Shor's Stone, or at least it used to be. And you've been out for too many days than I care to count. Come with me, I want to show you something." He said, unlocking Nomad's cell. Nomad looked around, too many guards here right now, can't kill the man.
"Who are you?" He asked as he exited the cell.
"I am Verane, leader of this rebellion." Verane lead Nomad up to the ground level of the fort, and to his personal tent. The living conditions were horrendous, the beds were no better than the prisoners, the tents were carelessly strewn across the fort wherever they could be placed. When they entered Veranes tent, he was told to sit. Verane looked on a map for a moment, then turned and began talking.
"Well now. I assume you haven't heard news of the war." He said.
"What war?" Nomad asked in curiosity, while also planning an escape route.
"Why the war between Sondheim and Silvermoon. To bad they don't have you now, they could use you." Verane said. Nomad noticed that Verane wasn't as focused and seized the moment. He punched Verane and grabbed any of his equipment that was in the tent. He ran out quickly, cutting through guards quickly, blood stained his clothes and sword. He heard a noise as an arrow zipped through the air and impaled his leg. Nomad now limped, but managed to make it out of the fort. Guard were immediately sent out to look for Nomad, who was hiding and hoping to find a way back home. After several hours of aimlessly wandering and blood loss, he came across a camp, less than a league away. It had dark elves from Silvermoon Island. He turned around, hoping they didn't notice him. As he walked, he felt weak, to weak to have just been shot in the leg. He checked himself, finding blood trickling down from the right side of his chest. He reached back and found a small bolt was impaled in him. He looked at it, things were beginning to look hazy. The world seemed to swirl around him, and he collapsed, unconscious.

 

[Khaotic3]

Xeirmus, Hist of Oblivion​

"We are ready, My Queen. The Shadowscales have been sent, and the troops stand ready," Wanan-Ei boasted proudly.

The sun was setting behind the marsh grassesand thick trees, the dry season approaching. The stars were visible on one end of the sky, and the sun had just disappeared from view on the other. Nakila breathed in deeply the strong scent of the marshes.

"I am glad to hear it. But spare me the petty titles, Wanan-Ei. We are not in the throne room, surrounded by guards or visitors. I grow tired of you not referring to me by name, even if it is with good intentions. I feel as if I should believe myself to be above what goes on in the world, like I should be some sort of squandering politician."

Wanan-Ei smiled with his eyes. He lifted Nakila's arm and rubbed his nose against her wrist, a sign of both respect and affection. He then fixed his pale blue gaze onto her scarlet red eyes. Her scales were mostly black, with the exceptions of dark green on her forehead, and brown on her stomach. Her ebony breastplate only covered her from her ribcage to her shoulders, with ebony chain-mail draped over her from the waist down. Her cape was green and black, and bore the emblem of their kingdom, matching the one on her breastplate. Her armor was not unlike Wanan-Ei's, aside from his cape was purely black, aside from the green and black emblem.

Nakila smiled back. The couple's relationship was not exactly a secret, however they were not very open about it either. The two entered the palace as darkness slowly took over the sky, entirely blue-black aside from the bright white stars.

​

-----------------------------------------------------​

Northern Galtus, An-Xileel Military Fort​

​

The military guards were all on edge. Tensions with Xeirdor had grown exponentially in the past few months, and despite Galtus's best efforts to intimidate them, Xeirdor had made it very clear that time was running short. And then communications with them had been completely cut off.​

​

So when a stirring was heard in the underbrush, the guards on duty naturally assumed the worst. They both jumped up, one approached the stirring brush while the other went to wake the sleeping soldiers.​

​

The one sent to investigate the grass had his spear clenched as tightly as possible, his shield slightly raised. When the arrow pierced the back of his head, he fell quietly to the ground, dead, unaware of the Xeirdorian archers in the trees. The two archers looked to each other and snickered, pleased that their trap had worked. ​

​

The other guard made his way to the fort behind him, completely unaware of his comrade's death. He heard a cry from inside the fort, and burst through the door only to find a Xeirdor Shadowscale in his way. These Shadowscales were not the Dark Brotherhood assassins of old, but a new elite group of Xeirdorian troops trained in guerrilla warfare to strike in the dead of night. Blood stained the walls, and cries were cut short as the night soldiers slit the throats of the unprepared Galtan troops.​

​

The Galtan guard was overwhelmed by shocked at first, but when adrenaline took over, he raised his sword and let out a large battle cry. The Shadowscale simply sidestepped the attack, and another Shadowscale threw two daggers at the Galtan, both landing in his stomach. He fell to his knees, coughing up blood, and the two Shadowscales smiled. ​

​

Deeper in the fort, the commanding officer of the Galtan force was being forced to watch his troops be massacred, one by one. The Shadowscales had infiltrated the fort, and now held her with a sword on her neck and a bow aimed at her head.​

​

When only the commanding officer remained, the Shadowscales tore down the banners and used blood to paint the emblem of Xeirdor over the An-Xileel emblem. ​

​

"We send a message from Xeirdor," the one holding the sword to her neck leaned in from behind her and whispered. "Tonight begins the fall of the once powerful An-Xileel." He then used the blunt end of his sword to knock her out, and the Shadowscale force made their escape back into the black of night.​

 

[tdatapina]

General Lerexus watched, a smile across his face as the archers began their training. To his left were those being trained to shoot. To his right there were those being trained to fletch and craft special arrows that would provide distinct advantages in the heat of battle.

"Raise the bow level to your arm." The Khajiit adjusted the Imperial's arm slightly and pushed his feet apart a bit more. "Always make sure your feet aren't too close. Now, draw the bow, pulling your thumb to your lower lip. Make sure the string doesn't touch the lip. This one had to learn the hard way." The Khajiit chuckled slightly. "Now, close one eye, focus, breath in, and release." The Imperial's shot was perfect. The arrow struck dead center on the target. The Khajiit smiled and patted the Imperial on the back.

"Wrap the cloth around the bottom of the arrowhead. If you cover the tip the arrow won't stick in its target. You need to make sure that its deep enough that the arrow will penetrate the wood and keep its hold. Here," The Khajiit took the arrow and demonstrated, wrapping the thin piece of the cloth around the bottom parts of the arrowhead and surrounding the bulk of the arrow with the rest of the cloth. "Make sure you don't light until after the archer has put the arrow to the bow. He needs to fire it before the entire arrow catches fire."

The Khajiit's had been helping tremendously. Already a huge chunk of their new recruits were deadly accurate. They were amazing archers. The alliance with Elsweyr could not have been a better idea. Glad to see our army beginning to grow. Haderus crossed his arms, pleased.

==========================

-Deep under the Imperial City-

"Did you send the shipment to Xeirdor?" The man whispered, as if someone from above could be listening. "Yes, they should receive it soon." "Good, see to it that we are paid in full."

 

[Blackdoom59]

Turdas, last day of Frostfall 5E 210:30 AM, The Red Wolf, Orsinium

"How could you do this Nakgu? Do you think that disobeying my orders will get you anywhere!?" Wrukaog shouted, his voice echoing through the castle. They were on the top floor, but their words were loud enough for the entire city to hear.

"Wrukaog, you know we needed to do this as soon as we could! What's started had to finish, if we gave the Kingcrofts enough time they could have raised an army and strike us! We must not underestimate the bretons!" Nakgu spoke, trying to prove his point. Although the reasons he brought were far from truth.
"You're right, we must not underestimate them, which is why you shouldn't have attacked them in the first place, you idiot!" Wrukaog placed his hands on his face.
"Well what do you want us to do? Let our warriors sleep and forget to fight, and then hope that the bretons won't react to us doing nothing?" Nakgu shouted, as he stoop in front of the high chief. Wrukaog looked him straight into his dark red eyes. Nakgu was also far taller, and he knew the high chief better then anyone. In an instant, Wrukaog snapped and punched Nakgu in the face.
"I WANT WHAT THE CLAN WANTS! Peace, unity, prosperity. Not endless war with any faction we encounter. The bretons overpopulate High Rock, if we were to conquer the entire province there would be three bretons per orc. Revolts will surely happen, our clan will be compromised, but you're so blinded by your own sense of honor that you cannot see this. I dissolved the worship of Malacath for this reason - it makes us weak, it blinds us. You are the warchief, you fight, because I tell you to fight. And when I tell you to stand down..."

Nakgu frowned, raising himself from the ground. Wrukaog placed all his strength in that punch. "I'm sorry, Nakgu, I really am. But this isn't working. It was a mistake and it will stay a mistake. I was about to let you lead our armies in Hammerfell, to scare away the rebels there. But now the only armies you'l lead will be the ones defending our borders with the Ashsmiths."

Nakgu looked at the High Chief, but he avoided the gaze. "No...After all I've done for this clan...you cannot possibly mean-" Wrukaog spoke quickly as he left the room.
"Nakgu, your title of warchief is stripped away from you, the armies will listen to me and myself only. You are in charge of the the protection of our eastern border, but nothing more" Nakgu fell to his knees upon hearing Wrukaog speak. "Also, consider yourself dismissed from the council"

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

Loredas, 2nd of Sun's Dusk5E 22:00 PM, The Alak'ir desert, Hammerfell

The bulk of the orismer army stood proud, bathing in their sweat. It was winter, yet in the mists of the desert, the heat was almost unbearable. There were no Bretons in this army, Wrukaog wanted to show the power of the orcs, and orcs only. Over 250 orcs stood there, and next to them stood the mighty Order of The Candle – The royal army of queen Shastta, boasting the Bloody Fang’s numbers by about 150. The order of candle was mainly made up of guards and a couple of archers. Wrukaog’s army had a little bit of everything – spearmen, berserkers and a couple of raiders. The raiders where the only piece of cavalry in the army, the berserkers were both archers, dual wielders and two handed weapon users. Rarely you saw someone with a shield in Wrukaog’s army. The rebels were outnumbered, most of them whispering to each other, asking about Shastta’s new allies. Wrukaog and the Yokudan princess stood behind their armies, looking at the battlefield. Wrukaog was slightly worried about the battle, he never was a good commander. He started having second thoughts about Nakgu, and kicking him out of being the Warchief. Wrukaog wore his royal high chief armor – a sabercat head to mask his hair, which also worked as a cloak. His armor wasn’t orismer, he wore an ebony plate mail that had daedric glow on the shoulders, with orcish gauntlets and boots. His armor, besides offering him incredible protection, also gave him a certain look. The clansmen looked up to him as a leader, but the warriors didn’t. Most of them didn’t even knew that Nakgu was fired, but the word was spreading out fast. The warriors were trained and fought side by side Nakgu in many battles, cutting him off would defiantly anger some folk

Rolde, the rebel king was riding a horse, and he rode in front of his army, eyeing his sister, whom stood by her new ally. He wanted to say something, got to the point of opening his mouth, but he hesitated and rode on the back of his army again. The rebels were outnumbered four to one, they had little chance, with their morale low, little training and garbage equipment. Shastta merely requested a show of force, it was a battle she could have won on her own, however, with Chief Wrukaog on her side, she could have avoided many casualties. Rolde and Shastta wore similar clothes, a fine silk of redguard craft. The rebels wore whatever they could – from rags to pieces of old iron. From the rear of his little force, Rolde’s words could be heard clear, but he didn’t shout, barely showing that he wanted to fight, let alone to win. “Charge”

The rebels were in a large line, wide enough to strike the entire enemy army. However their ranks were spread thin, and their weapons were unorganized. Most had just a dagger or a shiv to defend themselves, but some took up larger weapons like scimitars and longswords. They all begun running to assault, some more confident than others. Wrukaog panicked, he didn’t knew what to do. Not preparing the men would ruin up the formation, but the more he tried to speak, the more he realized he couldn’t say anything. Shastta was also awaiting for him to steady the men, but the rebels were getting closer and closer, and something had to be done. “Spearmen, front lines! Riders, on the sides, prepare to flank them!”

Wrukaog looked at Shastta, embarrassed, although his eyes were filled with awe when the men followed their orders. As soon as the spearmen formed a line, most of the rebels already retreated. Rolde wasn’t even angry at them, he didn’t even try to force them back into the fight. His entire persona was questionable. The ones that continued the charge, either died on the pikes, or slaughtered by the raiders that stampeded the entire rebel army. Rolde, hit his horse with his boot hard, signaling him to start running, but before the horse could react, an arrow reached Rolde’s shoulder, and he fell from the horse. After the battle was over, most men were took prisoners. They gave up hope as soon as the spear wall formed.

Laying on the ground, agonized by some unbearable pain, Rolde awaited his death. It was clear by now – the arrow was poisoned, whoever shot it wanted his reign to end. Shastta and Wrukaog walked calmly towards his corpse. On their way, Shastta confronted Wrukaog, and his lack of confidence, but he didn’t pay her much mind. Rolde was laying on the ground, hardly able to speak. A tear came down from Shastta’s face as he watched his brother tormented. Before she could put him out of his misery, he begun to speak, his voice silent and his will broken.


“Sister, Listen to me… I didn’t want to…do this.” He kept making pauses, to catch his breath. Wrukaog raised an eyebrow, but Shastta crouched and kept listening “They told me… They would kill you…If I didn’t start a rebellion. They gave me the resources…They knew that you wouldn’t want to…fight” Shastta begun to cry, even if she had no clue of what was going on “Who? Who made you start the rebellion?” Wrukaog asked, crouched as well. “Renold Berg…The e…ahh” his voice faded as his eyes lost their light. Shastta closed her brother’s eyes, and took some time to regain her senses. She walked up to Wrukaog, who was deeply in thought. “Do you know…what was he talking about? Renold Berg?” Wrukaog looked back at her, his eyes frowned, and his entire face covered with anger. “Renold…is an emperor” her eyes widened. “The Western Empire…They did this to him… to us!”. She clenched her teeth “Worry not, my queen. There. Will. Be. War.”

 

[Colonelscout312]

Runsultare paced about the throne room. He had sent out one last search party, and they still had not returned. He heard horns blow and the gates open.
"My lord, a patrol from the sea of beasts is here! They have something to report."
"Send them in." Runsul said, turning and sitting on the throne. The door to the Palace opened and a group of guards walked in.
"My lord Runsultare, where is king War-Blade, has he not yet returned?" The captain of the patrol asked.
"He has not. I have taken the position of king until he returns. What was it you wished to tell me?" Runsul said, a hint of sorrow in his voice as he spoke of his friend.
"My lord, we were patrolling along the sea of beasts, and we came across one of the many towns there..." The guard inhaled deeply and continued. "It was... Burned, to the ground. No one survived. Everyone was left to rot."
Runsul was taken aback, Sondheim had only recently become a country, they couldn't even be considered a world power yet, who would wish to attack them.
"Do you know who did this?" He asked. The guard nodded and motioned to another of the guards to bring something in. The guard rushed out and returned with a body wearing chitin armor and tossed it on the floor.
"Dark elves sire, from Solstheim." The guard said in disgust. Though Nomad had tried to quell the racial disputes of the Nords and pretty much anyone else, there were still some who harbored resentment for them.
"Why would Solstheim attack us?" Runsul asked, examining the body.
"I do not know sire. Perhaps it is a plot of Morrowind." The guard said.
"No, I do not think so. They are to powerful in themselves, and we are they're neighbors. If they wanted us dead, then we would be dead."
"What are we to do, sire?" Delrov, the captain of the guard, asked.
"Double the patrols, prepare what army we have, and draft every able bodied man of 13 and over into the army. And double the search for King War-Blade, we'll need him. And also, send a letter to king Thorin, tell him we are at war with Solstheim and require assistance. You." Runsul said, pointing to the guard patrol.
"We are going to triple your amount of men, you're going to hunt down the men who did this and ensure that they don't make it back to Solstheim alive."
"Yes sir!"

 

[Jo'rak Vandeni]

"We wish to speak with your king, my dear sir."​

The guardsman raised an eyebrow slightly, as he smacked his lips and spat out a green slob of spit and snot, pieces of it splattering upward to strike Tildryn's shoe furiously.​

​

"Ain't no king no more, dark elf, I suggest you all piss off before we give up acting civilized to raiding grey skins."​

​

Tildryn cursed, they knew of the attacks in the east, that would only make things worse, but what did he mean "no king"? ​

​

"Do you take us for fools? My liege has commanded me to parley with the ruler of the west, King Thorin Blackfrost. I demand you bring us to him, petty guard."​

​

The guardsman grinned at Tildryn, a series of yellow and rotten teeth exposing themselves as he did. "Seize them!" he yelled to his companions, as he brought up his spear and shield.

He had no chance to do furthermore, before a behemoth of ice removed his head from his shoulder in a cloud of ice and blood.

"Take one more step towards him and I will flay you all for my king, fetchers." The massive Stahlrim-clad warrior boomed through his shut visor.

The guardsmen looked upon each other in confusion and uncertainty, but then the two ships archers unleashed their arrows upon them, one hitting the stone wall behind them, the other striking a shield, and the guardsmen charged upon them.

The Stalhrim warrior pushed Tildryn back, and turned to block a lunge from a waraxe with his shield, and jabbed his chill sword into the attackers soft belly, through the fur and leather, and a small, pink rope-like intestine spilled out through the dying man, and as he screamed in fear, going onto his knees, the Warrior crushed his skull with his shield, and turned to face another guard.

"Fools! What have you done?! Thirlin will have your heads for this! All of you! Arrogant N'wah!" Tildryn roared, as he turned to run down to his ship, hearing one of his archers scream in pain and fear, as his hand was lost to the cold bite of a sword. He turned to cast a final glance upon the city above him, and only now did he realize what the guardsman had meant,
for the city was burning.

 

[Khaotic3]

It was late at night, the twin moons high in the sky, bugs buzzing and the smell of sulfur filled the air. Despite the late winter season, it was still rather hot in Xeirdor. Tun-Kai Xeirdorus stood outside the barracks, watching the small Dunmer settlement that had sprung up back in the summer. He didn't trust them one bit, but his sister, Queen Nakila, had allowed them to stay. "They pose no immediate threat, and offer us goods and wealth. I see no reason to cast them out," she had said. "Besides, we are at the brink of war with the south, our main focus should be there." But nonetheless, she had tasked Tun-Kai with keeping tabs on them.

That had been nearly six months ago.

Aside from the odd monuments and mosques they had built in honor of their "Lord",they hadn't done anything too concerning. They had attempted to turn a few of the locals to their religion, but most of the locals harbored the same opinion of them Tun-Kai did. Slave owners had been especially careful to keep Dunmer slaves away from what appeared to be cultists, afraid the cultists would take the slave in at the slightest mention of freedom, despite most slaves not living in too terrible of conditions.

Tun-Kai had to admit, watching these foreigners could be rather boring, despite his distaste for them. He knew Wanan-Ei was out in the battlefield, and he was stuck here, waiting for something to happen. He cursed under his breath thinking about it. Tun-Kai would request to be sent out into the field of battle, since it appeared that nothing of interest was happening here.

"Deeja," he called to his personal servant. "Bring me a pen and some paper."

-------------------------------------​

Xeirmus, 3 days later​

​

"My Queen, a letter from Commander Xeirdorus has arrived," a Dunmer servant entered the throne room.​

​

Nakila was slouching in her throne, awaiting news from Wanan-Ei about the battle in Stonewastes. The war had been primarily going in the favor of Xeirdor, but she still enjoyed hearing from her lover nonetheless. She too envied his position in the field of battle. Nakila gestured for the servant to bring it forward, intrigued that her brother had something to say. Even on important matters, she usually ended up hearing about his actions through the grapevine.​

​

The servant approached, then got down on one knee, looking down and extending his hand for Nakila to take the letter. She casually retrieved it, reading it with a rather surprised look on her face. She knew she shouldn't be surprised by his request, but the fact that he was willing to leave his current position must mean that those Dunmer were extremely boring. But her brother loved to fight and kill more than anything else in the world.​

​

Nakila sighed. She had intended to send him in to battle later in the war, as well as herself, and she did not want to leave those Dunmer with anyone else just yet.​

​

But still, if her brother was so eager to delve into the field of battle, he must see no potential for it back in Greenglade. She cursed at this and all of the other petty decisions she had to make. It was really the main reason she had convinced Tun-Kai, Wanan-Ei, and even Pajul to stay as High Commanders or associates. No one wants to sit here and just look pretty​

​

She exited the room and entered her office to sit down and reply to her brother. He was to return to Xeirmus, for there were things to be discussed about their dealings with Alesarius...​

 

[Blitzz]

Drelin stood on the balcony of his new home in the center of Blacklight, watching the workers drag stone from the quarries to the site of the new Temple. It was a sight to behold. He spared a glance to the right, watching his wife's long black hair flying in the evening breeze. The sun was setting below the spiked city walls, turning the brilliance of the city into no more than silhouettes. It was the end of winter, and the snow was slowly melting, revealing the endless layers of ash that he was used to. He had grown fond of the sight, surveying over the city. His city. It was still hard to believe that in the few years since the Civil War begun he had become Lord of half of Morrowind. It was still taking a long time to sink in. All of the people he had to impress, all of the decisions he had to make, it was almost too much.

"It is time we go to dinner, my dear." Lady Tolvis' voice was sweet and soothing amidst the clangs and bangs of the building. He could pick out the sound of the smith's hammer pounding on the anvil below. Noticing her husband's lack of response, Lady Tolvis nudged him, before turning and walking away. Drelin remained in his fixed state for a while longer, before finally turning and heading back through his chambers. As he reached the door, he heard voices outside. He recognized them instantly. A young courier who kept badgering him was in a seemingly heated debate with one of Drelin's guards.

"What's going on out here?" bellowed Drelin as he burst from his room, the strong oak door banging hard against the wall. "M-m-my Lord!" gasped the courier. "I was just... I was just..." He appeared too frightened to speak. "This stupid boy wanted to talk to you, my Lord, but I told him you were busy," he said, glancing at the embarrassed courier. "Thank you, guardsman. Leave us." Drelin turned expectantly to the boy, quivering on the blood red carpet of the grand hall. "Th-the Council, they demand your presence my Lord. They say that there is something big happening in Skyrim. It is urgent." Drelin thought for a moment. Normally the Council would postpone such a matter unless it was of the utmost importance. "Thank you," muttered Drelin as he strode past the boy, his black cloak trailing on the carpet behind him.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The Council stood as he entered. The Council Chamber was large and spacious, with tapestries depicting great heroes lining the walls, and a large Jagged Kingdom Banner hanging above the table. All six Council members were present. His Chief of Army, Chief of Navy, Agricultural Minister, Economic Minister, Minister of Foreign Affairs and Minister of Construction were all present. His adviser waited by the door. "What is the meaning of this!? My dinner is ready and you have me here!" All of the ministers looked at the floor. "The forces of House Indoril have marched on Mournhold." Drelin could not contain his frustration. He cursed loudly, shouting to the heavens and causing the guards to come running. He quickly dismissed them and carried on his rage. He stormed over to the table, where a large map of Morrowind was sprawled out on the wooden surface. He stabbed the dot depicting Mournhold with his dagger. "Blast those fools. We made our claim too quickly. We can't allow House Indoril to grow in power. They hold a pivotal position the heartland of Morrowind, and now they have see access! The Kingdom of Xierdor threatens to take the lower, more fertile half of Morrowind, which will greatly limit our food supply." He fell silent for a moment. "Commander, how many troops can we spare?" The question seemed to trouble the elderly Dunmer man. "From what I can remember, we have roughly 4,000 soldiers on standby in the North, near Nocrom." Drelin pondered for a moment. He was unsure of the numbers that House Irrondil possessed, sending just 4,000 could be a death sentence. "Send the orders. The 4,000 reserves stationed in Nocrom will meet with 1,000 from the Moonriders stationed at Fort Redwood, and will be joined by a further 600 from my personal guard. Send the orders. We march on Mournhold and meet House Indoril." Fevnil Dobus shook his head. Drelin saw, but payed him no attention, and turned to talk to his Foreign Affairs Minister. "And what news do you bare of Skyrim?" There was a brief silence. "House Hledhren are becoming troublesome. They have launched an invasion. The Cultists are becoming more and more ferocious as the seasons pass." This shocked Drelin. He thought that such a small Kingdom, with such a small military, would have no chance against the might of Clan War-Blade. It was the Daedra. It had to be. Drelin could see no other possible explanation. It had to be the Daedra. "Send an envoy on my behalf to Raven Rock. Try to strike a deal with their King. It is time that the Dunmer are reunited under one banner." With that, he took his leave.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

That night was troublesome for Drelin. even with the warm embrace of his wife, he struggled to find comfort. He was not yet used to it. He knew that the Jagged Kingdom was weak, and yet so strong. They had spread their forces thin. There would be a few commands that would need to be carried out over the coming year. The Jagged Empire would never succeed if they did not increase their military strength. He would increase the size of their army and devote resources to building new siege weapons and a strong navy. There would be extra training for young children. New ports and cities would need to be constructed, to support the growth of the Kingdom and allow trade with the Kingdoms in the West. He had heard that the Orcs were growing strong. He would need fortifications, pure power. Master craftsmen and superior weaponry and armor. But for tonight, his main goal was to try and get a decent night's sleep. For the first night since becoming the Jagged King.