The Elder Scrolls V: Darkest Days [IC]

[VeilOfMaya]

It was a night filled with an atmosphere of death in the streets and depths of the smoke-filled city of Markarth. The night before, the Forsworn, led by Zedrick Runellius, delivered a swift and decisive assault on the ancient Dwemer city. The battle lasted all night, and the Forsworn suffered heavy losses. The Nords that held the city proved themselves to be as fierce of fighters as they have been in the past, fighting with honor in the hearts and passion on their faces and in their battle cries. The cities stone foundation were covered in Nordic and Breton blood, The citizens were surprisingly docile and did whatever we told them. Zedrick isn't as entirely inhumane as his peons were, he let the residents escape away from the Reach and to spread word of their victory in conquering Markarth for their own.

However, this victory wasn't achieved without grave sacrifices. A little less than half of their men were killed during and after the bloodshed ended. When they killed every last Nord that put up a resistance, and broke through the doors that led into the keep. Him and Kastus led the charge, and were ambushed by a battalion of Guards, armed with greatsword and maces and looks of revenge on their faces, they warriors beside him knew that they were in for a fight that they would never forget. The different sides clashes in furious battle, warhammers and battle axes being heaved and swung with the intent to kill and the signature swords and axes of the Forsworn hacking off limbs and beheading Nords, left and right. In the midst of the fight, Kastus set off a tripwire on the midst of the chaos, and was killed by a falling boulder that was released by the trap. After Zedrick and his soldiers finished off the rest of the Nords, he found his mentor on the ground, a huge piece of stone embedded into his skull. As distraught as he was by the loss of his father figure, the mantle of King of the Reach fell onto his broad shoulders. He was not about to let down his followers by disgracing the name of their beloved king.

Zedrick was preparing his mentors body for the funeral pyre that was happening later that night. The fallen Breton was dressed in the finest robes he could find in the city. They were gold and brown, with fine gold lace all around it. On top of his regal brow, was his family circlet, composed of the finest silver and encrusted with sapphires that perfectly matched his dark blue eyes. Zedrick looked into his friends eyes and whispered something softly. "Goodbye Kastus. I swear on the name of my family and the Forsworn that I will not let you down." He said with a heavy sigh. Shaking away the tears building underneath his eyelids, he waved a hand over the face of the now dead king, closing his eyes for the final time and closed the double doors of his fallen leader.

Seeing as the chamber and all of it's rooms were now his to call his own, he took a look through the ancient caverns. He opened a bronze door, and the tall, upset man spotted a young Nord woman. She couldn't have been no more than eighteen years old. Her light brown hair was ragged and covered in dirt. She was shaking, and was holding back tears. Zedrick sighed. "There is no need to worry, young one. As long as you do what you are told, I will treat you well." He said looking into her dark brown eyes. "Y..yes. My name is Frey, and I hope you will hold to that promise." She said, attempting to sound submissive. "Is there anything you would like me to do?" Frey asked. "Run me a bath, would you please?" Zedrick replied, standing proudly. "As you wish, master." She said, slipping past Zedrick and ran down the hallway, doing as she was told.

The reality of what had just happened began to set in. He would give his speech after the funeral ceremony for Kastus was over. No matter what, he would have to answer to his kin. This was something he was dreading, he didn't do well in crowds, and the pressure of this position that was thrust onto his shoulders. He was overwhelmed, so he sat down at the now dead Jarls table, and grabbed a quill and some parchment, and began to write down his goals and his duties he must uphold. He wrote furiously for a good twenty minutes, until his new servant called him. "Master, you bath is ready. The water is perfect." She smiled. "Thank you Frey, now go treat yourself to whatever you wish." He said, drifting off to the bath. He shed his robes and undergarments and slipped into the hot water and exhaled a sigh of relief as the hot water soothed his aching muscles. After a couple minutes, he rested his head against the towel that Frey had left for him, he started to nod off....

[VeilOfMaya]

It was a frigid Skyrim night in the mountains near Falkreath. Jorundr and his family were feasting on a freshly dispatched deer. The fire was bright and the air was humid and cold. The sky was covered in grey clouds, providing no moonlight. They were about to finish their meal and go to sleep around the fire. His little sister falls to the ground, an arrow sticking out of her head. "THALMOR", his father screamed violently. He rose and gave his son a nod to grab his bow while he picked up his greatsword. The rest of the family got their bow and arrows and notched arrows to the string. His mother and father rushed into the darkness, only to be followed by an explosion and screams of terror and pain. He knew that was the end of his parents. Firing arrows instinctively in to the veil of darkness, his little spears hit flesh and bone, dropping any Altmer they hit. However, Jorundr soon found himself out of arrows. "No...Not now!" He screamed, picking up the mace at his side and hiding behind the tree that their camp was built around. The Thalmor soon came around the tree, fully armored in quality Elven gear. The looks in their eyes were cold, almost as if killing was their...life. Disturbing mer to be fighting against. He silently cracked one of the mer in the back of his helmet, piercing through into his skull, killing him instantly. The next soldier heard the motion and he stabbed backwards, slicing his arm, making Jorundr drop his mace. He then backfisted him, knocking him out.

He awoke with a sharp pain on his head, and the bodies of his dead family around him. He let out a scream that was filled with pain and loss. After a couple hours of sobbing, his buried his family underneath that same tree. He took the armor from the dead Thalmor, claiming it as his own.


Jorundr suddenly jolted out of bed, sweat pouring down his forehead and hyperventilating. He had that same nightmare every night. And people ask why he doesn't talk much. He shook his head, and put on his armor and slung his bow over his back, and his blade on his side. The tall man silently bolted outside of Jorrvaskr, and into the city of Whiterun, a place he proudly called his home.

[Sadko]

Dar'ja sat at the Inn, looking through a window with a tankard of alto wine in his furry hands, chugging it down greedily. People mostly stayed away from him, as for their expressions all khajiits were thieves, and because he smelled like creep cluster. ; But he carelessly smirked at them, letting in another gulp of alto wine down his throat, wiping his cheeks with his own hand gullibly.

The bard was a nice female who smelled like lavenders and blue mountain flowers all together, her voice was refreshing when she sang "Ragnar The Red", and the whole Inn applaused her, but Dar'Ja kept quiet, letting in another gulp of alto wine, jumping off the stool, throwing some coins towards the barman, making his way through chairs and benches.

But before he could open the doors, he had heard a gossip, he almost forgot about the whole meaning of Inn's, he sat down listening patiently.
"The Forsworn had taken Markarth and killed the Jarl," One of them said with a raucous voice. Dar'Ja knew something was wrong on the west side of Skyrim, he sat on the chair, just listening like a spy.

[Leon5431]

The cold air blew through the plains or Whiterun Leon liked Whiterun he was told of the beauty of the city before the Thalmor laid seige to Skyrim. Leon dragged the dead deer through the grass he glanced to the man next to him "Terian you hear that?" he asked the man nodded. They both got low to the ground as the sound of pounding hooves came clearer, a group of Thalmor soldiers rode past on the road as Leon and Terian crouched behind a couple of rocks. The soldiers progressed down the road quickly, soon Leon and Terian stood "where are those bastards going?" Terian said coldly. Leon looked to the group of Thalmor soldiers, "I dont know...but it cant be good" he said as he turned back to Whiterun, "lets get back to the others." Leon said as he grabbed the deer again and moved at a fast rate toward the city.

Soon they were moving past Whiterun, they arrived at the entrance to a cave, Terian wet into the cave Leon gave the area a quick survey before entering the gave. The warm damp air of the cave was a welcome relief to the cold winds of Skyrim. Leon and Terian turned continued down the path until they reached a large room in the cave as they entered it there was a loud screech as a group of ghosts charged the two they stood their not moving. The ghosts raised their weapons to strike but stopped right before impact. The ghosts vanished shortly after, Terian laughed "gets me every time" they both laughed "you got to get used to it mate" Leon said as he continued walking Terian laughed "yea yea" he said jokingly. They reached a wall on the far end of the room that was hidden by a group of rocks Leon pulled a chain that on the wall behind more rocks soon a flat part of the wall in front of them slowly lowered.

"Ahh home sweet home" Leon said with a smile, Terian sighed. Leon grabbed the dead deer and dragged it through the hole Terian followed shortly after and pulled a chain on the inside of the room and the rock wall slowly slid back up. They went down a small incline and were met with a large room in the center sat a fire pit on it there was three spits two were taken by animals one was open. There were soldiers at most twenty they looked to the two as Leon said aloud "were back and we brought the rest of dinner" Leon said as he raised the dead deer, smiles spread across the group.

[Chanda]

Kerotei never much enjoyed being underground, but the thought of being amongst a bunch of dead Nords seemed to make it worth it.

Except that the rows of caskets lay bare and empty, their tops pried open and tossed aside in a hurry.

"There's no longer any doubt in my mind," hissed Kerotei. "This is the work of a powerful necromancer. This ash pile burns warm even hours after the deed; potent magics were used to reanimate this one," noted the Argonian, rising to his feet as he brushed the ash off of his scaled claws.

"Galfray and I happened upon him while we were making our last rights. I just thought he was in mourning, wearing black and all, and suddenly he whipped around and potent blue hellfire shot forth from his hands. He practically burnt Galfray to his bones, and my hair's still a bit singed just from standing next to him," bumbled the priest, rubbing the aforementioned burnt patch of hair.

"Blue hellfire? That's Destruction magic of the highest caliber. Surely this man isn't anything to be trifled with. What happened after that?" queried the Histkeeper, absentmindedly pacing over to one of the empty casks and looking inside.

"Well, that's the strangest thing. Naturally, I started to scream and holler for help, and then suddenly all the candles and torches in the hall went off at once. By the time I'd fumbled for my lantern, the wizard had vanished, along with just about every body in this place. And there, before my very eyes, was the half burnt skeleton of Galfray, standing watch over the exit in case I tried to go after him. It was eerie, no doubt about it. I waited until the spell wore off and he turned to ash -- took about two hours mind you -- and then I was on my way to tell the guards. You know the story from there, I'm sure," chuckled the priest uneasily.

Kerotei had seen the rather distraught priest making his way down the keep to tell the Forsworn soldiers something. He'd been asked by the dominion to keep an eye on the comings and goings in Understone Keep, something that was made fairly easy due to his race. An Argonian hanging around wouldn't attract much attention, or at the very least, not as much as an elf in the same position. Acting mainly on instinct, Kerotei stopped the priest and offered his help as a freelance adventurer.

"I'm very grateful you offered to help me. Those Forsworn barbarians don't care about stuff like this anymore. They probably would've called me crazy, like they did when I told them about treasures from the altar going missing," sighed the priest, obvious rather frustrated with the Forsworn leadership as of late. "So you're going to catch this necromancer, right?"

"Catch him? Oh no. No no no. Whoever this necromancer is, he sure doesn't like the Forsworn. Not one bit. Don't you think it odd that he only chose to resurrect the corpses of the Forsworn soldiers? I mean look. This poor Dark Elf is still as dead as ever," smirked Kerotei, walking over to one of the few occupied caskets left in the catacombs. "Any enemy of the Forsworn is a friend of mine -- or, I should say, my superior. No, I think I'll find this Necromancer and help him punish these hide-wearing foolings for their defiance of the Dominion. He could be a powerful ally," mused the Nordslayer, rubbing his chin.

"You... you what? You're with the Dominion! I'm telling the guards!" stammered the man, who began to turn to leave in a hurry. Before he could get too far, however, he felt a scaly hand wrap tightly around his mouth, muffling his scream.

"For someone who spends their time looking after corpses, you sure haven't learned much," smirked Kerotei, plunging a knife deep into the priest's back.

"Didn't you know? Dead men tell no tales."

[OlNoSoul]

Varanno sat in the Hall of the Kings, as the Nords called it. His position as High Justiciar of Hjaalmarch was new but he took to the task with ungodly familiarity, immediately going to work pacifying the resistance within the walls and hunting any dissenters without. It was an iron fist he commanded with and it was this that made him an excellent leader and it was this that would carry him to the head of his Noble family. Ten decades had past to lead him to this moment, all of the training, the sweat poured and the blood spilled, assured him of his greatness, his right to command. All of this was good news to him, he smiled as he looked out over the city of Windhelm and out into the icy oceans beyond, he owned all of this and if Atmora still held humans there he would have brought the war there, too. He held a supreme disdain for all of those round-eared and arrogant humans. His kind had watched them grow and it only served to anger them when they proclaimed themselves an empire. It was disgusting, to say the least. This was why he felt great pleasure when he helped take the Imperial City and he took to the task of fighting for Windhelm with fervor. He grinned widely as he knew that he slept and owned the very chambers that the Nords held so dear, with such a rich and proud past, it was now just an Altmer's bedchambers.

He pushed himself off of the window-sill and closed the window, he tired of the cold. He'd had enough of it after sitting for months in the Jerall Mountains before they finally slaughtered the hungry and weak Blades. If he didn't know better he'd call his position an outcome of some stubborn and ignorant bureaucrats who'd hated for some reason or another. He simply quietly laughed that thought off as he took his seat on the throne. It was these simple and quiet moments that let him think. It really was the only time he had, besides those small power trips in his bedchambers, that he had time to think about anything other than paperwork and reports. He lifted the hood of his Thalmor robes off of his head and sighed, hoping that today was at least somewhat quiet. He was getting tired of hearing that someone on patrol was wounded by an ambush or some stupid recruit was mauled by a pack of wolves after failing to use the map and landmarks. It was rare to hear of any deaths from ragtag bands of bandits or Stormcloaks but it wasn't unheard of. The large doors at the end of the throne room opened and a hurried looking Thalmor recruit walked with a brisk pace up to him, holding out a scroll of paper.

With a look of slight contempt, Varanno snatched it out of the Mer's young hands and nodded him off to which the recruit stepped back. Varanno unsheathed his dagger and cut the ribbon holding the scroll closed. The words that greeted his eyes were from the High Justiciar of Whiterun and it was not just a bunch of useless expense reports, troop rosters or surveys of rebel activity. No, it was much more than that. The higher-ups back in the Isles would be eager to hear of this and most likely would be in the next few weeks via messenger hawk. Varanno would most certainly be called upon to bolster the High Justiciar of Whitrun's forces and lead some damned military intervention of the Reach, after all, the Reach was the only land route that supply convoys could take to get to the forces rooting out any resistance left over in High Rock. What better example of what would become of the Bretons than to slaughter the Forsworn with superior tactics and better disciplined soldiers. Tiber Septim conquered High Rock and pacified the Forsworn and he was but a lowly Human. Varanno simply took a deep breath and sighed, rolling the scroll back up and handing it back to the young messenger.

"Ride off, I'm sure you're needed elsewhere, boy." Varanno said, waving him away as he rose from the throne.

"What is it, Varanno?" Nerith asked.

Nerith was perhaps the most competent of his men and it was not hard to see why he was second-in-command to Varanno. The man was a master tactician and any fault that Varanno possessed, Nerith complemented them, making the pair a vicious enemy.

"Forsworn. Somehow, those stone-wielding tribals managed to take Markarth and the Reach with it." Varanno replied, walking past Nerith with his robes fluttering with the wind.

"The Reach is an important land route-"

"Yes, yes, every damned Thalmor knows this," Varanno interrupted, a searing annoyance in his voice, "from the freshest recruit to the Head of the Dominion. Our orders are to dispatch a significant amount of forces, link up with Noth's men and march into the Reach. I aim to make it a short conflict."

"Very well, Varanno. I'll get the men ready." Nerith said, making a hurried pace outside.

"Damned rock-wielders." Varanno said, slipping on his sword belt and making his way outside.

[VeilOfMaya]

Zedrick came back to reality soon enough and after relaxing for a few more minutes, he got out of the bath and dried himself off and donned his robes. Stretching his muscles and joints thoroughly, he took a seat on the middle of the dusty stone room and began to meditate as Kastus had taught him. Breathing deeply, focusing your mind on one central point and releasing all of the other things into the ground. He quickly entered a trance that seemed impenetrable. "You cannot let him down or dishonor your people, you cannot let him down or dishonor your people." This is what was repeating through his head, this strikingly true statement said to him by a lowly Forsworn soldier. He knew this to be true and this was now what he dedicated himself to doing. After a couple more minutes meditating, Zedrick was interrupted by his new servant, Frey. "Master, there is someone here for you." She said, bowing. Zedrick rolled his eyes and stood up, directing his attention to the young woman. "Thank you, Frey." He said, stretching once again and walking towards the exit of his chambers. He spotted his third in command, a twisted little Breton that goes by the name of Frederick. "Aye Frederick, what did you need me for?" He asked, authority showing through. "Just here to remind you about the funeral ceremony tonight. Also, your inauguration will take place afterwards." He said, forcing a bow. "Much obliged, Frederick. Now go get some sleep or get a drink before the funeral begins." Zedrick said, dismissing the soldier, walking off towards the center of their new city.

When he reached his destination, he noticed his people seemed to be of two different opinions. Some of them chanted his name loudly and called him the savior of their cause, and the other group were just standing in the shadows, their cold gazes looking right into Zedricks' mind and soul. After taking the seat where his mentor and king would have been sitting, the funeral procession began. The soldiers carried Kastus' ontop of a wooden board engraved with his name and his father's name. Zedrick could hear his people sobbing and sniffling, signs of their hurt and loss of the King that they held so close to their hearts. Holding back his tears, he stood at the edge of the platform, watching as the battle hardened men laid the board on top of the funeral pyre built hours earlier in the middle of town. As the people lined up to give their respects and thanks for everything he did and sacrificed to give them this triumph after so many years of struggle and oppression, Zedrick prepared his speech. A couple minutes later, all attention in the square was directed at him. It was time for his speech.

Taking a deep breath, Zedrick started to speak. "Today is a day that will not be forgotten by any of us. Today, we have accomplished our purpose through so much struggle, loss and oppression. However, not all victories are gained without losses. Our King, Kastus, was tragically killed today as we broke our way into the Keep. After a battle of ferocity and passion, I found him on the ground, dead. He had nothing but happiness and accomplishment in his eyes." Zedrick said to the people before him, taking another deep breath. "I know he is proud of us, for all we have endured these past few decades. I know he is looking down on us, with that wide smile on his face that we all have grown to love. He was like a father to me, and the best mentor I could or anyone could ask for. Truly, a one of a kind person and a special soul that will never be forgotten. I wish you peace in the afterlife." He said, concluding his dedication speech. It was followed by a universal cheer that arose from the crowd. He bowed and raised his hand, an indication to silence the group. "I will not dishonor the memory and honor of our passed leader. I will not be weak. I refuse to let anyone take this victory away from us, Not the Thalmor, not the Nords of Skyrim, not the Divines themselves will take this from us! We are the Forsworn and we have lost everything in order to get this far! Markarth is ours!" He screamed passionately and determined to get his message across to the doubtful crowd. This incited a wild chant from all of the crowd. They shouted, "Zedrick, our king!" over and over again loudly. "Now, I know some of you have your doubts in me, and that's understandable, as I am young in age, and relatively short in experience. However, I do swear on my life and my families name that I will lead us to prosperity and glory. I will carve out a name for us in the history of Skyrim that will never be forgotten in the sands of time. I will make us great once more!" Zedrick shouted with all of his might. The crowd let loose a guttural shout in collaboration with each other. Zedrick seemed to have instilled some sense of pride and trust into his people. With a raise of his hand, he spoke one more statement. "You all have earned more than I can give you. Now go enjoy yourselves and live in the name of Kastus and the name of the Forsworn!" He said, raising both of his hands in dismissal.

He turned his back and relaxed his posture and spotted his second-in-command, a large Breton by the name of Calisto. "That, was the best speech I have ever heard my King!" He said wide eyed and bowing. Zedrick managed to let out a small laugh. "Are you just bootlicking or are you sincere in your words?" He teased the brute of a man. "No, my liege, I am serious. You had me on the edge of my seat the entire time. I have never seen someone be able to get that kind of response out of a crowd like that either." He said ecstatically. "Seems you have found another of your many talents sir." Zedrick rolled his eyes again, and responded to the warrior. "Okay, I enjoyed the first statement, but that last one was obviously bootlicking." He said, commanding Calisto to follow him into the keep.

[OlNoSoul]

Ulfur was a simple man, contempt with just sitting around a campfire for hours on end, leftover mead in his cup and his husky, Hvitur, by his side. He was by no means boring but he knew how to keep himself away from the cold clutches of boredom. Practicing with the sword, playing with Hvitur, traveling with that carefree and odd fellow, Talsgar the Wanderer and sometimes stopping to chat with that character, M'aiq. Ulfur isn't racist by any means but something tells him that Máiq might be a bit of a liar in his tall tales and ramblings, not that he wasn't welcome and entertaining company but something was off about the Khajiit. Boring was almost foreign to Ulfur, after a life of hard work and bloodshed it was high time that he relax, do things on his own terms and for himself and Hvitur. Nothing beat walking the roads of Skyrim and to this day he didn't even know what any of the other provinces looked like. He had never pondered it, though. He was perfectly content with gazing at the mountains and the aurora at night. There was only one thing the Nord hated. Elves, not just any elves but Altmer, in particular.

This was what was behind the four dead bodies on the ground, all Thalmor soldiers. He'd even managed to kill the Justiciar, a hard bastard but mortal after all. There was only one left, staring back at him through his golden helmet, sword outstretched before him like the simple notion would keep the bloody Nord at bay. It wouldn't. It never did, really. Ulfur grasped the hilt of his sword in both hands and got into a readied stance. Ulfur already knew he could kill the Mer, the kid, by Altmer standards, was practically soiling his greaves. With the surge of soldiers into High Rock and Morrowind, most of the fresh recruits went straight into bolstering the ranks of the Skyrim garrison. Ulfur lunged forward, locking blades with he Altmer as he moved his back foot to the front, his leg behind the Altmer's front leg. With a powerful arm, Ulfur twisted his core muscles and arm, essentially table-topping the Thalmor. Ulfur was on top of the elf in seconds and plunged a dagger into his eye. Grisly but necessary.

Brushing himself off, he cleaned his sword and dagger and replaced the weapons to their respective sheathes. He stretched out a hand to Hvitur and scratched the husky behind the ears, his tongue hanging out of his blood-stained snout, happy to be with Ulfur no matter the circumstances. It was that way no matter how far back Ulfur could remember. The dog even followed him to Windhelm, where Ulfur joined the Stormcloaks. He never goes there anymore, too many bad memories and to add insult to injury, some Gods damned long-ear was sitting on the throne now. What had Skyrim come to? Ulfur was proud to call Skyrim his home but now his people were serving as footrests for those damned arrogant Altmer. The only thing that Ulfur regretted was not being able to fight them off on his own. Even so, he was content with his long walks, content with the cold air, freezing rain and tall trees of Skyrim. He had his sword, his dignity, Hvitur and his life. What more was a man of any standing?

He folded his arms and sighed at the sight of the vast tundra of Whiterun. Beauty, it was.

[Leon5431]

Leon asked the group "where is Vendes?"

"He is in the back, sir" Leon looked to the Imperial girl that had returned he gaze to the deer he nodded to her "thank you Lanith" he said, she nodded in response.

Leon made his way to the back room which had been given the role of war room. As Leon walked in he turned his gaze to the Imperial that was looking over the map "Vendes, i just saw a Thalmor messenger group riding toward Eastmarch what new do you have?" Vendes looked up from the map "oh Leon welcome back, we do have news" he gestured for young looking man to come close Leon nodded "whats the news?" the man spoke "Sir i have word from our spys in The Reach, that Markarth has fallen sir, we belive that is what those messengers were carrying " the man said, Leon's head shot up as he heard this "was it the Forsworn?" Leon asked already knowing the answer, the man nodded. Leon Sighed as he removed one of the small Thalmor flags from Markarth he replaced it with a Forsworn flag, "damn Reachmen, im just surprised it took this long". Vendes remained silent, a man came in from the main room and said "the food is ready" Leon nodded to him then turned to the others "men, lets retire for some food then we can return to work" the people in the dispersed to the main room, as people gathered around the fire pit and gathered their food Leon stood on on a stone stand and said over the noise "everyone, everyone, settle down" the room quieted Leon continued "Men we sit here in these halls while the Thalmor happily in our thrones, in the Throne of kings, the Throne of the Merchant king and the Ruby Throne, they think they have won they think us under their boot" he paused "But we will prove them wrong, we will show them that no walls shall keep them safe, we shall show them that no army shall keep us down and we shall show them what the true sons and daughters of Atmora can do! What the true children of the nine divine can do! We shall drive the Aldemiri bastards out of Skyrim, out off Daggerfall and out of Cyrodiil, We shall lift the siege the hold Morrowind, Blackmarch and the Alikir Desert! We shall drive those Aldemiri swine out of Elsywere and Vallenwood! And we will burn them down in their own homeland!" the group cheered "For we are the Insurrectionists! We are the true sons and daughters of the nine divine! And we shall show those Aldemriri that they are not the master race! that they are not chosen by the nine! And that they can and will be defeated!" as Leon finished the last line he raised his fist and the group cheered louder then before "now, enjoy your meal, you have all earned it" Leon stepped down Vendes and two others approached Vendes clapped he said "great speech, they are sure to be inspired for the raid" the other two nodded in agreement Leon smiled "come lets eat" they gathered their food and sat to enjoy the meal.

[Punky]

After hearing word from some hurried Forsworn about the attack on Markarth, Dandre thought that it would be a better place as any to head; even if the city was taken by his brethren or not. He opts out of traveling with the same group, and they hurry to get to the location so they can join the offensive themselves. Dandre wasn't in no hurry, and he knew in his current condition he wouldn't be up the utmost usefulness to them either; so he travels from the Southeast of Markarth, judging at his current rate that he should get there just after the invasion started. At the least the day after, which works out just fine with him.

After a day of walking, under the cloud filled skies and light breeze of the wind, Dandre continues at his pace toward Markarth. He gives a small cough into a piece of cloth he kept with him, when he hears shuffling off to his left just in the boulders overlooking the stony path he was walking upon. With a small shake of his head and a light chuckle, he continues on, knowing exactly what the noise had come from. Bandits, at least three of them. They weren't that good at sneaking, he thought to himself. Having spotted them a ways back as he became their unlucky target. Instead of making a statement that he knew they were there, he silently waits for them to make their move, knowing that then he could at least foil their surprise with a surprise of his own. And finally, after another hour of being tailed by the simpleton bandits, they make their move. Two of the three, dressed in simple armor and wielding an iron sword and a steel greatsword, respectively. These two charge at him, the one with the greatsword from the front, the one with the iron sword from behind. So incompetent.., he casually says to himself as he stops. He raises both his hands to just behind his head, he grips the two steel swords attached to his back and pulls them out. Dandre turns to pivot his body and points a sword at each. Knowing they had the momentum on their side, especially the one with the two-handed blade, he thought of nothing better than to use it against.

The bandit with the greatsword gets within his range, raises his hulking blade above his head and drops it toward Dandre's head. At the same time, the other bandit goes low and with his blade looks to aim at Dandre's legs. With a simple scuffle back and a hard swing on the back side of the greatsword, Dandre sends it lodging into the other bandits right shoulder. Using his free steel sword, he slides it into the soft tissue under the greatsword bandits' ribcage. Dandre then makes a jumps back, retracting his sword from their respective targets. The two bandits fall to their knees holding their wounds with no weapons in hand, which Dandre takes instant advantage of and lunges forward aiming to take the heads of their two mongrels; however just as he is about it, splintering pain shoots through body, he falling to his knees. He doesn't bother looking for a wound, he knew exactly what this pain was.

Dandre's head begins to spin, as he looks up to see multiple of everything his gaze hits. A warm, iron taste fills his mouth, to which he spits the crimson liquid to the ground. You got to be kidding me....Now?!, he swearing in his head as it feels like his insides begin to boil. Luckily however, his hearing wasn't so impaired by his illness kicking in, though even then it wasn't a good thing for Dandre. He could hear the two bandits getting to their feet, the sword of metal scrapping the ground as they pick their weapons up. Dandre looks up to the pair, two blades raised high to completely mutilate Dandre's body. He tries to move, but the pain and double vision makes it impossible that he'd dodge the blades, which ever were the real ones; so Dandre simple stares at the pair, with a look of anger and pain altogether. He swears at them as their blades to begin to fall, to which Dandre falls to the ground.