The chapel woman spoke again, clarifying that it was a hope that these talks would end with the worship of Talos, and Sindri felt her upper lip curl behind the fabric that covered her mouth. Of course, she mentally sighed, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she blinked slowly and turned her attention to a nearby brazier before moving on to the imperial-dressed Argonian. The tone of his response caught her curiosity, her eyes wandered again, her thoughts connecting dots. Drawing marks in the soil.

Sindri was frowning thanks to the context of her thoughts when the Nord stepped forward and expressed his suggestion for how to approach Bruma and their task. Followed by the too-large Khajiit (honestly, Sindri wasn’t aware they could get so big, what did his parents feed him, dragons? Perhaps he was the reason they were gone!) who said they should introduce one another and get their rest.
She had a mind to agree, if only because she did not wish to waste any more time within the confines of this chapel.

“I am known around Bruma. I move in and out frequently as a hired mercenary. Magic, tracking. Other skills.” The witch added more quietly as an afterthought. “But the woman gave us hours before we depart. We should rest while we can. I, at the very least, need a drink. We have a long journey to Bruma, enough time to decide our course of action, so perhaps for now we table it in trade for rest and introductions.”
Sindri raised a pale hand to gesture to the Khajiit. “Kiffar. Meen-La.” She gestured to the brighter of the two Argonians. The only two, thus far, who had spoken their names. Sindri sighed, then pulled the cloth from her face to expose her mouth. “You can call me Sindri.”

“Tomorrow, any who have not changed their minds and skulked away into the hills should find me beyond the wall for a meal of venison. And perhaps we can discuss with one another why we were recruited into this. Surely it is not just for our pretty faces.”

Stepping back and around the Dunmer beside whom she stood, Sindri made for the door. “Until tomorrow.” She raised a hand to wave as she departed.

---

---

Weynon Priory - Chorrol, Cyrodiil

Already it seemed there was a breakdown in communications between the people gathered. Meen-La, the criminal in their midst, seemed intent on taking the lead and was starting off strong by chiding everyone else for not introducing themselves despite the rather haphazard nature of their gathering. The khajiit Kiffar seemed more bemused by all this and doing what cats did, which she felt was at least better than the bickering of the lizards. She appreciated the Dunmer woman's attempts at being diplomatic, even if they felt wasted by the competing energies of everyone else. Even the Nord was being smart about things and trying to talk through a plan, again marking him out as rather different than the stereotypical Nord. Still, this was not going anywhere with everyone having their own ideas on how best to proceed.

"If I may?" She offered, standing once more as the Confessor stood aside and the gathered militia continued their discussions. "Khaliya al-Rihad, Alik'ri nomad. My people are well versed in some of the facets necessary for what lies ahead, so I would like to offer up some options to be considered." Khaliya played it carefully as she spoke, not wanting to take the lead by any means. It wasn't like how she normally dealt with such groups in her time on the road, normally creating a false persona and allowing others to form their own image of her no matter how wrong it may be. This group would clearly be working together for some time, and trust was a necessary part of such cooperation, so she felt it prudent to be honest. At least, in what she did reveal. Some things were best not spoken of just yet.

"We have quite the varied group here, as mentioned by... Sindri." She waited just long enough for the Reachwoman to identify herself, giving a careful and cautious eye towards her, still trying to determine if she may be potentially hostile. "Which will inevitably necessitate splitting our group. At the present moment we could attempt to pass for any of the suggested approaches, but without goods we will look like rather poor merchants. Without the appropriate study materials and cover for the rest of us, our Nord friend here may look like either a rich fool pursuing a passion, or someone trying to pass as a wandering researcher. The Legion presence here, while most definitely a boon if and when violence is necessary, will also immediately mark us as a martial group of some kind, and most assuredly one affiliated at least nominally with the Empire. So a target of Thalmor sympathizers, or political enemies of the Medes."

A shifting from one foot to another followed, Khaliya carefully considering her words and how much to speak of and when, a crucial skill she had learned from her father and the tribe as they went from city to city. "I have experience working with merchants and can pass for one, as I'm sure a few others here can. And with a word, I'm sure the Confessor here can use the time until departure to secure us enough relevant goods to actually pose properly as a merchant caravan. We have our big furry friend Kiffar here, and Meen-La to serve as adequate caravan guards, while the Legion support can always be at a short, but plausibly unaffiliated distance."

"Much the same with the suggestion to form a cover of acting as a research support team, or mercenaries hunting bandits and outlaws. Considering our wide assortment of backgrounds, we could just as easily pose as a wandering caravan of entertainers and with less effort. I am personally versed in old Yokudan sword-dancing, I'm sure there's a mage or three among the group that can work some spells for public amusement, and we have a strongman.... Cat. Though regardless, we should prioritize two things. First being to either look towards the Confessor as the head of our endeavors if she is to join us, or to nominate and individual among us to lead party matters. That then leads into what is more important of the two, settling on an agreed course of action."

Sylruna Velaryn

Sylruna had been quietly observing the various introductions and suggestions, her crimson eyes reflecting the candlelight as she absorbed each perspective. She stepped forward now, her midnight blue robes rustling softly against the chapel floor.

"I suppose I should properly introduce myself as well," she said with a gentle smile. "I am Sylruna Velaryn. And while I appreciate Khaliya's vote of confidence in my diplomatic abilities, I believe she makes an excellent point about the need for unified leadership." She gestured respectfully toward the Confessor, then looked around at their gathered group.

"As for my own skills," she continued, absently adjusting one of her silvery-white braids, "I specialize in destruction magic, particularly fire-based spells, though I'm also versed in protective magic and archery. And yes," she added with a hint of amusement, glancing at Khaliya, "I suppose I could contribute some magical displays if we decide to pose as entertainers. Though perhaps we should avoid any fire performances in Bruma - the Nords there might not appreciate the reminder of the Oblivion Crisis."

Her expression grew more thoughtful as she considered their options. "Arnvidr's suggestion about researching Ayleid ruins has merit - there are several notable sites near Bruma, including Rielle and Ninendava. And given the city's proximity to Cloud Ruler Temple, scholarly interest in the area's history wouldn't seem unusual." She paused, her voice taking on a more serious tone. "Though Kiffar makes a valid point about keeping things simple. Perhaps we're overthinking this?"

She turned toward the chapel doors where Sindri had departed. "I believe I'll join our Reach friend for that meal tomorrow. Breaking bread together might help us work more cohesively as a unit." Her crimson eyes sparkled with subtle humor as she glanced at Kiffar. "Though perhaps we should ensure enough venison for our larger companions?"

Looking back at the group, she added, "Whatever role we choose, we should use these next few hours wisely. I'd be happy to share what I know of Bruma's layout with anyone interested - I spent some time there studying the Great Chapel of Talos's unique architectural features. The city has changed since the Oblivion Crisis, but some things remain the same."

Weynon Priory, West of Chorrol



The Confessor's beneficient expression held as she realized that there's a reason most sane Alchemists didn't just throw together ingredients and hope for the best; the clash of strong, volatile personalities, especially without a central figure to rally around, promised both benefits and drawbacks - or both. So Khaliya's suggestion came as a godsend, and she responded quickly, saying, "Indeed; it would be good for this motley fellowship to decide on a leader. As you do not seem to be offering yourself for that position, who would you suggest? I will be blunt - Most of the group have disadvantages; Meen-La is a planner but is a condemned criminal, while Alexios is too obviously tied to the Imperial Legion."

She then continued, "And as for me, once you rendezvous with the delegates from The Reach and Orsinium at Bruma, I need to have already arranged the actual negotiations in the Imperial City itself, while convincing the Emperor to put his seal into the treaties made. This means I will have departed the Priory some minutes before you. Honestly, if you are not uncomfortable with Arnvidr as a leader for the party as a whole, or if I was mistaken about you not desirous for leadership, what would you think about him or you taking up that burden?"

Confessor Esselenia had to be honest; maybe it would be best to give leadership of this fellowship to someone who clearly did not want it, precisely because they did not want it - It meant they were less likely to abuse their power. Nevertheless, she would respect Khaliya's refusal if she gave it, expecting the job to fall to Arnvildr - The others did not sound like they were considering leadership at all, nor was she certain they were good bets...

@Carantathraiel@Lunamaria Hawke@Alfhedil@Raqueltrper@Crimson Flame@Randomguy@Andre Valias@WSilversun@Rune_Alchemist

Meen-La
Location: Weynon Priory

---

Meen-La certainly wasn't looking for the Confessors approval, but she certainly didn't mind it. She was still not quite certain these people were fit for the task at hand. Alexios still seemed intent on moving an entire legion which was quite frankly, absurd. The Arvindir fellow certainly also seemed to have a good head on his shoulders, but once again it seemed everyone was conveniently forgetting the threat the bandits posed...which was in no less way helped by the fact a Redguard by the name of Khalia once again suggested posing as a merchant Caravan.

"Tsk," Meen-La couldn't help but to click her tongue lightly. She had already said her appraisal of the whole merchant plan. Costly. Time sensitive. Easily checked and proven false with even the slightest bit of effort by anyone familiar with procedures or proper records. If they didn't want to listen, that was fine. She was more than happy to see the plan either fail or succeed. Either outcome was good for her, really. If it succeeded they got paid. If it failed...easy enough to make changes to the hierarchy of power. "While I still think a merchant convoy has too many negatives to be feasible...electing a leader may be a good idea." She would respond. "I would obviously vote for myself considering my experience in leading small groups, and operations to say nothing of my time avoiding the legion and imperial guard across most of Cyrodill...but that will be left up to everyone else."

It was a good idea, truthfully, to be able to have a clear Hierarchy of power.

"That said...I would also recommend the Confessor be our de-facto leader. She is a neutral party among us and holds no overall allegiance to any of us, and thus would alleviate any...reservations some may have about others."

As they talked, the Khajiit wandered through the group before passing Alexios. He prodded his cuirass with a claw, not-so-gently, and Alexios stood against. The Khajiit then flopped on one of the pews.
"That one... Thinks ill of us. Kiffar thinks that one is wise," he commented.

Alexios listened as Kiffar went on to discuss the 'fancy ideas' they all had, before boiling it down simply to meeting with the diplomats and killing whatever tries to kill them. If anything, Alexios was grateful for the simplification. He showed it just to Kiffar by bowing his head to him by the end, whether he noticed or not.

Next, the Redguard spoke up and introduced herself as Khaliya al-Rihad. An Alik'r far from home. Like the the others before her, she also went through each of the ideas with a comb. She circled back to the merchant suggestion and offered her experience in working with merchants. She added that the Legionaries could remain a safe but discreet distance behind. She went through the logistics in detail, and Alexios nodded thoughtfully. He was waiting for some further discussion when the Confessor piped up once more.

"Indeed; it would be good for this motley fellowship to decide on a leader. As you do not seem to be offering yourself for that position, who would you suggest? I will be blunt - Most of the group have disadvantages; Meen-La is a planner but is a condemned criminal, while Alexios is too obviously tied to the Imperial Legion."

Alexios scoffed, somewhat annoyed the Confessor even bothered to mention him. 'To be clear: I'm no more part of this "Militia" any more than one of you being a decorated legionary.'

The Confessor then continued undeterred and outlined the depth of the plan. She then suggested the Nord named Arnvidr to be the leader of the Militia. But then she asked for the Militia's thoughts. Meen-La was first to pipe up among them, and Alexios gave her the time to say her piece before deciding he'd heard enough.

'Thank you for your time, esteemed Confessor,' he said promptly, 'I'll leave the good Militia to figure out what they please. My boys will need to rest before we move out at dawn. Good night.' Alexios then took his leave from the Priory, stepping out into the cool evening air. He muttered a small prayer to Akatosh under his breath.

---

Arnvidr sighed as the group started to debate about the leader.

As much as how the current Nords' romanticisation of the whole 'might make right' aspect of the old Nordic culture was overblown—There were still checks and balances, that was why the Moot existed. One did not simply become the High King after killing the incumbent king in a duel—there was something to be said of a clear-cut way to determine a leader. A test of martial prowess. Of course, it was not something he would suggest among this multicultural group.

"We can discuss the leader AFTER we have agreed on our cover. It is true that we needn't find too complicated of a cover, as an overly complicated one would increase the risk of getting found out due to contradictory accounts of an overly convoluted story. But at the very least we need to agree on one reason for our travel. I still think that a merchant caravan is not a good cover. As I said, we do not carry enough wares to pose as a caravan. Furthermore, we would need to maintain our cover by actually selling something in Bruma lest we raise the question of 'why wouldn't a merchant caravan sell their wares at a major city?', which would slow us down. I think we should go with my proposal. A mercenary company is one of the few groups where such a diverse collection of people wouldn't be out of place. Furthermore, if asked, all of you can simply feign disinterest aside from 'Checking some Ayleid ruins'. It wouldn't be strange for mercenaries hired to guard a scholar to not be interested in the minutiae of the research. They're just there to do their job and collect their septims."

Kiffar groaned as the others continued to fuss over such silly things as plans. So intricate, so complicated- and, he felt, entirely unnecessary, particularly given their discussion was infringing on his time to nap and lounge. More ideas were floated, and he could taste the fringes of tension in the air, certain this would fall into arguments and raised voices if things didn't come to a conclusion soon. He might enjoy that, in truth... But seeing who would fight who could wait for when he wasn't quite so sleepy. The Legionnaire took his leave, just in the tail of Sylruna and Sindri, and Kiffar rolled to sit upright on the pew with an irritable chuff. Even seated, he towered well over the eye lines of most in the room, movement alone often enough to draw attention to him.

"Kiffar does not believe the Legion Stomper intends to return. You all bicker too much, and this one is deprived of rest. Since the thinkers cannot think as one, Kiffar says that Kiffar is the leader, and that the Nord is the victor of words. Coin-Violence suits many here, and is simple. This works for Kiffar. It is decided, yes? Kiffar will accept challenges to his leadership after he has had a nap."

He pushed himself fully upright with a weary sigh, the pew groaning as if in relief once he was free of it. Apparently done with the conversation one way or another, yet too agitated to return to his planned rest, the Khajiiti stretched out, and made way for the door, stooping down to step outside, a flicker of his tail given in lieu of a wave for the others.

"We meet with the rising sun at this door to collect our things, yes? This one will find another place to rest until then."

Sylruna Velaryn

Sylruna watched as the group began to fracture, with Alexios departing first, followed by Kiffar's declaration of self-appointed leadership before his own exit. Her crimson eyes reflected concern as she observed the growing tension. The warm candlelight of the chapel seemed to dim slightly, matching the cooling atmosphere.

"Perhaps," she said softly, but with clear purpose, "we're approaching this from the wrong direction." She stepped forward, her midnight blue robes rustling against the stone floor. "We're debating leadership and cover stories separately, when they're inherently connected. The role we choose will naturally suggest who should take point."

She gestured thoughtfully toward Arnvidr. "Your suggestion about investigating Ayleid ruins actually provides an elegant solution to both issues. As a known scholar, you would naturally lead such an expedition. The rest of us could have clear, simple roles that match our abilities without requiring elaborate deception." Her silvery-white braids caught the light as she turned to address the others.

"For instance," she continued, a subtle glow emanating from the runes on her robes, "my background in magical studies would make me a natural research assistant, while still allowing me to serve as protection. Meen-La's... reputation... could actually work in our favor here - what better credentials for a guard than someone known for surviving in dangerous territory?"

She paused, considering their options carefully. "The ruins near Bruma - Rielle and Ninendava - are known to be dangerous. No one would question a well-armed group investigating them. And unlike a merchant caravan, we wouldn't need to maintain a facade of commerce." Her expression softened with a hint of humor. "Though I do hope no one will be disappointed about missing out on Khaliya's sword-dancing demonstrations."

Turning back to the Confessor, she added more seriously, "Whatever we decide, we need to act quickly. Dawn isn't far off, and we still need rest before departure." She absently adjusted one of her braids, a habit when deep in thought. "Though I wonder... given the hour, perhaps we should continue this discussion over breakfast? I believe Sindri mentioned something about venison, and I know some excellent Dunmeri spice blends that might make it more interesting."

---

---

Weynon Priory - Chorrol, Cyrodiil

Once more it seemed that Sylruna was the voice of reason and diplomacy, being careful and considerate of the rather varied makeup of the group and doing her best to find some form of cohesion. That said as the group devolved into arguing she couldn't help but feel her initial optimism diminish moment by moment. Her initial smile and honesty towards the others fading as several others passed over much of what she said to focus on the merchant idea if they gave her heed at all. It wasn't like Khaliya was unused to being passed over in such groups, but it still stung and she gave a glance to the dunmer woman similarly doing her best. Eventually though, the Confessor came to the rescue in a way to try and give them some form of direction and at least it looked like one of her ideas was an agreed upon starting point.

In her honest opinion it would have been most ideal for the Confessor or a similar agent of the Empire to serve in a leadership position of this militia, at the very least to ensure the interests of the Medes were being looked after and that their plan wouldn't go off the rails. Something the Legionnaire seemed surprisingly disinterested in. Still, while she found it strange that the man of the Legion couldn't find himself capable of working within the militia, she gave him a nod of respect on his way out and turned her attention back to the others. "I'll reiterate, that I was not against your suggestion Arnvidr." She began, nodding to him and thinking on the suggestion more fully. It really wouldn't take much to appear as a research expedition, as he and Sylruna had discussed already. "I was merely suggesting that if we were to use that as a cover, it would be ideal to ensure we are all properly equipped and have the expected materials to appear as such. A man of learning such as yourself would have no trouble looking the part, and Sylruna has mentioned similar capability. I feel few would look past Kiffar as a mercenary, but myself and others may need a little work to blend in better."

And that brought her to Meen-La. The criminal and a growing voice of dissent and disunity among the group. She seemed to be full of opinions, but short on any intention on working together with the others. Quick as she was to chastise everyone else, quicker was she to try and claim a leadership role for herself. She knew those kinds of people well, having seen their kind often in her travels across Tamriel. Being a criminal was the least of her issues for Khaliya though. "Though I don't think it wise to challenge our big furry orange friend for leadership, I think with settling on the cover of a research expedition, that Arnvidr makes for a more ideal choice in leadership. Choosing a criminal for leadership would be ill-advised and honestly a non-starter, as I feel it would severely hamper the efforts of the Hidden Militia and make our patrons rather vulnerable politically."

Khaliya gathered up her belongings and pulled on a pair of simple silk gloves, starting out towards the door, but making sure to give a respectful bow of her head towards those who remained. "I will endeavor to find an appropriate for myself according to the plan, and will meet with the rest of you in the morning."

He glanced around at the others as they debated and discussed who should be the leader. “We can debate leadership once we’re settled on the finer details.” He said calmly. “Debating who should lead when we haven’t agreed on the mission’s cover is like arguing where to set the sails before we’ve built the ship. For now, I believe Arnvidr’s proposal holds merit…”

Normally, Auron would have outright suggested himself as the leader. As his upbringing as a noble caused him to see leadership as a natural role, but he was trying to be a team player. “The sooner we agree on our purpose, the sooner we can present a united front. Our strength lies not in pretending to be something we’re not, but in turning who we are into something credible.”

He paused for a moment, and smirked, before chuckling a little. “Besides,” he added lightly, though still with that air of nobility, “if we waste much more time debating, the townsfolk will assume we’re a traveling bard troupe rather than a band of professionals.”

The Road to Bruma



The Confessor had decided to accept Kiffar's proclamation of leadership (albeit with Arvind being the real leader) and sent the group off on their way once breakfast was done; Khaliya and Meen-la could seperately sense her increasing desire not to be around the people she herself gathered, but who proved to be strong personalities she did not want to see in constant friction, but that would not alter the fact that she approved of the most viable plan. That plan was to pose as Arvind's scholarly expedition, and the Confessor had given them extra cash, plus a few scholarly texts on Talos and the nearby Ayleid ruins to better maintain their cover (and also to speed them onward).

Now the group was on the Orange Road, walking the paved, narrow path that led from Chorrol to Bruma as the sun rose in the sky.

Several hours passed; it was noonrise/noonday and the sun was at its midpoint. Birdsong and the noise of various animals had grown quiet for a minute or so - An obvious sign of trouble ahead. They were passing through an even narrower stretch of road when it struck - A volley of arrows launched from the trees at point-blank range, intended to scatter the group or force them to cast their protective spells.

Once the arrows were cast, several Nord and Imperial Bandits would charge, wielding a mix of two-handed swords, heavy maces, and greataxes, not realizing that they were running towards one of the best fighters in all of Tamriel (Kiffar). And finally, there was a Nord dressed in robes from the College of Winterhold with the insignia torn out; this blonde woman looked at Arvindr and said, "Arvindr! I want your research on the predecessors of the Companions and the origins of Whiterun and I want it now!"

The scholar would recognize this Nord woman as one of his more obscure rivals, Brigit of Winterhold, who resented Arvindr's constant hawking of the 'Original Nord Culture' despite being a Mage who researched similar topics herself. Her latest ploy was writing several public letters accusing Arvindr of being a plaigraist - of her research - and the unhinged tone of her wording implied that she had begun to genuinely believe her own lies.

This was confirmed when she said, "You copied my papers! That bibiliography you used in your latest one had a third of it copied from my own listed sources! Give me back my academic placement, you fraud, or I will keep siccing these bandits on you!"

@Carantathraiel@Lunamaria Hawke@Alfhedil@Crimson Flame@Randomguy@WSilversun@Rune_Alchemist

Sylruna Velaryn

Sylruna's crimson eyes narrowed as the birdsong abruptly ceased. Years of traveling through hostile territory had taught her to recognize nature's warning signs. Her hands were already moving into defensive positions when the arrows burst from the trees.

Without hesitation, she summoned her magic, flames dancing between her fingers as she also cast a protective spell. The familiar warmth of her fire magic contrasted sharply with the cool mountain air of the Orange Road. "Bandits!" she called out, her voice clear and controlled despite the chaos. "And it seems they have magical support!"

The sight of the College of Winterhold robes caught her attention, though the missing insignia spoke volumes. As a fellow mage, Sylruna quickly assessed the potential threat - a rival scholar turned bandit leader was dangerous precisely because they might know exactly what they were doing with their magic.

She positioned herself where she could best support the group, her midnight blue robes swirling as she moved. The runes on her clothing began to glow more intensely as she channeled her magic. While Kiffar and the other close-combat fighters could handle the charging bandits, she would need to be careful with her fire magic - the narrow road and surrounding trees made area spells risky.

"Perhaps we could discuss academic attribution in a more civilized manner?" she called out to Brigit, though her hands remained wreathed in flames. She didn't expect the suggestion to work, but any delay that allowed her to better position herself was worthwhile. Besides, she thought with grim amusement, it wasn't every day one witnessed scholarly disputes being settled with battleaxes.

The bandits couldn’t have been out for an opportune robbery, they were scholars looking to accuse Arvandir of plagiarism. Nothing could ever be simple. Auron smirked to himself at the ridiculousness of the situation. As arrows went flying, he cast an Oakflesh spell on himself. the spell wrapping his body in protective energy. The next arrow deflected off his shoulder with a thunk, clattering harmlessly to the ground.

Auron drew his sword in a smooth motion. He smirked at the irony of the situation. “Ambushed over footnotes and citations,” he said dryly. “This must be some new form of academic warfare.” Auron pointed his sword toward Brigit. “You’re going through an awful lot of trouble for someone who supposedly stole your research. If you’re such a brilliant mind, wouldn’t refuting his findings be a better use of your time? As opposed to resorting to violence like a bunch of ruffians.”

It was a wonder, really, that they had gotten this far. Between the debates on plans, the debates on leadership, the debates on breakfast, and the debates on who rode, who walked, and who drove their little caravan, Kiffar had been beginning to believe that all they would ever do was debate. He'd been overjoyed when they finally got a move on that morning, and the only thing that has prevented him physically dragging the others into action was some thin veil of politeness that he insisted on keeping in front of the Confessor.

Now, after hours of walking, he was getting restless. He almost would have welcomed further debate if only to interrupt the monotony- but what he got was a far better gift. Bandits. Oh sweet, sweet bandits, and their eternally foolish ways. They could see a legend made flesh and still think to rob them of their purse- and while they may be led by another incessant talker, at least there were those foolish enough to charge.

The arrows that came first, of course, were a nuisance. He was able to lurch out of the way of the first few, a startling display of agility for a man of his mass- but, unlike some people, Kiffar had no magic. He wore no armor, and carried no shield. It was little surprise that a pair of the shafts found their mark on a target so large, no matter how fast he was- arrows sinking into the flesh of his thigh, and his side. The pain, sharp and deep, got an irate snarl from Kiffar, as ice blue eyes turned towards the charging fools.

"Kiffar has promised the nice Confessor he will commit no war crimes. But we are not at war, are we?"

The others were granted, then, a singularly unpleasant glimpse at just what their least favorite kitty cat did for a living. First came the knife- really, a whole short sword, for people of any normal size. It practically leaped from its place in the small of his back, sent spinning underhand towards whoever was unlucky enough to be first in line. The much larger of the two weapons on his belt was left right where it was- because it was time for hands. Just. Hands. The Cathay Raht moved frightfully fast, even with an arrow tearing at his thigh- and seemed to have no compunction at all with trying to get his claws in all the squishiest bits he could find, while he cramped the bandits for space to wield their weapons. He would be... Busy, for a small while.

The roaring and screaming was probably a bit distracting. Was he laughing? What was that crunch?

---

Arnvidr sighed seeing the familiar face of Brigit. He just couldn't be rid of that annoying woman, it seemed.

"Apologies, it looks as if I inadvertently dragged the group into a personal matter."

"Perhaps we could discuss academic attribution in a more civilized manner?" she called out to Brigit, though her hands remained wreathed in flames. She didn't expect the suggestion to work, but any delay that allowed her to better position herself was worthwhile. Besides, she thought with grim amusement, it wasn't every day one witnessed scholarly disputes being settled with battleaxes.

"Don't bother, this woman is unhinged. In the first place, there is no such thing as bibliography plagiarism. If we have the same bibliography, that just means we both consider those sources valid. Even if I added those sources to my paper after reading hers, which was not the case, it's not plagiarism if the actual academic content differ, which it definitely is judging from the difference in quality."

As he said so, magicka swelled in his hands, as he drew upon the waters of Oblivion. The dark purple swirl of magicka from his hand flew to a nearby patch of snow, coalescing into a portal from which a giant made of ice emerged, a Frost Atronach.

"I'm telling you this only once, Brigit. Lay off this stupidity, otherwise I will not hesitate to act as needed in this very justified case of self-defence."

Her steps devoured the road again. Back along the Orange road, which she’d traveled innumerable times. Her belly was full, her boots comfortable, the urge to shift and run wild minimal. The sun rose before them, urging their traveling party to pull their hoods down over their eyes or bow their head to protect their vision. Sindri’s eyes roamed the road, marking each stone, branch, and dip along her path.

The company was quiet. The silence was full of a tension that made Sindri wonder what had been spoken after she’d fled the chapel. When she’d taken the chapel woman’s option of rest and all but fled the too-solid structure, they’d been discussing how to approach Bruma, who would take lead, what cover they would claim.
Looking around, she still was not sure of what had been said, but the nord appeared to be taking the mantle of chief, judging by how many times he’d given orders here and there. Sindri was surprised the male Altmer had not elbowed his way into the position of authority, but suppose the fact that he was here on this particular mission spoke volumes about his taste for control.
The other altmer, the female, didn’t puzzle the witch as much.
Though, quite a few were looking toward the large khajiit, but that was no surprise. Something that large and needed to be watched, and that he’d joined their group in chains didn’t help his reputation.
And the lizard who was too clearly indoctrinated was absent. Fired? Stormed out? Sindri didn’t bother asking.

The summer breeze blew and Sindri’s head tilted back, her eyes closing as the warmth brushed her cheeks like an old friend. The aroma of seasonal vibrant flowers, the healthy trees, the distant scent of petrichor sent the witch miles away for a few footsteps. To when she was small and chasing foxes and catching grasshoppers. Wading in the streams to the west of these lands and wondering why she had to wait until the fish was cooked before she could devour it and fill her complaining belly.

Then there was a different scent.
Sweat. Steel. Ale. Sulfur. Faint, the wind had shifted in another direction, but it had been enough for Sindri.
Her eyes opened and she swept an icy glance across the hills before she landed on the khajiit. Judging by his bored expression -if Sindri could identify what boredom looked like on a khajiit’s countenance- he hadn’t noticed.
Or he wasn’t bothered by it. Too many here smelled of sweat and steel. Magicka and paper, too. Scholars; too many of them.
Still, it didn’t sit well with the Reachwoman, and Sindri veered to her left, stepping off the path swooping to pick up a flower along her way. If they were being watched, perhaps she would appear as a woman gathering supplies. Perhaps she was off to relieve herself.
Nearly immediately after, the songbirds went silent, both sending a brush of relief down Sindri’s nape that she had not lost her mind, and a brush of anticipation.

Things were about to get interesting.

Whistles tickled her ear, and Sindri quickly hopped behind a tree as arrows thudded into the soil. Peering over her shoulder, she did a quick count of how many of the militia were still standing and had taken defensive positions, then Sindri whirled around and moved swiftly across the uneven terrain.
Her ears picked up conversation as she stalked; a scholar’s squabble. So, perhaps things were getting interesting, but not quite as interesting as they could. The ambushing group was clearly new at this. They should have attacked earlier and used the sun against the militia.
Sindri rolled her eyes at herself, wondering whose side she was on as she bent and half-crawled up the last of a hill.

An archer knelt on the hill. He did look very Nordic. A bandit brute. So, maybe they weren’t all scholars afterall. Her eyes swept his posture; one knee planted on the ground, the other heel firm and toes pointed toward his target; her new cadre.
So be it.
Summoning her magic, roots rose swiftly from the ground and coiled around the calves of the thug, then squeezed tight. Alarmed, the bandit lowered his bow as he glanced down. He wobbled. His head snapped up as Sindri moved in the man’s peripherals and grinned wickedly. He paled. Sindri flicked her wrist and the man dropped heavily to the ground before he could scream, her sleeping spell taking effect swiftly.
Her roots released him and sunk back into the ground as she slunk toward her next victim.

Meen-La
Location: Orange Road.

---

Overall, there was little to be said about the founding of their little group for now. Certainly growing pains were to be had as everyone felt each other out, got to know boundaries. Who the ones in charge were to be, or who was a useful idiot, that kind of thing. As they traveled down the Orange Road, her eyes lingered on their supposed leaders. Perhaps like a beast, stalking its prey. Judging if it was worth it for the meal or not. Kiffar wasn't leader material in her opinion. A useful enforcer. Arvindr...he seemed to have a reasonable head at least, but she had to wonder if he truly could handle leadership and the difficult decisions that came with it.

For now though, all she would do is yawn.

And with it, came the distinct feeling of something being amiss.

The lack of wildlife sounds. The feeling of something...wrong, in the back of her mind. In situations like this it was always a good idea to trust ones instincts. And her instincts as far as she cared, had never been wrong...which meant they were likely walking into some sort of trap. A few of the others seemed to have noticed too, but she'd let them take care of it. A simple and straightforward approach was always best for bandits and ambushes.

Their would be attacker would soon reveal themselves. Some old rival of their party leader, it seemed. By her count from what she could see, eight wielding various melee weapons, nine archers, and this Brigit herself that were immediately noticeable. Chance for more? Likely, if this woman was smart. She didn't seem to be, though. She could have engaged with the bandits similar to Kiffar, or stealthily handled them like the other seemed to be, but splitting their forces entirely now was not the best idea.

"Sweet Hist Sap, Arnvidr. You should have told us you had a secret admirer." Meen-La chuckled, hefting her warhammer and resting it on her shoulder. If nothing else she could support their leader, for now. Watch his back for now. "You should listen, woman. You are clearly not built for this kind of thing. You can't even tell when half your pathetic excuses for bandits are already Haj Mota feed." A lie, but words were very good at causing one to second guess themselves or make mistakes.

She really wanted to just kill this woman outright, though, but she'd stay her hand until given the order too.

The Road to Bruma



For a moment, fear overtook Brigit, before she held out her staff and summoned two Frost Artonachs, before saying, "This is the culmination of my studies, my greatest work - The ability to summon more than one Artonach... and control the shape they are conjured as!"

With one clench of her fist, the two Frost Artonachs reshaped themselves, one into Arvindr, her foe, and the other into a copy of Kiffar himself. She sent the fake Kiffar to attack the real one, while the fake Arvindr attacked everyone else. Then, upon grasping the fact that she was still outmatched, she began to flee, hoping that her conjured creatures would hold back her enemies as she tried to flee the scene. It was clear that she, and for that matter, the remaining bandits, who were reduced to a mere ten and soon to be less, were not going to make it intact.

It was at least a good warm-up; now the question was whether they wanted to press their advantage and get rid of this threat before it became recurring...

Bruma - Not a Timeskip, Foreshadowing!



Even though Bruma was part of Cyrodiil, its Half-Nord population did not take the entrance of Reachmen and Orcs, with some of them clearly of high status, which was noticed even by the prejudiced, as any good omen. Even when these Reachmen and Orsimer met with well-armed, official-looking folk who had arrived from the Imperial City who paid for their stay in a fine, but not too fine, inn, this suspicion had not gone down, only rose, although the heights were not dangerous yet.

The Elder Council and their 'Hidden Militia' were gambling in a high-stakes game, meeting with people from New Orsinium and The Reach. If the new members from Weynon Priory did not arrive to escort these delegates to the Imperial City soon, the news would get out of their purpose... And that would be an unacceptable risk.

Imperial City - Foreshadowing



Confessor Esselenia, a descendant of one of Talos' blessed, The Prophet, bowed before the newly crowned Titus Mede, who looked at her with respect. She held the title of Confessor because she was his personal Confessor, after all.

She was the one who listened to his sins and absolved them in Talos's name. She would make sure that Talos's will to keep the Empire alive, even if it meant allowing Orsinium and The Reach to be their own provinces, was kept.

And so, when the Emperor of Tamriel indicated that he wanted to confess his latest sins and doubts, she was prepared to listen and of course, suggest solutions.

@Carantathraiel@Lunamaria Hawke@Alfhedil@Crimson Flame@Randomguy@WSilversun@Rune_Alchemist