As small groups of armed men skirmished throughout the city the oposing armies marched around either side of the city walls.

"I'm fine... as long as I stay sitting down" he half chuckled. It was suddenly cut short by thousands of battlecrys reaching their ears. A few intelligent mercanaries fought there way into the outer gaurd towers, an excellent position to support the clashing soldiers below.

Quarian called to the nearby soldiers, "get out there! help the new arrivals, this is our last chance."

"I'll help." Armiena grabs her bow, but realizes that the string was ruined by the river's water. She checks her pockets, and finds that the water hadn't gotten into her spare bowstrings. She strings her bow quickly, and rushes off to the wall, readying a wet arrow as she runs.

The defence fought to keep the invaders outside the city, but the sheer numbers of the enemy were waying on them. Many small groups had already retreated to the city through the breaches in the paliside wall, telling of the news of battle.

Those outside the city walls, still organized in ranks were losing quickly and began their retreat.

Quarian noted the insignia of the demoralized soldiers he saw around him. The majority that had retreated bore the signs of other cities who had either defended their own city well or were passed by when the invaders came. The first of the enemy troops began to apear behind the retreating defenders, all hope seemed lost.

Armiena sights in on a raider with particularly impressive armor, and lets her arrow fly, hoping that he's an officer. She watches her arrow fly, then curses as it wobbles midflight, leaving a trail of droplets of water. The arrow lands into the midst of the raiders, only hitting a random man in the breastplate. It doesn't even penetrate.

She snatches an arrow from the the quiver of the defender next to her, and fires it at the same man, aiming for the armpit joint. She sees someone go down, but can't tell if it was her target.

Armiena sees a large group of men begin an advance toward her position on the tower. With a ceiling of sheilds raised above them all she can see is flames from many torches licking the sides of the sheilds. Torches.

Armiena takes another dry arrow from a retreating soldier, and lights it on one of the torches. She fires it into the group of raiders when it's about to be consumed by flame.

She doesn't take the time to watch its path. She runs along the wall, looking for an unblocked exit.

Flames lick the tower, quickly setting it ablaze, the fire begins to spread along the wall, trapping those unfortuate enough to be caught in the middle of the breach and the fire.

Flames quickly spread throughout the tower, fueled by a large number of stray arrows that had been fired at it. Armiena was roasting within a few seconds, struggling to breathe.

She crawls through the tower, looking for a sign of an exit. She sees a muddy footprint on the stone. An exit? Armiena scoots over in the direction that the toe of whoever's boot had made the print was facing.

She looks up, and sees that the smoke is blowing with her. Definitely an exit....or a breeze was blowing from a window. Best not to think about that.

The defence was failing, Quarian had to make a decision... just seven city blocks away was the Imperial fortress, it's stone walls offered a hide-away and Quarian took the chance.

"fall back," he yelled from his position on the ground, he had to get to safety before this area was in battle. Many of the mercanaries were relieved at this order and quickly began their retreat into the city...

The message had finally reached the mercanaries at Quarian's camp, many had already gone to fight the attackers but even more so had remained. After quickly preparing a small army was moving towards Galor, weapons at the ready.

Quarian had been helped inside the great hall, safely inside the Imperial fortress.

Now, at last, with the inner city wall, which protected the noble section of the city and the Imperial Fortress wall for defence the troops have a chance to survive until Alenee arrived with her forces...

It was an exit. Armiena breathed in the air for a few seconds, then remembered she was in a castle. That was under siege. And that she was in mortal danger.

Armiena vaguely hears Quarian cry out above the fire "Fall back!". She sees the troops on the ground start to retreat in the direction of the Imperial Palace. Armiena runs along the wall, trying to find a safe exit. She doesn't find any, but there IS a rooftop within jumping distance.

An out of place figure dances among the shadows of the battle, about as inconspicuous as blood on a white sheet. He dances past the clashing skimishers, running from the chaos. He appears rather defensless in contrast to the raging warriors engaged in fierce melee around him, perhaps an escaping commoner. But none the less, it seems only too out of the ordinary.

More disturbing is the direction he moves, towards the battle. Yes, he skirts the individual brawls, but he seems to be making his way to the core of the city. Perhaps he tempts death. Perhaps he is a fool. In the heat of battle, none pay any heed, but those that notice sense somthing odd, even if its just slight suspicion.

OOC: What better place to jump into a storyline then head-over-heels into the spot of greatest chaos?!

He reaches a spot of lighter battle, the imperials making an advance upon a smaller number of aggressors (I hope im right in assuming that the party is the one attacking the city). Taking only a moment to asses the situation, he comes to the conclusion that they will undoubtedly be overrun.. Action must be taken.

Less conspicuous now, he moves around the outer edge of the battle, attempting to gain surprise on the rear of the line. When he fails in his attempt, he is spotted two of the imperial soldiers rush in to attack.

The first swings high, and is greeted with air and a fist a moment later.. The second slashes downward with stinging force, glancing the man. Taken aback at the sudden strike, the man stumbles backward a pace. The first soldier uses the opportunity to attack again, but, being a little slower then his partner, he is again slicing only empty air with his sword. This time, the counter-attack is disarming, hiting the bare wrist with a good amount of force. His sword anounces its arival to the ground with a clang, and is soon retrived by the pheasent as he retreats to the shadows.

The two gaurds follow quickly into the twisting web of streets and alley ways, pursuing the man and the stolen weapon. Meanwhile, dashing only meters ahead, the man tries desperatly to find a way out of his own trouble. He spies a side alley and heads down it, realizing then that it is a dead end.

'Two versus one aren't very good odds, even if one is unarmed... I have to kill one of them before the other can bring his weapon against me...' the man ponders, stressing to come up with a plan to get out of this mess. He then realizes something rather conveinent about the alley way.

The two soldiers bolted down the alley way, seeing a flash of torn fabric some distance away, they turn down the alley way disturbed suddenly that there is nothing but a dead end. They inspect the area a moment, before turning to leave. The first decides to get back to the battle, and as the other reluctantly follows, clearly attached to his weapon, he looks back. With that last look to the alley, he gives up his hope of ever retreving his sword. When he does finnaly step out of the alley, he hears a sudden bump behind him.. It's then that he finds the weapon, though not were he expected it.. Peircing his abdomen up to the hilt.

With a twist and a yank, the man pulled the weapon free of the lifless corpse. The other soldier some ways off now, he is no longer a threat. A little less creative then he would have liked, but he got lucky that the walls were close enough for him to streach out and hold himself up a few meters above ground. He was begining to think they would never leave, and that he would have fallen and been slain. Another close call, but nothing new to his life.

He began to search the body for useful items other then the short sword. Finding nothing that wouldn't have him mistaken as an imperial soldier (like the armor) he appraised the sword. Nothing special about it, well taken care of, though the craftmanship was fairly poor. He would need to find another soon. Never the less, he retrived the scabbard and baldric from the dead soldier, adorning himself with his booty. Once again, he stole away from the alley in his previous inconspicuous-out-in-the-open manner, nursing the arm he only now realizes is stabbing with pain.

OOC: *Grins* just give me a lead and watch me fly! Don't want to barge in on anything anyone else has going on atm.

From out of the trees and stages of meditation comes Kataiyo. He had not been seen since before the seige, perfering to run and hide. After all, he was only a child, right? and his skill in battle had not been perfected, right?

His conscience burned him on the inside as he listened to the fray. He could only follow a courageous young man, seeming about six years his elder, charge headstrong into battle.

Taken by suprise, kataiyo falls out of the tree from a stray arrow. His arm lifted in time for the missile to only forceably impale his bracer and wrist, but He knew it was important to find help, and to help his cause as well.

He heard the sounds of the zypherous winds howl into the morning sun. A west wind brings tides of looking back and having regret, Id better fix this. Kataiyo called to the nearest of the new mercinaries, "Better fall back! I have cloth, and were both wounded. Trust me, we arent suited for battle like this." He removes the arrow and wraps it in this cloth.

Kataiyo observes this brave man ignore him, but has no feeling about it.

Kataiyo stealthilly flanks the guards, perfering to enter the fortress on his own. He scales the wall in his black clothes, briliantly masquerading against the midday. His wound drips crimson hues from the back of his wrist. As he enters the fortress through a dimly lit window, he notices the internal lock on this room he is in, and listens to the heavy breathing of soldiers in slumber. Sounds like three, I beter make it quick!, he thinks to himself. With a piece of cloth, he gags one and slits thier throat, three times, one at a time.

Terror soon abounds in his mind, as he thinks about his new foolish tactic. He can only pray for their souls, and prey on their enemies, from the inside. A rope of cloth sheets is let from this window in these guards quarters, but Kataiyo cannot yell this to the mysterious man of iron will he saw earlier, for fear of his discovery. He can only hope that this man sees this and follows, survival will not be garunteed.

OOC: Um, I think Ill continue this in a new thread, but It would be good to have that as a transition. If you dont want to follow, dont. Im going for a sort of "splinter cell" cloak and dagger thing. If you do, PM me and Ill make it.

"DRAW!"

The single yell, in a voice of clear command, cut through the fighting. A few fighters looked around for it's origin, but most paid it no attention. The handfull of soldiers who managed to spot its source did so far too late.

"FIRE!"

The command was almost lost in the snap of bow strings as several hundred flaming arrows arced over the battle. The arrows smashed into the flank of the invading army, and over two hundred of its soldiers died in the first salvo. The flames only added to the destruction and panic, and the entire side collapsed into chaos, just short of open retreat.

From a hill about two hundred yards from the invaders Commander Aseir Miristar watched the results of his fire. His men had arrived as fast as their horses could carry them, and now his four hundred archers and their pikeman screen were positioned to swing the battle. It had been a dangerous gamble that left other cities open to attack, but it looked like it had paid off...

Behind him, his archers drew back their second arrows. He lit his arrow on his torch, then took aim at another concentration of invading soldiers. Once the flames were burning nicely, he released the arrow. As soon as it hit, the archers behind him released their arrow storm into the target he had designated.

The effects of the second salvo were every bit as impressive as the first. Nearly the entire group collapsed dead or dying, and the few survivors turned and ran. More and more soldiers followed their example as the panic spread. Throughout the invading army, soldiers began to break formation and run.

Away from the mercenaries, Aseir noted with satisfaction. Just to give them more encouragment, he fired another arrow to mark the soldiers closest to the mercenaries. As the arrows tore their formation apart, the soldiers suddenly discovered a higher priority than the escaping mercenaries.

As the last remains of order disappeared from the invading army, Aseir fired a single unlit arrow, the signal for his archers to begin choosing their own targets. Around him, his pikemen readied their weapons to hold off any invaders that might pick a suicidal charge to die with honor.

Almost there, Aseir thought as his scattered fire began to turn retreat into general panic. A few more minuites and the battle would be "won"...

Silently Thrin made his way to the Imperial Fortress, from the looks of the battle things were going well, though he had been told to find "refuge" within the walls of the fortress. With any luck, he would find the one he was searching for there...

When confronted by a group of soldiers within the fortress, he got them to apprehensively let hi go on his way. It took some pursuasion, but they belived that he was actually a pauper running from the chaos. The smartest thing he did was conceal the Imperial Shortsword, as that would have raised way too much suspicion.

"Where is the man Quarian, soldier?" the question was asked with sincerity that almost overwhelmed Thrin as he asked it.

"And why would I be tellin you?" came the soldiers gruff reply, obviously not one to be fooled by simple tactics.

"I have a message of vital importance for him, you must tell me where he is!" Thrin was progressivly amazing himself with the inflection and tone he could manipulate his voice with, even when speaking only half-truths.

"I doubt it, leave me." The soldier was a bit difficult to crack, too much wasted time for the effort, and he probably didn't know. Thrin took this as his cue to huff off in a angry could for the sake of appearences. He had to see Quarian in person. He would not speak of his ends to these simple soldiers. Many a time had he dodged men of simmilar ability on his smuggling operations.

Down a few dank hallways he traveled, with no particular direction, simply looking for the man in charge... You would think these people would be easy to find, but nothing, nothing was ever easy.

ooc: Breton theif Oriana, it is mid morning, not night and there is no storm.

What seemed as though it would turn to a seige had just nearly ended in 4 seconds. From his place atop the battlements Quarian witnessed 3 volley firings from a hilltop somewhere. Alenee

ooc:

Thrin continued his movement though the Imperial Fortress, making note of exits incase things went bad. And it was entierly possible for things to go very, very bad.

"It wont be easy..." he muttered to himself again, "Nothing ever is these days." The lone man stole into a storeroom as two guards marched past. Muttering again, he continued up the hallway, in the direction of the soldiers.

At the top of a tower on the northeastern side he had a rare opportunity to glance out a window at the battle below. The attackers were being beaten to a retreat. And the fires were now making an advance on the fortress. Again he growled about the flames and nothing being easy and continued up a spiral stair case hoping that somehow he would reach the battlements. And where he thought Quarian would be.

But to no avail he found that the staircase did not, in fact, reach the battlements at all, but rather it stoped short a floor or so below. It was hard to tell because of the lack of windows or any other way of telling how high one was. And of course, there were no maps of the facility lying about. He considered stealing a uniform and trying agian to ask the soldiers about how to meet Quarian, but to what good end?

None, he thought to himself as he dodged another patrol. Instinctivly he glanced around the room as he listened for the fading steps of the soldiers. The room was not much different then the last one he had stole into, avoiding the consistant patrols. He did notice one thing though, one of the crates held a fine cloak, if not a bit weathered, among a few other personal belongings.

After snatching up the cloak and pulling up the hood, he found that it hid his pheasents cloathes in a pleasable manner, so that they were nearly unseen when he stood straight with his arms at his sides. With a satisfied grin he agan looted the crate for any other useful items. He found a few letters and a sketch of a man and a woman.

"So, captain James is it?" he whispered to himself in the dim lighting, "Sorry, you wont be needing these anymore." After gathering everything he had taken from the wooden box, he noticed an imperial knife lying at the bottom of the crate. It was a long hunting knife, its blade sharp and clean, and its scabbard adorned in silver-workings. Against his own recomendation of taking yet another imperial weapon, he hooked the weapon to his belt. Its adorning overshadowed the sword he had attained earlier and made it feel insignificant in comparison. Thrin decided that, imperial or not, he liked his new weapon.

After putting the rest of the things into the crate, he stole out of the storeroom and up the hallway, reaching another tower and glancing out the window. He was on the south side, with less of a veiw of the battle (or he wasn't looking at the battle, whatever works) and good veiw of the morning sky. He took in a breath of fresh air before continuing down the hall. It was a wonder how such a bloody battle could preceed such a beautiful morning. Perhaps it was the battle that made this seem that much more serene and welcoming. None the less, it was time to move.

When the next patrol came around, he didn't dodge out of the way. Instead he walked swiftly, yet uncertainly up to them. When they drew out their swords at his approach he had to hold back the urge to run.

"Gentlemen," he bagan slowly, "do not be alarmed. I do not come against you. I have a message for your leader, please I must see him!" He hoped that a twinge of desperation would be enough for these gaurds.

One of them snarled, "you're no messenger boy, you're an assasin!" He made a move to attack, but the other, bigger gaurd held him back.

"You don't know that! What if he brings news of enemy reinforcements or something! You would kill him and then we may suddenly be cast into a loosing battle! You are a fool if you attack this man, yet. Tell us, stranger, what news do you bring?" The mans voice was gruff and commanding, but the man was wiser then his counter-part, and more troublesome.

At the question, he could only answer truthfully. Glancing away at the ground, Thrin made his reply, "I bring news is all I can say, weather it will please your master Quarian, or force him to try and kill me, thats is his to decide."

The two gaurds were a bit more cautious now, but less fearful that this man was an assasin, the way he stared at the ground like that, and the sincerity in his tone was all but too much. He wasn't lying, they knew that, but they didn't want to simply tell him where their commander was and continue on their patrol.

The bigger gaurd was the first to put words to their thoughts, "we belive you, though I don't know how you simply got up here. Security is murder down below. However, if we simply bring you up to the ramparts we will be asked too many questions. I don't think it can be done. They will not be as kindhearted as we."

"Hmmm... you have a point, what if you didn't simply escort me up there in the way you are thinking." A grim smile came to him as he said this, he would finnaly make it up to the ramparts.

"What do you mean?" the smaller gaurd asked.

Thrin pointed at the shackles around his belt, "shackle me, and bring me up there saying that it was requested that Quarian be the one to interrogate me. When we get there you just take the shackles off and I'll talk to him. If things don't go well, then you and your freind can try and kill me. But I hope things aren't like that." He looked the larger man in the eye, "sound fair?"

"It does," they both answered in unison.

"Then give me the irons, I want this to be overwith so that bygones can be bygones."

She knew the building she was planning to jump onto was of a familiar design. It was a Legion storehouse, which meant armory. Which, of course meant that even though the building was be stuffed full of spears, swords and arrows (all nasty stuff to fall on top of), the roof would be heavily reinforced. Which meant that nothing short of a large rock hurled from a catapult would break in.

Armiena takes a quick count, then jumps over the street as a volley of arrows whistles into the ranks of raiders. She makes a solid landing.... and crashes right through the roof. It must have been savaged by termites.

Fortunately, her landing was softened by a rather large pile of hay. She lies in it for a few seconds, taking the time to remember that the Legions were not the weapons-happy barbarians that she had come to think of them as. It was a supply building, not an armory.

Armiena runs out of the storehouse, heading for the palace. Another volley of arrows clears the streets, and the invaders break formation and run for their lives. This was way too easy, even with the flames to contend with...

OOC: Gona get to the point. As it is im bored as hell at the moment. And the only way to disperse it is direct, charecter to charecter, interaction. Enjoy!

Thrin's mood was steadily getting darker. This was the moment of reckoning, either this man would decide to have a new ally or a new enemy today. The Impirum was going to burn. The hatred he harbored with them was almost too much to bear, and so must be expelled. This was a matter of vengeance.

The stone hallways would have seemed no brighter to him had they been a open to a clear sky at midday. They couldn't have seemed any warmer either. With his mood, he easily fell into the role of a captured enemy, coming to be interrogated. But when he arrived at his destination he would be the one asking the questions.

He did notice though, through his shroud of near rage, that the way to the ramparts would have taken him hours to find. It made no difference at this point. All that mattered to him was that the imperium was going to fall, and he was going to be the one to do it. He needed these people though, they were white-hot with the same vengence he felt. They had begun the revolt. They were ready to be fashioned into the blades of the rebellions order. Thrin held the armorers hammer. The time to strike was near.

Down another twisting hall they went, and up a flight of stairs. The two guards halted at a door at the top of the stairs. They both looked at each other uneasily.

"Move," Thrin commanded with a voice full of venom. They obeyed, struck to action by the poison of the mans words. Light flooded in from the doorway with a swift gust of wind as the door was opened. Outside the weather was as nice as Thrin had thought it to be, but it wasted its effort and its beauty on him. He was in the same mood he had been in a year ago, when his family was found dead and he was left with nothing. When he watched his fledgling rebellion die in the streets.

He was set to spend a good number of years in a prison afterward. But was released early because of the lack of evidence in his trial. He had to admit that the empire was stupid.

After walking a ways down the ramparts, the two guards knelt before a man. One of them unshackled Thrin and told him to bow, he couldn't tell which. He didn't pay any heed to the mans words anyway, what did it matter?

"Quarian I assume.. I have come to speak with you."

Recon Mission, moved here due to GM request.

Guards off duty blissfully snored in their chambers, as Kataiyo made his way upstairs towards the battlehall. All manor of voices could be heard. Luckilly, Kataiyo had good memory, trained from his days as Imperial spy.

Kataiyo the vocies depart and the door turn to be opened. Thinking quickly, he climbed the narrowwalls and braced himself between the gap just bellow the ceiling. As a commander emerged, Kataiyo droped his foot into the mans head and quickly slit his throat. Dragging his body away, He stripped the man of his clothing and doccuments and dressed himself as the man. Perfectly disguised in enemy colors, Kataiyo was free to search the fortress. He took war plans, showing the stretch of Soldiers. With this, the revolution might stand a chance. Kataiyo then walked swiftly, without making eye contact, toward the nearest exit. He carried all his old clothing with him.

Kataiyo had emerged, and made his way away from the burning city. However, he could not wait to find his brothers. He left towards the river, where He could be sure to find someone recognisable, but changed into his former clothing first.

Quarian saw the man before him, he was at his mercy. His shoulder had stopped bleeding but he had not the strength to pull back a bowstring or stand by himself.

"What do you want?"

A man, covered in a dark blue cloak with an unidentifiable gold insignia on the back stumbled out of some wreckage near a parapet that was smashed. The scent of burning cinders and death asails his nostrils. With a spear he shoves aside several pieces of debris. Several retreating attackers step too close and are met with throwing knives to their throats.

As the chaos swarms him between the fleeing army and broken defenders he gathers his composure. With his left hand he slowly draws back his hood to reveal a face containing years of experience. He is wearing a brown studded leather breastplate with a silver insignia etched into it. It is the shape of a serpent wrapped around a ship. Strapped across his chest is a belt housing throwing knives. At his side, sheathed, is a longsword, the handle is wrapped in black leather and the tang is the color of copper.

He notices a woman fly through the air and crash through a roof. As she starts to flee the scene he shadows her towards the palace, checking his flank for any bold attackers.

The man paused for a moment.. Almost thunderstruck, dispite his rage, he had suddenly been snapped back into reality. What on earth had he been thinking?... His rage was not at this man, but at the empire, and seeing him had broken his line of thought.

"I.. uh.." He began, not yet sure of what it was he had been thinking of saying.. Instead of speaking, he did the only thing he could think of, bow respectfully. The words began to come forth from there. "I have come by word of an alliance. You may think me foolish for coming all this way to simply talk to you, for I could have enlisted in your army. But I cannot bear the monotone of such a life. Nor could I properly vent my rage as a simple rank and file soldier... I have heard that you too have had simmilar dealings with rage, and I have come too seek your assistance."

He then stood, restored to his usual brooding mood, "I have come forth then to fufill an unholy bond." He began to draw the long imperial hunting knife, saying, "I come to you dead, and make a solemn oath..." He drew the blade along the inside of his left forearm, leaving a line of blood down the inside, then wiping the blade in it, continuing as he did so, "upon my blood, I am sworn to the lord of the dead, the foes of my order shall fall by my hand. I have pledged a hundred souls to the Keeper once before, now I pledge a hundred more to damnation. My life is forfeit until the deal is done, I stand before you a dead man, souless and unworthy of the remaining amongst the living. I plan to earn back my life... I have come to seek your aid, and provide what I can. If you will not help me then I must consider you a foe, and I will kill you henceforth... Know this as you consider my words." He punctuated 'consider my words' by returning the knife to its scabbard forcefully.

The gaurds stood back a moment, stunned by the deadly seriousness of not only his words, but his oath. They looked to Quarian impatiently, not knowing whether to restrain Thrin or to just run like hell away from the insanity of it all. Thrin only stood stone still, the anger retruned to his eyes... It was the anger the alowed him to survive, to do these things... To kill like he had done.. Only one enemy had died by his hand, at this rate it would take him many years of combat if he were only by himself... He needed help, but he did not show it. He dared not.. There was too much tension to do anything but wait for that response...

OOC: Yay! Quarian fiannly posted!! Happy day!!

OOC/EDIT: Its always fun to watch people respond to your actions with words like "mortified". And I would like to note a few things that I didn't add because of the hurry I was in... The whole slicing-the-inside-of-his-arm thing was done without breaking eye contact with Quarian. Once you make an oath in blood like that you dont often forget (or so I would assume) and he didn't need to look to do it right. Another thing is that the adrenaline rush from such an action is usually more dominant than the pain from being cut like that, meaning he wasn't flinching while it happened.. No he's pretty much dead-locked on his deathwish for the empire... Maybe you'll find out soon!!

Aseir watched as his fire scattered the last organized resistance. His gamble had paid off well, and now the invaders had been turned back and forced into retreat. But now it was time to deny them any chance to regroup and counterattack.

He turned back to address his men, and the archers held their fire, waiting for the new orders they knew were coming. "The city is ours!" he yelled to them. "Now it is time to claim our prize! Begin the advance into the city!"

His formation shifted slightly, pikemen forming a solid wedge in front of the archers. The rain of arrows paused for a moment as the archers began to guide their horses, and the whole formation began to descend into the city. In front of them, the invading force was the exact opposite of their deadly order. As row after row of soldiers advanced towards them, the invading force began to run. The somewhat organized retreat turned into pure panic as the invading soldiers abandoned discipline for a chance to save their own lives.

Armiena rushes through the streets, passing retreating guards on her way to the palace. On her way, she thought she saw a cloaked shadow following her, illuminated by a dropped torch. She places her hand on her sword, and turns.

She scans the street, but only sees the results of the battle; discarded weaponry, a couple of bodies, and rubble across the streets. A couple rows of guards pass her up, and she turns back and sprints towards the palace.

She enters the courtyard (the gate was left open for the retreating guards), and sees a man speaking to Quarian. She stands, mortified, as he watches him cut his arm while speaking. Finally, he returns his knife to its scabbard.

Everything, everybody, all life was heading towards the fortress, Its high walls illuminated by the peasants city around it burning.

Quarian looked over his shoulder, and in the distance he sees the last of the what had seemed to be unstoppable force of invaders running like sheep from a wolf. A second army, what Quarian presumed to be Alenee's was marching proudly into the city, taking a route away from the flames, also he noated as he scanned the surrounding streets: every living thing, groups of retreating mercenaries, dogs or refugees were all running towards the fortress. The battle was over, yet all were gathering towards this Fortress like flies to a torch. Suddenly screams echoed out from every ally, Quarian looked back at the man in front of him, his show of willpower had impressed Quarian. Looking back Quarian saw the source of the screams, another force had hidden itself inside the city, and managed to stay organized in the ally-ways as their bretheren were slaughtered in the open batllefield. It was as a volcanic eruption, they apeared suddenly and from every street a sllid wave of soldiers broke into the town square around the wall, The final stage.

"This can wait," Quarian said to the man before turning to an archer on the wall, "signal fire, NOW!"

The archer retreived an arrow shaft from a smouldering brazier to his right, its end was wrapped in leather stips and gave off a thick black smoke. The man drew his bowstring and fired the shaft high into the air, leaving a column of black smoke just as the Invaders smashed into the gate of the fortress. All surviving people of the nights events were inside these walls. Quarian could only hope the signal had been seen, hurrying the new arrivals pace.

Thrin grinned with malevolent satisfaction as he gazed over the walls at the chaos...

"Their tactics are impressive, better then what I had thought anyway..." He turned his back to Quarian, and now facing the door back into the keep (or the way he came) he told him, "I will return.." With that, he pushed past the smaller of the gaurds who had accompanied him this far, drawing the mans sword as he went. The same way a theif would cut a purse. Either the man didn't notice, or he didn't object, because he showed no reaction besides watching Thrin go.

Silently, Thrin was relived beyond words. Were it not for the adrenaline of it all, he would have fell down to his knees shaking violently and probably crying... It was madness.. but he had to be prepared to follow this to the end. There was no room for remorse, not after what had happened... He would never forgive the empire, it was time to exact vengeance.

Only after he had entered the tower did he realize that his arm was throbbing with pain. The cut was deep enough to draw blood, but didn't strike anything vital... He didn't even know how he had done it properly, it was almost like watching himself from the inside.. Not really controlling what he did but going on instinct... He credited it all to adrenaline and rushed down the stairs with his new weapon, which he planned on returning if the man was still alive later. He suddenly realized that he didn't know their names... Oh well, they would know him.

He continued down a path only vaugly memorized, he remembered quite clearly though the anger he'd felt as he twisted through this maze of rooms and halls. He felt the rage begin to boil again, to struggle for the surface. Thrin suppressed it, I'll need it in a moment, but not yet. Yet he couldn't suppress the memories.. What the empire had done to him was unfogivable... It sickened him to think that the empire used even the heart as a weapon against its enemies.

Along the way, he surprisingly encountered no objection to his leave. Actually, the soldiers didn't even seem to notice that there was a battle going on outside. This could not be stood for.

"Armies of the alliance!!" he shouted to all, "There is a battle below your feet!! The empire is advancing on the fortress!! Get ground level NOW! And that is an order!"

Most began to go about doing as he instructed, but one was bold enough to question, and has he approached, everyone else stopped and looked. The man was large and bulky, and clearly a leader in the pack. "Why should we listen to you? Your not a sergeant! Nor are you fit to give us orders!" The man made a point of getting his face real close to Thrin as he said this, trying to be intimidating. Thrin was only annoyed.

Worse, he was angered, he let the rage surface, boil and froth.. And then he let it go. "And who are you to question athority?! You are a paid mercinary, I can tell by your clothes, and as for a reason to do as I say," the hunting knife was already out of its scabbard, losened by the still damp blood, Thrin made his point by holding it between his and the man's faces, "this is going to be in your gut if you don't. I have no time for imbisiles like you. Do as I say, for my athority is my own, and I am governed by none."

It seemed enough for the man, having a blood soaked blade held infront of his face. And he backed off at the words. "As you command then," he said, more out of fear then out of respect. It made no difference to Thrin, following orders is the same, however you go about it, and dead is dead. Respect would be gathered over time, right now his time was devoted to other things. He took off down the next hallway as he saw everyone going to spread the word and get down to the battlefeild.

Soon he was out in the courtyard, it had taken longer then he would have liked.. But was accomplished much faster then it had been the first time. At the sight of the men still retreating he began to shout again, charging for the open gate, "Turn around!! Push back! They're coming from the streets! Don't let them take the gate!" By now he was pushing through the crowd of soldiers, still belowing his commands and trying to get them back into order. At this rate, they would all be slaughtered with their backs turned as the enemy advanced. It would be like cutting through warm butter. Not if he could help it though, he wouldn't let the alliance just be destroyed like this, not when it could be his only salvation.

As he broke the rear flank he saw that a few of the soldiers had heard him and were forming ranks as the enemy came flooding in from the streets. He compared it to a typhoon storming past a small island. He shouted again, "Turn the hell around!! NOW!! Fight for your alliance!!" He saw a few more turn, but still a lot fell back into the walls, while the doors remained open the enemy would flood in like the avalanche they were. Thrin let the rage boil at this impending doom..

And then the first enemy rank hit his own.. Bloody combat ensued.

A lance flew past his head, only dodged by a hair, as he lashed out with his broadsword at the attacker. He felt more then saw the man to his right fall to a simmilar lancing. He drew his shortsword in his left hand and slammed it into the throat of the man he had only seconds ago missed. He broght his broadsword down in an arc on top of the lancer to his right. Two down, that makes three.

Another man came up with a sword, everything was moving so swiftly that it was hard to tell what kind. A parry with the shortsword did well, but Thrin felt the blade straining, he would need a new weapon soon. None the less, he brought the deadly broadsword upwards, swinging from right to left (making a '\' cut). The cleaved body fell haplessly to the ground. Another attacker was in his place almost instantly. Thrin was forced to dodge a heavy blow from a longsword. The razor edged blade nearly claimed a lock of his hair. A shortsword was landed carfully between the mans helmet and breastplate. The blade broke.

Almost instinctivly, Thrin ducked to avoid another blow from the man behind him. He tossed the hilt of the borken blade at the mans face, catching him off guard and making him stumble back a pace. Thrin made good use of the opportunity, retrieving another sword from a man that he had felled a moment ago. With an uppercut, he in turn felled the man who had stumbled. Both of the swords glistened with blood.

Yet another attacker moved to fill the gap. His blade was swift and skillful. Thrin parried a quick trust and returned it with an overhand blow. That too, was parried. This man has skill.. This should prove interesting. The two men began exchanging blows and parries as the chaos around them continued. Thrin found that the two swords he had were well balanced together. He also noticed his opponent was young, younger then Thrin even. But he was vicious.. Like an animal almost. His blows became more varied and increased in speed as his inability to cleanly hit Thrin became apparent. Thrin was almost out of himself, the adrenaline governing his movements while his mind took note of the little things. The quality of the blade, the officers' insigna, the stain on his right sleeve, the blood on his left... Everything. Including the gap in his defence.

OOC/EDIT: I had to make a few adjustments to suit the actual situation, the empire has been destroyed and those oaths would be usless and unfufillable... so, I have made an attempt to change the direction of Thrin's anger where I could and to make refrences to the Empire more politically correct. If you find spots I missed in my last two posts (this one and the one above) then don't worry about it, just know that his anger is to his "enemies" since I no longer have a proper direction to point it at.... And to remove that anger would half destroy the charecter. Anyway, I did this in a rush if you can't tell, and I needed to make sure things were clarified.. Sorry for all the trouble.. its all my fault... lates.

Quarian looked down through the portcullis to see the young man who had confronted him, "Move! out of the way, fall back now...." Quarian yelled. The defenders fell back quickly and seemed to agree with his order. Quarian nodded to the soldier ducked behind the walls crenellations. He pulled the heavy lever next to him, using all of his strength and more as he heaved on it. At last it clicked into place and a metallic clanking reverberated from inside the wall. Wooden slabs were sliding into place to close the gate, crushing all of those unfortunate enough to be trapped between the defenders and their own army surging forth. The gate was closed but their saviors were on the outskirts of the city, only just entering the palaside wall, Quarain only hoped they would arrive in time.

A comotion started behind him as 5 young men, unarmored and very frightened emerged from the door onto the battlements, together they managed to hold up a frothing cauldron at least as heavy as two of themselves, they would wince when the boiling water inside flowed over the side and onto their hands, but they did not let go. "We won't let you down, Quarian" one said as they braced the huge cauldron of boiling water against the wall.

The steaming liquid dumped over the side of the wall, and screams were heard below before the cauldron itself fell into the ranks.

Then Quarian saw it, pushing through the ranks were men of another class, they carried latters toward the wall.

"take them out!" Quarian yelled as the archers began to fire furiously and to no avail.

A slash of Aseir's ceremonial katana removed the head of the last enemy within reach, and he found himself in the eye of the storm. Panic had driven a group of the invaders into a suicidal charge at his formation. They had lost of course, but they had not died alone. Almost a hundred of his men were dead, and many of the others were fighting wounded. And perhaps even worse, their advance had been slowed, its momentum broken. Their only hope was to overcome their lack of numbers with the shock of their attack, and if the enemy managed to buy enough time to regroup....

His attention no longer occupied by fighting, Aseir scanned the battle for his next target. Only a few invaders remained between his formation and the group attacking the mercenary fortress. And the fortress was almost in range of his longbows. A point of his sword shifted his men back into wedge formation, and Aseir descended back into Hell.

It was a sudden dissapointment to Thrin as he watched the heavy doors close infront of him. He had just barely made it inside as they slamed shut. He was satisfied though, with the screams he heard coming from out side the wall. He was sure that the young officer he had been dueling with was among the dieing. At least that was interesting, and almost funny now.

His count on his oath had reached ten, it had been even funnier watching the attackers charge the door as the defenders fell back. And as Thrin had hacked them down from behind. He almost hated the "dishonor" of such a thing, but quickly reminded himself that death had no honor, and a dead man had none, as such... And Thrin was the walking dead.

He studied the men as they began to organize. The archers above raining down volleys of arrows upon thier foes. The soldiers on the ground forming ranks and barricading doors.

An idea struck him, perhaps he should go up on the battlements and rain down a few arrows of his own.. he never was excellent with a bow, but he could work on that. It was always best to be well rounded.

As he made his way up the battlements he heard the shout to down the ladders, and began to move faster. He stoped only once to ask where he could receive a bow. But the soldier he asked didn't know, so he continued on, at least he could see what was going on up there.

He reached the top as the first of the ladders touched down, conveinently infront of him. He walked up slowly, as if on a casual stroll amidst the scrambaling defenders. With a single swift movement he cut through the rope that held the ladder to the rampart and gave it a solid shove. To his delight, the ladder fell back down with a resounding thud. He decided it would be a productive, if not fun, idea to set about dismantling the ladders.

An arrow passing through the hood of his cloak made him think twice about where he was and how he was acting. Like an idiot of course. he smiled at the prospect, the first time he had genuinly smiled in a while, and then he turned back to the task at hand. His face returned to its usual grim state. Amazing how off gaurd you can get after a little bit of satisfaction... Childish even... He toppled another ladder, watching as two men fell with it, broken with the force when they struck the ground. Then again, it has its advantages. The count is at twelve.

As defenders wailed from the parapets and fortress causeways he shifted his attention to invaders pouring over the walls like water breaking violently on a coastal cliff. Spear in hand he runs towards the battlements and joins the effort to hold back the determined foes.

A ladder clanks harshly near to where he stands. Running over he greets the first unfortunate invader with a mighty thrust of his spear through the man's torso. Pulling it back in a sharp movement he kicks the stunned man off the ladder. As the second invader ascends to the top of the ladder he drives the spear into the climber's shoulder, who drops his weapon.

While he waits for the next piece of fodder to stick its head over the wall he sees that several invaders have made the climb and are fighting on the wall with the defenders. As a mercenary is cut down he lands a throwing knife in the invader's eye, who stoops to his knees and grabs his face, screaming in agony. Poising his spear in a thrusting stance he selects an open target and charges, discharging an impressive battle cry sure to get the attention of anyone in the immediate vacinity.

His aim lands right in the neck of an invader, but to his flank an attacker charges with a sword swung over his head. One of the defending mercs clips his legs just as he is about to fell his sword on the cloaked man. Looking at his spear he noticed that the shaft splintered when it hit the gouged invader's armor. Disregarding it he immediately unsheaths his sword and joins the effort to withold the invaders who crept over the wall.

Looking out unto the mounted charge he suspects they aren't fairing much better than those within the city walls. Then he reflects, "How did I get..." His thoughts trail off as he focuses entirely on the task at hand.

After only a few minutes of toppling ladders, to his own pure delight, he began to realize that there were way too many for him to keep shoving them off.. Not compleatly unexpected, but slightly dissapointing. Yet now his attentions were focus on his immediate surroundings.

Death swirled around him like a malestrom of fury, Thrins blades arced with the currents. The balance the two weapons shared together was uncanny, like they were ment to be together. Resounding against foe blades as Thrin swirled and bobed with the dance of death. So far he had held the same two legionairs for about a minute.

Finnaly one broke his defence, leaving his stomach open to attack. A fatal move. Thrin was within the gap in only a split second. He immediatly turned from the falling warrior to parry a blow from the opposite enemy. Again, he swung the sword from the corpse of the first to render a corpse of the second. A wet 'thwack' sound announced a solid hit, and the soldier crumpled to the ground accordingly. Two more soldiers were in their place almost immediatly.

Thrin began to wonder why he was the only one attacking these people, where the archers were, but he didn't dare look, and instead focused on the battle at hand. Again, he claimed another soul for the Keeper of the dead. He felt almost invulnerable as he dodged left and weaved right, ducking and parring (sp?) blows as fast as the came. A thrust shot past him, barely skimming his shoulder, but it was enough to remind him of his mortality.

A splintering pain shot through his arm almost instantly. As he crumpled to the ground he had only enough time to slay his attacker. An archer saw what happened and rushed over to help, hacking into one of the enemy as he came, sending the man toppling over the rampart. He put a hand defensivly on Thrin's uninjured shoulder as he bade his sword into a gap in anothers defense.

"Are you alright?" He shouted above the unending noise.

The question struck Thrin with anger, not at the man, but at his own helplessness... It would not end, not like this, and not this soon...

"Only a fleshwound, cover me for a second," Thrin was already bandaging his arm with a strip of cloth he ripped from a fallen mans clothing. He pulled the knot tight and tested the arm, quickly, for he dared not to leave himself open for long. His blades were back up in short order. And this time only the all-consuming rage dominated his thoughts. He fought like a deamon fresh out of hell, guided by primal instinct and will to survive. He started to create more gaps then he looked for, adding more kills to his roster.

Seventeen, counting the men that died on the ladders.

OOC: The "archer blocks" are crenellations,MDRud.

And I thought this battle was over....Armiena grimaces as she sees another company besieging the palace. At least they don't have siege equipment... A couple of seconds later, a ladder makes it to her position at the wall, and a trooper scrambles up it, not knowing death was upon him.

The first man up always dies, Armiena thinks as she stabs her dagger through his helmet. In an instant, the man's eyes roll up in his head, and his muscles seize up. Armiena kicks back the ladder, and several troops fall to their deaths against the wave of attackers. For good measure, she throws a torch down to the ladder.

The wood quickly catches fire, and the soldiers shy away from it, trying to avoid the flames. Armiena looks up to see another approaching army. She's about to be resigned to fight to the death, when she recognizes the blue and grey of the nation of Habassa. At last, Alenee had come with reinforcements.

The ladders were popping up too rapidly, Quarian saw the archers falling backwards over the wall and into the fortress. It was looking bad, then suddenly it became a lot worse. A soldier had managed to make it up the latter had opened the gate beofre a mercanery cut his head off. Invaders poured through, slaughtering every refugee down below...ma woman and child. Alenee was still blocks away...

Aseir's formation finally broke free of the invading horde and into a clear field in front of the fortress. Now the last remains of the invading army were within range of his longbows. As the last opposition died on his men's pikes, he slowed his advance and turned back to address his soldiers.

"Set pikes and stand your ground here! All archers, fire at will! And NO QUARTER!"

His last words were almost burried by the yells of agreement as his archers released their arrows. The first shots slammed into the back ranks of the invaders who had just breached the fortress walls. The entire rear of the formation collapsed into panic as they tried desperately to react to the new threat. But for many, it was too late as the second wave of arrows claimed their lives.

Now caught in a deadly trap, a wall of pikes blocking one way out, a fortress of mercenaries blocking the other, and a rain of arrows in the middle, the invaders hesitated a few fatal seconds too long. The third wave of arrows were aimed at the ladders, their stationary climbers little more than helpless targets. Barely a third of the targets survived, and the collapse of the ladders cut even more holes in the unfortunate formations below.

Thrin brought his blade up over his head, blocking a powerful blow from one of the ladder-men. It occured to him that there were two 'clangs' with that strike. He brought around his other sword and planted it halfway down the blade in the mans stomach. He glanced below with a pause in the almost-constant chaos. Invaders were flooding through the breech, slaughtering refugees by the thousands..

He remembered then, the things they had done, the lost empire they were now locked in combat over. He remembered the oaths.. He remembered the blood.. It all came to him like a rushing tunderstorm of thoughts and feelings.. He used the thoughts to channel his rage then like a lightning rod would channel electricity. He used it to fuel himself to sudden, bold, highly destructive action.

Time seemed to wane, streach on to an infinite eternity of pause.. He knew only a second or so had passed, but he saw the events as if they were in slow motion... And then he saw them again and again, like a tape that just keeps getting replayed over and over in his mind. He saw the swords arch up, and fall... The blood.. He looked to his own blades.. And the blood... Nothing seemed real..

Then its started again in a sudden burst. Action, reaction. Thrin saw what was happening below, and deemed it evil, therefore he set out to stop it. He looked out, half way across the rampart was the lever, a good sprint.. Almost impossible to reach under the fighting. It didn't make a difference, dead men held no bounds.

He began to hack through the enemy on the battlements with vengence. There seemed to be no good in this world, no army that was fighting for a just cause. Except the one he was fighting for... They were saving the innocents, not slaying them.

His blade again contacted flesh, tearing a wound in the unfortunate victim. He fell, and Thrin charged over him to attack the next. This time his foe was off gaurd, and took the blade well in the back of the neck. The man fell like a sack of grain. Again Thrin charged forward into melee. Intent on reaching that lever and cutting off the enemy advance. He hadn't made much progress.

A shift in the battle caught Aseir's attention. The gates had been opened, but the flow of soldiers was moving the wrong way... And a few men were trying against impossible odds to close it again. Time to even those odds, he thought as he lit and drew back a signal arrow...

"All archers, hit that gate force!" he yelled as he release the arrow to land right in the middle of the attacking mob. The four hundred arrows that followed it tore the attacking group apart.

Arrows flew, swords clanged, the battle was at its climax, a turning point. A mercanery pulled with all his strength on the lever, consequently locking the gears into place that allowed 4 ton counterweghts to fall, pulling the gate shut and smashing all invaders in its way. The mercenary fell down over the battlements with his murderers blade still in him.

As one the entire invading force just stopped and looked around. Inside the fortress walls the invaders were trapped amidst a mob of refugees and the archers above with their bowstrings drawn.

Those on the outside, pinned against the wall and an advancing line of pikes.

It was over, so many lives and the sweat, the blood and the rage had just ended. For a moment the only sound was the exhausted gasps and panting of nearly every soldier and the ambient crying of a child from somewhere in the mob of refugees.

Quarian stood for his first time in a while and yelled: "take prisoners! kill all who resist..."

All that was left of the armada that attacked the grand city of Galor was less than 300 men, and they were divided by a 35 foot high wall. Those inside the fortress were arrested immediatly and easily by the soldiers, a sum of 48 had been inside and all were taken peacfully. A tension rose in the air once again, those on the outside became restless and Quarian feered a last stand. Even men outnumbered 4 to 1 can acheive victory against their foes if they are determined...

Too far away and too busy with more important concerns, Aseir never heard Quarian's orders. And events inside the fortress were out of his sight. The surrender and victory were hidden from him, his only view of the battle was of the still dangerous mob outside. So his archers continuted to fire, targeting any active threats they could find.

And even if he had heard, he would have ignored the orders anyway. For the destruction of the city and the countless innocent victims, there could be only one punishment. The archers carried out Aseir's "no quarter" order with deadly efficiency. By the time the last archers stopped firing, not a single invader stood outside the fortress.

Finally, Aseir and his men could relax. The battle had been won, their desperate gamble had paid off. Aseir leaned back in his saddle and felt some of the fatigue leave him. Around him, his men lowered their weapons and began a slow advance into the fortress to claim their victory. Blue and gray flags were hung from the points of raised pikes as they approached. The battle flags had been lost far back along with their bearers, and the soldiers saw it as a point of pride to replace them. Flanked by a pair of flag bearers, Aseir rode ahead of the main group and through the gate to meet the defenders inside.

Aseir was met by not a proud and dilegent army, but rather a mob of dirty refugees, many were women holding babies that were covered in a ash dust from the burning homes. Children looked out on the army that stood in the entrance to the fortress with envy, and confusion. In front of these onlookers countless corpses lied in pools of their own blood, Aseir notes a small child, not more than seven summers old knealing by his fallen mother, her mouth locked in the scream from the point of death.

Being led into the keep he sees another dirty and depressed group leading prisoners into the hall. From the battlements the last forty archers crawled down the latters and stood with the victors. From amongst them Quarian emerged and confronted Aseir with a stern apearence. The only visible hint of his agony was the dirty, blood-stained cloth wrap bound tightly around his shoulder.

"thankyou..."

Thrin could hardly stand.. He pulled his blade from the soldier he had most recently slain as the call to take prisoners was made. He fell to a knee.

The adrenaline rush had kept him going for a long time through that battle, the anger pushing him the rest of the way.. Now the fatigue of it all was crushing. He braced himself against his sword blade.

Darkness was creeping in on his sight. He was bitterly holding on, trying to stay awake... But at last he failed. He past out on the rampart right before the man he had just killed.

A nearby archer came in to help, thinking Thrin to be injured. Looking him over the man noticed Thrin only to be sleeping. He remembered again how he had fought to hold the men on the ladders off. The dead men killed by his blades were strewn around him, frayed by the fury.

Sighing, the archer reluctantly decided to move Thrin to a more suitable resting spot. A bed perhaps.

It took three men to get Thrin in the door way to the soldiers quarters, as his body was almost ridged in his sleep. When they set him down, exausted from the long trip, he rolled comfortably in his sleep, gathering the blankets around himself. One of the soldiers commented that he looked like a child sleeping there, they wouldn't have been surprised if he had started sucking his thumb.

Armiena sheathes her sword, and realizes that she's shaking from adrenaline letdown. It had been a very long time since she had fought in a real battle, much less without armor.

She descends from her position on the wall, and stumbles to her knees. It was a very long day.......

She gets back up, and sees Quarian speaking to an unknown Habassan soldier at the gate. That's not Alenee! What's going on here? Somewhere in the back her mind, Armiena realizes that's she's asked herself that question about 20 times in the last few hours.

Vengul noted the sudden shift in favorable circumstances towards the defending mercenaries. However, the barage of arrows inflicted casualties on both sides as men opposed the invaders pouring over the walls. The battle in the field appeared won. Yet the skirmish on the ramparts was dense.

He used any means to clear a path to a ladder so he could chop down invaders as they ascended over the wall. He wailed at nearby defenders to assist in his effort, making way to a group of ladders that were not cut down.

While several defenders engaged some invaders that managed to succeed the risky climb Vengul darted straight for the ladders themselves. Slicing through invaders as their unfortunate initiative was greeted with a swift death Vengul bought enough time to relieve the ramparts of one ladder. Which to his amusment and delight fell onto the invaders below. Two. Three. Four ladders pushed off the wall; the ramparts were greatful for his effort to release their weight from its structure. So were the men. With a new morale and intensity that can only be driven by apparent victory they swept the remaining invaders from the wall like a broom whiping up dust as a result of sweeping the floor; only the dust was the shower of enemy blood on experienced armor and men.

The storm was dissipating on the wall; there were still a handful of invaders to greet.

The smell of blood and sweat mixed reminded Vengul of his days as a Raider from the far eastern waters. For a moment he tried to remember what compelled him to leave. His thoughts were interrupted by an invader who broke the defending ranks of mercenaries. Vengul administered a rageful blow unto the lad that sliced his eyes and cracked the bridge of his nose. Jelly poured from his eye sockets followed by streams of blood...then the screaming. The satisfaction of making this insect suffer alluded to the instinct that he avenged the interruption of his thoughts by the assailant.

However, he could not easily return to his contemplations; there were matters that required his effort. Though the ladders had been abolished their affect was resonating from the cries of pain and shock by mercenaries who made the critical error in combat.

"Kill them before they kill you," the thought suddenly assaulted his whole body to swell with anticipation as three invaders marked his head all at once. The thought slowly faded away as though it were a sentence written on a blackboard whose contents scattered via a forceful gust of wind. By the time the blackboard was clear of the message Vengul stood over three dead invaders.

As the remaining invaders were cracked, thrown, or pummeled to death Vengul took time to take from his side a canteen of water and splash its cool contents into his mouth. This introduced his mind to new ideas about battle as he studied the wounds of the three dead invaders that challenged him. Gulping this moment of serenitity among the chaos as he had done with the water to his thirst, Vengul absorbed the handle of his sword into his essense, waiting again for scattered blackboard contents to produce dead invaders.

(OOC: Read about my character in the sign-up sheet...btw, after today, i'll be away until the 22nd)

"Left...Left...Left, Right, Left...Left...Left...Left, Right, Left, Right, Left, Right, Left...Left..."

Julius had been on the march for almost five hours now without a break. His entire regiment was hastily being marched towards the Imperial Capital and the men had been told to expect huge numbers of well-armed experienced soldiers to fight against. This surprisingly lifted the spirits of the regiment instead of depressing them, the entire regiment was elite, all of its soldiers were veterans of many campaigns against such enemies but they were not as prepared to go and put down a rebellion as they were both unfamiliar with a rebel army's disorganised behaviour and they were vulnerable to its guerilla tactics.

Julius, the soon-to-be captain, looked around at his regiment. He smirked to himself as he knew that soon, some of these men would be under his command. His feet ached from the long march and he knew that they would not be stopping for another hour at least but he was happy nevertheless. Just the thought of going into combat, killing those who opposed the Emperor, and of course getting promoted to become a commissioned officer made him happy. So, he blocked out the pain, and thought about the honours he would receive as soon as he goes into combat, in approximately a week's time.

After a short time, Thrin began to toss and turn in the bed. His sleep had become restless, and his dreams were disturbing...

He woke with a start, dripping in a cold sweat. It was dark.. Or so it seemed.. His eyes began to focus on the sudden rush of light.. His dream ran over and over in his mind, trying to burn itself in his mind as if it were something important. Almost as if some hidden truth gathered itself into the picture and sound.. Like some kind of masquerading (sp!! I know thats not right) prophesy. An empty whisper of shadowy figures lost to the void of darkness.

When he could finnaly see again, he couldn't remember even the last few moments. Though he knew it had been clear in his mind only a moment before. Now it was but a fleeting memory, lost to the winds of thought. he struggled to bring back the dream, he knew it was somehow vital, but he couldn't even remember why.

Finnaly recovered from the rest, yet a bit shaken by the dream, Thrin set about assesing his wounds from the previous battle. His left arm still stung, and he had been resting on it apparently. He realized that he was still piss tired, the battle had been the fiercest he had ever fought, and the fatigue was equaly so.

He checked the makeshift bandages he had acumulated in the chaos, they needed to be changed, and he should have a poultice put on some of his injuries.

Thrin glanced around, looking for his weapons. It took him a moment to find them, stacked in a neat pile by the other soldiers gear. He made the bed and left the room, again holding his two swords, and his hunting knife belted around his waist. He settled into his brooding mood, remembering that he and Quarian had some unfinished business.

He counted hallways, exits, soldier locations, and other useful things like armories while he passed through the webway of passageways, heading for the nearest medic. The soldier he had asked about it seemed freindly enough now, but should things go sour he may not be so freindly. Still.. Thrin was more relaxed then usual, after meeting Quarian on the battlements he had sensed that things wouldn't turn out so bad.

Or so he hoped.

The count is at 26, I dont need my 27th to be a possible ally.

OOC/EDIT: Sry again all, I fixed this post now, should say "After a short time," instead of "After a few hours,". Again, you have my apologies.

plz don't skip ahead "a few hours" when their is an important time sensitive event going on like the conversation between Quarain and Aeiser. It really screws things up, and Peregrine, disregard the hour skip and make your post as a a few hours earlier post.

My bad... Sorry about that, it was kind of a half standstill... The Chunky Moose dude posted and then it was all empty...

And to be honest I didn't think I left the "After a few hours," in there.. But oh well, its said and done now. If you want.. you can disregard the whole post. It makes no difference to me, I can do something different later..

You all have my sincerest of apologies, and I will detain you no longer.

That errie, dense silence indicative of the denoument of battle seeps into Vengul's pores. Taking one knee he wiped his blood spattered sword off on the exposed shirt of a dead invader. On the ramparts, mercenaries tend to the wounded and gather up un-splintered weapons and seemingly useful armor from fallen comrades or nameless invaders.

Vengul notices the conference taking place beneath him near the front gates of the city. He hastily swigs away the remainder of his water and finds a spear, lodged into the torso of a mercenary, and replaces the one splintered so soon after he joined the fray.

As the conference continues he strains his ears to make out what they're saying while combing over hordes of dead bodies, foregoing the putrid smell of bile and exposed flesh bubbling with blood for the hope that a valuable prize will be uncovered. He pockets the small amounts of gold that some invaders had stowed away under their armor; he feels like a petty thief but when he realizes how much he's gathered he feels slightly better knowing he'll be in bed with a full stomach and a mistress.

Not realizing how much time passed, hours it seems, the sudden flood of how badly he needs to urinate makes him feel like a relic hunter who has unexpectedly triggered a trap that will cause their doom. He drops his pants and relieves himself on the wall, which for so long he has taken such care and self risk in defending. He can't help but feeling slightly guilty, as though he's pissing on a holy site.

Once he finishes he makes his way off of the wall, giving shoulder pats to defenders as he descends. When his feet touch solid earth he looks back up to the ramparts. It seems like a different reality yet to get from it only took about 30 steps.

I can never go back, he confides to himself as he approaches the gate, consumed by majesty.

As Aseir looked around the inside of the fortress, new hatred filled his mind. The enemy that had murdered so many innocent people couldn't be human. He'd known losses had been bad, of course, but nothing had prepared him for the sight of so many dead victims. And if this was "victory", what would have happened if they had lost? The thought sent a chill beyond fear of death through him...

After a few moments of silence, Aseir finally turned back to reply to Quarian, the strain of battle finally showing in his expression. "This won't be the end you know...." He looked back at the ruins of the city for a moment. "They won't stop at one city. Gather your senior officers and find us a private place to talk. We're too late for these people, but we can not let mourning delay our defense of the rest of the Empire."

He walked away towards his waiting officers, losing himself in planning the details of guard duties.

Noticing that Quarian is addressed by a man who appears to assume authority over the mounted relief Vengul strides up the Quarian.

"What's to be done with the dead? They can't be left to decay and spread disease," he catches himself, "Forgive me, I'm Vengul a Raider from the Eastern waters."

He pauses, waiting for a reply.

Finally, it appeared that the battle was over, and Armiena was largely unscathed, except for a badly scratched-up back (from the storehouse roof), and being covered with black, dusty soot.

She goes scavenging around the Palace, and just ignored Quarian and the Habassan captain while they talked at the gate. Details could wait for later. She prods through the battle's dead, searching for intact armor, until she's met with a gruesome surprise. She trips on a body, and curses at herself at being so foolish. Then, she hears movement.

An Imperial soldier weakly grasps his broadsword, trying to attack Armiena despite his wounds. He lets his sword fall through his fingers, and she sees his wound. An arrow protuded through his neck, grazing his throat and spinal column. It was a minor miracle that he was still alive at all.

Armiena kicks his sword away, and pulls him up. She pulls off his helmet, and prepares to break his neck. She asks "Want me to?", and the soldier weakly nods, beyond speech, already slipping into shock.

She snaps his neck, and takes his armor off, claiming it for her own.