Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-5543592-20150615234235/@comment-5583506-20150616154307

When Arngrim arrived at camp his men saluted him with raised swords and cheering.

They treat me as if I was some bloody High King, he remarked before sitting off Tyrannion. ''But I am not... nor am I a lord... The king made sure of that...''

His left hand ached as usual, moreso now after having seen the bonfire they made out of the bandits' camp. It shook uncontrollably. He had a habit of taking small doses of pulverized deathbell to stop the shaking before a battle, in order to keep his shield steady. Too much of the herb would kill him though.

"You are in pain, my lord", said Mystara and sat off her horse. "Allow me to heal you."

When she reached for his hand, he pulled it back. "No magic", he growled.

"My lord, if you would just let me..."

"I said no magic, dammit, and I meant it."

The mage sighed. Whenever her commander had made a decision, not even a hundred men could persuade him to do otherwise. She couldn't blame him for beings so reserved against mages though. A renegade wizard  had scorched his hand with magical flames and robbed him of any chance for a normal life. But the Bull had payed the wizard in kind, by burying the edge of his greataxe in the man's skull.

"What's our current situation, my lord?" asked one of the men.

"The bandits at the western camp outside of Helgen have all been utterly destroyed", said Arngrim. "We lost five of our own in the surprise attack. But at least now the southern roads are fifty-six bandits safer. Should be enough for any armies of Skyrim to march undisturbed towards the real war."

A thought came to him. "Has there been any words regarding the Orcs?"

The warrior bit his underlip. "There has been... some reports... A rider rode all day and all night just to give words of a massive force of Orcs heading for Chorrol in Cyrodiil."

"Cyrodiil is not of our concern", stated Arngrim coldly. "What of Skyrim? The western borders?"

"According to the last report we received from the borders, there was some... activity going on there. Something big could very well be happening."

The Bull grinded his teeth as he considered the possibilities.

Always with the grinding, reflected Mystara.

"Ready the men", he instructed. "We will ride through the night and set up camp outside of Falkreath by dawn. If the Jarls of Skyrim know anything about leadership, they will send whatever troops they can muster... to whatever end..."

Elda awoke quite violently when she noticed that she had inhaled some water through her nose. She coughed and gagged and tried to sneeze it out. She must have fallen asleep. Her body had gone almost numb from the seeping coolness of the water.

She heaved herself onto the grassy shore and spat out the last of the water with some strenuous effort. She then walked over to the rock where she had put her clothes. They still weren't quite dry from the shipwreck, if anything they were moist, and she couldn't afford to fall ill due to some common cold. She gathered her clothing in a bundle under her arm and only used her brown cloak to wrap around herself.

She then returned to the camp where she found that Tiberius had lit a campfire. "I see that you managed to a get a fire going, at the very least", she shrugged.

She laid her clothing around the fire, to make them dry faster. She then sat down by a nearby rock and wrapped her brown cloak around herself tightly, trying to preserve as much heat as she could.

"So, what's your story? I take it that you didn't kill Necromancers just for the sheer thrill of it?"