Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-3293219-20160311230436/@comment-5543592-20160314195144

Crimson felt a slight pang as Crasher, the one-eared Altmer, died. He'd recently gotten better at forcing the pain and guilt away, but he still felt something when men died for him. He couldn't focus on that now however, people were trying to kill him!

He told himself it was just another name for the list.

Crimson motioned them back with a second, different birdcall; although such a thing was unnecessary, given he only had two men now. The Keshik were no good on foot and in a melee. Being a horse archer, no matter how skilled, translated little to swordfighting. Bloodbath, the large muscled Nord with a scarred face and patchy hair, could handle himself, but he was more a street-tought than a real soldier. So he warded his men off, leaving himself to face his oncoming opponants.

Crimson glanced as the Bosmer approached. He drew his sword--a graceful, curved weapon of pure ebony, in definite contrast with the plainness of his bow--and held the blade awkwardly, as if he was unskilled with it.