[center][b]Bruma Castle Interior[/b][/center]

[i][b]"I would be most pleased if you could announce to the local community of the terrors that plague use down south, and give them what I cannot at present."[/b][/i]

Eugain nodded quickly. This was the least he could do- his own job. Though he had been in Bruma only a short time before the events in the Imperial City took place, he felt that he knew the men and women of the city well enough to empathize with them. This was no light news to carry, and a heavy load indeed to pass to the shoulders of the people, but it was [i]necessary.[/i] With this knowledge, the men and women of the city could do as they please, be it take up arms or flee north across the border.

"It will be done." He turned to the Count. "I could use a hand gathering the people of the city; I alone have not the power to gather them all in one place. It would be a great help if you could use your powers to assist me in mustering them. I would like to inform the people as soon as possible." He stroked his chin in thought. "In this way, it would be easiest to carry out the Legate's plan. With all the people of the city informed at once, those that would escape would attempt to do so immediately, giving themselves away."

Eugain's mind began to churn. In what way would he word this? How could he bring the people to understand, but to still grasp onto the hope they had within their hearts as men and mer? It was indeed a task, perhaps the most difficult Eugain had ever been assigned. But from the Legate and the Count themselves, such a task... It was an honorable thing. Eugain knew that he must perform without fail. 

"I will begin preparation at once, m'lords." He bowed deeply to the Count, and to the Legate. "If you would so kindly excuse me. My lodgings are in the chapel. You may find me there." He turned hurriedly and made his way out of the castle, in stride towards the Chapel of Arkay, the weight of his new task bearing down upon him...

[center]**********[/center]
[center][b]Bravil[/b][/center]

Do'Ja knew what was coming the moment he heard the chaos. The screams of bloodthirsty men running rampant across the streets, slaying those who were unfortunate enough to be within their path. From the small slat in the window of the abandoned house he now crouched in, Do'Ja believed them to be Blackwood Company from what he could see. [i]"Rapacious fools,"[/i] he thought to himself. He never was a fan of the Blackwood Company and their underhanded tactics. He knew them to be incessantly greedy, which meant that no matter the dilapidated state of the home he was in now, it would soon be ransacked for what little valuables there may be left lying around.

Like clockwork, it was not moments later that the door came crashing down. In its stead, a hefty Argonian clad in expertly crafted heavy armor with stripes of red war paint spattered across his face. The blade in his hand was stained with fresh blood, dripping to the cobblestone floor below. He immediately caught sight of Do'Ja, turning to face him with a voracious grin. He stepped forward brandishing the sword in front of himself menacingly. Do'Ja stood quickly, his fists clenched tight and his hands held in a fighting position.

"Too bad, little kitten," the Argonian said. "Wrong place. Wrong time. Today, you will die!" With a hoarse yell the assailant leapt forward, thrusting the sword forward in a jab towards Do'Ja's gut. Do'Ja quickly opened his hands, pivoting on his right front foot to swing around forty-five degrees. As he turned, he slapped the hilt of the blade with a metallic clang, sending it tumbling from the Argonian's hand. The marauder stumbled but quickly regained his balance, turning to face the Khajiit, his expression contorting with rage. 

Do'Ja stepped forward slowly, a smile forming on his face. As he did, he removed his now-slashed leather gloves to reveal a pair of gauntlets the likes of which the marauder had never seen before. Slatted with fine steel plates, the only skin exposed were the fingertips, allowing for Do'Ja's well-honed claws to poke through. The Argonian grit his teeth, charging forward once more to strike at the cocky Khajiit with his fist. Do'Ja stepped forward, reversing his stance, catching the marauder's arm in a vice. Using his momentum, Do'Ja swept his legs from underneath him, slamming him straight into the stone below. It cracked and crumbled beneath the force of the blow, leaving a small indentation in the shape of the bandit that lay there now. The air forced from his lungs all at once, the Argonian trembled slightly as he struggled to stand, gasping for air.

Do'Ja wasted no time. He would finish this now. He straddled the Argonian who was on all fours struggling to get up, and quickly placed one hand over the Argonian's mouth and the other at the top of his skull. The bandit struggled, but the previous blow left his muscles devoid of the strength to fend off Do'Ja.

The Khajiit grinned. "This one fancies himself a Dragon," he purred. "It is a shame he is nothing but a newt." 

With a crunch, Do'Ja twisted the Argonian's skull, snapping his neck and allowing him to fall limp to the floor. He stood, brushing the dust of combat from his clothes, and peered out the window quickly.

He knew there was more bloodshed to come. The city was now truly in grave danger. He would have to be careful in his escape. . .