[i][color=bc8dbf]Clouds the shade of coin loomed over blackened fields. Rolling hills of shriveled grass thrashed in the furious wind, cracking into a dark dust that looked and smelled of death clung near the land. The macabre haze hovered as far as the eye could see in all but two realms. Though the deathly wilds spread far and wide they dare not encroach upon the fertile soil surrounding the City of Akatosh. Blood of dragons and daedra alike soaked deep, sprouting vibrant green upon the land and natural blue above it. In spite of such resilient beauty golden clouds gathered especially thick across the blackened fields from the City. Here the dark dust collected into a grim pillar drifting ever higher into the sky. Each time black plumes met gold clouds there was a rumble and lightening and a bit more of the greenery gone. Hundreds marched glinting in the light of the golden clouds across the blackened fields to draw the lightening closer. In there way stood three warriors.

"Three days, I'd say. Three days," repeated the captain, cocky and confident.
"We shan't survive this alone," warned the noble, somber and bleeding. 
"Thrice you have proven a help," mourned the knight, broken and spiritless.[/color]

The Redguard arrived unwashed and caked in dust. This was not how one gained an audience with the Count of Meir Thorvale. The Redguard brought warnings and stories of war and wore fresh scars yet, he must wait. Meir Thorvale of meager population, the Craven Count of likewise repute. To wait would be to learn. To wait would be ponder the dead. To wait would be to eat a little more sugar to quiet and to forget.

[color=bc8dbf]Gold and black bled above and the skies tore. A blinding light shot down from the heavens, striking a hole from which the City of Akatosh bled. Children poured from out the city and played upon the fertile soil. They could not smell the death or see the haze. Hundreds marching beneath the golden cloud made way for the hole in the city. The captain rode his warhorse into the fray with a red banner in one hand and a steel sword in the other. The captain cut a swath in the shimmering army until once more the skies tore and lightening struck. And so the captain fell from his warhorse onto the blackened field and under the boots of the hundreds, all the while repeating, "Three days, I'd say. Three days." The noble rode his stallion into the swath with his own banner in one hand and an ornate sword in the other. The noble slowed the vigor in the shimmering army until twice more the skies tore and lightening struck. And so the noble too fell from his stallion onto the blackened field and under the boots of the hundreds, all the while warning, "We shan't survive this alone."  [/color]

The Redguard waited a fortnight. When the audience was granted the Count of Meir Thorvale welcomed the Redguard with expectations for indebtedness, thankfulness, and general appreciation for such an expedited meeting. The Redguard wore a suit of plate and war paint as he would on the field of battle. He recounted the struggles for Cyrodiilic lands, the lives lost for freedom from the Dominion. The Count of Meir Thorvale would hear none of it. The Count replied as the southern Jarls of Skyrim had, although with apathy far less earned. Faced with yet more rejection and distracted by the sugar, the Redguard let loose. Slanders and accusations and threats filled the hall and a small fight broke out. Faces were bloodied. Counts offended. The Redguard arrested. He was stripped of his armour and his things and thrown into a cramped cell. He crossed his legs and sat in meditation as the days passed and his beard grew. The Redguard meditated for a fortnight.

[color=bc8dbf]The knight rode his colt into the swath of the slowed army a letter in one hand and a broadsword in the other. The knight killed many in the shimmering army until thrice more the skies tore and lightening struck. And so the knight fell from his colt onto the blackened field as a child, a young man really, leaped into the air and caught the strike in the heart. The knight held the young man with the blackened hole in the heart and mourned, "Thrice you have proven a help."[/color]
[/i]

Crisp air of a dying winter filled his lungs and cleansed his mind. When the shackles fell from his wrists Faruq opened his eyes, perhaps for the first time in nearly two weeks. A blanket of white shined bright atop every home, shop, and field in Meir Thorvale. Yet, the beauty passed as blood and fire fouled the air. Faruq watched a man empty a woman's stomach and an altmer light a building ablaze. An orc of unholy stature plucked a fat sack of gold from the road like nothing at all. He scanned his eyes over the disappointing display, then rose and walked slowly to retrieve his things.

Faruq thought on the situation as he dressed. The others appeared to represent a broad range, some visibly disturbed, others by all accounts average. His eyes lingered upon the orc who mumbled something with deep pleasure on the way to the road. Orismer came in all shapes and sizes, but this one boasted such intimidating stature that he imagined guards shouting of drakes by mistake. Otherwise, Faruq noticed an imperial with hair the colour of her people's banners and a sword larger than he would ever care to wield. She looked hardened and moved quickly to assist the healer among them. His eyes stayed with her, noticing her watchful eye and confidence in every step. Faruq lifted his buckler last and began toward the imperial.

"Mind yourself, girl. Might aff to put you down," a bandit scolded a girl running from near the burning house. The rough looking breton grabbed her by the hair, jerking her backward onto the ground. "Aye, bit young, cute though. Paps I keep yuh, aye?" 

Without breaking his gait, Faruq shifted direction toward the bandit. His pace sped, he pulled his chain-mail hood tight, and he drew his bone-handled sword. The bandit stood with his back to the knight. Faruq pommeled his shield twice, only just earning the bandits attention as he neared. Honour stipulated he wait for a weapon to be raised and the bandit did not disappoint. As the girl rolled herself away from the them, the bandit unsheathed an iron blade. By now a portion of the other raiders paused their raping and pillaging to see the next move. Faruq looked over them, a horde, and then to the girl, who by then had scrambled to her feet ran out to the road.

[color=bc8dbf]"Oops,"[/color] the knight seemed to announce, feigning sincerity like a disinterested sload.

Faruq sheathed his sword and thought against joining the imperial. The bandit cursed, but did not strike. Silent, the knight stepped back and paid a shallow bow until the raiders returned to their work. He might hate to think of the fate Meir Thorvale, a fate brought on by yet another fool, but one sword could only accomplish so much. He shan't survive this alone. Faruq upon the imperial once more before making his way to the others awaiting on the road.