If today was like the weeks before, Felix would probably be comfortably tucked inside his bedroll. But the tired group was alert right now, if from not excitement then anxiety. For some of the mercenaries, it would be their first battle. Within these new bloods, some would experience their last. If their patrols this week taught them anything, it was that fighting the Forsworn could never be a clean fight. Just routine guard watch could be lethal, there's no tell what kind of casualty a fortified camp could inflict. Fortunately, Daelin and his scouts would do their best to prod for openings.

"Take your pick," Ashav said. He stepped down from the crate so the lead scout could perch on it as a vantage point.

"It'll be Utu-ja, Keegan and uh, Jorwen." After examining the raised hands, Daelin wasn't left with too many choices. He had to pick three from less than ten, and not many of them suitable for the upcoming excursion. The three selected were qualified in their own fields; a warrior, a mage and a marksman. A balanced party is not a specialized one, but they were not were not expecting any specialized engagements. They have only the faintest idea of what to expect, so more talents equate to more ways out of trouble.

"You three and the three scouts from this afternoon, come to my tent after this." Concluded Daelin. He wasted no time freeing up the crate for Ashav. It was kind of absurd for the wooden box to be used as a makeshift stage, not so different from children playing make believe games. Practically, on the other hand, took high priority of wood and carpenters, where skilled woodworkers such as Tennant were busy crafting barricades and shields instead of a proper platform. Keegan himself had a bit of knack for woodworking, but compared to trained hands like the Imperial wrestler, his work paled as a novice. He had the opportunity to browse some of Tennant's handiwork; no doubt about it, Tennant's products echoed the aesthetics of Elsweyr. The Imperial's last name was of Ta'agra origin too, so his Khajiitti styled woodwork must be novelties serving to remind him of his connection to Elsweyr. Speaking of novelties, Ashav himself found strange comfort in this particular crate; it became some sort of lucky charm. Ashav once told onlookers around the campfire, that surviving all those decades tend to foster superstitious beliefs. Whether that be the Daedra or made up nonsense, people like Ashav have to find reason in order to cope with the unknown.

Keegan though, rarely associated his luck with objects. Weapons are weapons, tools are tools, all of which would require living hands to wield them. As an alternative, he found himself obsessed with patterns; the ways objects and people interacted with each other. It was the reason behind his successful (and occasionally, failing) career. Magicka, people and the environment all give out hints when they move and shift. It was how he kept his illusions real during performances, how he outmaneuvered thieves in the back alleys and how he kept his guards up during dangerous patrols; paying attention to patterns. Clearly, the pattern would soon be destruction. Keegan saw it before in Hammerfell, tension before the battle was always the highest, for a single detail in planning could change countless lives during its execution.

"Listen carefully," Ashav announced. He had retook his position on the crate. Towering slightly even above the tallest mercenary, the Redguard had a scroll in one hand while the other held a canteen. Ashav took short pull for the canteen, and wiped several water drops from his chin before talking. "Our attack will commence in four hours, the time known to sailors as nautical twilight. The horizon will be illuminated, but land is still dark without contrasting the sky. Since our opponents have the high ground, we will use lighting to even the odds." 

"Now, we'll be divided into two sections; a flanking group and the main assault." Looking down to the scroll at hand, Ashav started to reveal their tactics. "Edith and I handpicked twelve of you for the flank. She and the twelve will attempt to infiltrate an abandoned mining tunnel underneath the redoubt. For the rest, you will follow Dumhuvud up the main path, where you will breach their gate and defeat anyone unwilling to surrender." 

"We all know how stubborn these Forsworn could be, and how difficult it is to kick down their wooden planks." Ashav smirked, as if he was hiding an ace during a card game. At this time, the same runner that delivered patrol orders brought forth a disk the size of a dinner plate. It had a shiny metallic surface, with speckles of reflective shard embedded unevenly throughout. At the center of the plate was a hole sized just right for a soul gem. 

"This is an arcane charge. It is made to create magical explosions. Stick it on their wall," Flipping the charge around reveals a piece of paper covering adhesive materials. "-place the filled soul gem in this slot and give it ten seconds," The charge was then spun back to its front face. "-and it'll blow a hole big enough for you to crawl through." 

"The explosion is channeled to its back, but whoever is placing it should give it a couple of feet from the front." Excitement had simmered down from Ashav's face, where it was replaced the usual grimness. "The wizards from Winterhold shipped five of them to us. There were suppose to be ten but gods know where the other five went."

"Therefore, two charges will be given to each group." Scratching his chin briefly, Ashav continued to talk and held up two fingers. "I'll keep the last one in reserve, in case we need it for other purposes."

[i]Wait[/i], Keegan thought to himself. This arcane weapon is all well and good, but he never saw a soul gem. "Hold a moment," Keegan raised his hand. It was just time for Ashav to take another sip of water; perfect opportunity for questions. "Where are the soul gems? Are they charged?"

Dumhuvud lurched forward  from his spot, poised to deliver another shut-up rant. Ashav was fast to answer though, leaving his battlemaster no time. "We have a handful, but they are not yet filled." 

"Then how are we-" The murmurs among mercenary mages and Dumhuvud's ear shattering throat clear cut off rest of Keegan's sentence. He never heard someone clear their throat this loud, and Keegan was pretty sure he would tore his neck if he did something like this. 

"As I was saying," Ashav briskly waved, he waited only for the crowd to calm before pressing on. Keegan's hand was still raised, but none of the commanders heeded him. "You mages can figure this out. In case you can't, Edith had assembled a makeshift ram."

"Along with ladders and wood axes, their walls should not hold us back." The emphasis was on should. This plan was uncertain and incredibly dangerous. Breaching wooden palisades was one things, but breaching under the Frosworn's relentless arrows and spells was another. From what they heard, the enemy's walls were not at unscalable heights. They stood one to two times over the average human, and its weathered wooden construction provide decent foothold for talented climbers such as Sagax. The axe was probably not used directly against the wall, instead, Ashav must have planned for smaller obstacles and wall debris after they have breached. But what of the ram, how would they even transport it across the valley in the first place?

Keegan was not the only one to ponder that question, as Ashav had noticed the several interrogative glances from the crowd. "The ram is on four wheels and is light enough to be pushed by four men."

"You mean pulled by horses?" Someone shouted.

"No, four of you will push it."

"You are not serious, how could you expect us to push that thing for mile and a half?"

"I am dead serious," Ashav said, his tone exact match for his words; it was stern in every bit. "Animals tend to get snared up in the shrubs, and their noises will give our positions away before it even starts."

"This is suicide! I'm not going-" A young Breton lad, looking not much over his teenage years, began barking right in front of Ashav. Edith sighed, and hung her head down in defeat. Ashav stopped talking, because his speech was drowned out by the lad's high pitched whining. Dumhuvud looked like he was purple, and veins all bunched up on his skin. He was furious, and wasted no time in stepping to the Breton, grabbed him by his collar and threw him flat against the dirt. All around the front, others had dispersed and left a semi-circle around the spectacle.

"Anyone else feeling like useless halfwits can sod off right now," Dumhuvud shouted. He spat, a mouthful of saliva landed right beside the boy. "-without your pay." He added. His face was a shade redder than the lava of Red Mountain, and if he was a Khajiit, the nails of his balled fists would have dug right through the palms. Whether it was restraint, or more likely, the glaring look from Ashav, Cat-Kicker reluctantly returned to his place. He was no less frustrated, but kept his mouth closed for the time being.

"This is your last chance to exit the company," Ashav said. He voice was tired from prolonged voicing and some words became unintelligible. They had been gathered for a while now, time spent arguing here would be better spent preparing for battle. The night was pitch dark and those not prepared were shivering in the frigid winds. So Ashav picked up the pace, it felt like he simply wanted to get this over with. "Leave now if you do not wish to participate, of course, you will leave with no compensation."

"And if you have questions, now is the time to ask." In moments like these, not everyone dared to speak up. Some wanted answers, while others wanted not a minute less of their precious four-hour nap. Either way, Ashav was not in the mood to address every single concern. So after a few exchanges, he dismissed the camp and waved everyone off. The last thing before mercenaries went off on their own was Edith's announcement. The scroll held by Ashav earlier was now in her hand. She was reading off the page as many started to depart.

"With me on the flank are; Sadri, Tennant, Lucex, Jonimir, Relmyna..." Her voice trailed on. Edith wished her friend, Sevine, could be there with her.
[hr]
Immediately after the assembly, Daelin was right back to work in his tent. He had much to prepare. For one, the spyglass used by the patrol earlier was scratched, it wasn't major but it would teach Daelin not to lend precious equipment to Jorwen again. Actually, Jorwen was surprisingly deft for a man of his stature. One would not normally see a skilled tailor behind the thick red hair. But he was just that yesterday, working miracles to mend Daelin's beaten gloves. The patchwork itself wasn't anything intricate, but it did the job. To be honest, Daelin was just glad to have Jorwen along.

While Daelin inspected his supplies and made final notes on his maps, Utu-ja was the first to arrive outside his tent. The Argonian was a familiar sight, one that he worked alongside with in the days before. Utu was a fine shot with the bow, one that even rivaled Daelin's own. But the Argonian was also not one to socialize, which was fine by Daelin. They shouldn't be talking aloud during scouting excursions, and those who did tend to end up with with projectiles buried in their flesh. Still, Daelin remembered forwarding a letter to Utu, he had trusted the Argonian enough to not open or censor it. 

"You're here early," Dealin flashed an exhausted grin. A fresh batch of herbal mixture was picked up from a bowl and he started chewing on it. It is going to be a long night, and the traditional herbs would have provide him with the energy to see it through. "You said something about the letter earlier, what can I help with?" 

For the minutes before Jorwen and Keegan's arrival, Daelin would be discussing Utu-ja's letter and other topics they felt like sharing.
[hr]
Everywhere else in the camp, Dumhuvud was lowering the morale of everyone he met. First, he bumped into Jorwen and sneered about his facial hair. "Don't you dare touch my cloth again before shaving that bloody rat nest." He ordered, though Dumhuvud never had Jorwen mend a single garment before. Next, he approached Felix and his posse of "friends". Dumhuvud was sure to not miss the opportunity of telling Felix how poor his music sounded. "You play that crap again and all us are going deaf. So stow it." He berated. Then, Dumhuvud strolled by Sadri's tent and groaned about all of Sadri's possessions. "I don't know what you're doing with your pile of junk, but you better watch it or I'll burn every one of them." He jabbed his finger into Sadri's chest. Before ending his "tour", Dumhuvud landed himself near Tennant.

There were carvings, the collection Tennant made in his spare time. The latest one had an outline strangely similar to a camp stool. Dumhuvud frowned, looked like he would be having a conversation regarding stole property. But upon closer inspection, the wood revealed itself the shape of a cat, a cat alike to another he saw before. The frown dropped from Dumhuvud and was replaced by surprise; he left without a word.