[b]Collab - Basil and Cassius[/b]

Somewhere in the grasslands just north of Kvatch a platoon of 80 Imperial soldiers had set up an encampment, utterly oblivious to the chaos happening just south of their position. It was a scattering of red tents and heavily-armoured guards. From within, the hustle and bustle of everyday life could be seen and heard; various men and women wandered from tent to tent. The resident blacksmith had set up his rudimentary smithy on the outskirts, which released a plume of greyish smoke into the air. Stablehands tended to the horses which pulled their supply cart. 

The alchemy tent was a cacophony of clinking glasses and roughly slammed books. The platoon’s resident alchemist, a middle-aged Redguard woman by the name of Basil, was in a sour mood and she took it out on her belongings. Just outside of her tent a large cast-iron cauldron was set over a small fire with a thin reddish liquid simmering within. There were old logs arranged outside of most tents to work as impromptu stools and one of the armoured foot soldiers was hunkered down near Basil’s tent, cleaning his boots.

“You want to talk about it?” Cassius spoke in Redguard woman’s direction, his eyes and most of his attention still fixed on wiping at his boots.

Basil paused and pretended to read her potion book as her face contorted into a thoughtful scowl instead of a grumpy one. She did not answer the question, but spoke instead; “I thought it was our job to [i]protect[/i] people.”

“It is, but it’s also our job to follow orders. Orders that are most of the time more important when carried out undelayed.” Cassius paused. He rested the damp cloth on the boot in his lap to look up at the woman, his hands planted on his thighs. Basil responded to his actions by slowing down a bit, if only to glower at him over the cauldron.

“They needed help, Cass. We could’ve at least tracked down their camp for them! Why’s the platoon always in such a big hurry? I highly doubt Kvatch has changed since the last time we saw it, and it’s not as if Anvil’s about to suddenly disappear on us.” She tossed a bulbous root into the cauldron ferociously and made a ‘tch!’ noise when it splashed onto her heavy leather gloves. “80 soldiers, a handful of medics, an alchemist and a blacksmith walk into a village of raided villagers and decide to [i]fuck right off[/i] before the sun sets…” she muttered venomously under her breath.

“We’ve sent a notice to other nearby legions that aren’t on direct orders, as far as -we’re- concerned they’ve already been robbed. Whether we helped them now, or another legion helps them in a few days.” Cassius spoke, attention still directed at Basil. In silence he lifted the polished boot off his lap and placed it beside the other one.

Basil opened her mouth, narrowed her eyes, shut her mouth, clenched her jaw and hissed out a sigh through her nostrils. “I hate it when you’re right,” she snapped and used the last vestiges of her anger to stir a rapidly thickening concoction in the cauldron.

Cassius couldn’t help but crack a smirk at Basil’s admit of defeat. Without another word he stood up and patted his hands off on his trousers just as a bedraggled and bloodstained man came staggering through the plains calling for help.

The survivor collapsed to his knees near the southern entrance to the campsite. He was covered in soot; his armour was singed but the wolf’s head on the tunic could still be recognisable as a member of Kvatch’s city watch. He cradled his left forearm into the bloodsoaked fabric. Upon closer inspection, it was apparent that the blood on his garments was his own and a massive gash wound tore through the muscle and blood vessels just above his wrist. “P-please,” he sobbed with pain and fear, “the city...it’s overwhelmed-...monsters!”