[h3]Call to Arms[/h3]
[sub]ft. everyone![/sub]

The three made it back to Bruno’s hut without incident and Solomon gave a nod to the watchful shepherd by the window as they slipped back inside. He turned to Sinalare and Sihava. “Thank you for your help,” he said in a low voice. “It matters more than you know. I think it’s time that I inform the others.” 

He made his way to the middle of the small cabin and cleared his throat. “Everyone, if I might have your attention for a moment. I have some news to share. Bad news.” Solomon’s face was somber, though his eyes were alive with grim determination -- not the face of a defeated man, but the face of a man that knows the war has only just begun. He took a deep breath and looked around the room’s expectant faces in turn before he spoke again. 

“Daggerfall has been overthrown. The king and his family have been executed and the nobility hunted down and slaughtered the man. A cult has infiltrated the Imperial Faith, led by an individual known as the Lord of Moths and High Priest of Akatosh, who has allegedly predicted… all of this,” he explained and gestured to the black sky outside, “and they have seized power. Sihava has learned that the leader of this cult in Daggerfall calls himself the High Priest of Stendarr, and he claims that every city in High Rock has fallen to his allies, presumably other so-called High Priests. They wish to use this event, whatever it is, to carry out a purge against the ruling class and establish a new state. They are obviously enemies of the Empire. More importantly, they are our enemies. Sinalare and I were attacked by their cultists and we were forced to flee the city after killing them. They are not on our side.”

He paused for a moment to give his words time to sink in. Then he reached inside his pocket and pulled out his rosette for the others to see: the all-seeing eye of the Penitus Oculatus stared back at them. “I am not just an innkeeper. I am an agent of the Empire and it is my sworn duty to protect it against threats both from without and within. As such, I will be working to resist this cult and their machinations. But I can’t do that from here. There is a castle, a keep, nestled in the mountains northeast of here. Ken Muhyr. It’s been abandoned for a long time. The Penitus Oculatus has designated it as a fallback point and safe house for situations such as this, stocked with weapons, armor, supplies, books, and so on. It has never before been used in that capacity, but the time has come,” Solomon said. The more he spoke, the straighter his back and the more fiery his eyes became. 

“If anyone wishes to aid me in exercising my duties to serve the Empire, your help is most welcome. Even if you don’t, there is room in Ken Muhyr’s walls for all of you. We are each brothers and sisters in arms now, arrayed against both the cult and the undead, and there is strength in numbers. We can’t stay here -- the cult will reclaim the land outside Daggerfall for their own purposes.” 

He looked at Bruno, who had denial entering his hundred yard stare, and a solemn tone crept into his voice. “I know this is your home, but the cult outnumber us a hundred-to-one. Come with me and we will be able to bring the fight to them once we have regrouped, resupplied and hatched a plan.” 

Solomon put the rosette away again and clasped his hands behind his back, an officer once more. He swept his gaze through the room again. “What say you?”

Janus regarded the rosette with unimpressed eyes. He’d seen them before, carried one himself even. But he turned his in at the end of the Civil War and did his best to forget he ever had one. “‘Less you pull an army out your pocket, I’m not swearing to a cause that ain’t mine.” Janus shrugged, no sign of an easy smile coming, “I’ll follow you to your castle for the protection of the others, but that’s as far as [i]we[/i] go.”

Having sat in silence for the most part, her hands resting against the neck of her lute, it was Janus that made Joy’s head turn. It shook too, slowly but surely defiant of his words. “But we need you,” she said softly at first, her words picking up pace and weight as her mind painted the scene of Daggerfall in flames, and blood running over the streets. “This [i]is[/i] your cause. This is Bruno’s… Sihava’s cause. Mine and Henry’s too…” 

If anyone else felt to scoff at the idea of a barmaid standing to Solomon’s call— Joy did not. “People are dying,” she said desperately, her eyes wide but her posture steady. Taking a breath, she ran her tongue over her teeth as her gaze scanned the room, her hand balled to a fist that she wouldn’t know how to throw to save her life.

Joy felt everything. Anger, sadness, exhaustion, and fear, but there was something else too, buried and fighting from drowning under it all. Her hands fell on her hips and she sighed from her nose before turning on her heel to meet Solomon’s gaze with no trace of her smile, just burning sincerity in the brittle blue of her eyes. “I’m with you.”

The fire in Solomon’s eyes had spread, not just to Joy but slowly to Bruno too, burning away the shock and denial and replacing it with anger and rage. His heavy breathing, the huffing and puffing, replaced the silent air surrounding him as he straightened his back and marched toward the fireplace, growling as he pried loose the hatchet stuck in one of the logs beside the hearth as if he were silently cursing the gods in his mind. “First undead, now this…” he muttered. With his axe over his shoulder and his bow in hand, he stared down Solomon and his rosette, his twisted and angry countenance still perpetual on his visage. “I’ve already watched my home burn down once,” he snarled, “and I’ll be damned if I stand by and watch it again. Solomon, if you’ve got a plan then I’ll wait… but it better involve killing as many of those [i]fucks[/i] as possible.”

Janus didn’t meet Joy’s gaze, but he felt it like burning coals held against the side of his face. She didn’t understand. From the time she likened splitting a man’s face with a blade to music and dance, he knew. Even Solomon swaggering in and flashing his fancy little badge didn’t understand any amount of patriotism wasn’t worth it to Janus. He fidgeted with his tattooed fingers and only muttered again, “Ain’t [i]mine.[/i]” he looked at Solomon, then to the others and back, “You got my word I’ll split any prick down the middle stands between here and that castle. I’m not fighting this war with you.”

He stood then, grunting and wincing as he got to his feet, “Any of you can’t see it’s already been [i]fucking lost[/i] then you’re all fools. We could barely hold an inn, think of how well it’ll go we try to retake the whole [i]fucking Kingdom.[/i]”

Sihava thought.

Janus was right. There was no hope for High Rock. Any war they might wage had already been lost. She had no allegiance to these people. No allegiance to the Empire either. Solomon had already revealed his secret; there would be no pleasure in peeling it back now. She was gifted enough in subterfuge that even if the entire countryside was crawling with these [i]priests[/i] and zombies, she would be able to survive with...minimal effort, really. She could just leave, if she wanted. She [i]should[/i] just leave. It was the smart thing to do. Go to Skyrim, or if that wasn’t far enough away, Cyrodiil or Elsweyr. High Rock wasn’t worth it anymore. Nobody to steal from. Nobody to trick. All of her skills would be...not unused, of course, but used [i]wrong[/i]. If she was smart, she’d just walk out and never see these people again.

But when had she troubled herself with what had been the smart thing to do?

The warmth of her amulet, when she’d gone to Daggerfall with Solomon and Sinalare. The stupid joke that Joy had made in the inn, before the country had gone mad. Her conversation with Inzoliah on the road. Solomon, staring in horror up at the Serpent’s horrorlight. Despite herself, and she wasn’t quite sure exactly when, she’d started to care about these people. Was staying with them a bad idea? Yes. Very much so. Could she [i]stop[/i] herself anymore? Not likely.

She walked the few steps over to Solomon and laid her hand on his shoulder, giving a single sharp nod and letting what certainty she felt leak over into his mind. [i]I hope I’m doing the right thing, Nocturnal,[/i] she thought grimly. Her amulet stayed cold.

Sinalare stood near the cabin’s entrance, still clutching a bloody rag from when she cleaned herself off outside. Solomon was an Imperial agent, which shouldn’t have come as much of a surprise to her as it did. She tensed on reflex, already placed as near to the building’s exit as she could be, but held off on leaving, like she would have in the past. It was no threat to her - she had to drill this into her mind, reminding herself over and over that those days are long gone, as well as her ties, and she in fact [i]was not[/i] standing across a battlefield from this man, despite the sudden reminder. She remained silent for several minutes, simply keeping herself sane as her mind raced and jumped from thought to thought. Her nerves stopped her from properly considering or hearing just about anything he’d said afterwards, so she slowly refocused on the conversation. 

Henry got to his feet, fingers fidgeting with the handle of the axe that Bruno had given him, eyes darting furtively around the room between the others, wondering whether it was appropriate for him to speak. He cleared his throat and found some measure of courage. “I’m not much good at fighting, sir, but… I can help make the keep a good place to live,” the young man said. He’d stared in awe at the Imperial rosette. To think that he had spent years under Solomon’s roof without knowing what kind of a man he was. Spies and such had always seemed like larger than life to him. Then again, so had everything else that had happened this night. 

He looked at Joy and the ghost of a smile flickered around his lips. “I’ll clean and wash our clothes and run errands and so on, and you can cook and sing and mix drinks, like you did, miss.” Then Henry looked at the others again and swallowed. “So it won’t be all uncomfortable or… or anything. That’s what I -- what I wanted to say.” He sat back down quickly and looked at his feet. 

“Thank you all,” Solomon said, gaze lingering on Janus a little longer than the others. He didn’t appreciate the man’s defeatist comments. Now was not the time to be undermining morale. “Hope is not lost as long as we draw breath,” he said pointedly. Joy’s stalwart declaration had been admirable, but Solomon had not seen an immediate use for her until Henry reminded him that the keep that was to be their new home would need tending to as well. Inzoliah had not said anything yet, but Solomon was content to let the older Dunmer woman formulate her thoughts a little while longer. 

In the meantime, he felt Sinalare’s gaze stabbing into his back and he turned around to look at the bloodied Bosmer by the door. He knew that look in her eyes. It tugged at the frayed stitches of scarcely-healed wounds in his own mind. “I was in Cyrodiil,” he said softly. “Third Legion. Saw action in Anvil, Bravil, Skingrad, so on. In the winter of 174, my men and I hunted patrols and Thalmor officers in the Great Forest. And I was at the Red Ring, when Lord Naarifin was captured and the Imperial City retaken. I saw what the Dominion did there. I buried all of my--” 

He took a deep breath and stopped, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them again. “I killed more of your kind than I can remember. Swore I’d never trust another Aldmeri elf.” Solomon chuckled. “But here we are. For the record, I thought we made a good team back there,” he added and nodded in the direction of Daggerfall. 

“What about you? Where did you serve?” he asked. 

Sinalare’s arms crossed in front of her chest, her jaw set and muscles tense. Her gaze slipped to admire Bruno’s floorboards as if they were a fascinating book. Tersely, she answered. 

“Hammerfell. I fought under Lady Arannelya. A long time ago,” she mumbled at the end of her sentence. With a deep breath, she raised her head and glanced around at the others in the room. “I… I gave up fighting for causes.” She considered all the strange things they had seen that night, and couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. 

“I’ll come with you,” she said, before her brain could even catch up with her mouth. Immediately, she wasn’t sure why she had said it at all - seriously, causes were placed far in the past, and she wasn’t looking to take up a new one, aside from gold. Sinalare had said she’d never believe in one again. And she [i]didn’t[/i], she insisted, she was only going along with the safest way to prolong her life, for the time being. She shuffled her feet, wrung her hands together a few times. 

As soon as she finished talking, it was like the cabin shrunk three sized. The heat was overpowering and the others’ presence stifling. “I need some air,” she snapped, and turned abruptly to the cabin’s door. [i]Or a drink.[/i] she thought. She couldn’t stand to be near everyone. The door swung closed behind her with a thud. 

Janus quickly followed suit, not saying any words as he made for the door. In his eyes, this was just another con-man drumming up the sympathies of fools. He was one once. Once. He wasn’t going to fight anyone else’s wars for them, and this time they asked, there wasn’t even mention of gold. He placed his hand on the knob and said over his shoulder, “I’m readying my horse.”

He didn’t wait for an answer.

Bruno stood among them quietly, allowing the information to swirl in his in a boiling whirlpool of emotion. It was chaotic and difficult to process, mostly leaving him to stare at the inside of his cabin and all that he has made with his own two hands. This wasn’t the first time he was forced to leave his home, but this time it was made worse by the fact this this home was of his making. He imagined filling it with a family as his father and mother had, and it suddenly became crystal clear why they died so brutally defending a home that was doomed from the start. He would’ve fought and died to defend his home; twofold if he had a family to defend. What would come of his home in his absence? It would certainly be raided, maybe burned to the ground. The cattle… they’d definitely attract the undead horde. If not them, then the cultists and marauders who sacked Daggerfall. He understood what he had to do, even if it only gave his home a slim chance. This place had to look tapped.

He turned toward the front door where Janus had exited through and tossed a few solemn words over his shoulder, “I need to cull my flock before we leave… take whatever you need from here. If it’s not bolted down, it’s yours.” With that, he stepped into the night with a sharp axe in hand.

Inzoliah was content for most of the meeting to watch the discussion without commenting. The badge Solomon had been waving around meant nothing to her. At least, not as much as it meant to some people. A few flinched when he revealed it, a few seemed to get angry or scared maybe. But it could have been a reaction to the news of Daggerfall’s King being killed. Honestly she wasn’t too surprised, being a ruler in High Rock had a life expectancy similar to an Imperial Legionnaire. That’s what she had learned from her time at court here. It was practically the provincial pastime to kill nobles. Funny then, that she had contributed to that in her own small way. Her attention gradually came back to the room. Janus seemed to not be on board with the innkeep-turned-agent Solomon’s plan to head for a clandestine castle. Most everyone else seemed okay with the idea. Inzoliah had a small vision of herself on a castle battlement, flinging great blobs of fire into a stinking mass of undead and her mind was made up on the spot. “Well, I have no love for High Rock or the Empire but ‘twouldn’t hurt to help either out.” She stood up and brushed her robes off, seemingly unable to remove the permanent layer of soot and ash that clung to them. 

As Joy watched practically everyone else leave the room around her, she gave a small wave to Sihava, who she was pleased to see make it back in one piece, and whom she was glad would be around a little longer. As her gaze caught the last image of Janus before he walked out of the door, she set aside a thought in her mind to speak to him later. She had to. Bruno too. With one last sigh, she turned again and found Henry. 

“Alright then,” she spoke out into the tense silence that had been left behind. “Let’s see if we can find any food for the road, you and me. Anything that will bring any comfort on our journey.” She smiled again, bringing her hands together behind her back. Her fingers fidgeted, and clenched against her palms but she kept a smile for the young man. As the redhead cleared free a tickle in her throat, she brought her hands back in front of her, smoothing down the fabric of her skirt to her knees, before placing a hand on Henry’s shoulder to give him a playful pinch. 

Having something to do filled him with a sense of purpose and Henry nodded, returning Joy’s smile with one of his own. “Yes, let’s,” he said, nodded, and set about the task of upending Bruno’s pantry in search of something edible. 

Solomon looked outside at the dim shapes of those who had stepped out for a breath of fresh air or a moment to clear their head. He exhaled slowly through his nose. Something broke his reverie, something wet and insistent -- Sirius nuzzled Solomon’s hand and whined quietly. The spymaster glanced at his dog and ruffled the fur on his head. “I know, boy,” the Imperial whispered. 

“Everything is about to change.”