[center][h3][b]The Imperial Way[/b][/h3][/center]

[i]12th of Rain’s Hand, 4E15
County Skingrad, West Weald, Cyrodiil
Isobel Aurelia’s encampment[/i]

[sub]ft. my wonderful co-GM [@Leidenschaft][/sub]

It was a moonless night. Akamon the Redguard waited between the tall trunks of the pine trees that stood sentinel at the edge of the forest. He was almost invisible in the darkness, but a small flame danced in the upturned palm of his hand -- a signal. Ahead of him lay the meandering fields and vineyards that seperated the forest and the city of Skingrad itself, which rose above the land like a rocky outcropping in the desert, for the Count had seen to it that most of the lights in the city were dimmed and Akamon could only just make out the silhouettes of the walls and spires and rooftops. Something small and fast dashing through the underbrush disturbed Akamon’s vigil and his head pivoted to the right, eagle-eyed gaze searching through the shadows for the source of the noise, but the flame in his hand made it hard for him to see. He snapped his hand shut and blinked a few times to let his eyes acclimatize to the pitch-black darkness. It took him a few seconds but he spotted the creature at last, its fluffy white tail betraying its nature; it was but a rabbit.

“Run along now,” the warrior whispered. He looked back at the city and with a snap of his fingers, the flame rekindled in his hand -- and Akamon inhaled sharply. 

The light fell upon the features of a man standing just at the edge of its reach and the Redguard’s other hand instinctively went for the hilt on the sword that hung across his back, but his brain caught up with what his eyes were seeing in time and he stopped himself, for the man was merely Janus, the Colovian that he had been waiting for. 

He laughed and expelled the tension from his limbs. “Took you long enough,” Akamon said softly. “What news?”

Janus still had the carefree smile even as Akamon had went for his sword. He probably would have too if a man was suddenly a mere ten feet away as if he’d just stepped out of the air there. With no hard feelings, Janus approached closer and set himself down against a tree. He pulled an apple from his pack and crunched into it, speaking around the mouthful, “Nothing’s changed from the previous nights. ‘Cept more guards on the walls each shift. Changeover every six or so hours.” Janus swallowed, taking another bite, “Saw someone fall off the wall. Dunmer didn’t think it was as funny.”

“What news from the forest, Akamon?” Janus teased, and still no one really knew if it was good-natured or not. Most guessed it was just whichever you decided it was, “What word do the rabbits bring?”

“Oh, you know, spring’s coming. Lots of thumping, if you know what I mean,” Akamon retorted and leaned against another tree’s bark, arms folded across his chest and one foot hooked behind the other. He had gotten used to the man’s ribbing and teasing by now and it did not bother him. That was just how he interacted with people, or kept them at a distance, and that suited Akamon just fine. He wasn’t one to pry if there was no need for it. 

But he turned serious and gestured towards the city. “More guards, longer shifts. Hruldan must be getting nervous.” Akamon chewed on his lip for a second and there was a thoughtful look on his face. “Any signs of fortifications around the gate?” The implication of the question was unspoken but he knew Janus would get it. Beordan was their only siege weapon, after all.

“Oh, aye,” Janus chuckled, taking another bite of apple, “I’d be shaking if two hundred angry farmers and a fucking Minotaur were gearing up to beat me to death and hurl me from the walls.”

“You really should’ve seen it though, bastard climbed up on the battlements having a laugh, tripped and yelped his way down,” Janus chuckled, shaking his head and slapping his knee. He quieted down and sighed, nodding, “Raiding the lumber caravans let us put up our own defenses at the camp. Deprived him from fortifying the gate as far as I could see.”

He shrugged, “Just saying, give me a few more nights and three light footed of our boys back there.” Janus winced and scratched his back on the rough bark of the tree, “But then how could we call ourselves glorious and righteous if we did that, blah blah. Isobel, sometimes.”

Akamon grinned at that. “Yes, I’ve heard that story before. You and Sir Twentygoodmen, sneaking in and cutting all their throats at night.” He shrugged. “She wants a statement. A message. To the Emperor, to the people, to everyone who gives a damn -- honest rule, purchased with honest steel. I can’t fault her for that.” 

He looked into the middle distance and his vision became an unfocused blur as he rifled through his memories. “You know, there’s a version of events that says that Tiber Septim had his master, Cuhlecain, assassinated, back when he was still Talos of Atmora, so that he could claim the thrones of Skyrim and Cyrodiil for himself. The Arcturian Heresy, they call it. Might be true, might not, but either way, it’s not the official story. Officially, Tiber Septim won all his wars fair and square, the Imperial way.” 

Looking back at Janus, Akamon continued. “There’s good reason for that. Be easiest to just create a version of events tomorrow that we don’t have to lie about, no? We have the militia, we have Beordan, we have the mages, we have that Rimmenese freak with the katana,” he laughed. “Everything we need for an honest victory tomorrow. And then all of Cyrodiil will know that rightful rule was restored to Skingrad the proper way. The Imperial way.”

“The bloodiest way.” Janus had the rare frown as he too was looking back at the long scar his life had wrought from Hammerfell to here. He held up a fist and shook it, giving his best impression of the farmers he saw enamored by the promise of retribution, of justice. The same look he saw in his little brother’s eyes before Janus found him dead next to Ma and Pa at the homestead, “Freedom. Blood and freedom.”

He shrugged, not being able to recall any time his mother or his wife, or his child ever wished for blood or to settle old scores, or settling things the Imperial way. Still died like the rest. the smirking smile returning, “She knows how I feel about it. You were there when I spoke at the meeting about three fires ago.” He clucked his tongue and nodded, like a man who’d resigned himself to following what his Officer told him, like the old days, “If it’s to be an assault, it’s an assault. I’ll be there, try not to let my lack of zeal spoil the whole mood of it though.”

He smiled at Akamon, “Even the little one though? Not Henry, the other one. Bit off the farmhand’s finger that one morn.” He snapped his fingers trying to remember, “Reyna. She going in too?”

Akamon nodded. “Reyna, yes. I think she is.” A silence fell between them for a moment. Then he shrugged again. “Are you going to be the one to tell her otherwise? She wants to fight. I imagine it’s the only way she knows how to repay her debt to Isobel.”

There had been something in Janus’ voice when he talked. It wasn’t the first time Akamon had heard it there. He had seen something in his gaze too at other times, but now it was so dark that the two men could not even look each other in the eye. The Redguard suspected that the Colovian was more familiar with war than he let on but he decided to let the subject rest.

Janus nodded once more, one more thing to just lay back and accept. The conversation was growing too serious for Janus’ liking and so he cleared his throat. The conversation lulled when no one was having it, and Janus looked back to Akamon, “We should get back to the others. Walk and talk at the same time.”

“Sure.” Akamon stepped away from the pine tree and brushed the slivers of bark from his shoulder. He waited for Janus to get to his feet and then the pair of them returned to the camp. It was hidden deeper within the forest and the rebels were pretty good at laying low during the night, but when you already knew where it was, the encampment wasn’t very hard to find. Light from the fires danced dimly against the trees up ahead and the occasional sound echoed their way, snatches of conversation or the canvas noise of a tent flap being thrown open. 

Glancing sideways at Janus, the swordsman spoke up again. “What are you going to do when the Count is overthrown?” He paused for a moment and feeling brave he ventured to ask an even more personal question. “I heard his men burned down your home. Will you rebuild?”

Janus walked on still, not answering for a few moments, his eyes just going about the fires. Men and women sat with weapons leaning against their shoulders or across their knees, talking or staring or eating. A quiet chorus of laughter went up at one of the fires and he wished he was having that conversation instead. He still had his smirk on him all the while as he finally shrugged at Akamon’s question, “It’ll be the second time I lost a home.” Janus glanced at Akamon as they walked, “I haven’t thought of what I’ll do since I grabbed up my weapons and joined Isobel. Too much to do.”

He quirked a brow at Akamon, “What of you?”

Akamon smiled. “I came back to Skingrad because Hruldan was stealing my mother’s money, but I don’t live here. And something tells me Isobel’s story isn’t finished after this. So, I think I’ll see where her destiny takes her. Otherwise it’s back to wandering and righting wrongs by myself again and to be honest, I’ve quite gotten used to having someone watching my back.” He looked at Janus and a mischievous laugh escaped him, flashing white teeth in the dark, and he wagged a finger at the Colovian. “I can never tell with you, whether you enjoy our company or merely tolerate us. Which is it? Eh?”

Janus laughed a little louder this time, not having to worry about the guards on the walls hearing it echo now they were a little more ways away from Skingrad, “That’d ruin the mystery if I really told you.” Janus smiled over at Akamon, “If you must know, I’ve got friends here and I’ve got people I let live their lives without my acquaintance. Me and them seem to be still living just okay, I reckon.”

He shrugged, “The peasants are learning, the barricades are sturdy, and no one’s knifed each other over a heel of bread yet.” Janus nodded as if all was right in the world. Perhaps it was, in his, “The rebellion fights on. It’s my job, and I think I’ve been doing it well enough.”

“I think so too, my friend,” Akamon said and clapped his hand jovially on the other man’s shoulder. “Come, the command tent is just ahead. I think the meeting has already begun.” 

Picking up the pace, the two strode through the camp and up towards the largest tent of them all, where Isobel and Beordan lived, and where all matters of importance were decided. A circle had already gathered. 

The inner circle.