[i]"Temijen my son, stand before the old gods and swear...from this day until your last..You will always be an enemy of the Thalmor." - Last words of K'avsaron, Father of Temijen, post siege of Hegathe [/i]

Sentinel, Palace Barracks;

The blow staggered Kilren even though he knew it was coming; his shield went high to collide with the blade and brought it down sharply to the side to complete the parry. His opponent was too skilled and wily however, as he went through with the motion hoping to drew his blade down and away from him. His opponent, a heavily muscled broad shouldered warrior with shot cut hair, went with the motion and offered no resistance. But as he did he brought himself closer with a quick step, well within Kilren's guard. The larger man’s shield went up in a quick backhand towards Kilren's face. He saw the movement so late to avoid it, but he backpedaled all the same. The hard wood smacked him hard in the face and his senses went wild for a moment as a sharp pain spread through his nose. 

It was probably broken Kilren knew, but he ignored the pain with simple mental discipline. He swept his sword up and to his left, just under the man’s shield arm, he was still to close and was also shifting backward so the blow did not have the force to badly cut or wound the arm. Still it brought him the time he needed to avoid a second shield bash to the face. His opponent's arm retreated back far enough to rob him the chance to cut at the arm again, he also doubted he had managed to cut through the leather bracer there, but his opponent would think twice before trying that maneuver again. Kilren and his opponent began to circle one another once more in the small arena. Beyond the wooden fence a crowd of spectators watched on, some cheering their chosen champion, many of the older men observing the display with a cynical eye. The instructor stationed on a podium with his arms crossed over his broad chest was the only man who's opinion Kilren cared about. 

They were watching him closely however, with a warrior’s eye, and he did not plan to embrace his family or himself this day. He put them out of his mind however; he could not let distractions into his thoughts. He opponent was breathing heavily; sweat gleaming from his forehead and shining in the hot sun’s rays that fell from the blue heavens above. Kilren was tired as well, but he dare not let it show, sweat swept down from his forehead to dance down his dark cheeks. He felt keenly the cool breeze that blew down from the west. He marked the shadows at the corners of his eyes, slowly circling with his opponent, waiting for when the shadows leaned away from him. When his own shadowy profile pointed toward his larger adversary, that small window…that moment when the suns bright rays would then fall on his opponent's eyes. 

He waited for that moment and when it came in the form of the man’s subtle but, to Kilren who was waiting for it, obvious squint of his eyes. The moment the sun was at Kilren's back and in his opponents eye was the moment he struck fast, first he pumped his arm into a tight cut, once, twice, three times all aiming high. His opponent easily blocked them all, but as the fourth cut came high, Kilren skillfully shifted the scimitar in his hand and cut down low at his opponents leading leg. The man shifted his leg back even as he dropped his wooden leather bound shield low. It intercepted the blow but the quickness and the change of flow had caused his guard to drop for just a moment, as he was momentarily off balance. 

A moment was all Kilren needed however, as he swung in with his scimitar leading, he quickly swept his left foot behind his right, then dropped low, effectively spinning with the entire momentum of his body to then catch his opponent on back heel. He used the blunt end of his scimitar, and while this would normally not mean the man would fall over, even overbalanced as he was. Kilren skillfully hooked the curved end of his blade, combined with his momentum, in order to pull that leg out from under the larger man. He gave a short lived yelp, which turned into a grunt as his back hit the sand hard. He would have jumped right back to his feet, but there was Kilren's blade at the man’s throat. 

The man’s eyes bulged momentarily in surprise.

"Yield." Kilren said through gritted teeth.

The man said nothing, anger evident in his eyes. Kilren pressed the sword a little further and the fight left his opponents eyes. With a curt nod he accepted his defeat. A grin could not help but spread across his face as his opponent finally yielded. He had been a tough one, but he had done it. He looked up at the redguard standing with his arms still crossed atop the podium that overlooked the little arena in the palace courtyard. All of which connected to Sentinels barracks. The instructor wore no smile, but he did nod his head. Kilren had proven himself worthy of joining Vanquisher Temjin's growing army. 

------
Sentinel, Main War Room:

 Temijen, Lord of Sentinel and Vanquisher of the Aldmeri and King of Hammerfell, sat before a round table in the center of a wide oval shaped room. Charts, maps, scrolls, and parchments littered the oaken table. Around the table sat his most trusted generals and lieutenants, some of the older guard were veterans of the Great War, those were some of his closes and most trusted of friends and advisers. Of the group there was an almost splint number between those belonging to the Forebears and Crowns. Though the two groups had long since reconciled and enjoin forces, there of course remained old grievances and animosity. Temijen had purposely made sure to splint his council as evenly as possible between members of both factions, as to not appear to favor either. Perhaps a fruitless effort, as Temijen himself including his father had descended from the Forebears. They rarely agreed on anything, however, and some still needed to be brought to heel now and again. 

It was a task Temijen had almost seemed born for. While he had spent most of his later years before the Great War in Cyrodiil, as an Imperial officer. Temijen had been born with a natural charisma, and a seemingly innate understanding of the world of politics. In the years following the redguards victory (a nearly Pyrrhic Victory though it may have been) over the Aldmeri Dominion, Temijen had been brutally efficient in his rise to power. He had given governance of the coastal cities over to trusted generals, some of which had not even been redguard, so as to weaken the political ties and strengths of both Forbears and Crowns. With that done, he had went on to cowing the many smaller realms and factions within Hammerfell, first starting with the nomads and rogue tribes. It had been long work, but in time all of Hammerfell was under his dominion. He had from then went on to reforming the armies of both the crowns and forbears. Finally reorganizing Hammerfell's naval forces, introducing the system of the High Captains. 

In the end Temijen had given birth to a new Hammerfell, one free of the cowardice and weakness of the Empire. But now that he had all but solidified his power at home, it was time he fulfill the promise he had made to all redguards long ago. 

"Where do our armies stand?" Temijen asked aloud. His dark eyes fell on Suljack, Master of Arms. 

"Better than he could have hoped, High Lord." He announced with a wide grin, flashing white teeth which stood in sharp contrast to his ebony skin. "Our current strength stands over 33,000 strong, and they could further grow if we introduce nomadic tribes willing to march for the promise of loot and glory." 

Temijen nodded, better than he had estimated indeed all things considered. "And our previsions?" This he aimed to his Lord of Coin. 

The tall and surprisingly lanky Haeklith licked his lips before Answering. "This year’s harvest has been rather poor, however we still have last year’s harvest stored away, it was only meant for emergencies in case of a drought or worse. But it can suffice for ten months of campaign." 

Temijen nodded solemnly, that was most unexpected, but the land of Hammerfell was hardly anything close to predictable, yet still it had fashioned a strong people from its harsh embrace. "How have hour recent plans went for the new fleets?" 

T'ozun shrugged. "High Lord, it would seem the High Captains have reported a few setbacks, mostly in the form of heavy storms off the coast sinking some of our older war ships." But he added with that same breath. "However, plans are still proceeding apace, the forest south of the Dragontail Mountain have proved sufficient for our needs." 

Temijen allowed himself a brief smile. "Excellent, once the new war ships have been completed, we can move on to the next phase of our plans." He then leaned forward on the table and let his eyes drift across the map of Tamriel. "In the mean time we must keep an eye to High Rock to the west. The chaos there could yet be used to our advantage. Prepare an envoy to set out by ship, it time we got into contact with some old friends."