Andreyich

TES: The Second Great War

Handing over the coin purse, Dallio gave the man somewhat of a sheepish look and a salute. Though as an auxiliary he was not quite a Legionary, the young Sergeant thought that some sign of respect would be appreciated. Turning to the Breton woman he drew another coin purse, withdrawing a few pieces from it. "As a mage you're entitled to seven hundred and fifty after subtracting from expenses, pension and the likes." The officer smiled to everyone, but the one he gave to the wizard was a lot brighter; it was far easier to keep up his pleasantries to someone that was likewise pleasant.

"Will that be all?" he said, looking to what remained of the squad after already three of it departed.

---

As Ingjald went into the streets of Solitude, he did not turn his head to make sure that the duo he had selected had followed him. “Do you have any… ideas as to what you were selected for?” His tone was indecipherable. Did he expect them to already have figured it out? Or perhaps this was the start of questioning by the socratic method.

"Some sort of diplomatic purpose, sir? The only thing common between the two of us aside our soldiery, as far as I'm aware, is that we both know how to behave ourselves in a formal setting. A Squire and a noble." Tylmaesa said, shrugging their broad, muscular shoulders. Inwardly, they knew - or at least thought they knew - why Ingjald had demanded their presence, though they weren't about to call him out for using them as a token of the Legion's diversity. Unlike the vast majority of the soldiers, though they wore distinctly red-gold Imperial uniform, they lacked anything resembling armour, instead opting for modest, insulating cloth to protect them against Skyrim's cold. Their clawblade sat securely in a pouch at their hip, Dunmeri hooksword in an intricately engraved bonemold scabbard on the opposite side. It depicted a scene of Saint Vehk himself, Mu'atra pointed downward, piercing the chitinous exoskeleton of the Ruddy Man.

Edward’s eyes were glued to the floor as they marched along. Ever since his name had been called by the Legate, he had been quietly searching the ground for his organs, feeling as if they’d fallen through his stomach and out his feet. Even the King of Daggerfall was a less intimidating man than the Nord- at least from a distance- and Ingjald’s tone had given nothing away. “I’m not sure, Sir.” He replied to the Legate, ignoring the Dunmer’s suggestion so as not to get his hopes up.

Back in High Rock, a request like this hardly ever turned out to be a good thing. Often it was latrine duty or cleaning the stables, or worse, Dragonic lessons. Who knows what it was here, in this strange foreign land, within an army that was so alien to everything he had known. Regardless, it didn’t matter what the Legate wanted or even what they were doing. Edward just knew he had to be ready. “Whatever it is my Lord, I’m up for the task.”

A short rasp of contemplation came from Ingjald as he heard these answer, the slightest motion of his mask betraying that he was moving his tongue through his mouth in a physical motion along with his metaphorical digestion of what was said. “Close. Close.” he replied to the former, while keeping quiet to the latter. A finger was raised and pointed towards the blue palace. “[b]Before everyone goes to die or record those of us that go to die, an event will be held there. The most important people in Skyrim and many of the greater figures of the Empire t large will be there. Of those that were close enough they couldn’t scuttle off to find their amusements for the day, you were the best selections. Maybe the Altmer, but he does not speak many a word, nor does he bear himself like the silk clad creatures tonight will expect. Your names….” the man paused, cycling through a long mental list.

“Edward, Tylmaesa. You Breton, will be my bodyguard for the night. I do not need one but you will be such nonetheless. When not draining expensive wines and and other such shite you will tell dashing stories of my, your, our joint exploits before this war began around Falkreath. You, Dunmer, will say you are an advisor to me. When not trying to find the bastards trying to quietly glut themselves on moonsugar, you will feed stories of the complex choices we have discussed together for prosecution of the war, and of our deep discussions of the Imperial state, philosophy, and such things. You are both to tell people what they wish to and what they wish to think; if it is a matter of dispute between two or more parties, you will speak in a manner to please all, or not speak at all.”

Taking a rather large coin purse from his belt and removing some to put into a pocket, he turned his head somewhat to face them. “If you understand, this coin is yours to buy foppish cloth at Radiant Raiments, perfumes at Angeline’s Aromatics, the likes. You are to stand by the guards at the Blue Palace entrance an hour before the festivities begin
turned in entirety to face them as he waited for a response.

Ah, Tylmaesa thought to themself. Suddenly, they felt themself being launched back to their time among the Hlaalu nobility, of being coached on behaviour by their parents, dressed up in pretty clothing and slathered in makeup and perfumes, and eventually suits and cologne, sometimes a cocktail of the above. They remembered being forced to converse peaceably with arrogant Telvanni wizards, appeasing Redoran Siblings with tales of martial prowess...

This, they thought, is my element. "I understand perfectly, sir. I'll use my experience in these fields to my advantage - I'll be able to manage well." they said. Truthfully, they did not particularly enjoy Imperial clothing, but... Perhaps they could find something interesting to wear?

Bodyguard Edward mouthed silently as he looked towards the Blue Palace. His eyes widening in awe as he studied the grand piece of architecture, built teetering on the edge of a cliff. Elsewhere, his heart constricted with fear. “Stories.” He thought. “Gotta think up something good for the Legate. Maybe I’ll alter the one with the Ogre and hopefully the people attending haven’t heard too many tales from Daggerfall.” Stroking the few hairs on his chin, the teen turned back to his commanding officer. “As you wish, Sir. It would be my honour.” He replied, adding a polite bow.

Taking the coin from the Legate, the Squire hurried away. The raiments Edward had been given by his Lord back in the Order would more than suffice for the evening. That, and the boy doubted he would find much of use in the local shops. Assumedly they’d cater mostly to Nords, with their clothing being well oversized for the boy. Instead, he would use the coin to purchase perfumes, a place to wash and prepare himself at the inn and a small meal to line his stomach for the wine. Money well spent.

“Good, good.” The Legate muttered at the departing Edward, moving his face a little to gesture that Tylmaesa ought follow him. “Tell the Altmet that truns the place you are from the Legate, it may… help.” He called out.

TES: The Second Great War

As Dallio addressed the squad, its members pushed closer to hear the man over the chaos that unfolded as everyone scattered to where their fancies took them. There was the Hastatus Sejanus Tyrsson, a Cyrodiil born Nord that was all too eager to show off that he was still a true son of Skyrim despite being born outside of it and speaking the tongue with a Bruman accent. The remaining Hastatus went simply by Telleno, an Altmer apparently apparently related to the dissidents from the Aldmeri dominion that had been slaughtered by the Thalmor and was simply looking for some measure of revenge. Caius Ganelon was a Ballistarius that despite a clearly Imperial name never really touched on his heritage, simply claiming to be a man of the world; a rather quiet soul, he would remark that he had killed once before the war and became a crossbowman simply to avoid seeing death so close again when serving. Jean-Anselm Portexe was a Breton Ballistarius that had apparently joined when he had naught to repay gambling debts with and decided the Legion would be a way to both escape men with clubs going to collect his cash, but also to honourably repay them when at last he came home to High Rock. The Redguard brothers Hakim and Rashid of Fireglen both hunters that felt it was simply their duty to the glorious Emperor to join up.

There was Ryjko, the aged Nordic mage of restoration and healing that had fallen under the Imperial amnesty for Stormcloak members some years ago and now simply wanted to repay the deeds the Dragonborn's lineage had done for his homeland. Last of note was the Bard Mukbolg, the Orc that was rather diminutive for his kind and unsurprisingly an outcast for not being able to wield a smith's hammer or warriors blade; could play a damn good tune on his trumpet, though.

It was young Sejanus who chuckled out "Hah! Always thinking about your own money like the rest of your cunt-kind, fucking typical." The Sergeant threw the Nordic youth a dirty look, but didn't speak on the matter instead choosing to address the question of Drelas as he opened his mouth. Words didn't come out as a shadow loomed over him, and he turned to face the polished mask of Ingjald. Dropping a purse of coin as a hand struck his forelock with a thuck noise upon salute. A finger of ebony stretched over him, pointing first to Edward Gonard. "You." It addressed, the words whispered in a baritone that somehow seemed louder than the speech of the Sergeant. "And you." the voice continued, the digit now hovering over Tylmaesa. "Come with me. Now." The tone suggested that there was in fact a choice here, but only one good one. He turned, his long grey cape trailing behind himself as he walked into the city.

Dallio turned back to his squad, swallowing some air before addressing his squad again. "Right, your pay, you weren't aware?" He motioned for Drelas to come a little closer. "Its eight hundred Septims a month after deducting expenses for you."

TES: The Second Great War

Hider

Player Name: Joseph or joe

Character name: Lucas Flavius

Race: Imperial

Age: 19

Sex: Male

Physical Description: Lucas is a beautiful looking Imperial even to an Imperials standard. He’s around six foot and incredible shape with hardly any fat on him. His thick wavy brown hair is pulled back to just above his shoulders and has a well-trimmed stubble. He’s usually tanned but being so far north for a while it’s started to fade and for someone who’s been a part of the legion for a few years he has hardly any scars and his teeth are still perfect. He has big dark brown eyes which make people believe he’s a nice and caring person.



Faith: Lucas acts like the pious saint when people in higher ranking positions are around but really, he doesn’t care or put much faith in the Gods believing they have nothing to do with someone’s outcome in life. He thinks if someone wants a better life they should go out and get it for themselves instead of praying. He usually looks down at people who worship the Daedra seeing them as barbaric.

Position: Hastati

Magic: He can cast a basic Oakflesh spell on himself.

Core: Lucas spent all of his early life in the dilapidated city of Bravil were he had to deal with living in squalor and his drunken father’s abuse. His father claimed to be an ex imperial officer who left the Legion with a lot of honours, but the older Lucas got the more he heard rumours of his father's desertion. At first Lucas defended his father but the older he got, the more it made sense. Living in a shack and having to scrounge for food made him start to realise. A few times though he did overhear his father crying to himself when he was a drunken state muttering about mages burning his men alive. Lucas always wanted to know what his father had witnessed but was always too scared to ask. Ever since he could remember though, he knew his father hated mages and magic believing it was evil. Lucas’s mother would always try and protect her son from her husband’s wrath but just in case she was ever not there she taught him some alteration in secret to protect himself.

When Lucas was around thirteen years old his mother passed away leaving him with just his father and quite a bitter out look on life. As soon as he turned of age, he left his father without saying good bye and enlisted in the army. Lucas spent the next few years in training because all the training he had was from fighting with sticks with his friends in the streets of Bravil. He also arrived very malnourished and skinny from years of not eating properly so he needed to bulk up and get a bit of muscle to deal with the heavy armour and weapons he had to carry. When he was in the boot camp he started to learn how to read and write knowing if he wanted to advance in the legion, he had to have those skills. He had no problem with being able to charm his commanders, but that could only take him so far. All he knew though was that he didn’t want to go back to his old life of basically living in the sewers and being a second-class citizen.

Let me know if you want me to change or expand anything.

@josephb

I'll take it, move to CS tab

TES: The Second Great War

Hider

Player Name: Joseph or joe

Character name: Real name is Lucas Flavius but is known as Adrian Jannus

Race: Imperial

Age: 22

Sex: Male

Physical Description: Lucas is a beautiful looking Imperial even to an Imperials standard. He’s around six foot and incredible shape with hardly any fat on him. His thick wavy brown hair is pulled back to just above his shoulders and has a well-trimmed stubble. He’s usually tanned but being so far north for a while it’s started to fade and for someone who’s been a part of the legion for a few years he has hardly any scars and his teeth are still perfect. He has big dark brown eyes which make people believe he’s a nice and caring person.



Faith: Lucas acts like the pious saint when people in higher ranking positions or his family are around but really, he doesn’t care or put much faith in the Gods believing they have nothing to do with someone’s outcome in life. He thinks if someone wants a better life they should go out and get it for themselves instead of praying. He usually looks down at people who worship the Daedra seeing them as barbaric.

Position: Hastati

Magic: He can cast a basic Oakflesh spell on himself.

Core: Being the son of a famous general within the empire, people always seemed to expect big things from Lucas. However, no one expected more from him than his own father who constantly compared him to his older brother. Lucas’s brother died during an ambush when Lucas was just eight. This led Lucas to constantly try and his earn his fathers’ affections when he was younger, but the older he got the more he started to resent his father. They lived in a house in Skingrad in a wealthy district and Lucas never left the city for all of his childhood. Lucas went to school where he was one of the brighter students and when he was home, he practised fighting with a wooden sword and shield. When his father was away with the army, Lucas’s mother would show him spells which Lucas loved but wasn’t allowed to do any when his father was home. His Father wanted to raise a warrior or a general not a magician, this stopped Lucas from ever being a powerful mage.

When Lucas started to get into his late teens, he started to become quite distant and cold towards people he didn’t know or people who believed were below him, mainly stemming from his father’s prejudices. He didn’t like living with his father but still wanted his affection and love. His father always went on about how he came from nothing and built himself up so one day Lucas left the comforts of Skingrad and enlisted in the Legion. He used a fake name so people didn’t know who his father was.

Misc: The father son relationship is pretty inspired by Tywin and Tyrion.

Let me know if you want me to change or expand anything.

@josephb

So a few thoughts/questions/concerns whatever. Who exactly is this general that refused his son an education in magic in entirety? The Empire does not have that many (about one per province/conflict zone), this would be quite a famed man, which begs the follow up question. Why didn't this general use his connections to push his son right into some NCO type position or at least get him stationed in a cushy front where he could rise the ranks? Or, at the very least, remain in his proximity and hence under his watch? As I said in the OP I don't really like walls of text and prefer show don't tell, but I feel I don't really have a good enough grasp of the feller as is, even if I can appreciate the direction you're taking.

TES: The Second Great War

@Yam I Am

Equipment

As a Legionnaire demonstrating her prowess with two handed weapons Kiara would be provided a suit of Imperial plate. For her arms, as a Nord she would be given the opportunity to select from a battle axe or greatsword, as well as a sidearm of arming sword or hand axe and either plumbata or throwing axes.

TES: The Second Great War

<Snipped quote by Andreyich>

Yeah, I intended it to be more a case of the former in terms of tactics. I had intended it to be based more off of the role of the Landsknecht in Late Medieval Switzerland and some of the German states of the time, in that the greatsword users of the time often fought in tandem with arquebus and pike formations, specifically in that the user of the greatsword were intended to counter the use of other pike formations. My question more was intended to see if this would fit more in with the Legionary role of Hastati or it would be more fitting to list Kara's role as that of Auxilia.

@Yam I Am

Now I understand. Ultimately both are viable. An auxilia has arguably more operational and tactical freedoms, although harsher reprimands should those freedoms be broken; a hastati would have another lane of progression in promotion where for an auxiliary institutional progression is mostly just a little more pay, with the potential of being eventually turned to an advisory role (though this is likely out of scope for the RP).

Tl;dr it depends on your preference: go with auxilia if you want to highlight her Nordic brutishness or be a hastatii if you want her to have more come to terms with the Empire and a stable life.

TES: The Second Great War

CS

Player Name: I am Yam; Yam I Am

Character Name: Kara Knight-Breaker¹

Race: Nord

Age: 21 (Born 23 Midyear, 4E 200, under the sign of The Steed)

Sex: Female

Physical Description:
A spry young Nord, Kara stands at an impressive 192 centimeters, no doubt assisted by an extra few centimeters of boot support and almost a decade of physical activity. She tends to keep her bellowing, crimson hair held into a high ponytail, from which it on an impressive day may sweep like the mane of a lion. Even a passing glance at her presents the icon of a sprightly figure, eager and impatient to get a move on. Her bombastic demeanor assists this image, forming together an image of fiery youth so befitting unto her.

Like many of the "truer" Nords, Kara is - if one must use euphemism - assumptive in regards to other races of Tamriel. Quick to draw conclusions based on background and affiliation, her first impressions might come across as prejudiced, and it would be naive to insist that she is free of such. While she might be far from supremacist, Kara displays the usual assumptions to come from the perspective of a Nord: Altmer are arrogant and self-righteous, Dunmer are strange and standoffish, Khajiit are dishonest and unreliable, Orcs are austere and joyless - and these all certainly play into her first impressions of most people. These, to the surprise of many who might speak of Kara, are all well broken with time and experience, but like all factors of bias, such inevitably takes time. And besides, she knows from experience that there are few problems that a few bottles of sujamma cannot fix.

Faith:
Kara is a worshiper of the Nine Divines of the Empire: Her fidelity, on the other hand, solely seems to depend on how her week happens to be going. When things are going poorly, she will always be the first to get down on her knees and raise her head towards the heavens, and when the going grows calm, nary a prayer gets passing from her lips. Asking her to pick select her favored god would be akin to a mother being asked of their favored child: All but the most sincere of mothers will have their answer in secret, and declare in public that they cannot choose. Such a view transpires well into Kara's views on religion, for the loss of any of the beloved nine divines would spell the hallmark of demise for the pantheon as a whole, and that simply will not do. Religion to Kara is such a messy affair of gods and demons asides that she has even taken to praying to the unknown, just in hopes that she might not incur the wrath of a deity she finds herself unaware of.

Position: Hastati²

Magic:
Over the years, Kara picked up a parcel of knowledge regarding Restoration and Destruction, but she is a far cry from even an elementary mage. She may perhaps make a few incantations of flame or healing if no other situation might do, but Kara neither has the experience nor the particular interest to classify as a thaumaturgic practitioner by any professional stretch.

Core:
There's something so intoxicatingly romantic about fighting for a lost cause. Both her parents were true Sons and Daughters of Skryim - Stormcloaks to the fullest - and dutifully followed King Ulfric all the way unto the headsman's axe. This, of course, gave her little time for any meaningful interaction with the either of them, nor their tales nor fables for Skyrim's righteous fate - her older brother Vikord, of course, would gladly step up to fill their position, and likewise her head with larger-than-lies of their parents and their cause. The True High King may feast in Sovngarde - Ysmir rest his soul - but the impressionable Kara was led on by the tales spun by her vengeful elder, who so routinely derided the Imperial efforts henceforth as little aside than cheap penitence that at times Kara gave it the same thought as much the day's snowfall.

Her brother had done his best to ensure his younger sister would grow to be a True Nord, one their ancestors might smile upon from the heavens. Though a few years behind fatherhood - and many behind basic responsibility - Kara accordingly spent much of her childhood in Vikord's care, hopping from hold to hold as his constant shenanigans ran the duo into trouble as right as rain. When his contract with guarding or caravaning left and he was left septimless, the guard would become a brigand. Such a lifestyle ran the pair into a ambulatory lifestyle, often living in one hold for a time before having to leave for the next. Kara had met many people in her times as a youth, of course, and never for long. She had many masters - and twice as many parents - and only the voice of her elder brother to guide any of the lessons together, through the vestige of action for Skyrim.

Of course, Vikord inevitably ran out of holds from which to flee too, and rather than incur the wrath unto both of them, had decided he might make better beneath the wings of another - The Thieves' Guild or even the Camonna Tong, he'd last said - than risk the life of her younger sister with his. Before he left, Vikord had entrusted her to the care of a homely family in Shor's Stone, but so fleet and wanderlusting a young lady as Kara could never find herself tied there. Before long, she had departed from the hamlet, determined to so see the world by iron and steel. At thirteen, Kara had largely taken to the service of caravan guards, bounty hunter posses, and other such escapades, from where she would travel all across Skyrim through her years. She had grown particularly adept with the greatsword over the years, as such prowess proved potent as a deterrence factor (Kara even as a youth proved impressively tall) and only as Kara advanced through her life did she continue to live much in the fashion that she had only known from then on, refusing to plant her feet steadily somewhere while she moved from place to place.

Come her twenty-first year, the rapid-fire declarations of the Emperor seemed far too dreamlike to possibly be true. Even more chimerical, so open defiance against the White-Gold Diktat. And again, even so bold as to declare a war of vengeance and honor. It had earned her respect, true - and the outright admonishment of what she had known, even. Well...yes, perhaps the Dragonborn has saved their world thricefold. And yes, perhaps her brother had made himself scarce one too many times. And yes, maybe her brother wasn't a crack guerilla who had picked off Imperials even years after the Battle of Windhelm, and instead was little aside from a boisterous bandit who couldn't hold his brandy. Her feelings on the ideals of the Stormcloaks are tempered - much like an Ebonsmith guides along his ingot as it motions, lest a more firm gesture cause its shatter. Perhaps she might be served right, protecting caravans through these arduous times as Skyrim still yet healed. Demand for it was in no shortage, after all, and she'd certainly have made her right fortune staying right where she was.

But where is the fun to be had in that? Where is the honor? The glory? The pride to lead the righteous march against the greatest tyrants to assail Tamriel? No, the news of the latest declaration would do her too great a wound to forsake, and so too did she impatiently enlist within the ranks of the Legion. Leyawiin. Anvil. Markarth. Windhelm. They will all be avenged. And when her time shall come and she go to Sovngarde, with the last of enemies to be destroyed, in hands and hearts with all the children of Skyrim, they shall be together in Paradise.

Misc.:
<sup>1) Knight-Breaker refers to Kara's title, as she has no Clan Name and Nords typically do not have surnames. She earned the moniker following a fistfight which broke out while she was alongside a caravan in Bruma, in which she had gotten into a scrap with a knight who could hold neither his tongue nor his ale. Three minutes, 40 septims paid to the guards, and 80 septims paid to the local chapel's staff for restoration services later, Kara earned the title.

2) I envisioned Kara on being a two-handed warrior, but given the tactics and implementation of the Imperial Legion, I wasn't sure if her positioning would be closer to a Swiss/German Zweihander to act in formations against infantry and cavalry, or more similar to shock infantry of the Middle Medieval Era. Some clarification on her position in this regard would be appreciated.</sup>

@Yam I Am

Hi, I like the CS, u can move it to the CS tab. If you want to be a two handed warrior the Legion can provide a greatsword or something of the sort; alternatively something more useful like a billhook for dismounting riders and the likes. A user of a two handed weapon would be somewhere in between those two uses you specified in your footnote. In some sense the advancements of armour in TES has lead in the headcanon I'm using to a very late medieval style of warfare, almost pike and shot with the spearmen and crossbowmen. Someone with a great weapon would either provide a counter-charge should the squad of the cohort be charged by the foe, or charge ahead to use their weapon for breaching a salient in an enemy line for their comrades to pour into. However, this is only for """field battles""". Although TESV obviously downscales warfare (the time scale is 1/20, so its also the approximate one I am using for everything else), I like to imagine that our experience of it is at least somewhat authentic in that within the rugged terrain of Skyrim a pitched battle is rare (mostly siege warfare), instead the war is decided by hundreds of smaller Skirmishes which snowball into superior logistics that eventually collapse the foe's war effort. In such, it is of course the individual's skill with their used weapon that matters; how exactly that individual is used is up to the initiative of that individual's immediate leader (in our case, Sergeant Dallio), as well as of that person and their comrades themselves.

TES: The Second Great War

The first post is written. While I wait for the last CSs to come in, here's a few things.

@Fading Memory

equipment

As a mage of the Legion you will be granted Mage's robes. They are far heavier than the standard fare of mages for they are lined with chainmail to stop some strikes and fur to keep out Skyrim's cold. A steel shortsword is provided for self defence whilst a staff of alteration is handed over along with an alliance of lesser soul gems.

@Cazzer1604

equipment

As an auxiliary with little of his own, he is provided some of the grandfathered equipment that the Legion used in Skyrim during its civil war for the Nordic irregulars. A full set of Imperial light armour is provided, along with a hunting bow, a steel sword and shield, and a telescope.

@Auz

Equipment

As a member of the Hastatii Edward is provided with the standard fare for them. A set of Imperial plate armour, a spear, a steel shield, and a sidearm of a short sword. Some quantity of plumbatas would be set aside from the Legion's stockpile for him to use.

@Jeddaven

Equipment

Having come with her own equipment, Tylmaesa will in lieu of it be provided with only elements of an Imperial irregular uniform to use for identification as an auxiliary and a one time additional payment of three hundred gold pieces - an effort the Legion has maintained for recruits regular and auxiliary alike to arrive with their own equipment.

As well, a link to the discord server. Though I have found these to often be "activity-sinks" that hinder actual RP progress to some degree, I have known enough people present to not get bogged down by this to make the benefit of fast communication for plot hooks worth it.

TES: The Second Great War

It would not be a short voyage to Skyrim. The boats boarded were stocky things, full of supplies and men alike and bearing no rowers the sails could only do so much to take its fat frame through the waters of the North, a task made far harder by the permafrost of Northern Skyrim having to be cleared or sailed around. But eventually the Blue Palace could be seen in the distance. Soon the Karth river was entered, the mouth of the waterway decorated with new statues of great Nordic heroes: Ysgramor with the head of a Falmer, Tiber Septim - Talos - bearing the Amulet of Kings, Gormlaith Golden-Hilt with her sword held high, the Dragonborn in all the splendour recent memory could allow.

Though a wondrous sight, there was little chance to see it as most men on the deck focused on watching the Eastern shore for Thalmor lackeys. Though certainly none dared try mount an attack on the vessels, many a probing eye could be seen in the marshes.

The process of disembarkation from the vessels was somewhat strenuous, with a great many crates to be carried, horses to be lead out, and of course a good many papers to fill out from making sure that all troops were presented and accounted for to ensuring that all the auxilia had disembarked from their vessel with no clever bugger hopping off some way mid journey to swim for a rendezvous (or whatever similar journey of spycraft the mind could imagine). It was a time where it paid to be of the lower ranks, for whilst the officers and elites toiled away an enlisted man and conscript alike could do their bust to bundle up and enjoy the view; a more enterprising soldier could sidle off and purchase a bottle of Solitude’s famous spiced wine from a loose vendor.

Eventually the respite ended however. The squads were to move into the marching formation of their cohorts, and thus they climbed the stone trail to the capital of Skyrim. Always the core of support for the Empire, the locals passing by the city cheered for their arrival hoping it would foreshadow a day when no longer were they strangers in their homeland. The words that went unsaid were the thought that before them was the strength for a true, Nordic Skyrim.

The march would be the first time that the Legionnaires would see their Legate, Ingjald, in person. A massive man, it was no secret his ornate armour was inspired by the many statues of Ysgramor across his homeland. Riding upon his horse at the front of the column, he was stopped by a guard that came running out of the gates. A master of the thu’um and su’um alike, there was no difficulty in overhearing his discussion with the guard: the barracks was at full occupancy, even the floors covered in sleeping bags. Ingjald was an intimidating man, but instantly hundreds of soldiers were willing to brave his wrath as they scattered upon hearing that they would have to make alternate arrangements for the day and night.

“Stand! Stand where you are!” The Legate attempted briefly, but seeing the chaos that erupted in his ranks he simply roared “Anyone who is not at the gates in the morning is a deserter who will receive the full penalty of Imperial law for such a transgression!”
Many a man went to simply set up camp near the refugees from the rest of Skyrim along with the wandering merchants and paramilitaries outside the city. Some ran to the large temples to the Divines within the city hoping their faith would convince the clergy to give them respite. Many of the Legionnaires along with some of the auxilia ran to the inns, deciding to spend their first salaries on a last night of comfort before heading towards death. Some with local connections found rest with their family or an empty stable to sleep in.

Of course, these were only the men with foresight. It was only midday, and many a warrior that would take life as it came to them found themselves wandering to places of entertainment. Taverns, guilds they were associates of, the Bard’s College, or embassies of their homelands in the case of some Dunmer, Redguard and Argonians. Day and night was theirs to spend, how they would do it was a choice up to every man.

The squad had been rather near the front of the formation, and thus even the scoundrels among them would not scatter with the first wave of men upon hearing they had to make their own sleeping arrangements. Sergeant Dallio turned to them, doing his best to have a bright smile. “Apologies comrades, I uh... if anybody would like next month’s pay early I can hand it over now. It’s from me, not the Legion so pay it back when you can please.” Dallio would be far better known to the squad than the Legate was. A career soldier and native of Colovia he was a younger than many men of lower rank. He'd have done his best to make a good impression on his squad when they were training playing a more soft counterpart to the rigidness of the drill Sergeants. A man of few words it would nevertheless be a mistake to take this for coldness or unsociability for he would produce a friendly smile to any that meet his gaze.

Behind him, Solitude was different to how many who had been there before might have remembered it. Its streets were far busier, luckier refugees residing within rather than without. Soldiers mingled with the common folk rather than just patrolling it, donning full Imperial armour rather than the gear of Holdguard that once prevailed. The population was primarily Nordic as always, but the proportion of Mer and Beastfolk in the citizenry was now replaced almost entirely by Imperials. Though the war had brought some somberness, there were also some signs of festivity. This was owed to both the changing of seasons and the glorification of war by the Nords. Bards sang songs in Old Nord or even Dovahzul to praise the Dragonborn, competing with the myriad of shouting Priests of the Divines for one's ear. Vigilants of Stendarr walked the streets and harassed those that acted pecuiliarly whilst offering charity to the ailing. In the distance, the Blue Palace remained pristine as ever with decorations padded upon it to celebrate the arrival of the Legion.

The City was now a place of great contrast, flairs of the Empire and Skyrim clashing for dominance in all five sense.

TES: The Second Great War

@josephb@Yam I Am@lilyfluff any update fellas?