The army marched through the gates towards the docks, mothers watched as their sons left for war.
At the docks a fleet awaited them. Slowly, one by one they all boarded. But by the time they had all settled in, the Sun's beams barely lit the darkened skies.
"We should wait for daytime, and leave first thing in the morning." Ardjack spoke. Watching the last of the supply crates board. Beside him stood the admiral.
"Of course." The admiral replied. He was an old breton, in his late nineties. Although not noble-born, he had proved his might in battle and as a reward he had been granted a small plot of land as well as a title, making him a noble.
The very next morning the wooden ships raised anchors. One by one they exited the port.
They sailed west. For weeks they navigated through the rough storms of the Padomaic Ocean, each moment seemed to be Perane's last. The sailors assured him it wouldn't be, as they crossed the route a dozen times each year, yet he worried and vomited, his face an awful shade of green.
The storms played with the ship as if it were a toy, the wind sent the masts flying, one could believe they were giant birds. The hull sometimes became filled with seawater, it would reach up to Perane's knees and ruin his gear. Fortunately, towards the end of the expedition he learned to keep his equipment on the upper shelves, for this trip was the worst he'd ever experienced.
The seas played with them for days. One ship sank, drowning with it half of the expeditionary force, another time they were set off course, so much so, in fact that they had come close to the shores of Hammerfell, delaying their arrival to Daggerfall by a week. But fortunately, and finally, they reached their destination intact. -seasick, yes, but still alive-
The gates of Daggerfall opened to allow the passage of a small envoy, Lord Perane, his squire and a small entourage of guards. Peasants gathered around to witness the intricate carriage pulled by steeds adorned with armor more expensive than their homes.
They rode through the giant maze of a city, left, right, right, left, Perane couldn't keep up, he missed the simpler, cleaner rodes of Swordrist, where beggars and slums weren't so common.
Some say Castle Daggerfall and its surroundings were constructed by the Direnni themselves thousands of years ago, others say it was the Aedra who built it along with the Adamantine Tower, Redguards say that it was built by the foul Daedra and meant to be inhabited only by the evilest of heart. But no matter who built it, all agree on one thing, its beauty is unrivaled in all of High Rock.
The castle had walls of its own, different than those that encircled the city. They were made of red stone that pleased and satisfied the human eye, each tower, comparable to the Adamantine Tower itself in beauty and importance, the towers have been the turning point of many a siege throughout the nation's history. They were topped by domes of gold inscribed with ebony. The central building, home of the King and his family, was most magnificent of all, it's walls smooth and shiny, intricate shapes of past victories inscribed with an attention to the smallest of details.
The large gates bent open to allow Perane through, the King's Guard, clad in ebony bowed as they introduced Perane to the War Chambers. The room itself was large, large enough to fit a hundred generals inside. An elevated podium sat on one end of the chamber, while a huge map of the Iliac Bay was spread across an even larger table that took up half the empty space.
About fifty noblemen occupied the room, chatting and remembering old memories as if it were a party and not a war meeting. They stood huddled in groups of two-three people, several youngsters like him -for whom it was their first war- stood all alone, beside the drinks.
Finally, the King spoke:
"As many of you know, we are at war, King Camaron of Sentinel declared war when we accepted Betony's petition to join the Kingdom of Daggerfall."
He paused. The room was silent, no one dared to utter a word.
"And so I have gathered every one of you here to fight for the honor of Daggerfall. We have never lost a war and I don't intend to do so this time.
And so, after considerable examination, Lord Bridwell, Baron Of Welljester Keep and Ristardhold, Vassal to King Lysandus had been chosen as lead-marshal of the campaign."
His voice echoed through the large hall, resonating off of the marble floors and the stone walls. The hall erupted in chatter once more as they began discussing the choice of lead-marshal. Some congratulated him and mentioned how loyal they are, others looked at him with disgust, some even mocked him openly, but those were the old noblemen, who had influence in the court and no fear of the law. And so it remained until, finally, by midnight, the hall was left empty.
It was decided upon in the meeting that they would depart on the 15th of Second Seed. The lords set upon organizing the armies. Perane was assigned with the right flank, him and five other lords.
The morning of the 15th they departed, a thousand men marching at once, led by their lords, clad in iron and armed in steel. Families watched, desperately begging their children to turn back. It was unlike the leaving from Swordrist, here families numbered in the thousands, and were more miserable. Nonetheless the soldiers marched unhindered. Through the hills of Western Daggerfall they tread, until the hills of Daggerfall become the forests of Shalgora.
They were riding for war, and they weren't returning without victory.