The fires continued to burn and the sun made its descent from the sky, casting the landscape in a red-orange hue that bounced off the clouds and the snow.

On his throne, Ti'laan took his chalice, filled with the last of the deserters blood, and took a tentative sip from it. The blood of Bretons was unique. One moment in would be sweet, the next it would be sour, and the moment after that it would become bitter, before finally returning to sweetness again. Ti'laan attributed the changing tastes to the magic that raced through the Bretons system. Being the mongrel race of men - half man and half elf - Bretons possessed in their blood all the tastes of both species.

Ti'laan swirled the liquid around in his mouth, savouring every flavour, before swallowing. Oblivion knows when he would drink like this again.

As always, Guraag sat at his side, leaning an arm on his battle axe. The bandits sat around the fires somewhat impatiently. It had been months since their last raid, and even though the flow of riches coming into the clan was constant, some of them were becoming restless.

"The men grow restless," Guraag said gruffly, as if reading Ti'laan's thoughts.

The Argonian merely nodded. "They are."

"Have you a raid planned?"

"Better," Ti'laan said with a hint of a smile in his voice. "I've thought of a plan to get some of the men out of the camp, and move the entire clan into a larger and more comfortable residence."

Guraag waited for Ti'laan to elaborate, but the lizard did no such thing.

"Bring me Emrik," he said instead.

Guraag grunted and, rising from his chair, waded down into the clan in search of Emrik.

Moments later, the Orc had returned with the bandit following close behind.

"Emrik," Ti'laan addressed.

"Chief," Emrik nodded.

"It dawned on me that I never paid you for your efforts in capturing the deserter," Ti'laan said.

"I appreciate the gesture, Chief, but payment won't be necessary."

Ti'laan watched Emrik closely. Where most bandits declined payment out of courtesy, they always still had a greed in their eyes that suggested that they would not decline if the offer were made a second time. Emrik, Ti'laan noted, was not like other bandits. He declined payment out of courtesy, yes, but he also did so because gold didn't interest him. It was what he brought to their little dysfunctional family that was payment enough for him. It was this reason why Ti'laan favoured Emrik over any bandit. Except perhaps Guraag.

"Nevertheless, I insist," Ti'laan said at last. "Take what you please."

"I respectfully decline your offer, Chief," Emrik replied instantly. "All I ask is to be part of the next party to go out."

Ti'laan acted as if he were mulling it over, though truth be told he had already assigned Emrik to lead the hunting party the following night.

"As you wish," Ti'laan said at length.

Emrik nodded. "Chief. Guraag."

Guraag gave the man a wicked grin, and the bandit left.

He walked down towards the lookout to relieve whoever was on duty, not because he had to, but because he wanted, needed, something to do.

The current lookout was a Bosmer woman. Emrik noted how many of the assigned lookouts were Wood Elves, most probably because of their sharp eyes.

When Emrik approached the woman she barely acknowledged his existence. She wore a face of concern.

"What's the matter?" Emrik asked.

The Bosmer shook her head, but pointed. "That outcrop there. I saw movement. Too large to be a fox or a wolf, but too small to be a troll or a bear. Thankfully," she added.

"Why not investigate?"

"It was brief, and it didn't look like a threat, but still..." She shivered. "Something tells me that it's not good. Whatever it is."

"Should we go and check it out?" Emrik enquired.

The woman slowly nodded.

"Krole," Emrik said, addressing a Redguard man close-by.

Krole looked up.

"Could you fill in lookout for a few moments? Vestya and I need to check something out."

Krole nodded, but didn't say anything, as usual.

Probably because he has no tongue. Emrik thought.

Emrik and Vestya dropped from the lookout into the soft snow below, and made their way across to the outcrop in the dying light.

As the drew closer they slowed down to a quieter pace, though the crunching ice beneath their feet may as well have been hammers on an anvil.

Carefully, ever so slowly, Emrik unsheathed his sword. The shining metal of the blade caught the last of the light, giving the illusion that the sword was glowing with orange flames.

The blade was light in his hands, but Emrik knew the steel was strong, and not for the first time he consciously admired the craftsmanship of the Nords.

Behind him, Vestya had drawn her two Orcish daggers, and held them ready in a fighting stance that was known only to her.

Emrik held up a closed fist and the two stopped.

"On three," he mouthed.

Vestya nodded.

He counted the seconds on his fingers.

One...

Two...

Three!

The duo leapt around the corner, ready to meet resistance, but yet found none.

Emrik sheathed his sword.

"Looks like nothing," he said, unable to hide the disappointment in his voice.

Vestya shook her head. "Not nothing. Look."

She crouched down to the snow just behind the outcrop.

"Footprints," she said, "I'd say a half dozen men. Varying sizes. Possibly a rival bandit clan."

Emrik scoffed. No bandit clan would dream of taking over what Ti'laan had built here.

Vestya gasped sharply.

"What is it?" Emrik asked.

"Not bandits," Vestya said. "Imperials. Look." She gestured to a faint outline of a dragon in the snow. The outline was repeated several times on the different footprints.

"They were here?"

Vestya nodded.

Emrik stood and helped Vestya to her feet.

"We have to tell Ti'laan," he said firmly. "Now."


Ti'laan sat with his eyes closed, deep in thought. He was contemplating the information that Emrik had recounted for him some minutes prior.

Guraag was on his feet for a change, but the Orc still leant against that battle axe.

"Do you have a plan, Ti'laan?" Guraag asked calmly.

"I do," the Argonian said. "In fact, it was the same plan I had before. Unfortunately, current events have forced me to play my hand."

Guraag waited for Ti'laan to explain further. This time he got lucky.

"We must move into Whiterun." Ti'laan said at last.

Guraag grinned slightly. "You mean to stage an invasion?"

"Yes, but not a... conventional invasion," Ti'laan said.

Guraag counted his blessings. He knew he wouldn't get more information out of Ti'laan right now.

"How many men will you need?" The Orc ventured.

Ti'laan counted under his breath. "Five," he said confidently. "Including myself. Two stalkers, a brute and a physician are all I need."

"You think you can conquer Whiterun with five men?"

Ti'laan turned his burning gaze upon Guraag. The Orc saw nothing but surety in his friends eyes.

"I know I can," Ti'laan said evenly. He rose from his throne. "Could you fetch me Darrius? I must speak with him."

Guraag just grunted and turned away. He exchanged a few words with a bandit and gestured to Ti'laan. The bandit nodded and climbed the steps to meet him.

"Darrius," Ti'laan greeted.

"Chief," Darrius returned, with a polite nod of the head.

Darrius was a spindly Dunmer, with filthy grey dreadlocks and a long beard. He was the oldest of the bandits, approaching one hundred and fifty years, and he was nigh on useless on the battlefield. But his mind was sharp, and the elf was clever, qualities Ti'laan respected.

"I need you to brew me some potions," Ti'laan said, getting straight to the point.

Darrius nodded. "I figured as much. What for?"

"I can't say for the moment," Ti'laan said.

Darrius shrugged.

"Of course, I'll pay you for your efforts."

"What is it you need?"

"Featherweight potions. Four of them."

"Featherweight potions? Hmm..." Darrius stroked his beard. "Ingredients for those aren't common, you know."

Ti'laan gestured to the rest of the bandit clan. "Take whoever you need to gather them, but take no more than four men."

Darrius nodded. "Well, that would make matters easier..."

Ti'laan waited as the Dunmer thought.

"Well?" He prompted.

"When do you need the potions by?"

"Before the week is out."

"Consider it done," Darrius said at length.

Ti'laan nodded. "Do not disappoint me."

"Wouldn't plan on it, Chief," Darrius said, a mischievous twinkle in his red eyes. "The last thing I want to become is your next meal."