Mul awoke in the gray hours before dawn in an attempt to avoid the morning rush of travelers on the road to Cheydinhal. The horse stables were just outside the gates to the Imperial City, so he couldn't risk purchasing a mount: he'd have to make his way on foot. He rose to his feet, putting on his pilfered set of Imperial armor. He slid the steel sword into its scabbard, placing his other supplies into his backpack. He was surprised to find that the soldier didn't have any type of backpack or other bag on him, so he had fashioned one the night before from an old potato sack and a roll of twine.
He walked down the stairs and straight out the door, having already paid his boarding fees. Striding towards the tall sign post outside the inn, he stopped for a moment to reorient himself with the layout of Cyrodiil. Cheydinhal was due east of the Imperial City, and at least an 12-hour walk if he didn't stop to eat, not to mention any delays due to run-ins with the local fauna.
This got him worrying about Kresh yet again. What if he hadn't escaped the Emperor and his guards? He could have easily spilled the secret to their plan. Kresh was one of the strongest Orcs Mul knew, as well as his most trusted Lieutenant, but no one could stand up to an Imperial torturer for this long. But there was no sense in turning these thoughts over in his head: either Kresh would be with Dulfish when Mul arrived or he wouldn't.
Mul began the long walk towards Cheydinhal. He proceeded unmolested for several hours before coming upon a frightened-looking Khajiit in leather armor. Always eager to help another beast-folk, he approached the cat with his palms out in front of him. "Greetings, friend. Is everything alright?"
The Khajiit surveyed him with beady eyes. He beckoned to him with one finger, drawing the Orc closer. As Mul drew near to hear the his words, he felt the familiar coldness of a dagger at his throat. "That's close enough. What've you got in your coinpurse?"
Mul froze, mentally kicking himself for letting his guard down. "Calm down, now. No one needs to get hurt." The Khajiit began to relax as Mul reached for his back pack. Suddenly, Mul spun to the left, grabbing the pommel of the highwayman's dagger with his left hand. As the would-be robber panicked, he attempted to jerk the weapon away from the lightning-fast Orc, who responded by flipping his wrist over and jamming the blade between the Khajiit's ribs.
He collapsed in a heap, blood trickling from his mouth. As he rolled onto his stomach in an attempt to crawl to safety, Mul stomped on his neck with a wet crunch, crushing his spine. "Damn highwaymen," he muttered, patting the cat down for any useful items. He found nothing save a few septims, which he added to his coinpurse.
The rest of his journey was relatively uneventful, exempting a tense staredown with a wandering wolf. The massive creature smelled the musk emanating from the towering Orc and quickly decided to find easier prey.
Cheydinhal crested over the horizon, framed by the setting sun. The large gates loomed over Mul as he cautiously approached the guard who was in charge of entrance to the city. The Imperial guard looked him over, obviously suspicious of the armor. It made his blood boil to simply stand there, but every guard in the city had been paid off by the Orum Gang. They certainly wouldn't take kindly to him killing one of their "investments". Once the guard gave him the go-ahead nod, Mul stepped through the wooden gates of Cheydinhal, ready to begin rebuilding his forces for another assault on the Empire.
AN: Thanks a ton for all of the views, reviews, and PM's! Sorry for the shorter chapter this week, but I had to get a bit of transition in here before all of the action. As far as the content of this chapter specifically, I love the chance to include detailed martial arts in my stories (as well as some nice Orcish historical accuracy!) Thanks again, and I'll see y'all next Sunday.