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It is a cold winter night. The tents are up high, the torches burn bright, yet there is a strange feeling of dimness within the large encampment. The largest tent, upon a steep hill, was the soldier quarter, Squeezing in amassed numbers of military men (Many of varying races), beasts of war, and great towering machines of Havoc. The interior's ceiling seemed almost limitless, from the high top, strange foreign flags of a distant land hung above, the coat of arms belonged to a dynasty that was obviously not from the continent. The sleeping soldiers were still clothed in their black and white tabards, laced with mail armour. It was easy to tell which soldier was a true member of the lord's cause, and who were sellsword mercenaries.

To the right of the tent, down the long hill, lay part of a vast wall of standing spears, in the midst was a large locked gate, obviously bound by magic. Within this place, lay a small, open fort, it's doorway guarded by two tall, thin warriors, clad in shining mithril. Not to mention the rest of the personal retinue of Elvish warriors patrolling the area. Any intruder that hoped to infiltrate inside would have to deal with the force of these reformed knights.

Within the fort, three figures stood quietly above a great map of the continent. The left figure was clad in leather, including a hood covering the entire top half of his head, obviously blind. The figure on the right was no living creature, but a glowing Golem, seemingly made of wood. The middle, was large and clad in a late gothic styled armour. Standing tall over his two fellows, this being was obviously the leader of the group.

The three stood silently, waiting for the messenger to appear. At that moment, the man had shown himself to his Elvish overlord.

"Report!" Bothimbhar's sudden shout broke the silence of the room.
"My lordship. Ygynfel the half-leg, King of the Riorii, sends his men to attack our province of Urag. He will be at our castle gates by the end of the month!"
"And..?"
"He brings with him all he can muster in his realm. Cut-throats. Adventurers. Sellswords. Raiders! His barbarian army numbers in the thousands! He will easily storm the castle before we have the time to counter the seige..."
"Ha! The damn fool dare not fight our army in open combat. Then if he chooses to siege fort Urag, I will personally slay him in his false triumph when we return."
One of the quiet advisors began to move his lips. "Bohthimbhar, that is not possible..."
"Speak Idranul... Why do you say so..?"
"The messenger said it himself, Ygynfel's army has a great advantage in numbers compared to our force. While our centralised army is highly trained, the battles of attrition, as they have previously done before, will certainly mark our doom."
"What about the Mercenaries..? can we not rely on them also."
The Golem on the right, Arithir, shook his head in a dismal posture.
"Tch. Do you see failure in my plan also brother..?"
"Arithir is right, The previous battles against the Kingdom of Starbright, as well as the Zathurazid Sultanate has greatly depleted our mercenary forces."
"Damn it all... So what is our course of action..?"
"We will not be able to recruit any mercenaries on the way to Urag, we will be too far from the neighbouring cities."
"Where is the closest haven..?"
"Bohtimbhar.. We cannot-"
"Yes we can, I will make it so. Tell me Idranul..."
The blind spellsword gave a sigh. "Yuvran, a city to the north, is a fifth of a Dragon's flight away. It will take a full day for one man to get there. It will take many more for an army. Urag will be aflame before then."
"Then send envoys."
"But my lord-"
"We need all the help we can get, no matter how meagre it is. It is our only chance Idranul. Please back me on this plan, it's all we have."
"Very well my lord. Perhaps you are right."

Bohtimbhar stood up, swiping the map of the continent out the way, whilst pointing to the

A strange figure appeared on the road heading towards the fort: it appeared as the silhouette of a man upon a horse and the rider was wearing heavy armor that hid any way to determine his race in the darkness. Two spheres rolled at his side, occasionally puffing out a cloud of steam.
As he approached, the horse began to glint a coppery color in the torch-light. Was it wearing armor? The rider continued and it became evident that the horse was not a true horse at all, but an automation. A jet of steam shot out it's nostrils and it's clock-work innards clicked quietly.
By the light of the torches, the rider could now be seen: a massive, feline man. His ears twitched back and forth at every sound and his tail swayed at the horse's flanks.
The two metal spheres at his side rolled along quietly other than the occasional hiss of steam, and the rider himself was quiet as well.
Upon reaching the entrance to the encampment, he slid off the horse and looked up at the walls.
"I would like to speak to Bohtimbar!" he called out, his voice deep thick with a Russian accent.

Bohtimhhar's sharp ears arose as he heard his name being called. This voice was unlike any in the camp, very thick and eastern sounding. Bohtimbhar's host was far too west in the Tuatec basin to be near any of the eastern provinces. An adventurer, perhaps this person was...

Bohtimbhar swing his metal clad legs toward the exit of the fort, keeping himself away from his soldier kinsmen. As he stormed aross the path, he was greeted with a honourable bow by the patrolling soldiers.
"Open the gates! His lordship is exiting the fort." The Elvish watcher caught sight of his lord moving stubbornly toward the gates, reacting early, rather than keep his impatient master waiting.

The gates opened, revealing a tall, mithril clad knight: "Who, and for what reason, doth call my name!?" The High Elf shouted from between the stockade of spears.

Dmitri took a moment to compare himself to the elf who now stood before him. He admired to cool sheen of the elvish armor, and his was not even nearly shiny, but it was stronger than any man-made metal. His armor, and several of his weapons, we're crafted from the bones of dragons.
"Hello, Comrade elf. I am Dmitri Yashklov. I am here on behalf of the Stone Village," he said and gave a slight bow.
Meanwhile, at his side, the two spheres unfolded themselves, revealing themselves to be humanoid automatons. They were identical to each other and made of a copper-colored metal. Each one had a sword for their left arm, which could rotate 180 degrees to become a hand and on it's other arm was an automatic crossbow, which was permenantly affixed in place.
"I shall be honest right now, Bohtimbar, I am not the most fond of your way of ruling, but I prefer the order and laws of your reign, than the frequent raids of the heathen kingdoms around us. I wish to fight by your side."

Bohtimbhar took a long gaze at the figure, the man's shape was unlike any he had truly seen before in his long life. The large cat-man, adorning a very powerful looking armour of bleached bone, not of a man, but of a powerful beast. Not to mention his transportation, a machine that Bohtimbhar would have only seen in the dwarvern mountains. Truly a sight to behold. He found himself moving towards the new arrival. As he came closer, he gave a small bow of respect.

"I know my rule may seem tyrannical to my followers. I act this way only to maintain my authority. Chaos within a multiracial army is the last thing I need." He kept a solemn posture for the moment, his white eyes shining from the light of the moon. "Nevertheless, I am grateful for your wish to join my cause. I can tell you are experienced in combat, and I am sure you will prove to be a valuable asset..." Bohtimbhar placed his sword within the snow, and placed his gauntlet above it, offering to shake the hand of the new arrival. "Welcome to my host, but I must ask, where is this... 'Stone Village' you have come from?"

Dmitri removed his boney glove and shook the elf's hand. "I have but one condition for joining your cause: my village can go on without any bother from your kingdom afterwards. The people there are all farmers, blacksmiths and men of knowledge. They wish only to be left in peace and I have been sent as their only soldier to help fight," he explained, "And the village I am from is from the Gray Canyons of the north west. I myself, and my race, is from the far south, in the desert lands."

Bohtimbhar was a man of his word, despite coming from a race of capricious cut-throats. He would uphold his end of the bargain if it meant the addition of a great military commander. "Very well, your wish is granted. I will make no attempt to integrate your people into my realm. So long as I remain here on this land, I shall forever keep this promise."

Bohtimbhar took his blade from the snow, placing it back into it's cold sheath, turning toward the encampment. "Come, I shall show you the encampment." Beyond Bohtimbhar, lay a colossal tent, steady upon a mountainous hill, guarded by patrolling soldiers of different shapes and figures. The path to the tent was lit by a line of long, sharp torches, seemingly jammed into the ground. The tent itself gave off a luminescent shine. The deep blue lights within had shown that many of the soldiers were still awake, it would not yet be intrusion to creep inside.

"You may take your... 'steed' inside as well if you wish, there are a vast array of creatures and mounts within. It makes no difference." Bohtimbhar gave a sign of beckoning, wishing for this new warrior to follow.

"What about these two?" he gestured to the humanoid automatons with one hand and they bowed slightly. "They are permitted to enter as well?" he asked as he pressed a button on the horse's forehead and the metal plates slid and reformed, shrinking down until it was the size and shape of a wolf.

"Of course, I am sure that an automaton will not cause too much trouble amongst the militia." Bohtimbhar was not too bothered among machines, so long as they remained loyal, and didn't go haywire.

Passing by the entrance to the tent, two tall figures kept watch outside the lobby, giving the passers-by cold stares, keeping a quiet observation over the encampment's inhabitants. Bohtimbhar's voice became slightly solemn as he spoke "Those are High Elves of my personal retinue, some of my most prized men. These are but two of the original army I commanded during my days as a marshal. They are known to each other, as well as to me, as the Exodites, or Outcasts. The fact that I accompany you means to them that you are no intruder."

Bohtimbhar gave a small salute of respect to his kinsmen, repeat was guaranteed by the soldier, as both Elves opened the tent for their lord and his company. "Here it is..." Bohtimbhar let out a whisper as he pointed toward the bustling community of soldiers.

It was a dark tent, accompanied by a looming blue shade across the skyline-esque ceiling. It was almost like looking into a planetarium attraction. Even then, the ground floor was like a town square, full of soldiers sleeping, drinking, socialising, training, going about their daily business. The tent was separated by four quarters: The soldier chambers, the mercenary quarter, the centre square, and finally the beast pens. The entrance connected to the square, which led to a large community of soldiers partaking in their daily activities, and housed the machines of war, including trebuchets, great cannons, and a strange cluster of machines shaped like a bull. The mercenary quarter was separated from the soldier quarter specifically to showcase the benefits of becoming a full-time soldier of the host, which included the advantages of free beds, food, drink and care. Mercenaries had to bring their own rations. The beast pens contained a vast array of animals, including horses, wyverns, great oxen, basilisks, and numerous other creatures that benefit the realm.

(I think you misunderstood x3 I was referring to the two sphere robots that Dmitri brought with him)

(Fixed, the fact that I am making a lot of mistakes pretty much shows me that I really need some sleep )

Dmitri gave a respectful nod to the high elves but otherwise didn't give them much attention. Of all the elvish races, the high elves were his least favorite, but he had respect for them as mages and warriors.
Dmitri was held in slight awe at the sheer size of the "tent" that they were in. "This is quite incredible... It must have taken a lot of cloth to make this cover," he mused as he followed behind the elven king.
"My main question now is where will I be sleeping? Because I am content with sleeping outside. If need be."

"Well, considering that your willingness to join the cause is not fuelled by fame and fortune, you have my blessing to sleep in the main soldier quarters, which is at the far left of the tent." As he replied, Bohtimbhar pointed toward a great red curtain. Soldiers in a black and white coat of arms poured forth in and out of the area. The room was much darker and quiet the than the centre square, such is demanded by the sleeping soldiers. "The machine you have may join you, I find it strange to put an automaton in a pen of living beasts."

He nodded, "Thank you, Lord," he gave the elf a respectful nod. "I agree... The machine has been known to upset some animals," he mused, "It probably would not be wise to set a group of wyverns on a scared rampage.... Or basilisks. What could is a stone army?" he mused.

"Precisely..." The Elf agreed, staring into the great curtain. He slowly lifted up part of the large excuse of cloth. The quarter floor was cluttered in empty, fur bedrolls. It seemed that many of the soldiers were still passing the time, at least before midnight.

"This is the inside of the soldier's quarter. Many of the beds are free and without an owner, especially after the attrition we have suffered against the Zathurazids." Bohtimbhar let out a depressing sigh. The death of his soldiers weigh heavily on him. Each casualty only made him more wrothful and angry. Though he was unlike any of his kin, he still shared the sanctity of life the High Elves felt their brothers and sisters. "Feel free to choose. My only rule is to not disrupt the sleeping soldiers. Some of the more... 'brutish' warriors may get a bit aggressive if their rest is interrupted." Bohtimbhar stated as he pointed to a sleeping Ogre.

This was not the Goblin's first time in a tent. He was new here, but had experience in the life of war. Obel had staked out a quiet bed in the corner of the tent. To make his spot even more ideal, the man that was to his side had been injured in combat earlier that day. He was in transit to a rear area where he would recover.

So Obel currently had a little extra space for his gear. He sat up on his bunk, sword held by his stubby left hand, sharpening stone in his right. It may have been a little late for maintaining arms as some of the soldiers were trying to sleep. Tactical maintenance did take a priority and if anyone minded, nobody said anything.

The gentle rubbing clang of stone on metal echoed throughout the crisp night along with the other noises of a military area of operations. Quiet was something that hardly existed in a place like this. Even at this late hour, men were constantly being awoken to complete one task or another. Usually, it was some sort of guard duty.

Luckily, the goblin warrior had this night to recover from the days activities. He had not been harmed much in the previous day's skirmish. All he had were a few blisters on his hands and feet and some chafing from the mail armor. The burn reminded him of the sacrifice some of his comrades had made and reminded him of his own mortality.

It was then that the curtain opened. Obel's hands tensed on his sword for a second out of instinct. After a moment, he recognized Lord Bohtimbhar. Quickly, the new soldier dropped his weapon into its holster and stood up. He stood up, rigid, arms tucked at his side. His feet touched at the heels and pointed outwards. He shouted in a deep booming voice.

"Group atten-tion!"

It would disturb the sleeping soldiers, but respect had to be shown for the Lord entering the room. The sleeping men snapped to the same position of attention, waiting for the Lord's permission to continue.

(Pretend this is below Dmitri's post) "You are correct, though this does frustrate me a little, it does show that the soldiers are ready and willing. Even if they are exhausted" Bohtimbhar whispered to Dmitri, with a mildly annoyed tone in his voice.

As he saw his men suddenly wake in what seemed to be an anxious fashion, Bohtimbhar abruptly stopped leading the Khajiit, and decided to move to the centre of the room on his own, marching up and down beside the line of men, squinting to check any fear or weakness in his levy. Heated tension slowly rose as the soldiers bit their lips in worry that even a peep of noise would completely ruin this sudden role call, and anger their wrathful overlord. He then slowly moved closer and closer to the line, invading their personal space. And with a small whisper, he spoke to his men:

"...As you were..."

The soldiers sighed in relief, and went back to their activities, but also bearing some sort of grudge of annoyance toward this Goblin that had woken them. Bohtimbhar crept to the Goblin responsible, giving a small bow of respect, but also a small lecture.

"I appreciate your show of respect, but there was no need for a rolecall. The men have now awoken abruptly, and they will be tired at dawn." Hopefully, this warrior now knew that if Bohtimbhar wanted a rolecall, he himself would have demanded it. But he did not want to dwell on such a thing, asking an irrelevant question. "Regardless, how goes the metal work?"

Dmitri stepped into the room, his three automatons at his side, though the spheres had folded back into their spherical shape and only looked like giant, brass balls.
He glanced at the goblin who so quickly roused the men from their sleep and raised an eyebrow, "Is this not what you just told me not to do?" he asked Bohtimbar with a chuckle then walked forwards, searching for an empty bed, which he quickly found. There was loudl clamor as he removed the mass amount of weapons from his person. First, he removed his large, concave shield that looked slightly like a satelite dish, then From his back there was a battle axe made of dragon bone, and a crossbow with intricate designs and made of a copperish metal. From his side, he pulled a mace, also made of dragon bone, a razor that had a demonic feel to it and a quiver full of bolts for his crossbow that were made of that same metal. All these things he placed on hooks sticking out the side of his robotic wolf, where a dragon-bone bow and and a quiver full of arrows made from some black metal were already resting.

As the goblin was adressed, he quickly dropped one knee to the ground and lowered his head. "It is a fine sword, my lord. She will be the tip of our spear of victory!". The words had come off a bit rehearsed and in fact they were. Obel had constantly wondered to himself what he would say if he were ever approached by Bohtimbhar or one of the generals.

Now was his chance, and he had already screwed up. But it would be better to have taken the small lecture for waking the men, rather than to have been destroyed verbally for sitting on his bunk disrespectfully.

Besides, the goblin was a goblin after all and he did have a strange sense of humor. Many of the men gave looks as bitter as prunes in return for his late night show of heraldry.

Leaned against a corner of Obel's bunk was a flintlock weapon with a wide brimmed, ornate barrel. A golden-colored form of a dragon's head encapsulated the opening of the blunderbuss. It was a relatively new prototype of a weapon. The only fancy piece of gear the former mercenary turned infantryman carried.

It also appeared to be in finely maintained condition.

"...I see..." Bohtimbhar found the Goblin's response to be rather... eccentric in some way. He clenched his fist for a moment. "I see you are slightly new here, though I do remember you from yesterday's skirmish with the Zathurazids. Damn horse archers took out three hundred of the steel company in an ambush. At least we had the high ground. We would have lost a lot more without the sand mountains."

He pondered for a moment. The forces of the impending Riorii were definitely strong, but Sultan Zathura's host was an organised force. They would be a true test of arms, and Bohtimbhar wasn't sure he had the numbers to take on the Sultan's army.