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The sorcerer was a bit confused by his statement, mostly because of the reputation he seemed to think he had; a cruel anti-magic lord on one hand and a power-hungry sorceress on the other was almost like being between a rock and a hard place, with little consideration of whomever sided with them. He was not a toy to be used and tossed aside at a moments notice; he was a Wizard-Lord of Tamriel, and he wanted them to understand that. “I’ll consider that request,” he pondered aloud, “but I believe it’s wiser to have patience rather than bursting straight through the problem; if I destroyed this rubble with one blast, the whole place might collapse on us. I recommend slowly burning the wood away, which, while it will take time, it will be less likely for us to share a blanket of debris.” He wasn’t an expert in the healing arts, but he had a friend, who happened to be an Ayleid queen in a Breton’s body, who wielded the sacred light-fire of Merid-Nunda and thus would be a better healer than he. His wisdom as an advisor, however, would indeed be more of his expertise; his many years of travel and learning would be beneficial to any kingdom that used his knowledge.

“VALLAN AHEAD!”
“Captain she on fire!”
“Smoke! Stop ship”
“Cap-“
“-been attacked!!!”
“Turn-“
Ruslan’s emerald blue eyes shot open and he stirred awake below deck in utter confusion.
Fire? Smoke? Wait.. Is the boat of fire?!
Without hesitation, the man rolled off the bed and trotted out of his quarters, holding a shirt in his right hand and his belt in the left. He bumped past a few terrified men, as the walkspace was cramped, and reached the ladder. Quickly ascending, he lifted up the door only to see the sky blacked with both smoke and storm clouds.
“Fire!”
“Vallan is in ruin!”
“We must reach port!”
“Ready your sword once we dock! Be ready to fight any invaders!”
“Find survivors!”
“Lord Schafer!”
Ruslan stood upon the deck, threw on his shirt, and fastened his belt. For what he saw could not be unseen. A Town on Fire.
“Lord Schafer! Vallan is on Fire!” Came a panicked voice behind him.
Turning, he realized it was the first mate, Osbert, his small mouth agape, gasping for breath.
“Lord Schaf-“
“I see that, Osbert!” Ruslan interrupted abruptly, “Where’s your captain? What happened? And do we still wish to dock?”
“Leofric is at wheel! And he wishes to dock! He wants us to explore the ruin!”
“Good. Go to him and tell him if he does not wish to leave his ship unattended, I will lead the men adock’”
“Will do, Lord!”
Ruslan watched as the stout man ran towards the back of the ship before quickly descending back down the ladder to gather his things. He quickly jogged back to his quarters, again avoiding those still in panic, and threw his Elven armor on and a pack over his shoulder. He then opened this lockbox at the foot of the cot and removed a sheathed Blade Of Derevyna. He held it before him for a moment, sliding it out slightly to examine its clean and perfect beauty, before closing both sword and box. He raced back up the ladder and met a great two dozen sailors (hardly warriors) clad in dirty clothes and wielding dulled swords.
As the ship hit dock, the stench of burning flesh washed over the ship like a hard wave and a few men coughed aloud sickly. Ruslan could see it in their eyes that they were all nervous and afraid just as he so he thought it best not to give pep and only to give direction.
As soon as the walking boards were lowered, Leofric sternly informed his men who’s orders to take and their reasoning for not fleeing. After this was done, all men turned to Ruslan and stared stiffly into his eyes.
“With me men! We go a-land’! Follow forth!”
And with that, a very insignificant “army” entered the smoldering town of Vallan.

Sir Arnold looked ahead, having been working hard at removing the dead from the rubble and piling them respectfully to one side, as well as tending to the wounded when he noticed Rook struggling.

He rushed over to provide her aid with the task at hand, well aware that Pentre would consider it beneath his station to work, shoulder to shoulder and assist a ranger no less.

"Here... let me lend you a hand" offered Arn in a friendly tone, helping pull the pulley to dislodge the fallen support. With a few attempts they managed to dislodge the beam and free the door so that it could be opened at last.

He did not linger around to get praises and gratitude, rather he hurried to return to his task of treating the wounded, recovering the corpses and accounting for each dead whilst writing up a list of those missing based on the ruins of each building.



With so much death and so much desolation, it truly was disheartening. He knew those people, by their first name, he had been drinking with them, merrymaking not a few days earlier, watching over them just the night before and now they were burnt corpses, ashes, hardly able to tell who was who if it were not for the bits of left over jewelry, keepsakes, torn clothing.

"Thanks," Rook offered to Sir Arnold as they finally got the heavy support beam to fall away from the door. Though it was possible it was still locked. It was the jail after all. She went to untie the rope, intending to put it back with her gear on her saddle.

Pentre hadn't answered her question about the condemned ranger, seemingly intent upon rescuing the woman trapped within and Rook hung back to let him be the one to try the door. She wasn't even sure if he'd heard her question. But if they were going to hang the ranger, it seemed likely he would have been held in these very jail cells. So instead of pressing further for an answer, Rook went to look at the pile of bodies Sir Arnold had collected, nervous about just who she'd find there, a nagging suspicion forming in her mind. There was, after all, only 1 other ranger that she knew of that might have been in Vallan within the past few days. She took her time. After all, it had been a long time since she'd last seen him... but eventually convinced herself there was no one she recognized in the pile of bodies.

“Well,” the sorcerer sighed, “it seems as though we just went from bad to worse; it’s almost exactly like Kvatch, only there aren’t any Daedra still skulking around. Well, except for Dagon here, obviously.” He took a few steps in, examining the dead. “Burned, bruised, and broken: so far, it seems as though they died here from the surroundings, rather than being slain by something intelligent. Either the Sorceress was unable to enter but still able to kill them from afar, or these were just unlucky souls caught at a bad time.”

After having the support moved off the door, it can be seen visibly shaking with each strike. After a short moment, the striking stops and the door begins to push open, moving away rubble at it's base as it does so. It opens up a bit, just enough to poke a head through, and a young woman's head with black wiry hair can be seen poking through it. "Finally! A familiar face!" She says, pushing the door the rest of the way open.

Out comes the usual thin Aria dressed in her usual garb, except for dried murky blood stains splattered on her cloak and face. She takes the time to walk out of the dungeon's staircase and sheathe her sword. "I'm sorry Pentre, but I fell asleep while reading one of my books, and woke up to find the jail door had busted open with some of the fiends running straight towards me! So I ran in the dungeon, but they followed me inside and that's how I got trapped." She explains.

"I tried executing one of them, they were absolutely disgusting." Aria says, somewhat gagging as she does so. She lloks towards the others, particularly Arun-Ja and Rook. "New friends I presume?" She asks.

Necromancy; her aura reeked of it. He had nothing against the art, of used correctly, but many people still had their opinions against it; at least two peoples of Tamriel despised it, and he knew one province had a law against it. He had a personal experience with the most powerful necromancer in the Mundus, who had killed him and given his soul to a Daedric Prince as a sacrifice to bring Nirn into his realm; needless to say, Mannimarco was a poor example of a necromage. “So, necromancy,” he inquired, “a bit of alchemy as well, if my senses aren’t leading me astray.”

Pentre frowned at Arunja's guess, assuming he had betrayed Aria openly

"Necromancy? Nay, such is forbidden by law and she is my finest officer, you might say she dabs in alchemy and higher exotic knowledge beyond commoners understanding instead" corrected Pentre retouching the definition tactfully

"Glad you're alive captain Aria, you didn't leave any prisoners behind alive... I trust they were all dispatched?" Asked Pentre

Rook cast another look at Arun-Ja as he looked over the dead bodies at the same time she did. Perhaps she'd judged him too quickly, she thought, listening to his words about the sorceress. "Her name is Adryn," she offered cautiously. "Are you sure it is her work? She's kept to herself all these years I've been on The Sheer Stone."

Though she felt a chill at his next words... Necromancy. That screamed of Adryn's hand and Rook turned her suspicious gaze on Aria. Maybe her guess that Pentre had been involved had not been far off base after all.

"Captain Aria is our royal executioner here at the island. It's her task to ensure no one leaves the dungeons alive" explained Pentre smiling at having Aria alive before returning to the supposedly grim task of finishing off the survivors that were too wounded to recover quickly. Though he seemed to enjoy such chore a little too much for a royal knight

Sir Arnold came close to the rubble, pulling a medallion from beneath a stone which bore lord Leonard's coat of arms

"Ranger... You need to see this" noted Arm waving Rook over

That was proof that the ranger Leo had escaped The Keep and had been out there at the time of slaughter but gave little indication of his fate, dead and buried under rubble, or alive under the stones, or taken captive by the witch, or alive and missing, perhaps seeking shelter at the forest. The trail of blood was unclear for it mingled with many more before vanishing

"Necromancy? What makes you say so?" She asks towards Arun-Ja. "And as always Pentre. Well, aside from the ones not on death row..." She looks over to where the cells used to be. "But it seems they've already been taken care of without me." Aria says.

She moves past Pentre looking more so at her surroundings. "Oh my, they really did a number on this place didn't they? What's the town like outside? Surely they didn't do this to the rest of the folk, right?" She asks.

As Ruslan and his men move into the village, they see more of the same devastation. Most of the dock is burned aside from a few piers and other things. However, the distant sounds of thunder can be heard coming from the mountain, as red bolts of lightning can be seen traveling across the swirling clouds.

“Just a feeling,” he replied, “I had an encounter with a powerful necromancer once; he took my soul, so I took his life. Well, not so much his existence as much as his first life, which then turned him into a Lich, and then a full on moon around a moon. That’s not important here, however; we need to see if we can find anything to use against this... what did you call her... Witch.” He walked with the soldiers, taking note of the many other symbols etched on the burnt stones, the pattern of the marks, the trails of blood that seemingly lead nowhere. “Red lightning is never a good sign,” he observed, peering into the mountains, “either a Daedric Prince or Fallen Lord has found their way here, or your rogue spellcaster has a newfound power she shouldn’t be wielding; I’m thinking it’s the latter.”

Pentre shook his head

'If she wanted to kill, or needed to, she should of asked her demands. I am sure we had enough captives to share and I could have found enough crimes and forced volunteers to send some over to her forsaken mountain and at least spare the buildings and provisions for the rest of us" muttered Pentre unhappy at the damage "This leaves us vulnerable and open to attack, not only by foes but also wild beasts" complained Pentre shaking his head

Pentre motioned for Aria to follow and came over to Toyle to escort him in case he came to receive the newcomers

"Ranger... You need to see this"

Rook approached Sir Arnold, curious to see what he held in his hand and her breath caught in her throat when she realized what it was. How Arnold had known she had any connection to the owner of the medallion, she could not say. Not that it mattered in that moment.

"Leo.." she whispered, so that Pentre would not overhear. This seemed to confirm that it was, indeed, Leo who'd been facing execution for sorcery. He had not had such powers last she saw him and she felt her dislike for Pentre grow. Had he even had a trial? "May I keep that, sir, until it can be returned to its owner? His father was my liege lord."

“Spread out and gather what survivors you can! Kill any opposition! Meet back at the docks inna’ hour!” Ruslan commanded, staring around gloomily at the rubble, “We leave at dawn....”

As Ruslan’s band began digging helplessly throughout the rubble, he wandered off alone towards the remains of a crumbling building before taking a seat on a fallen column. He removed his pack from his shoulder and set it down before him. He looked up towards the sky and exhaled loudly.

“Lord Schafer,” came an awfully familiar voice, “some of the men have made reports of seeing a few unfriendly faces near what appears to be a prison. I ask what you’d have us do?”

Still looking skyward, Ruslan answered, “regroup the men. We should advance together.”

“Yes m’lord.”

With that, Ruslan was alone once more as Osbert departed. He looked down at his pack and undid the belt enclosing it. He pulled the flap back to reveal its contents (which was a majority of many MANY items wrapped in handkerchiefs). He removed a white chief, as pure as snow with a lining of golden tinsel, and unraveling it unveiled a small porcelain blue jay.



He held it within the cup of his hands a few inches before his mouth and whispered a few elvish words to it.

“I give you life Mimir..”

In a matter of seconds, the figurine spurred to life, twitching his head and folding his breakable wings as if they were gel. Mimir chirped aloud before speaking in an uncomfortably low and masculine voice, “Yeah yeah. Wake me only when ya need me, eh? Slavery I tell ya!”

Mimir then, flew out of Ruslan’s hands and soared high above the smited Vallan, seeing all.

The delicate bird soon saw the group held at the prison and decided to eavesdrop unnoticed. He swooped low, making sure to be unseen, and landed atop a ruined chimneytop nearby. He chirped to himself before focusing his attention on the group.

Sir Arn nodded and handed Rook the item

"Then the young ranger is your missing liege lord... Word of gossip came by to say lord Rupert, his father, had died last winter..." Muttered Arnold

"You rangers may well be all he had left, that poor man. I know not of his fate" admitted softly handing the medallion over

"Perhaps he is out there somewhere, licking his wounds. Perhaps buried already or, heavens forbid, the witch kept him for company... Who knows" shrugged Arnold rising and also coming over to protect and escort Toyle, letting her dig at will and look around

Rook nodded and took the offered medallion, tucking it into her pocket, as a lump formed in her throat at the very real possibility that he'd been crushed beneath the fallen rubble.

But there was no time for grief now. She needed to find him...alive, dead, injured, or captured. That last thought brought her gaze to the mountains and the lightning, an ominous omen.

First thing first, she began clearing away the rubble in the area where Sir Arnold found the medallion. It was slow and tedious work, moving rock by rock. She really needed a dog to help her search, but there did not seem to be any nearby.

Using the power of the Psijics to aid him, Arun-Ja began lifting the heavier rubble, reversing time to before they had settled and freezing it when he found something of interest beneath it. A few coins here, an amulet there, a letter written just before the attack, if not during (sort of like Saint Jiub of Morrowind), and a few articles of clothing every now and again, each made with a distinct fiber he found similar to Ancestor Silk back in Tamriel. It wasn’t until he noticed an unusual bird nearby that he halted his progress; there had been no other flying creatures seen since after the attack, from his understanding. He kept his distance, but also held his attention on the thing, certain there was something unusual about it, but unsure what exactly.

Mimir watched the party for a bit until he gained the satisfaction that they were not threats. This decided, he unfolded his glass wings and took flight, returning to Ruslan.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ruslan has begun smoking his pipe and digging through some of the rubble within the abandoned building by the time Mimir returned. The depressing bird landed smoothly atop the fallen column on which Ruslan had sat.

“Smokin’ that pipe a-edy’, eh?” Mimir jested, “seems like ya ‘ant go aday’ withou’ er’!”

“Watch it, Mimir.. or pretty soon I’ll be putting a hole through you! And I’ll puff the most beautiful of clouds outta ya!”

“Er.. Aight’ aight’!”

“Tell me what you saw?”

“I can confirm the words of Osbert as there’s a pretty ecent’ sized group out near some prison, yet they ain’t seem dangerous.”

“How do they seem then?”

“Like they’re tryna’ find survivors ike’ us.”

Ruslan a quiet sigh of relief, “What are your thoughts on engagement?”

“Well, they eem’ to be in somewhat of eh’ courtyard with one way in n’ one way out. We could leave most of te’ men behind and approach with few. So we don’t startle em’”

“Sounds reasonable,” Ruslan said with a nod. He realeased a single smoke ring from his lips before continuing, “I thank you for your counsel, Mimir.”

“Anytime, Ruslan,” the firgure said before retiring back to its lifelessness.

Returning the bird to its handkerchief, Ruslan exited his building to his now gathered men. They spoke to him what they’d found worth noting; someone’s half starved pet dog, some leftover loot, a lone and frightened horse, and even the remains of some ghastly creature. However all this found, the men uncovered a total of three lowly survivors. Two children and a servant, all of which had been brought aboard the ship.

“Alright!” Ruslan shouted over his men, “I want Osbert and four others with the sharpest swords to accompany me as I plan to venture deeper into Vallan! The rest of you, continue your search and bring anything of worth back to the ship!”

As the six reached the entrance to the prison, Ruslan motioned for his followers to hide behind pillars and wait for his command.

She had no knowledge as to why the Lady of Light had sent her here; all she was told was that the Champion of Coldharbor would need her aid, wether or not he accepted it. She made her way past the ruins of this once-great city, the remains of whatever horrid creature had used such vile magic left as ash or dust, nothing more. The life here ebbed, but from where was uncertain; two sources, one moving towards another where the Sorcerer of Nirn stood. She could feel the magic within him, dark but meaning well, frozen but moving ever onward, and he could no doubt feel hers as well; the light-flame of Merid-Nunda burned bright in her, visible only to those she trusted, or those with power much like his. She made her way towards him, careful not to attract the attention of most others.