[ The wheels have been set in motion now - fearful, uncomfortable motion, but motion nonetheless. Reactions to Messmer's independent command to retreat have been mixed, as he'd predicted; the majority are, at least, amenable, but the most zealous fundamentalists are balking at the idea of abandoning their holy war. He suspects he'll have a handful of miniature mutinies within his ranks in the coming weeks, no matter how he may try to persuade those holdouts. Part of him is already mourning the loss of yet more comrades to his own duplicity.
Luckily, there's work to be done, and Messmer welcomes both the excuse to escape the tense atmosphere of the Shadowkeep and the chance to demonstrate his conviction in his chosen path with personal action rather than words. Despite his station, he's always fought the same battles as his foot soldiers; that hasn't changed, even now. There are soldiers stationed in various remote areas that need to be recalled, and that's why he's here in one of the frozen dungeons of the Hornsent. Him and Verso. Because Verso, too, has much to prove to earn the trust of Messmer's legion - a graceless Numen-kin with some inexplicable influence their lord. Getting his hands dirty with the rest of them is a good start, Messmer thinks - even something as simple and menial as trekking out to a guard post.
Or, well. It was supposed to be simple and menial. Now that they're here, it's become plain very quickly that something is wrong. The icy surrounds are deathly quiet; there's no sign of Messmer's forces at all, save for long-faded footsteps in the frost. ]
... Keep sentry. 'Tis likely we--
[ he's abruptly cut off by the appearance of a chakram coming at his neck, blocked very slimly by a swift motion of his spear - the sinuous silhouette of a curseblade attached to it twists around midair to follow up its attack. Another figure sprints from the shadows, and another - but there's no time for him to count them as he leaps back to avoid a slice to the throat. ]
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Luckily, there's work to be done, and Messmer welcomes both the excuse to escape the tense atmosphere of the Shadowkeep and the chance to demonstrate his conviction in his chosen path with personal action rather than words. Despite his station, he's always fought the same battles as his foot soldiers; that hasn't changed, even now. There are soldiers stationed in various remote areas that need to be recalled, and that's why he's here in one of the frozen dungeons of the Hornsent. Him and Verso. Because Verso, too, has much to prove to earn the trust of Messmer's legion - a graceless Numen-kin with some inexplicable influence their lord. Getting his hands dirty with the rest of them is a good start, Messmer thinks - even something as simple and menial as trekking out to a guard post.
Or, well. It was supposed to be simple and menial. Now that they're here, it's become plain very quickly that something is wrong. The icy surrounds are deathly quiet; there's no sign of Messmer's forces at all, save for long-faded footsteps in the frost. ]
... Keep sentry. 'Tis likely we--
[ he's abruptly cut off by the appearance of a chakram coming at his neck, blocked very slimly by a swift motion of his spear - the sinuous silhouette of a curseblade attached to it twists around midair to follow up its attack. Another figure sprints from the shadows, and another - but there's no time for him to count them as he leaps back to avoid a slice to the throat. ]