The Elder Scrolls: The Dominion. [IC Thread]

The Bruma air was brisk that evening, the snow falling heavier then usual. The sun had departed from the sky, and the streets were clear of even the drunkest of Nords. Vahlok held his pale hand outwards, letting the snow gracefully rest in his palm, before clenching his hand tightly shut, until he could feel it melt between his finger tips. The harsh wind passed him, the cloak of his armor lifting up behind him, fluttering in the air. Vahlok simply stood there, an enigma to any who might see.

Well, all except the three that glared at him from the safety of the darkness.

Vahlok shook the snow from his boot, breathing softly and releasing a faint smoke of warm air from his almost blue lips. His hand slowly but surely found the warming grip of one of his Elven daggers, unsheathing the blade from its hold, letting it breath at his side. "Either you will make the first move, or I will; the choice is yours." His words spat out into a mutter, it being the only sound other then the whistle of the wind. Without further more hesitation, three figures emerged from the darkness, each step portraying a natural arrogance and pride, which burnt inside Vahlok to the point that he cound hardly restrain his anger.

"The Night Mother seeks your head, Nord." One answered his call, an Imperial. The other two, an Argonian and a Dark Elf, walked opposite sides of Vahlok swiftly, forming a circle around, which they most likely thought would intimidate him. He almost laughed.

Aiming his blade towards the ground, Vahlok drew a cirlce around him, a meter long on either side. Whilst doing so, his eyes fixated on the ground, not his enemy, he spoke. "Did they even tell you my name, Assassin?" He asked, his tone filled with condescendance. "In doubt it, you don't look high enough ranked to know the details of your targets; you kill, and collect your prize, no thought about it."

All three unsheathed their blades, holding them towards Vahlok menacingly. Taking a step forward, Vahlok stopped them with one final sentence. "None of you will enter this circle."

With that, they charged simultaniously. Vahlok, taking one final breath inwards, reacted; the Argonian reached the circle first, it's sword lifted in the motion of a plunge. Vahlok instantly lifted his foot to the reptiles chest, knocking him backwards. Almost instantly, he turned back to the Imperial, whose blade was now inches from Vahlok's throat, his feet nearly inside the circle. Vahlok parried his blade, the chime of their weapons clashing ringing through the air. He immediately countered the Imperial, using his empty hand to grip the Imperials wrist, and his other to plunge his dagger into his stomach, cleanly going through the mans entire body. Having to react even quicker for the third target, Vahlok swung the inpaled Assassin around, knocking him into the Dark Elf, causing both bodies to fall to the ground. His blade now free, Vahlok spun, bringing his blade around in a long slashing motion, which lodged itself into the unsuspecting throat of the Argonian, who had barely recovered from the kick. As the light faded from the Argonians eyes, Vahlok pushed him backwards, releasing its throat from his blade. The body fell with a thud, leaving Vahlok stood silently.

"Tell whoever you take command from," Vahlok said, not even looking down to the stuned Dark Elf. "That if they're going to try and silence me, atleast do me the honour of sending superior Assassins; it's almost insulting."

With that, he broke the circle in the snow, walking down the snow filled streets of Bruma, leaving his trail of footsteps, and the bodies of his enemy, behind him. The Dark Brotherhood knew he was close to finding them, and their Night Mother, it was only a matter of days. With that, the rogue Nightingale disappeared into the night, his thoughts on nothing more than finishing the Brotherhood for good, and moving on with his life.



It would be a few days before Vahlok was seen again; following a lead he had been given in Bruma, he had embarked to Chedinhal, in the hopes of locating a Brotherhood sanctuary; he could almost smell their blood in the air, as he made haste aboard his horse. He chose to travel by night; whilst never being one for stealth, he, like all theives, prefered the cover of darkness; it was a comforting blanket to all thieves and Assassins that daylight just couldn't compete with.

If what he heard was true, a Brotherhood sanctuary resided in Chedinhal, hidden in plain sight. The city was known for its corruption, and it only made sense for the Brotherhood to have their claws deep seeded within the cities roots. It was simple; find the sanctuary, and then bring the force of the Nightingales down upon them, as the Nightingales should have years ago. Were it not for his actions alone, the Brotherhood would have grew at a much larger rate then they have; each day, their numbers slowly grow, and the threat of their faction increasing exponentially. It wasn't a rewarding mission, but it was one that Vahlok had chose, and one he intended to see through.

His journey, however, was interrupted by the most curious of this; a Courier. How the Courier had found him, whilst the Brotherhood and Thieves Guild could barely track him, was baffling to him. He had intercepted Vahlok from his own horse, barely saying a word, and leaving him a the note. Sat atop his horse, along the darkened road from the Imperial City to Cheydinhal, he examined the note, before opening it. The words were scurried together, rushed, and portraying urgency. Intruged, he read the words scrawled across:

Ah, Vahlok. I can only presume that by the time you recieve this letter, you are embarked on a quest against the Dark Brotherhood; I don't know why you choose to fight them, but I am not here to discuss that. No, I am here to discuss a much greater threat; the Dominion. I cannot discuss it here; their Spies are everywhere. Meet me at the College of Winterhold, and we can talk their. If you don't wish to do it for yourself, do it for your Uncle, Vahlok. Time is running short.

Signed: A Friend.

Vahlok read the note over and over, examining each word; who was this stranger, and how had they found him? More concerning, how did they know of Vahlok's past, and of his Uncle, who had died fighting the Dominion many years ago. Going against his better judgement, he turned his horse north, Skyrim in his sights.

The Nightingale road off.

(OOC: Okay, feel free to start postin. I do ask that your first post involves your character heading to the College, where I can post as the mysterious stranger to tell our characters the plot of the Roleplay. Thanks.)

A trap. It had to be, the mages were all in on it; they had to be. He had watched the college from afar for a couple of days. Mages went in, mages went out. Some of them were even elves. Dunmer, Altmer or Bosmer it made no difference. They were all there that day, and when he stayed perfectly still he could still smell the burning flesh, the taste of blood… the sting of steel. They had branded him that day and all the other days and from then on he went by that name. Names were so important and you mustn’t forget the important things.

“The Pariah.” He reminded himself in nothing but a mere whisper as he crept through the heavy snows of Winterhold. “The outcast, a burden on the race of elves.”

He had approached in the dark like all assassin’s tried to, but The Pariah was ready for him. He had shot off three arrows and pinned him to the tree. When he started to scream The Pariah had put another arrow in his throat. The assassin had been noisy even before the screaming. When he had approached the corpse to loot his body he had found only a steel dagger, several coins and a letter addressed to “The Pariah.” He was a fool to think he could sneak into his camp with nothing but a letter to protect him.

“The Pariah,

I discovered several things about the Dominion we think you would enjoy to know. Come to the College at Winterhold. Please come at the soonest convenience.

-An ally.”

It didn’t make sense. Why send an assassin with a letter? Perhaps he was an innocent, perhaps this was a failsafe. That would make sense, added security if their assassin failed to set up a perfect ambush so when the Pariah entered they would finish whatever they started. But what if it was the truth? What if he had just killed an innocent man? No, if he was innocent, then it was just another safety for him to be reeled into a trap. The Pariah then tossed the letter into a small fire but the mystery burned brighter in his head.

He had to be sure, so his journey brought him to this dismal place. He was invisible when he entered the college he and would lie in wait for the elven scum to show. He stayed perfectly still within the main hall, an arrow notched on his bow. He had to be sure.

Night had just fallen over Whiterun as she left the Bannered Mare. People had been staring and whispering at her since she arrived after a long journey from Riften. Sure, she could have cut straight across the mountains and been to Falkreath by now but that would have drawn attention from her fellow Nightingales. Instead she made up some story about Nocturnal coming to her in a dream with some special mission. None seemed to question her story and why would they? Etta was one of the most trusted Nightingales and a highly respected member of the Thieves Guild. It seemed old habits die hard as Etta examined the silver necklace she had taken from the pocket of a woman inside the inn. It would get her a few coins if she took it back to Riften but for now, she put it around her neck and headed for the gates. The guards eyed her for a moment but finally let her pass. Unlike most, Etta preferred to travel on foot instead of on horseback. It typically took her longer to get places but it also made it easier for her to hide from her enemies or bandits that still plagued the area.

As she walked along the southern road leading towards Riverwood, she couldn't help but notice someone was following her. Whoever it was they were trained to sneak just as she was. Unlike her however, they obviously didn't have the training she had. Etta turned into the nearby woods and stopped. She stood completely still for what seemed like forever when it was really just seconds. The figure began to make its way towards her and she sprung. The lithe female leaped forward, knocking whoever it was backwards. They tripped and fell to the ground. Before the person could even react properly, Etta was on top of him and her knife was to his neck. She brought her free hand up and mumbled something. Her hand lit on fire and provided a light for her to see whoever she had pinned down. She recognized that armor anywhere. "So they're sending a recruit after me hmm? Did they promise you a handsome fee for bringing my head back to them?"

The man under her winced at her harsh voice. "I wasn't going to kill you! I was going to warn you!" He was shaking hard. She could feel his body tremble. Etta would never admit this sort of thing gave her a rush. It was too bad she was against killing or else she would have become a member of the Brotherhood instead of a Nightingale. The blade of her ebony dagger pressed against his soft flesh a bit more.

"Warn me of what?" She hissed.

"They want you dead because of him."

Etta knew exactly who the man was speaking of. Vahlok. The Nightingale cursed under her breath. Her friend, if he was still her friend, was causing so much trouble for the Nightingales. The Brotherhood thought his actions spoke for all the Nightingales. There had been losses on both side though the Brotherhood had suffered more. She growled at the man and withdrew her dagger from his neck. "Go back to the Sanctuary. Warn them if you can get there before me. I will not go easy on them." She stood up, grabbed the man by his collar and dragged him to his feet. With a shove, she shoved him back onto the road as she turned and took off in a full run through the woods. This was not what she had planned. The female zigzagged through the woods and soon found herself leaping over logs and down rocks to reach another part of the road. Surely the recruit had run as she had told him to.

Upon exiting the woods, there was a courier standing there waiting on her. Etta was shocked that he had been able to know exactly where she was going to appear at. The couries of Skyrim couldn't be human and if they were, they were extremely good at their jobs. He said nothing as he handed her letter. Before she could thank him, he was gone and heading for Whiterun it seemed. Etta opened the letter and read it carefully.


My dearest Etta, by the time you've received this letter I'm sure you're trying to find Vahlok. Do not worry. You shall be reunited soon. That aside, there is trouble brewing. The Dominion is once more a threat to things. I know of your parents and with the promise of a reunion, you will come. I await your arrive at the College of Winterhold. Nocturnal be with you.

- A Friend

If she ran she could be at the college by nightfall the next night. Instead, she turned her attention back to Whiterun. Etta ran back to the stables and purchased herself a horse with the help of the silver necklace she had stolen earlier. The mare was young and spirited. She was just what Etta needed. Without another word, the Nightingale rode off for the College in the north. She would ride nearly non-stop until she reached the old city. Once there she would stable her horse before making her way up to the College itself. Etta was careful as she entered the College. Her guard was up and her hand was on her dagger. There was someone else in the main hall with her. She could sense a presence but not see whoever it was. Etta chose to stay quiet and wait.

Javek walked out of the sanctuary and looked to the small bog that held the black horses of the Brotherhood. He decided he would take one to make his journey shorter. He began to ponder, first about the nightingales. They had been targeting the Brotherhood recently for some reason, He couldn't figure why, they never had any issues with them until now, often they would find themselves in the same house even if for different reasons, But now it seemed to be a full on war between the two groups. The brotherhood was not sure what to make of this war, so they decided to have fun with it, they had been hiring on the targets of hits to go out and kill the nightingales, offering high prices. Unsurprisingly none had been successful, though the brotherhood had not taken any true losses besides the fools that went out to kill the nightingales on their own. but everyone was worried as the night mother was being moved soon and the nightingales might decide to strike.

His thoughts where interrupted with the appearance of a man in a Brotherhood outfit. Javek smiled under his hood. This man was another target hired to go "kill" a nightingale, though he was surprised he came back alive. "What happened?" said Javek.
"she escaped" was the reply.

Again javek found himself pondering. he knew that she could have escaped easily, but so far they had left none alive. 'oh well, might as well finish the job" he muttered.
"wha-" the man could not finish his thought because he found himself choking on an arrow.

Javek mounted the dark steed and began to ride off, forgetting the nightingales for a little bit to think about the letter he had received. he pulled it out of his napsack and read over it again.

Dear Javek

I know the brotherhood has received trouble from the nightingales. I may be able to help, but in return i ask you help me with my problem with the Dominon, the tides of war have risen again. Go fourth to the College of Winterhold.

- A helper

Javek put the letter back and shook his head. He truthfully did want answers and had been offered a way of finding them, though this could be dangerous. He decided once he arrived he would stick to the shadows, After all, these nightingales where devious.

"Hurry up, Ri'Basha." A female Khajiit hissed. Ri'Basha was gathering the last of his things so that the caravan could set off again.

"Ri'Basha is hurrying. Do not rush me." Ri'Basha hissed back as he put the last of his things into a dark green pack. It had been six weeks since he left Cyrodiil. He was now working as a caravan guard again under a Khajiit named S'Tai. He was a weasel, but he took good care of his people. "Ri'Basha is ready." He said simply, looking around at the three other Khajiit who were apart of the caravan. There was S'Tai, one of the merchants and his boss. There was Jo'Mai, a female Khajiit and former member of the Thieves Guild. She said she left because she wasn't satisfied with the money she was getting. Finally, there was Dar'Jeer, S'Tai's son. He was dragged to Skyrim from Elsweyr by his father to learn the merchant trade.

"Time is money, Ri'Basha, you must learn to speed up." S'Tai stated as the Caravan began moving along the road. That was when a courier ran up to them. He was out of breath, ready to fall over and die right there. After the courier finally caught his breath, he spoke.

"Are you Ri'Basha?"

"Yes I am." Ri'Basha replied. The courier dug in his pack and pulled out a sealed letter. "I don't usually deliver this far out of town, but someone apparently really wants you to get that. Paid me a hefty sum to make sure it gets to you." Ri'Basha looked the letter over.

"Did this person say who he was?" Ri'Basha broke the seal on the letter and opened it up.

"No sir, he just said he was a friend of yours. Well, I gotta go. Lots of things to deliver. Bye." The courier ran off down the road towards Windhelm. That was when the snow began to pick up.

"What does it say?" Dar'Jeer asked, moving closer to Ri'Basha as he read the letter.

Ri'Basha,

The Dominion threatens Tamriel again. I know you are no friend to the elves, so I was hoping you could help. Perhaps there will be some gold in it for you. Come meet me at the College of Winterhold. We'll discuss it there.

-A Friend

Ri'Basha recited the letter aloud to his caravan mates.

"So, you will be leaving?" Jo'Mai asked. Ri'Basha pocketed the letter and adjusted the strap on his dagger.

"It appears duty calls Ri'Basha again." He replied, looking towards Winterhold. The people of the caravan let Ri'Basha go without much complaint. After they said their goodbyes, the Khajiit set off through the snow towards Winterhold. He had no idea what to expect.

The surprisingly warm and calm day was about to meet its end, I knew this without turning my gaze for the skies. The temperature was sinking slowly but at an even pace, giving me enough time to seek shelter for the night. I knew that I had already wasted enough time resting. I looked around to find my knapsack, still leaning against the large tree, much like myself. It took me a few moments to muster enough willpower to push myself up from the dusty ground. It was very rare indeed; to find such a dry spot in the marshes and if it were to be discovered, a shame not to be used. Under the gazing sun I lay, bare-chested, and let the sun reflect over my gleaming scales. It is an ecstatic sensation, to feel the otherwise cold blood slowly heating up within your veins, unnatural one would say.

Fully raised, I stretched my back in grace of the last sunlight with a grunt filled with strain. I dusted off my simple shirt, once green but now faded into near colorlessness, before pulling it over my head. I reclaimed my knapsack and placed it over my back and finished with a tired sigh. I turned over to the dirt road, only a few yards away and easily spotted from my resting spot. I trampled through the mud barefoot, the only trusted way of transportation through the vegetation of the marshes. Horses tend to wither here, not proving very useful. The road I was walking connected the unusually larger settlement of “Musk Bright” which is located deeper within the marshes with the imperial coast-city of “Thorn”. There are no imperial cities within the marshes, only at the coasts and north-western border between Cyrodiil and the Black Marshes. As said before, anything alien to Argonia seems to wither in the Black Marshes.

I was headed for “Thorn”, one of the only safe and legal ways of transportation between the Black Marshes and Cyrodiil, leading all the way to the glorious Imperial City. It is a long and expensive travel, but as said before, the easiest. It felt good to finally ride the ocean again; after all, it was many years ago since I embarked on a travel such as this, many years indeed. I was but a child when I left my family and sought my fortune, at sixteen I first set foot in “Second Wind”. I hunted work at the trading ships and found work easily. It is not often an Argonian seeks honest work at the ocean. Usually Argonians ends up as pirates, talented pirates. It is their destiny to work at sea some say, saying that us Argonians swim as effortlessly as a fish would. And this is true, we do not need to draw in air before diving, we are gifted with gills just behind our ears. This is obviously optimal for a sailor, not to fear the ocean, but to embrace it. I worked in the trading ships for many years and constantly growing more talented in the arts. Until one day we set ashore in Hammerfell where I decided to stay and so I did for many years to come. Years went by and now I am finding myself doing the same thing again, from the exact same harbor only that it is twenty years ahead in the future.

After many hours of walking the maddening dirt roads, encumbered by the overhanging vines and seeping mud, I reached “Thorn”. The sun had long ago abandoned the skies and the only source of light was the occasional bug-light, but now the fires of “Thorn” breaks through the ever so pressing darkness. It was a relief to finally reach my destination after many hours of tireless walking. I simply walked past the city gates, offering the almost sleeping city watch a curt nod.

Even though “Thorn” is not a large city compared to other costal-cities in Black Marsh some people still littered the streets, mostly around the center where most of the shops and taverns are located. I quickly made my way to the center and entered the least populated tavern; it does take time to get used to civilization after many days of wilderness. The interior was dimly lit and only the occasional patron, sitting alone in the corners and drinking away their coin. I never was much for spending my coin on trivial matters, but it was a long time ago I drank anything else than water. I ordered my ale and was soon to receive my mug, filled to the brink with cheap ale.

I started to drink slowly with intentions of enjoying my drink for the rest of the evening. But I was soon to be interrupted by the seemingly tired bartender, dark rings stretching down from under his eyes. He began by clearing his throat and spitting out saliva-ridden phlegm on the wooden planks. This was the sort of behavior to be expected from the likes of an Orc, at least from my experiences.
“Aye.. ‘e tol’ me you ought to show up ‘ere at this hour, nearly forgot.”
He finished his sentence by spitting again, just before turning his tired eyes for mine.
I looked back with apathy, at least to him it would seem.
“Who told you about my arrival? I did not inform anyone myself.”
I replied with a hoarse voice, it was many days ago since I had use of it. I quickly cleared my voice, awaiting my answer. But instead he lackadaisically flipped a letter through the air which I caught quickly before it soared away. I dismissed the bartender with a simple waft of my hand, expressing myself as nonchalant as he did. However, my curiosity grew and soon overcame me; I quickly opened the letter with an elegant swipe of my claw and started to read, hastily forgetting about my ale.

“Skith,
this letter is handed to you for the sake of Tamriel and yourself. The Dominion grows in strength and will soon make a push after several years of preparation. I need of you to travel for the College of Winterhold without further a due. Do not take the ship for Cyrodiil, take the ship for Windhelm and travel further north-west to reach Winterhold. This is crucial for your survival and many others, the lives of many lies in your hands.
A friend.”

I could not drag my eyes elsewhere, the letter bewitched me. Someone knew about my plans of traveling to Cryodiil and someone knew the exact time of arrival and tavern which I should arrive in “Thorn”. Also, the person knew my name. Sudden panic struck me, accompanied by fear. But ever so, it enticed me. I told no one about my plans except my family which I visited only days ago, but they would not write anything like this, not in a thousand years. And the thought of wielding such power, that the letter spoke of was seducing me. If this was the truth, of me being called upon due to the safety of entire Tamriel, it must be worth a lot. If not in gold I will surely gain it in respect. I left more coins at the desk than needed for the mug and instantly departed, leaving the mug still full. I walked to the next vacant room, hoping the coin would suffice for a night’s sleep. I decided to take the ship for Windhelm first thing in the morning just before drifting away into dreamless sleep.

The stench of mold and rotting flesh was thick in the ruin called Journeyman's Nook by the locals of Winterhold. Originaly home to bandits, its original tenants had been driven away some months ago by angry guards and some of the mages from the College of Winterhold. Not all had made it out alive, of course, which only made Kurik's task there easier. The Dunmer on the table was stone cold and starting to decay as the Reachman glanced at each of the students under his care for the day. There weren't too many, given Necromancy's poor reputation in Skyrim, but he still had enough of them here to make it worth his time to arrange the lessons. Four of them: Khajiit, Altmer, two Nords, which surprised him at first, but he'd since learned that they were Tolfdir's kin, though he wasn't exactly sure of the relation.

"Right then, today we're continuing on with the resurection of corporeal undead. As we've already gone over the finer points of skeletal undead, I believe its time to focus more on the fresh corpse. Zombies, if you will. These are corpses that are fresher than the skeletons, sometimes in one piece or sometimes decayed. In most cases you'll be using the corpses of bandits, as they have no legal rights, and thus don't have the protections of body and soul as a good citizen does. If you're fortunate, the Empire may reward good service by providing the fresh corpses of the condemed from their jails. Don't expect to rely on this, as very few practicioners of our art ever reach that level of trust." He paused to glance around at his students. All were paying rapt attention, which he was thankful for.

"Now, your basic zombie is a simple matter to raise. All that's required is for the corpse to be brought to a suitable location and to enact the proper rituals. There are a few things to keep in mind, however. First, a decayed zombie can be raised multiple times even if they'd been battered and hacked at by unfriendly sorts. Its just a matter of gathering up the pieces and reataching them, really. Bind the bones with leather straps, and provided the corpse isn't too decayed, sew the flesh with catgut."

The lecture abruptly ceased when the Bonewolf in the corner growled. Kurik and all of his students turned abruptly to the passageway, where a tall, lanky man in the armor of the Imperial Legion stood at attention, with a small bit of rolled parchment in hand. He glanced a bit nervously as the Bonewolf growled and crept forward, but the creature stopped in its tracks with a glance from its master.

"Pardon my interupting the lecture, sir, but I've got a message to deliever. Your eyes only, not entirely sure who its from." Kurik nodded, stepping forward and taking the parchment carefully. The legionnare gave a short salute before he started out of the barrow. Obviously he wasn't much a fan of the undead. Kurik merely shrugged and started to unroll the message, reading each word with a careful eye.

Kurik, my old friend, it is time to strike back at the Dominion once again. I regret to remove you from your duties at the College again, but this is a matter of gravest importance. I will meet you at the College in a few days time. Expect several others to be in attendence. Godsspeed, and Talos guide you.

- And Old Friend

Kurik let out a slow, heavy sigh. It was time.

"I'm afraid I'll need to cut today's lecture short. Continue to study Corpse Preparation Volumes II and III, as well as The Black Arts on Trial." Kurik didn't wait for them to reply before he set out for the entrance to the barrow, his loyal Bonewolf following close behind. It was going to be a long day...

An entire day had passed for Vahlok, with nothing but the road and his steed guiding him northwards. Personally, he had never witnessed the College himself, but he had heard the tales; the College, barely standing on the cliffside, overlooking the northern sea. Still, as he sat atop his black steed, gazing up upon the wonder of the College from the waters edge from under the grand arch of its bridge. Dawn was beginning to break, its thin beads of light cracking over the ice and snow, and Vahlok could wait no longer; lifting the reins, he pointed his steed onwards, as the two began the perilous journey up the cliff-side. "Easy does it, Pellani." He muttered to his horse, whom he had named after the Ayleid word for Outsiders. He deemed it appropiate, considering that his steed was his only friend alive.

The journey upwards proved difficult, but nothing he couldn't handle. After paying a less than pleasant innkeeper a few gold to look after Pellani, Vahlok made his way across the tower bridge towards the already open gates of the College; with dawn still barely breaking through the dense clouds of snow, nobody was there to halt his march. He wasn't a man afraid of heights, but even he held his breath for a moment whilst gazing down from the bridge, seeing the fall below into the frozen abyss. He hurried across, the arctic wind blasting against him, his cloak blowing furriously behind him. He had barely passed through the gates, when a peculiar aura of light surrounded him; he reacted as he always did, reaching for his blade with haste; the aura surrounded him, lifting him from where he stood, engulfing him into an almost blinding light; as quickly as it had came, the light disappeared, taking Vahlok with it into nothingness.

(OOC: Okay, prepare for a change of character for the next part of the post. This will explain everything.)

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The old man huffed, almost falling to his knees, a feeling of emptiness washing over him. His hands shook violently, his breathing erratic; tapping into the power of the Aedra was almost soul consuming, and he was certain that what he had just done would not come without consequence. Still, it was nessessary to protect the Scroll that still lay locked before him.

Seemingly in response, seven individual beams of light burst from nothingness infront of him, almost blinding the frail man where he stood. The light reached every inch of the chamber, like an all consuming wave of pure Aedric bliss. It dispersed instantly, leaving behind with it seven figures, all laying atop the hard stone floor; once all of his desired targets had entered the College, he had used what little Aedric power he had learnt to bring them here, thus removing any element or chance of them being followed; he couldn't be too cautious, especially with the Dominion waiting.

One by one, in a daze, the bodies began to move, grunting and sighing from what was surely a somewhat painful experience; as he had thought, nothing would come without consequence.

He examined all seven; they all moved to their feet, looking around with eyes filled with curiousity and concern; a couple even drew their weapons. Needless to say, the old man didn't seem like much of a threat; instead, they turned to one another.

"Settle down, you're all in no danger here." The old mans voice echoed from the old walls of this hidden chamber; only a handful of people had stepped in this chamber of the College in hundreds of years. The old man walked slowly around the room, moving to his desk and taking a long sigh of relief when he returned to his seat; age was taking its toll on him, and his years left were few at best. "I suppose you're all wondering why I've summoned you here."

One of them tried to interupt, but the old man silenced that quite quickly; "Please... I'm not as young as I once was; allow me to finish." Each word sounded forced, and tiresome. "My name is... well, that hardly seems to matter now. I called all seven of you here, not because I requested you personally, but because a greater power told me to do so. All seven of you have been written of within an Elder Scroll; a scroll which informs me that you seven are not only the key to unlocking the Scroll within that very chest before you, but the key to halting the Aldmeri Dominion that has plagued our lands for so many years. There is no greater threat to Man then that of the Elves; there never has been. For thousands of years, the two have fought for controll of Tamriel, but alas, it is a fight that we can no longer sustain, nor is it a fight that can be won by an army. No, we require a greater power, one beyond all of our comprehension; the power of the original Elder Scroll, which lies mere meters away from us all. Can't you feel it? It's power permeating through your very soul? It's incredible; the power of the Aedra, those who gave life to Mundus all all who reside within. I could examine it for countless millenia, and still be no closer to understanding the greater power behind it... it's inspiring."

"Javek. Vahlok. Etta. Ri'Basha. Skith. 'The Pariah'. Kurik. I fear that you are all Tamriel's last hope. None of you are the warriors the Dominion expects will bring its downfall, but that's the beauty of it; the Elves, despite all their knowledge and power, are blinded to our will." The old man had approached the group, walking down and looking at each individually. "Our will to protect our lands." He muttered, passing Ri'Basha. "Our will for free will." As he passed Javek. "Our will to save our friends." As he passed Etta. "Our will to defend the weak." As he passed Vahlok. "Our will to defend what we believe in." As he passed Kurik. "Our will for power." As he passed Skith. "And our will for revenge." As he finally passed 'The Pariah'.

He moved, standing before them all. "You have all seen what the Dominion is capable of; our very way of life is at risk here. I am not offering a reward. I am not offering redemption. I am not offering lasting safety. However, what I am offering you is the chance to protect your way of life, and to sustain the way of Man and Mer alike, without this needless destruction. The Elves are, unfortunately, unreasonable; they will not halt until all we know lies in the Thalmor hands, or in ruin. I- No, Tamriel needs you. I am unable to do this without all seven of you."

Backing up slightly, he continued. "I ask you this: Years from now, when the next Elder Scrolls are written, do you want them to say that you allowed the Elves to conquer our lands and people? Or do you want them to say that you took to fight to them, and did everything possible to prevent the slaughter of your people? I cannot say whether it is destined for the Dominion to win this war, but what I can say is this: Those Elves will have to pry this land from our cold, dead hands. The Gods are watching us, what is your response?"

Out of all energy he might have left, he almost fell back. "If you choose to complete your destiny, then our first course of action is this: To release the Elder Scroll from its cage, we will gain three things. The first, is the favour of a Prince. As far as I can tell this, it points towards any of the Daedric Princes. I cannot imagine what must be done to gain their favour, but it must be done."

"The Second," He said, he words almost turning into an effortless mutter. "Is the Blood of the Aedra. It doesn't go into any more detail than that; I cannot help your further with that one. The third, requires the heart of the King of a fallen race. This interested me; the only fallen race I knew of were the Falmer, which as far as I am aware, are too primitive to have a King of any sort. However, if the translation is as loose as I hope it to be, I suggest heading into the deadly depths of Blackreach, where the largest force of Falmer reside. Once there, I am sure they must have a leader of some sort. Find him, and take his heart. This is perhaps the most dangerous task, which shouldn't be taken lightly, or attempted alone. Once all three items are obtains, I should be able to release the Scroll from its prison, and we will have the beginnings of our power against the Dominion."

With that, the old man returned to his seat, almost passing out from exhaustion. "If you are not prepared to risk your life for this, of all things, feel free to leave now."

Ri'Basha had no clue where he was. All he knew was that six others were now with him and they were all talking to an old man. He listened to him speak, taking in his words. This man seemed to speak nonsense, but some small nagging part of Ri'Basha knew that this was true. When listening to the three things they needed to release the scroll, Ri'Basha grew excited. A chance for adventure. The excitement made Ri'Basha completely forgive the old man for lying about a reward. He knew immediately which adventure he wanted to go on.

He knew a bit about Daedric Princes and that seemed to interest him the most. "Ri'Basha wishes to converse with a Daedric Prince. I find that... quite exciting." He turned to the six others. "Ah, but where are my manners? Do any of you object to me taking the quest? I must say, it sounds like the best of the three. I wouldn't really feel right taking it unless no one objects." Ri'Basha hoped no one objected. He would love to go back to Leyawiin and tell everyone there that he, Ri'Basha, got to converse with a Daedric Prince.

This was more than Ri'Basha could have hoped for. "But the way shall be dangerous. Perhaps it would be better if we traveled together? But time is of the essence and if we travel together, we are sure to be slowed down. Oh, decisions, decisions..." Ri'Basha paced nervously. "Oh, dear." He stopped and looked around at everyone. "I am so rude today. My name is Ri'Basha. I am from Leyawiin. I authored the book "Memoirs of a Tiger Knight." Perhaps you have read it?" Chances are, none of these people have. The book didn't sell very well outside Leyawiin. "No?" He paused.

"Well, no harm done." He scratched behind his ears before looking at the old man. "Forgive me for being so direct, but how can we trust you? We don't even know your name."

"Ah, you're -that- Ri'Basha, then. We've got a copy of your book in the Arcanium. Fine work." Kurik spoke up and stepped toward the Khajiit. He was easily taller and probably had a hundred pounds on the beastman, but he did his best to make them at least seem like equals as he extended a calloused hand. "Kurik...just Kurik. Intructor of Conjuration here at Winterhold. Specialize in Necromancy." He had other names of course. Most of the Reach knew him as the 'Bane of the Forsworn', while the Forsworn themselves simply called him 'Traitor'. He didn't feel like showing off, however.

"I can vouch for this man, Ri'Basha. He's a faithful servant of the Empire and a good man. He won't lead us astray." He paused, glancing around the room at the others. Nords. Argonians. A Bosmer, plus the Khajiit. A motley crew indeed, but then again stranger groups had come along in the past. "As for the tasks ahead, I volunteer to deal with the Falmer. Don't trust Daedra, myself, and as loyal to the Nine as I may be, I doubt they'd want anything to do with me considering my...practices." He coughed a bit, which caught the attention of the Bonewolf. It stood at its master's side like any living hound, but it still glared at others with baleful eyes that glowed with the unholy blue light of the undead.