Imperial City, Cyrodil
Stalks-The-Stars
2nd of Midyear, 4E 205
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It was a pleasant place, he had to admit. Despite the change in architecture forced by its sacking, the Imperial City was still a sight to behold. It was beautiful and well defendable and most importantly, was the seat of the empire. Stalks-The-Stars walked into the district of ambassadors, the center in which every part of Tamriel had once kept an official in order to put across their respective country’s needs. Nowadays, it was empty of a number of races: most notably the High elves and the wood-elves. The latter was being cleaned up, as was the dilapidated home of the Khajit’s interest. The smallest building belonged to the Argonian representative, most likely as a result of reclusive politicians or secretive nature.

No more. 

He made an effort to ensure he was seen by every ambassador before he eventually walked past the ambassador’s sector and on towards the White-gold tower itself. An emperor may not have been on the throne this very second, but it was the seat of his power, and also held the Elder-council itself. 

He got as far as the door before a member of the city guard stopped him. He sighed before producing a letter, sealed in wax with the portrait of an Argonian head. “You may deliver this, if you wish then, dry-one.” He offered the letter to the imperial, who hesitated. Stalks-the-Stars turned his back to the guard, facing the door of the place he had just came from, under no illusion that his conversations would be quiet. Instead, he raised his voice, allowing any onlooker to hear. 

“The lord of Argonia and the Master of Black Marsh, Rules-with-Claw, invites The emperor and any other Man or Mer to visit the city of Stormhold in Four weeks, on the 26th of Midyear, where negotiations will be opened between the Argonian ruler and anyone who seeks to ally themselves with the Argonian people.”

Stalks-The-Stars turns from the doorway and back towards the Imperial guard, who he notices for the first time is actually quite young and has a pale face, apparently only just realising the importance of what had transpired. Stalks-The-Stars smiled as he placed the letter in the guard’s armoured fingers. “Take that to your council, I am going home.” 

Stalks-The-Stars reached down to his finger, feeling the familiar touch of the steel ring on his finger, as well as the decorative Wolf’s head. He felt hungry for the first time in a long time: perhaps he’d pick up a sweet roll on his way back to the Marsh.