Outside Senchal, Elsweyr
28th of Midyear, 4E 205
An-Xileel peacekeepers

___

The 200 hundred troops had spent a lot of energy to muster the ship and resources that would carry them from Lilmoth to the South of Elsweyr in any good time. They had no fears of the river, as no good Argonian would, but they were all nervous about the mission given to them. It was clearly important enough to the lord of the Marsh that two-hundred Argonians must help out the Khajiit, but it didn’t make the trip any less of a hassle. The common Argonian still thought of the Khajiit as lesser fools for maintaining a grudge that was founded on lies.

When they arrived in South Elsweyr, they immediately began to march towards the coastal city of Senchal, leaving ten troops to guard the ship while 190 Argonians advanced. They expected a greeting of some sorts: some warm food perhaps. What they were met with was a town that had been besieged and bested. Bodies still littered ramparts and floors, and the flag of the north hung high. The peacekeepers had no peace to keep, the war had begun, been fought and ended in less than three days.

The leader of the An-Xileel, a captain of some merit, was left at an impase. The argoinans were heavily armed and highly trained. They would probably be able to best the Northern invaders, at the cost of Argonian blood, of course. But then what? This wasn’t the mission they’d been sent for.

The Captain looked at the city of Senchal and sighed heavily…This was not their fight.

“An-Xileel, we make camp by the boat for one night: and we sail back to Lilmoth tomorrow. A wasted trip, for sure: The Khajiit can rot if they raise issue with brave Argonians resting on their land.”

___

Stormhold, Black Marsh
29th of Midyear, 4E 205
Rules-With-Claw and Stalks-The-Stars

___

Through the castle of Moonhall, Rules-With-Claw’s very footsteps seemed to rumble like thunder. The Argonian stormed through the halls of the keep with his axe at his back and a crumpled up piece of paper in his hand. The rage that simmered from the Argonian leader was palpable, and every servant weaved out of the way of the Giant-lizard with a very visible effort and fear. Before he was a leader, he was a warrior: and Rules-With-Claw looked set for war.

The doors to the Castle main hall slammed open, and Stalks-The-Stars looked up at his father with a look of curiosity and concern. He was surrounded by a number of merchants and scholars who shared similar looks with each other. Before anyone got a chance to speak, Rules-With-Claw let his voice boom out, echoing through the large stones of the castle. “Everyone, out, now!”

The shout of the Argonian had the compelling force of a Th’uum without any of the magic, and instantly the hall was empty of everyone except the two most important Argonians in the land. Stalks-The-Stars stayed still as his father approached and did not move until a powerful backhand crashed against his left cheek, hurling him across the room. Rules-With-Claw spoke again, the same fury and anger in his voice as before. “Is it true?”

Stalks-The-Stars rose from the floor, rubbing his cheek gingerly. He had not seen his father ever direct such anger at him before, but he knew exactly the reason, and shared the shame of his parent. “Yes, father.” Seeing the champion of the Argonians, the lord of Stormhold himself, so cowed was a rarity. The confident and charismatic Argonian was now but a Spawnling once again, a child in front of a father.

Hearing the words seemed to have a calming effect on Rules-With-Claws. Hearing the admission of guilt was an odd comfort: at least he had a person to blame, to fix even. “Explain to me how this happened: Did you lose the ring?”

Stalks-The-Stars shook his head, holding up a hand to show the Ring of Hircine to his father. “I lost nothing, but gained something, it seems. Hircine gifted me his weapon, and warned of a danger to come. It seems his gifts came with a heavy price. I lost control for the night because I accepted the Spear of the Hunter. In doing so, I harmed our people and tarnished your name. I accept any punishment you or the people of Stormhold would give.” He gets down onto his knees, a position of pure submissiveness. It showed the loyalty Stalks-The-Stars had, both to his father and his people. He had betrayed them both, and it grieved him.

Rules-With-Claw walked over to the bowing boy, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’m assuming the Spear is worthy of my son?”

Stalks-The-Stars seemed to stiffen at the touch and the question, but he remained in position. “It is powerful, father. Immensely so, in fact.”

Rules-With-Claws patted Stalks-The-Stars shoulder, affection replacing rage. “Will it happen again? Will you lose control again?”

Stalks-The-Stars paused, before rising off his knees and standing up again. His father still towered over him, but it felt better than being in a position held by beaten prey. “I…don’t think so. Lord Hircine seems appeased with my hunt, so unless he demands more: I should be under the Ring’s control again.”

Rules-With-Claw nods, letting go of his son’s shoulder. “Good. Sithis knows I don’t need the foreigners demanding I execute my son, the monster. I’m returning to Helstrom tonight, my place is there. I trust you son, don’t disappoint me.”

Stalks-The-Stars nods, before watching his father leave, much calmer than he entered. Even if his father was content with the situation, he was still shaken by it. He would have to be careful when the lord Hircine spoke up next, lest he kill more of his people.

___

Senchal, Elsweyr
Ab'Farahn caught news that the Argonians had landed in Elsweyr, and he immediately decided to send a messenger to greet them. "Tell them, that they're welcome on our land, as long as they don't cause any trouble. Also, tell them that if they would like to discuss anything with Ab'Farahn, that he will be willing to do so." Ab'Farahn ordered the messenger.
"Yes, Ab'Farahn, this shall be done." The Messenger replied.
"Good." Ab'Farahn said.
The messenger set off for the camp. Ab'Farahn turned to another messenger. "Spread the news around Elsweyr that any Southern soldier that lays down his arms and stops the fight, will have no harm come to them." He told the other messenger.
"Of course, Ab'Farahn!" The messenger nodded. Ab'Farahn nodded back and the other messenger set off.
"We have taken heavy casualties." Ab'Farahn said "We need to recover our strength." He turned to a final messenger. "Spread around Elsweyr, that we need to recruit new soldiers. Don't tell them that they will have to go through a lot of inspections and investigation as we can not allow ourselves to be infiltrated while we are weak. Go now." The messenger nodded and he set off.

Ab'Farahn headed to the dungeon where the former Mayor of Senchal was chained. "Tell Ab'Farahn, former Mayor, is there anyone higher than you or anywhere where a lot of the Southern Forces are gathered? Somewhere or someone that we should be worried of?" Ab'Farahn questioned. "If you answer... Maybe I'll let you live."

High King of the Aldmeri Dominion Aelid Sillonor
1st of Sun’s Height
Alinor, Summerset Isles, Capital of the Dominion.

The High King knew that something was amiss as soon as he returned to port. He had found the Lord Admiral out at sea with a few others ships, and it looked as if they had been in combat. Yet worse than this, as he arrived at port he found people screaming and general panic beginning to spread through the city. The Lord Admiral Orthos and several sailors approached the High King and his Order, and knelt.

“What is happening here, Orthos? Why was the Lord Regent not on the Throne?” Aelid asked harshly,
furious at the mer for allowing such a thing to happen. Yet Orthos kept his head bowed and spoke as well;

“I do not know what is wrong here, Your Grace. We received reports that the Yokudan would prepare settlements on the coast of Valenwood, and I found this insulting that Men would come to try and take the homes of Mer. Not only this, my King, but I believed that they would use this coastal region as a further naval launching point to invade the Isles. I was forced to make a decision, and took the fleet to blockade Valenwood.

However, I changed course and decided to take Stros M’Kai from the Redguards, so we too may have a launching point for invasions. See how they like the threat.” Orthos spoke quickly and with obedience, curious as to his King’s reaction.

The youthful mer seemed deep in thought for a moment, obviously troubled by such news. He then turned to Dobin.

“We must head for the Palace and restore Order to these lands, we will deal with the foreign threat later.”
The Lord Protecter nodded to Aelid and took point, beginning down the panicked streets towards the Throne. The Order surrounded and protected both Aelid and Orthos now, and soon they came upon a group of slaughtered Thalmor soldiers near the gates. The King would turn to speak with the High Justicar Aldra of this, but only then noticed that she had disappeared during the chaos. He had little time to worry for her though, and pressed further in until they soon reached the Throne Room.

Inside they found a handful of Renshi Agents who appeared to be setting up a perimeter around the Palace and sweeping the vicinity for threats, though they knew not what for. Aelid saw the corpse of the Arch-Mage Nelron, dead on his stomach near the Summer Throne. Near him appeared to be a younger Altmer, leaned against a wall. He would look to be a Renshi, as the dagger in his stomach was of their Order.

Orthos approached the broken window near the Throne and looked out it to what had caused it. Far below he spotted the corpse of Justicar Revin, having fallen to his death and landed upon the very same thorn bush that his co-conspirators had huddled around in the garden, when hatching their schemes. The Lord Admiral had never liked nor trusted the Justicar, and felt relief at his death.

The High King resumed his position on the Summer Throne and spoke to the near-trashed Throne room;
“Where is the Lord General?” His words were harsh.

“The Lord General and New Arch-Mage said they had tasks which required their immediate attention for the good of the realm, Your Grace.” Spoke one of the Renshi.

“And what has happened here?” Asked Aelid, hoping the Renshi would know.

“The Lord General believed it to be some kind of violent Thalmor uprising. He thinks they tried to seize the Throne while you were away at the Summit, Your Grace.” Spoke the Renshi once more.

“Blasted Thalmor! I knew their extremist ways would cause something like this.” Cried out Aelid, furious at their betrayal of him.

He hoped Walden would serve them Justice.

---

Lord General Walden Estermont of the Renshi
1st of Sun’s Height
Grand Hall of The Thalmor

The Lord General was flanked on both sides by several of his top Renshi, valuable blades that he knew he would need for what was coming. They had walked briskly down the streets of Alinor, the light of the sun now reflecting red light that looked like fire and attributed further to the anarchy. He approached the Grand Hall of the Thalmor and pushed the doors open, finding the hall to be filled with several of the Officials. Walden recognized one of them as part of Revin’s Inner circle.

“Don’t slaughter us you barbaric Man. We have already issued the Thalmor soldiers in our possession to stand down. Roughly 90% of our total forces. We had a sentinel witness Revin fall from the window into the garden, and the High King has returned just as we launched our scheme…” The Thalmor of the inner circle spoke, Walden realizing him to be the High Overseer of the Thalmor, a position almost as prestigious as High Justicar.

Walden was intrigued by all this, as most of what he had was speculation.

“Where is the High Justicar?” snarled Walden to the High Overseer viciously, his anger over the pointless death of the Agent Aiden still fresh in his mind.

“She has fled into the mountains of Eton Nir with the High Chancellor, the third and last of our conspirators. She thinks she can still claim power from you, though I see we have lost. I decided to stay behind and lead the Thalmor surrender. Or at least, for what I could.” The Overseer spoke calmly.

Walden slammed his fist down on the table, furious at the escape of Aldra and the Chancellor, as well as what he could only assume was a fair amount of Thalmor troops. He turned and left the Hall of the Thalmor with his Renshi, ordering several Dominion soldiers to garrison it instead. From what he could tell, the Dominion would restore Order by nightfall and had control of the Realm. The Thalmor Extremists had fled
to Eton Nir, where they would face Justice soon enough.

---

Arch-Mage Valina of the Arcane Society
1st of Sun’s Height
The Crystal Tower

Valina was exhausted beyond words, and sleep called her name endlessly. She knew she was drained, but continued on regardless. She felt numb after witnessing the atrocities in the Throne Room, and could barely recall the memory. She felt as if she was submerged in an ice bath in her mind, and she was thankful for this. She had work to do.

Fleeing from the Throne Room, she had stopped only to collect the baby Mane from its holding place in the Palace before she would go to the relative safety of the Crystal Tower and the Arcane Society. Her chambers were on the fifth and highest floor at the moment, though they were still rebuilding. She had placed protective ward over ward on the door, as well as placed two Mages outside her door. Just in case.
The Mane was in a small wooden crib near her feet, not so much a prisoner as being babysat. After what she had seen with the Transfusion Ritual that Nelron had left her, she knew now the spell she would have to cast to take control even of the smaller of the two moons, and it required the blood of a Mane. She shuddered slightly, unsure if she could go through with this, but decided it wasn’t her decision. She would prepare the ritual, as was her job.

---

-High King has returned to the Isles!
-Thalmor surrenders to the Dominion
-Thalmor Extremists flee to Eton Nir
-The Arch-Mage prepares to sacrifice the Mane.

Skyrim, Markarth
25h of Midyear, 4E 205
A large well-armed caravan of Ra-gada had set up a small camp outside the city, the guards not wishing any to enter the city proper. A heated discussion had followed, but eventually diplomacy prevailed and a messenger was sent to the jarl to report to him the agreement made at summit. The caravan had come bearing gifts of fine wine, precious metals and gemstones to grains, dried fruits, and spices. Among the Ra-gada was Bhuka, a renewed shipwright and reported master of his craft, along with an assortment of assistants.

Among the caravan were member representatives of the Hss’tafi, a renowned group of sellswords seeking opportunities in the conflict prone land of Skyrim, after all, Markarth is Skyrim’s capital for mercenaries.

---

Sentinel
27th of Midyear, 4E 205

Ali-baba frowned at the sight before him, not in annoyance, but rather in disbelief at the strange sight. Marimah, one of his most promising apprentices and a genius inventor of sorts, had asked him to step outside the palace that day, a difficult task with still so much work to do with the formation of Temijen’s new war Arcane college. In any case, it turned into a somewhat lengthy walk later and had brought them to the long but wide road that exited eastward from Sentinel, all the while Marimah practically bubbled with excitement.

Regardless of how many times Ali-baba asked he could get no coherent answer from the man. It was not until the he stood several minutes later before a great structure that resembled some strange cross between a boat and a raft did him come to understand a measure of his excitement. Ali-baba had heard mention of what he now observed first hand, for those who lived among the dunes sometimes employed something called a sand skiff, in which a lightweight framework was mounted on smooth runners and propelled by wind power. Relatively easy to construct, sand skiffs were rarely considered much more than a diversion, because they operated only on sand, relying on the wind to move, carry very little, and require an experienced pilot. Even so, where the winds are strong year round, and the smooth sands stretched as far as the eye can see in the Alik’r deserts, sand skiffs were not only the favored transportation, but favoured pass times as well.

However, the sight before him was no small skiff, but a large land vessel by the looks of it. He was shaking his head as Marimah explained how it operated, which in turn had given insight in where he had been for the past few weeks.

“It took some doing of course and more than a few septims for the necessary workers and materials, but I have finally done it!” Marimah’s face had cracked a rather large grin.

Ali-baba however knitted his brow in confusion. “How can such a thing move? It’s far too large for the wind to propel it!”

Marimah only grinned wider at that and raised a hand, a single brass colored ring adorning it. “Ah, but with this!” He proclaimed proudly, but at Ali-baba’s obviously confused look he added. “A wind spirit! Of the desert! I managed to harness ones power…it proved a little more difficult and dangerous then building the land schooner, but it was well worth it.”

Ali-baba looked at Marimah as if he had grown another head. “You tamed a wind spirit? May boy, how on Nirn did you do that?”

“Ah-ha! I thought you might ask, you see I managed to harness it inside a soul gem, only a fragment was all I needed, and then I bound it to me. I call it, a janni!” He announced proudly.

Ali-baba could only shake his head in disbelief as he looked back at the great…sand boat? It only took a moment more for him to realize the real prize however was not the sand ship at all, as impressive as it may be.

“Well do you want to take a ride? It’s a surprisingly smooth ride, and I can show you how my bound wind spirit works.”

Ali-baba smiled. “Oh yes… I think I’d like that in fact, after however I think I may bring this Temijen himself once we meet again, I’m sure he will have a use for it.”

---

Dragontail Mountain
27th of Midyear, 4E 205

The hoarse screams, the clatter of iron on steel, the whistle of arrows taking flight, followed by the unmistakable ‘thud’ when it struck an object or scream when they found their target. This was what Shiisthel of the Hss’tafi lived for, indeed this was the very art he was breed to do. He charged into the chaos, a blur of motion as he sprang into action following a volley of arrows from his fellows.

The war band of Ra-gada warriors had trailed behind the heavily laden down wagon, having tracked it as far back as the region bordering close to where Orsinium and Hammerfell met. The wagon was well guarded by what looked to be seasoned fighters all, wearing hard leathers and with short-bows strapped to their back. An abnormally well-equipped group to be sure and this made them worthy targets in Shiisthel’s eyes.

The redguard warriors had taken the group by surprise, and astounding sword play made quick work of those that arrows had not felled. Shiisthel’s ducked the heavy handed swing of one bandit, quickly following up with a parry that saw the axe fly from the other mans hand. A quick shoulder charge to the chest landed the man on his ass, all before another quick strike across his neck killed him before he had even hit the ground.

At the end of it the wagon was surrounded by many dead thieves, and only one single Hss’tafi warrior had been injured. Shissthel sheathed his sword after wiping it off on one of the dead corpses before approaching his bands prize. Normally the Hss’tafi operated as renewed sells words, having long migrated here from the dunes of Alik’r many generations ago. None knew these mountains as well as his folk, and they offered their services as caravan guards to most merchants who travelled the dangerous region.

Now and again though, the Hss’tafi would take advantage of a wayward group of travellers, primarily bandits, and even snag a bounty from one of the Hammerfell cities such as Dragonstar. Stepping over a corpse with an arrow through the eye, a nasty a wound and death any man could ask for, Shissthel pulled off the long dirty cloth that covered the wagons goods. Gasps quickly followed as his men saw what bounty they had managed to pillage; some of the most finely crafted weapons and armor he had ever seen! It had none of the fine edges or designs he was used to in Hammerfell, and it only took him a few heartbeats to realize this was orcish made tools.

Goods like these would be worth a fortune if sold to the right people, and it so happened there were few who appreciated a weapon or set of armor like the marital society of the redguards. Quickly covering the wagon once more, Shiisthel with the help of his fellows quickly set the wagon on its way once more, the band using old mountains paths to quickly arrive in Elinhir.

---

Valenwood Haven
24th of Midyear, 4E 205

The past few days had been one of success and peculiar events for the redguard forces stationed in Valenwood, so it seemed to Varnklith in any case. The shores had been easy enough to secure, with several inland watch towers built from earthen embankments and fallen deadwood. The process of preparing the land had also been a simple enough task. Countless decades of working the arid landscape of hammerfell made working the soil gifted to them by the bosmer child's play. Varnklith had sent out patrols and brought back in those forces sent to hunt out thalmor forces still residing in Valenwood. At least that had been the front Varnklith had sold to the bosmer, though there was certainly truth to it.

His force had aided in capturing and smoking out what Dominion forces that had been left over after they had been forced from Valenwood proper. There remained loyalist groups no doubt, but with control of the coast and at least some control over the flow of information in and out of the province, they'd have little support. Varnklith other goal had been to learn as much of the landscape as possible, from imperials his forces had worked with, bosmer guides, locals, even from captured enemy agents. If they were to spend any time in this new alien land, they needed to learn as much as possible of its landscape.

Varnklith was thinking on this as he scanned the city of Haven from the window of his newest office in the coastal city. The settlement was so unlike those constructed by his own people, for it possessed none of the grand architecture of his own adopted home land. Still redguards were nothing if not quick at adapting to changing environments, and there seemed a surprising lack of hostility among redguards and Bosmer . A knock on the door caught his attention.

"You may enter." Varnklith said as he fell into his chair behind his desk.

A man soon entered a young redguard by the looks of him. He cleared his throat, a look of worry upon his brow. "General Varnklith? I have news from one of our scouts along the shoreline, said he saw...something odd, a small fleet of ships, but nothing like any altmer ships we had ever seen..."

"What? Well..what is it he saw?"

"Well...he described it as...ships with the skin like...a giant sand beetle...and sails like wings..." The young man shrugged, clearly as confused as Varnklith but unable to elaborate further.

Varnklith sighed, and though on it a moment as he scratched his beard. "I'll want to talk to the scout personally; maybe I'll get some further insights. In the meantime keep watch on the coast, it might very well be some new altmer vessel, we've prepared the ground work but we must still await word from Temijen before the next phase of our operation can continue, our only duty now is to hold this ground."

The young man saluted before turning to leave. Varnklith for his part was more than a little perplexed, he was as well taught a man as could be in this age, yet he could not imagine what it was the scout had seen. It was only almost an hour later, after skimming through one of his tomes he had brought with him to research on the province he now resided, "A Pocket Guide to the Empire and its Environs", did he quickly call the young man back. He remembered now where he had heard such a description before...and it sent a chill through his bones.

2nd of Sun’s Height, 4E 205

The Code of Malacath

King Burkash gor-Nagorm, Orsinium

---

Burkash fumed upon his throne, his eyes boring into the doors of the King’s Hall. The Council of Orsinium was silent, all eyes upon Burkash as he mulled things over within his mind. It was Umog who broke the silence, “King Burkash…you understand what the Code of Mala--” Burkash smashed his fist into an iron gauntlet, crushing it in much the same way a boot does an ant, “I damn well know what the Code of Malacath demands! And it would seem that the Redguard’s have made the SODDING DECISION TO MAKE US DRAW AS MUCH BLOOD UNTIL WE ARE SATISFIED!” Burkash stood from his throne, rushing towards the map of Tamriel in the center of the Council Chamber, thrashing aside the chairs in his way, “The Redguards would dare to not only insult us at a peace summit, but steal from our forges!?”

It was then that Burkash picked up a nearby dagger, forged in the style of the Orcs, and stabbed it into the map, centering in right on Elinhir, “They want blood!? We will give them it!” Burkash spit on the floor of the Council Chambers, and motioned to one of the guards, “Send missives to the tribes of the Wrothgarian Mountains and the Dragon’s Tail Mountains! We are mustering their warriors…and recall Lagash alongside that company! We will need all our warriors ready for conquest.”

Burkash signaled to a nearby Orc, and he stepped forward, smashing his own hand into his chest in a form of a salute, “Gather a group of messengers, and send them to the Dragon’s Tail, Wrothgarian, and Jerall Mountains, gather our brethren from Cyrodiil, Hammerfell, and High Rock. War is soon to come.”

---

2nd of Sun’s Height, 4E 205

The Imperial Emissary

Gurbuk gro-Malfaz

---

Gurzuk arrived at the gates of Orsinium, accompanied by a portion of the King’s Honor Guard. Ten Orcs, fitted in the finest of Orcish armor, with spears and shields as well. As the gates opened, Gurzuk furrowed his brow, investigating who it would be: The Altmer, or the Imperials. He knew damn good and well that Yagurz had made deals with both sides, but today could not have been a worse day for them to come to Orsinium. As the gates opened, Gurzuk noted the armor and the weaponry, quickly identifying the Imperials as the ones who had come first. Gurzuk spat upon the ground, investigating the Imperials as messengers passed by him, travelling all across Northern Tamriel to bring soldiers to Orsinium.

Gurzuk and the Honor Guard marched towards the Imperial emissary, their heavy footsteps thudding upon the ground as they approached. Gurzuk nodded to the Imperial emissary, “Greetings, Imperial.” He began, “I am Gurzuk gor-Malfaz, Captain of the King’s Honor Guard. I welcome you to Orsinium…I must inform you, however, that you seem to have come to Orsinium at a dire time. Be careful around Burkash, else I fear what will happen.”

---

4th of Sun’s Height, 4E 205

The Favor of Malacath Part III

Gurzuk gro-Golmur

---

The cold air of Skyrim filled Gurzuk’s nostrils as he marched into Falkreath Hold. He and his group really only knew the location of Largashbur. They had a roadmap of Skyrim, and little else to give them a direction towards their destination. Gurzuk pointed to an open area in the forest, “We’ll camp out here for the night. Then we’ll haul out towards the Rift.” The other six got busy making their camp while Gurzuk looked over the map, drawing a path to Largashbur, passing through Falkreath and then into the Rift.

With the camp finished, and the fire warm, the lot of them looked around, spying the road as they sat there, “So…” began one of the other Orcs, “How long until Largashbur?” Gurzuk cleared his throat and looked to Masser and Secunda, “I wager about two days. If we had horses, probably shorter but that’s not a luxury that we have, so, we’re marching there. Hopefully they’ll have the hammer. If not, then I guess that’s why we’re here. To find it.”

---

7th of Sun’s Height, 4E 205

Recalled

General Lagash gro-Nagrum, Hammerfell-Skyrim Border

---

Lagash stood, observing the continued training of the rebels. Five thousand Nords, all before him as the hot sun of Hammerfell beat down upon them, their armor gleaming in the sun as much as their bodies gleamed with a thick layer of sweat. It was then that a messenger came to him, and delivered Burkash’s letter. Lagash opened the letter and began to read it’s contents, his face taking a sickening turn from being intrigued, to one of pure rage.

He held up his hand, halting the training of the Nords, whom of which quickly drew into formation, their new leader, Svari, at the head of them. Lagash motioned to the Orcs and brought them into the camp, “Nords…” He began, “I am afraid that we must cut your training far too short. I have been recalled by my benefactor to protect their interests due to the brewing war in Eastern Hammerfell…however, do know this. Your people are warriors of great renown and resolve. You have built empires, and laid them low. Do not let a tyrant dictate the lives which you lead. Rip him and his army limb from bloody limb! Fight until you can fight no longer! Stand tall! Stand proud! Conquer your enemies!”

With that, Lagash and his troops began to leave, burning their camp to the ground behind them. They had no more need of it, for now the Nords were on their own. Hopefully, the Rebels would succeed.

---

7th of Sun’s Height, 4E 205

The March to Falkreath

Svari Ice-Heart, Hammerfell-Skyrim Border

---

The Nords stood, watching as the camp in front of them burned to the ground. Svari moved to where Lagash once stood, watching over her troops as the light of the flames made her stand out even more in the heat of the sun of Hammerfell. She gulped, looking over the lot of them. Initially, she was commander over roughly a squad of men, but now she commanded an army. She had been taught some basic strategies by Lagash as well as some tactics, but she had to make the best of what she had now that Lagash was gone. She thusly, began to speak, “Soldiers! We must gather our forces and return to our homeland! If war begins in Hammerfell, then should we not honor our makeshift home by bringing war to Jartod?! We will slay the tyrant and end his reign!” The Nords cheered as she continued, “The fact that we have earned the respect of an Orc during our short time with him speaks volumes of our courage! Our valor! Our righteousness! We begin our march upon Falkreath in the morning! In the meantime, continue your training and rest well! We have much work to do.”

---

22nd of Midyear, 4E 205

Did you hear the one about the Orcs and the Bretons?

Chief Yagurz/The Guards, Stormhold

---

The Leader of the Orc guards eyed Everard as he stood there, sword drawn and pointed directly at the three of them. The Orc watched Everard for a moment, while the other two looked behind them, watching the emissaries adjourning for the night. The Orc didn’t really regard Everard, he really focused more on investigating the make of his weapon and armor, intrigued more than anything by the craftsmanship involved in it. The leader of the Orcs poked Everard’s sword a bit, lifting it up with his hand as he investigated it before speaking, “Chief Yagurz would have a word with you.” Before turning around and leaving, like a crazy person.

---

28th of Midyear, 4E 205

Establishing a Foothold

Ilyn Ondrano, Gnisis

---

Ilyn smiled as he looked out upon the city, the assassination of Nilphas was somewhat a sordid affair, but it was a…necessary step for House Hlaalu. The Council was not in session, currently, but he was still giving orders from Hlaalu’s headquarters in Gnisis. There were always orders to be sent, but that was the cost of being Hlaalu’s Grandmaster. Ilyn took a sip of his Canis root tea, watching the city as he rested, admiring the size of the city. He had to admit, Gnisis had come a long way since its beginnings as a small settlement in the North of Vvardenfell over two hundred years ago.

He heard the doors downstairs slam and he sighed, taking one final sip of his canis root tea, a runner entering the room as he continued to drink. It was one of the newer Hirelings, something that didn’t particularly surprise Ilyn, “Sedura, a message from Sera Seran.” Ilyn set down his tea and took the letter from the Hireling, opening it slowly, reading it with an even pace.


Ilyn’s eyes widened, writing his own letter quickly, and giving it back to the Hireling, “Take this back to her immediately!” Picking up a separate letter, “As well as this one! There is much work to be done. Tell her to send it to Arvas.” Ilyn sat back down. The Ordinators had arrived…things were about to become very, very interesting in Gnisis.

---

28th of Midyear, 4E 205

The Message

Nidryne Seran, Gnisis

---

The Hireling returned, giving both letters to Nidryne as he did so. “Sedura Ondrano has the letter. He also said to send this second letter to Arvas.” Nidryne nodded and eyed the Hireling, “Go to the Veloth’s Rest Cornerclub on the outskirts of town. Arvas will be there.” The Hireling nodded and was off once again to do his business, while Nidryne went back to tending her shop, opening her own letter as she did so.



Nidryne took her letter and tossed it into the nearby fire, taking a seat behind the counter in her shop, preparing to utilize the Hlaalu Spy Network to its fullest extent. With some luck, House Hlaalu would capitalize upon the presence of the Ordinators.

---

28th of Midyear, 4E 205

The Shadows of Gnisis

Arvas Verim, Gnisis

---

The Hireling, once more delivered a final letter, this time to Arvas Verim, master of the Order of the Shadow in the Cornerclub Veloth’s Rest, “A message from Sedura Ondrano, sero.” Arvas nodded and gave the Hireling fifty septims, “Thank you, sero.” And thusly, Arvas opened his own letter.



Arvas grinned at the thought of the Ordinators. He had not had the challenge of evading them for quite some time. Hopefully, now would be no different. Arvas motioned over to a Kinsman, “Gather some Lawmen and Oathmen. We have some…business to attend to.” With that, Arvas burned his letter and grinned. He hadn’t had this much fun in quite some time.

---

28th of Midyear, 4E 205

A City of Dunmer, A House of Imperials

Draren Thiralas, Outskirts of Cheydinhal

---

Draren grumbled as he and his group of spies drew close to Cheydinhal. Draren had lived through the travels and travails of the Nerevarine, through the Red Year, hell even through the Accession War…but he was grumbling about having to sneak into Cheydinhal. That was his logical conclusion.

As Draren and his group grew nearer to Cheydinhal, they had to go through the whole search and seizure process that was normal with entering an Imperial city. They were lucky that owning a weapon was something that wasn’t exactly frowned upon by any means, particularly by travelers such as themselves. As a matter of a fact, they had more issues getting out of Morrowind, than getting in to Cheydinhal. Draren and his group took up a temporary residence within the ‘Newlands Lodge’, a Dunmer-owned establishment.

From there, the four of them rested, beginning their plans in the morning.

---

25th Midyear 4E, 205
Raven Rock, Solstheim

"By the order of the King of Morrowind, Solstheim, and all of its settlements, must be evacuated in response to this new disease." A royal messenger sent by the King says to the populace of Raven Rock. The citizens were restless upon hearing the Cyrodiilic Disconnect spread on Solstheim, it was the Blight all over again in their minds. Every Dunmer started to evacuate the island properly, while most of the most of the Skaal remained, to protect the land. The evacuation didn't take long, but it did exhaust all of the resources the island had.

Meanwhile, as the evacuation came into completion, a certain group of Dunmer, specifically those affected by the disease, remained on the settlement, tied up together by the town square. "By the orders of the high priests, and the king himself. All those affected by the Cyrodiilic Disconnect are to be executed to contain it from spreading." says one of the Ordinators sent to round up the sick. None of the affected civilians complained or resisted, rather, they were crying and shouting the names of their loved ones before being set ablaze by the Ordinator captain. "May your ancestors welcome you to their side, pure and untainted in soul."

---

Ildoryn Sarano
29th Midyear 4E, 205
Tear, Morrowind

Tear, the former capital of the House Dres. It used to be filled to the brim with slaves and rich Dunmeri merchants seeking to exploit the city. Now, it serves as a military stronghold against any Argonian advances from the marshes. Redoran garrison patrols its walls day and night, while Telvanni mages maintain the magical barrier protecting the city from a siege attack. For the Dunmer, it was the worst place to be stationed on, to watch over Tear, was to watch over Morrowind, a simple mistake, can cause a downfall of the province.

"My lord, its for you" says a Dunmer messenger carrying a letter written in Akaviri. Ildoryn expected the Akaviri to come a week later, having their presence here, means that Akavir isn't going to waste its time idling around. "Have my men ready, we'll meet them at the docks."

Shortly after gathering his men, Ildoryn, along with his escorts walked towards the dock where the Akaviri flagship The Qianfeng is at. Ildoryn was seen to be wearing the ornate ebony armor he wore for the summit, while his guard detail was clad in Dwemeric armor, given to the escorts of important people in Morrowind. Ildoryn was amazed at the sight of the flagship, not only was it massive, but it was built finely. He wish he could envy the Akaviri for having such fine ships, but Morrowind has no use for them.

"I'm Ildoryn Sarano, Commander of the Ashland Armigers, and keeper of Tear. My king has ordered me to accommodate your people, so please, use our facilities here to your liking while your supplies are being restocked. The city hasn't much to offer due to its militarization, but I'm sure you'll find some of the services we have here... worthwhile." says Ildoryn without showing any signs of amazement from seeing a Tang Mo. He spent his time on Akavir befriending and slaying a few, seeing one now only brings back memories to his mind.

---

1st of Sun's Height, 4E 205.
Narsis, Morrowind

"Are the men ready to move?" says the captain of the Armiger's 5th Chapter. The aide nodded slowly, while the hundreds of men stood on the field, along with the other chapters members belonging to the Ashland Armigers. The soldiers appeared to be well equipped, with reinforced bonemold armor protecting their bodies and Guar mounts carrying the officers. None of them showed any signs of faint discipline, even when the captain turned his back on them. "Well then, we march, have the second, third, fourth, and sixth chapter follow us closely, the first are already waiting for us in Kragenmoor." While they marched westward, the other chapters moved north and east, going to the respective locations the supreme general ordered them to.

---

3rd of Sun's Height, 4E 205.
Pralovis, Morrowind

"...and just like that, I'm going to Orc city.." grunted by the Telvanni Magelord upon reading the letter from the Telvanni Council and the King's office. She wasn't really pleased with moving her entire citadel into Orisnium, but if the King says she has to, there's nothing really much left to do. She wanted to disobey the orders and stay on Pralovis, but sooner or later, either the Ordinators or Sentinels would come knocking on her door.

"Doblic, gather my slaves and have them prepare my Silt Strider... I'm moving to Orsinium."

---

The Argonian camp, near Senchal

The messenger arrived at the camp. "Greetings Argonians." He started "Ab'Farahn has told this one to welcome you to Elsweyr, and that you will remain welcome so long as you don't cause any trouble. If you would like to discuss anything, Ab'Farahn will be will to do so. Just tell this one and he shall tell Ab'Farahn."

A Moon sugar trader's house, in Riverhold

The moon sugar trader, Shajhad, was preparing for any trades he may have. Shajhad was a Suthay, a Suthay is like an Ohmes, but with more cat-like features, such as more fur. Shajhad gathered his moon sugar together and prepared the trade area with seats and nice features such as candles, to attract people to his 'services'. Shajhad was mumbling to himself, saying things such as, 'got to be ready for trade', 'Make it look nice. Nice like palaces'. Suthays are like the Khajiit commonly seen in morrowind, the Suthay-raht. However, the Suthay-raht are taller and are around the height of men. Shajhad was finally prepared. He awaited for any trade invitations.

Sentinel
30th of Midyear, 4E 205

Stroking The Flames of War

Temijen sat back heavily his throne as he absorbed this most recent and unprecedented news. Fleet Admiral T'ozun had only recently returned to Sentinel, with dire news at his heels. Temijen had decided to meet him in the main council chambers, expecting the worse, but even then he was not prepared for the news. Nearly over two hundred and fifty ships lost! It was a great blow to be sure, but more troubling was the news of the Altmer’s apparent new and unlikely allies who had turned the tide.

T’ozun stood his head low in shame, his arms folded before him, looking quite miserable and defeated. He had come with such sour news fully expecting Temijen to become infuriated. Temijen merely sat quietly for a moment as he considered the implications. Others of the council of Patron Fathers sat silently as well, hardly believing the news.

T’ozun was the first to break the silence. “I take full responsibility for my actions and failures, I understand if you wish me to step down as Admrial…”

Temijen was already shaking his head however before he even finished. “No…no that will not be necessary, you did as best you could given the circumstances. None of us could have predicted the return of the sea elves, I admit they had never factored into my plans. This changes everything.”

“How long can Stros M'kai withstand a siege?” Voiced one worried noble, a Velves by the name of Phisinia. “Or have the altmer already begun their assault?”

T’ozun gave the man a grim look. “It should hold for a month at most, thanks to the supplies sent there for supporting a campaign in Valenwood would the need arise, and from what we saw in our retreat, it seemed they were content in merely blockading the island.”

“And….what of…” Temijen began to ask in a strained voice.

T’ozun knew instantly of who he referred to, the only women of his own flesh and blood on Stros M'kai. “She remained in the palace to oversee the defences there directly; I didn’t want her involved in the naval battle. It seemed I may or erred of choose wisely, for now she is stuck on the island with the rest of the defense forces.”

Temijen said nothing at that, going quite again, his face unreadable as his dark eyes seemed to look elsewhere.

“We must dispatch another fleet to remove the High elf taint from Stros M'kai!” shouted on crown noblemen, a warlord of some repute, though he was no naval commander.

Another laughed as he rebuked his fellow. “What? We already lost nearly half the fleet in this one battle! To commit to another would be madness! We all have heard the tales of the sea elves are capable of!”

They quickly started bickering then; shouting back and forth, many conflicted in how to respond to this new and unexpected threat. As the arguing reached a higher and higher pitch, Temijen quieted them quickly but with a single word.

“Enough.” He did not raise his voice yet it echoed throughout the chamber powerfully. “We will not start bickering and fighting among ourselves while the enemy line up at our very gates. Now I must admit I am also taken aback by the news of these…sea elves, returning to the scene of Tamriel, it seems Varnklith had sightings of ships similar to sea elven make, but at the time I had almost been convinced he had been dipping into skooma. Now we know better, but we cannot face this new threat openly and by conventional means. We must bid our time, and hope our forces can weather the storm for the moment. Now, how many ships are left to us in the wake of these events?”

T’ozun shifted uncomfortably as he responded. “Roughly 200 war vessels remain, the majority of them are in the Iliac Bay, or docked here in Sentinel. Our shipyards should be able to replace the lost vessels in as little as two weeks’ time, but the man power to replace lost crew will take longer.”

Temijen sighed. “It cannot be helped then. Restrict the fleet to the bay for now as we rebuild our fleet, in the meantime we must prepare for the high probability that the high elves will be taking the fight to Hammerfell itself. Send word to Ortho'Velve Azzast and tell him to assemble the Lance Defenders. If it is a war Alinor seeks, it is a war they shall have.”

---

Stros M'kai, Palace
4th of Sun's Height, 4E 205

Kiainia leaned forward, her hands feeling warm on the stonework, as she watched the distant outlines of altmer ships. The several days earlier had been an intense blood bath, and had surely been a sight to see. Even from the high elevation the palace tower had given her, it had been difficult to tell who was winning. In the end however, the Yokudan fleet had been forced to retreat in the face of the altmer warships. Their odd looking new ships had been the deciding factor it seemed. Now Kiainia and the ra-gada left on the island were forced to fend for themselves.

The only saving grace had been the elves lack of an actual attempt to besiege the city or palace proper, instead seemed intent on blockading the island itself, as scouts had found no altmer landings on any of the shorelines that would have allowed them easy access to the island. There had been no attempt at seizing, and perhaps securing the critical pieces of terrain that would aid them in a siege. In fact it seemed they were intent on just allowing Ra-gada forces to sit and wait there in peace.

Kiainia could see no strategic reasoning behind any of it, aside from the fact they were hoping to simply wait for reinforcement’s before attempting to take the island. With no enemy forces on the island itself, the redguards had taken full advantage, with scavenging parties sent out to gather all the fresh fruits, and supplies they could gather. Thankfully the island was rich in natural resources, and fresh water, and with the supplies already harbored in the catacombs, the warlords estimated they would be able to last a month without oversea aid, and a month and a half if they rationed well, which brought to mind the sword singers still on the island. While every redguard had trained their mind and body to great lengths, the ansei certainly took it to another level, meditating stock still for hours on end, never moving a muscle…

Shaking the thought from her mind Kiainia stepped back from the wall and returned to patrolling the tower and watching for the slightest hint of the enemy. She came to the west end of the tower, this pillar being the most southern east of them, and looked down at the single bridge to the palaces south. As the countless other times see looked, it stood seemingly deserted, not a mer or man to be seen. Having a sally point on the west end of the palace made using the bridge unnecessary and dangerous at best. At least those points could be collapsed, along with bridge, if the need ever arose. Though it seemed the mer were intent on doing nothing, and the thought was maddening. She almost wished they would try their hand at assaulting the tower already and be done with it.

Her eyes soon wondered to the palaces gate, a reinforced and magically warded portal that offered the only way in aside from going under or over the walls, and behind that gate a cleverly built kill-zone. Not that it mattered at that moment; the only real enemy she had to fight was that of boredom and anxiety. The foraging teams and patrols were the only ways left of alleviating the situation, that or gambling away ones daily given rations.

With a heavy sigh she stretched and cracked several muscles in her stiff shoulders, as she thought about why she had decided to come to Stros M'kai. At first it had been an attempt at escaping the palace in Sentinel, perhaps even catch that damned Pirate Lord Dupoint. Now she had finally gotten what she wanted, only to be stuck in a palace on Stros M’kai. The Gods surely had a sour sense of humor.

High King of the Aldmeri Dominion Aelid Sillonor
1st of Sun’s Height
Alinor, Summerset Isles, Capital of the Dominion.

Dominion patrols now seemed on every street corner, and Order had returned to the realm, the Rebellion lasting a day tops. The majority of the Thalmor had either been captured or surrendered due to the scattered leadership. The Justicar Revin was dead, and the process of healing had only just begun. The High King sat still on the Summer Throne, irate at the situation he had returned to. He was unsure of even where to start. Luckily, he didn’t have to take the lead.

“Though our Fleet won the Battle for Stros M’Kai’s harbor and waters, I’m afraid the island itself still defies us. The Maormer aided us during the battle, and we-“ Orthos had begun to report more on the Battle when Aelid interrupted him.

“Maormer ships aided us during the battle?!” He proclaimed, shocked by the aid of the Sea Elves. What could they possibly want of Alinor..?

“Yes, my Grace. They have sixty ships there as well in the blockade. They have sworn to help us take the isle if they are allowed to share joint-ownership of it with us. I would ask of you to allow me to send Reinforcements to the Isle, and perhaps siege it.” Orthos spoke, head bowed before his King.

“These are troubling times, but this isle obviously must be taken if we are to push the Yokudan back and show them our strength. I agree that I believe they wish to assault our island home. How many ships do we have total in port now?”

“One hundred and sixty, Your Grace.”

“You’ve sixty ships at the isle, and I shall grant you one hundred more for this effort. Between these one hundred and sixty, I would have eighty ships stationed at the island at all times, splitting the force in half for shifts. Do not fail me in this, Orthos.” The High King spoke sternly, aware the Lord Admiral was a capable leader, though hotheaded sometimes.

“Of course, Your Grace. Though I also must inform you that King Orgnum wishes to speak with you desperately, and I believe it would be in the best interests of both our peoples if you would meet with him soon.”

Aelid considered this for a moment and shrugged, he had just met the vast majority of the other leaders of Tamriel, why not meet his long lest brother race? Aelid would choose one of the most beautiful ships they had out of the remaining sixty in the defense fleet, and sail out to open ocean near Pyandonea. He knew that if they wished to speak to him then, they would.

---

The Arch-Mage Valina of the Arcane Society
2nd of Sun’s Height.
Crystal Tower, Summerset Isle

Valina had fallen asleep late and woken up early, awaking to the sound of a Mage knocking at the Chamber doors. The Arch-Mage had fallen asleep with her face in a tome, sticking her cheek to the parchment. Rising from her seat, she turned and open the door to find a green robed Mage awaiting her.
“The fresh students have arrived, Arch-Mage. They have a fairly large class as well, and look fairly promising. Just a little over two hundred students have arrived, and I’d expect about thirty graduates by the end. “He spoke with a hidden excitement, obviously pleased by the prospect of new colleagues.
“Why is there a new class of students? I didn’t order this.” She spoke sleepily, annoyed at the distraction from her work.

“The Lord Regent Nelron ordered it before his passing, I’m afraid.” He replied.

“Ugh, give me a few minutes and I will be down to greet them and begin their educational courses.” She said annoyed, shutting the door to freshen up. Though the faculty of the Society would handle most of the class, the Arch-Mage was still a key component to their education. She rubbed her temples with the amount she had to do, but knew that the fresh blood in the Society would be invaluable both with the war and with her research.

---

Lord General Walden Estermont of the Renshi
1st of Sun’s Height
Alinor, Summerset Isle, Capital of the Dominion.

Though the Agent Aiden had died less than forty eight hours ago, the Lord General knew that he was not sufficient for the many operations overseen by the Renshi, and because of this he knew a new heir must be chosen. Luckily for him, the choosing seemed to do itself. The new heir of the Renshi reminded Walden of a mixture between Aiden and Orthos. He had the love of Aiden in him, and the mercy of a kind heart. Yet he also seemed to have a very similar wicked and hateful smile as the Lord Admiral, and his eyes could shine with a cold fire when he was focused.

The Altmer was named Aendir and had been one of Walden’s top Agents, as well as one of the first recruited, even before Aiden. Walden hoped he had made the correct choice, but knew Aendir wouldn’t disappoint. He had always naturally lead those around him, and his dagger was as swift and silent as any. The Lord General had finished securing the city, and now met back with his companions near the Gardens of the Palace. Several of the Renshi had blood upon their uniform, though none of it was theirs, he was sure.

“Alright lads, it seems we have the situation under control here. But we can’t let them regroup and come back to be a problem again later. If we are going to stomp out these Thalmor Extremists, we’re going to have to go after them. As you know, the Agent Aiden has recently died in this rebellion, and as such a new Heir to the Renshi must be chosen. I have picked Aendir.” Walden nodded to the High Elf, who held a small glimmer in his eye of surprise, though otherwise was stone faced.

“I will lead a small team to Eton Nir, where we will infiltrate the ruins the Extremists are hiding out in, and assassinate the High Justicar Aldra. Aendir, I would have you lead a specialized team of Renshi and go with the Lord Admiral to infiltrate Stros M’Kai and potentially weaken their defenses.

---

-The Lord Admiral prepares a Fleet of 100 to sail to Stros M’Kai
-The Arch-Mage has begun training the new Class of Battlemages!
-The Renshi have chosen a new heir, as well as are preparing for two special operations.

Thorn, Black Marsh
3rd of Sun’s Height
“S’arah”

---

After the summit, S’arah and her companions made their way back to Elsweyr. They were initially side tracked by one of the militiamen, who caught a bad case of Rockjoint. While he healed under the care of an Argonian herbalist, the remaining group continued their journey without him. After a week of travel, they arrived in Senchal, only to find it under attack. Without hesitation, the militiamen went to aid their comrades, a hopeless last stand. S’arah, however, slipped out during the chaos and returned back east to Black Marsh.

Almost another week went by before the sight of Pandomaic Ocean greeted her, she was near the city of Thorn, and Thorn was no longer an Argonian city.

“Whoever is in the bushes,” A voice came from the side of her observation spot. “Come out now or we will kill you.”

The tigress took a step forward, hands raised above her head. “I am not armed.”

“A Ka Po’ Tun? What are you doing here?” The people in front of her were six individuals, to her surprise, all of them were Akaviri. The leader was a Tsaesci, who had another snakeman and four Tang Mo following him. “You must be one of our...private agents.”

“Yes,” S’arah agreed. It was time to collect her payment, but in addition, she also needed to report her findings, which could potentially change the tide of their war. “I would need to speak to general Abasi-Kil immediately, there are vital intelligence.”

The Tsaesci shook his head, “The High General is currently based in Ynslea. I am Matiyahu-Zvi, captain of the Dragonguards, second ranking officer on this front. You might want to speak to Commander Xing, he is based in the city.”

---

Thorn, Black Marsh
2nd of Sun’s Height
Xing

---

According to Ildoryn, the Argonians are capable of waterbreathing. But surprisingly, these natural swimmers operated essentiality no navy. The port of Thorn was small, in fact, most vessels were canoes and fishing boats.

But that was not to say the Argonians didn’t have costal defenses. They had about a few smaller fightings vessels, judging by their appearances, they seemed to be designed for coast patrol or shipping escorts. The Southern Expeditionary Fleet encountered minimal difficulties against their seaborne opponents, led by The Qianfeng, Eastern ships conserved them ammunitions and simply rammed Argonians ships down to the seabed.

At the signs of their arrival, Argonian ground forces started to gather on the docks. Xing frowned at their presence, for the Tang Mo normally strike with the element of surprise, which in this case, was already lost.

“Master Ryu,” the commander summoned. Ryu led the Yin clan, a group of Tang Mo specialized in shock attacks. “Get you men on the docks now, before they can fortify it.”

The Yin warriors were quick to prepare, and within seconds, hundreds of monkeys dove into the sea. These warriors wore enchanted boots, which allowed them to walk on water. Some of them were also aided by potions and illusion spells, making them invisible to the defenders.

When the Argonians noticed the attack, many of them already fell. The cloaked fighters were already at the docks, cutting through their enemies while staying hidden. The main group also closed it, they threw shurikens and darts, both poisoned with the most lethal toxin from the Thousand Isles.

Beside Xing, the Tsaesci Dragonguard appeared. Matiyahu was observing intently at the battle, taking in every moves by his allies and foes.

“The Yin warriors are most impressive, no?” Xing questioned.

“Their tactics are very,” pausing for a brief moment, Matiyahu searched for the right word. “Unique.”

Xing smiled under his mask, he knew the Tsaesci were too proud to admit it, but Matiyahu was no doubt impressed by the display. “It is time for us to do our part. Perhaps your Dragonguards would fancy a few moves of your own?”

---

Few hours later

---

While the Argonians were pathetic on water, their fight was much more fierce on land. After the shock of their attacks worn out, the lizards organized a decent defense. They were good fighters, but not good enough to repel a joint Tang Mo/Tseasci assault. While many Eastern fighters fell during the battle, more than double the amount of lizards lay dead.

The resistance had became weak now, as Xing, Matiyahu and a small group of Tang Mo and Tsaesci soldiers stood in front of a palace.

“My men saw most of them retreating in here.” Matiyahu pointed to the palace’s doors.

“Good, all of the lambs gathered in one slaughter house.” Xing chuckled at the lizards’ foolish actions. “Let us finish this battle.”

Gathering a ball of alteration energy, Xing casted a spell to open the lock. Following the spell, the Tang Mo kicked the doors open, sending splintered wood at several surprised Argonian guards.

“Lord Barkaan, they-” Xing was quick to react, before his enemies could run, a shuriken was already buried in each of their throats. Matiyahu followed on with the attack, cutting down two more guards with his katana. They group proceeded forward, leaving only blood and gore in their path.

At the end of the halls, a large room stood. A heavily armored Argonian was flanked by two guards. At their sight, the guards immediately charged at the Tseasci and the Tang Mo. Xing leaped over the lizard, and in one smooth move, two darts buried in each of the Argonian’s eye sockets. Beside him, Matiyahu also disposed of his enemy, who was now crumpled on the ground, head detached from neck.

“Well, well,” Xing taunted the final Argonian in Tamrielic. “Is this the infamous Lord Barkaan?”

The Argonian’s eyes twitched just a sliver before Xing’s paralyze spell hit him. Barkaan dropped to his knees, but somehow still fully conscious. Just then, another spell came from Xing’s hand. This time, Barkaan finally fell to ground, limp from head to toe.

“Commander Xing, Captain Matiyahu.” a Tang Mo scout blurted as he ran into the room. “Several prisoners were freed by a female Argonian. She killed our men guarding them and escaped into the marshland.”

“I will pursue her,” Matiyahu assured the Tang Mo. “They can run, but they cannot hide”

---

Thorn, Black Marsh
3rd of Sun’s Height
Dragonguard Captain Matiyahu-Zvi

---

The Dragonguard captain never agreed with General Abasi-Kil’s usage of mercenaries. To make matters worse, the general hired their millennium old nemesis, the Ka Po’ Tun. Though the Alliance called for a stop to hostilities, the Tiger folks and the Snake folks never really got along as allies.

“You have returned, Captain,” Xing greeted as Matiyahu entered the former meeting room of Barkaan, now the Akaviri center of operations. He was standing within a group of Tang Mo clan masters and a lone Dark Elf. “Like I said, Mistress Dei, your people will man the walls. Master Kun, your clan will watch over the prisoners and enforce curfew.”

Dei and Kun snapped crisp salutes before heading out of the room. Rest of the occupants turned to the newcomers, examining the Tsaesci and Ka Po’ Tun carefully.

“Did you find the female Argonian?” Xing prodded, the room fell silent as Matiyahu felt many sets of eyes upon him.

“No,” he swallowed before continuing again. “The swamps were too dense, we lost track of them.”

“Perhaps you were right, Ildoryn.” Xing shook his head and glanced quickly at the Dunmer. “These Argonians are definitely shadowy creatures.”

“Ildoryn?” The tigress raised her brows in surprise, out of all the people, out of all the places, this was indeed a strange combination.

Winterhold, Skyrim
5th of Sun’s Height
Sacharen-Regev, Tsaesci Imperial Battlemage

---

The cold in this land was nothing she have seen. It seems like the very air froze solid with each gush of wind. The town known as Winterhold stood in the distance, a collection of small buildings and a large castle. There was a disaster here in the near past, the waves and currents told her a story of their own. From the very essence of the sea, Sacharen felt its anger, its long withheld desire to swallow up the land.

Today, she would let the sea have its desire.

“The goblin souls are ready,” a lesser battlemage reported. “Our devices are fully charged.”

“And we shall begin!” Sacharen announced, her voice magically channeled and magnified to the rest of the fleet.

The mages gathered their power, some into devices located on various vessels, while others pour their magicka into the sea. The waves tumbled and cried, it rushed to heights that were naturally impossible. The waves reared its head toward the shore, and at a blazing speed, crushed into the town.

Sacharen herself had another target, the castle. It sat atop a narrow spike of land, connected by a thinly held bridge. She felt energy of magicka seeping through its walls, the presence of mages. The castle must be a wizard’s palace, which made it a priority target.

At her fingers’ command, bright flashes descended from the sky. Lighting bolts broke through the snowstorm and hurled themselves at the castle. A tower was first hit, causing it to disintegrate into dust. The large courtyard was next, followed by a side hall and finally, the bridge. Despite her bombardment, the castle, and its foundation stood. But it was merely a beaten shell, with half of its main structure and bridge destroyed.

Exhausted from her casting, Sacharen decided to stop bombarding the castle, as the current damage would be sufficient to kill all those who reside within. Other mages were equally as tired, as their waves had fully buried the town, making all buildings part of the seafloor.

Her job was done, there were no more life on land, no more cry for help.

---

6th of Sun’s Height

---

It surprised her that The Buzkiran, the Kamal flagship, sat at the mouth of the river. The giant ship, built with wood in its core and layered with adamantium on its hull, apparently could not maneuver up the White River. Most of its canons and targeting crystals were transferred to smaller vessels, which were currently engaged upstream.

“Lady Sacharen,” a Kamal sailor notified the sorceress. “Commander Hakkeam ordered your mages and fleet back to Solstheim, he will soon take the city of Windhelm.”

---

Windhelm, Skyrim
6th of Sun’s Height
Hakkeam

---

They arrived here two days ago. The Kamal corvettes made short work of local vessels, in a flurry of smoke, shells and lighting, all Nordic ships were destroyed. After that, the Kamal forces landed on the opposite shore of Windhelm, where they setup cannons, catapults and ballistas among the farms.

The siege was continuous, waves after waves of munitions slammed into the walls and the city itself. However, they could not just charge at its front gate. Hakkeam knew the bridge was a perfect killzone, even if they could successfully cross, breaking through the gates and subduing the city would be a challenge of their own.

Therefore, they hoped to break the defenders’ will in a war of attrition. The Kamals made their way around the city, where they captured a mill to the west, a fort called Morvunskar, a small town called Kynesgrove and an abandoned outpost near Morrowind’s border.

The locals put up fierce, but short lived resistance. The Nords fought with vigor, but they were weak, under-equipped and poorly trained. Many of them did not even seem to be soldiers from a standing army, instead, they were simply militia fighters and guards. Therefore, the casualties were heavily disproportional, with a few dozen Kamal bodies stored in decorated caskets and hundreds of dead Nords pilled up into a miniature mountain.

Although most of the enemies fought to their death, some were cowardly enough, or perhaps, intelligent enough, to surrender. In front of Hakkeam right now was a small of group of Nord militia fighters, a group of young men wearing mismatching iron and hide armor.

“You!” Hakkeam pointed to the oldest looking man. He was also also equipped with the best gear, a steel cuirass with matching gauntlets and boots. The Kamal was poorly versed in Tamrielic, but a few words would serve more than well. “Talk!”

“Never!” the Nord defied, “Skyrim belongs to the Nor-”

Enraged, Hakkeam punted the Nord’s head with his adamantium boot. Metal slammed into skull with a sickening sound, blowing open a large dent on the side of the Nord’s head, where crushed brain matters started to leak out.

“Anyone else?” The Kamal questioned in anger, readying his boot for the next captive.

“Please! I’ll talk!” another Nord, a teenager with high pitched voice pleaded. He was barely armored, with only a worn hide cuirass and a pair of beaten leather boots. “The High King left days ago, Windhelm is low on supplies, the Jarl is desperate for -”

“Good,” Hakkeam waved for two Kamal soldiers to his side, where one released the young man and another one handed him a letter. “Deliver to Jarl, and run away.”

The letter called for a duel, if the Jarl wins, Kamal forces will withdraw, if he loses, Windhelm shall surrender.

---

An hour later

---

True to his words, the Jarl appeared in front of the gates. The man was clad in steel plates, wielding an axe and a shield. Hakkeam also drew his weapons, adamantium warhammer in his right hand, Champion’s Crudgel in his left. He calmy walked down the bridge, on the opposite side, the Jarl charged in full sprint.

Near the center, few meters toward the south, two warriors met face-to-face. The Jarl was first to attack, his axe swung and shield bashed. His attacks were parried by Hakkeam, whose dual warhammers provided ample coverage against attacks. In retaliation, the adamantium warhammer was first to connect, it simply broke the shield into pieces and found its mark right in the Nord’s torso. The man’s ribcage was broken, and the organs contained inside were shattered. The Jarl fell to the ground, clutching his ribs and coughing up blood. When he looked back up, the Champion’s Crudgel was coming down.

“No!” he cried out in desperation. The Crudgel made contact with steel armor, at that instant, all three elements danced across the plates. First, the Jarl was frozen solid in ice. Second, a orange explosion tore his frozen body to bits. At last, electricity weaved through, disintegrating whatever remained into fine dust.

The entire battlefield fell silent for an instant, then suddenly, the gates of Windhelm flew open. A young man was leading a group of blue chain-mail armored guards, he shouted several Nordic battlecries before leading the charge.

Hakkeam only heard a two words, “avenge” and “Sovrngarde”, but no matter what they said, Windhelm just sealed its fate by opening their gates.

“These savages want a fight!” Hakkeam looked back as he rallied his men. “We’ll give them a fight! Do not stop until Windhelm is ours! Forward!”

---

7th of Sun’s Height

---

The city was in ruins, buildings lied in smoldering husks and bodies littered the ground. As with all previous battles, the overwhelming majority of these bodies were Nords, with Kamal casualties already evacuated. The remaining citizens was thrown into the eastern sections, into slums the locals called the “Grey Quarters”. Most of the cities food were also shipped into the Grey Quarters, as Kamals found them quite unappetizing. Finally, all entrances into the Quarters were constantly guarded by summoned atornachs and detachments of Kamal soldiers.

Nord corpses, numbering in the thousands, were simply dumped into the river, where they flowed downstream into the Sea of Ghosts. They did not deserve proper burials, Hakkeam thought, and what harm could possibly come by discarding corpses into the ocean?

26th Mid Year,
Abarbbas, Pyandonea,

Uldondil went immediately to the ships builders. There were enough of them to work on more than T’Mol, but the gigantic vessel dominated the port they had. He dropped a purse into the shipsbuilder’s hands.

“King Orgnum desires that the facilities in Kituna Vos and Secula be restored to construct ships once more. One will use chitin from Morrowind and build ships for our allies, the other will build trade vessels to accommodate our expected supply. Abbarbas is to continue producing military vessels once T’Mol is completed. You are to train more craftsmen if need be.”

“Many will come from retirement, High Admiral. The people do love building ships.” In this sentence the shipsbuilder had confidence.

---

30th Mid Year
Mournhold, the former capital of Morrowind.

The past decades wasn’t really kind to this fair city, with the Red Mountain spewing flaming rocks on it, and the Argonians looting the city of all its riches. Under Oravos’ decree, Mournhold was reconstructed and was turned into one of the most formidable fortress cities Morrowind ever had.

The port of Mournhold wasn’t as spectacular as the Akaviri inspired buildings inside the city. It was simple, yet serves its purpose exceedingly well as a trading hub and a shipyard. When the Maormer fleet approached Mournhold, the watchers immediately informed their King who was staying in Mournhold to oversee the arrival of the Akaviri in the coming days.

The massive chains barricading the entrance to the port slowly lowered to the waters when the Maormer ships approached. When the chains was fully lowered, the ships were granted entry, and was directed to dock on the vacant piers. On the central pier dedicated to flagships was Oravos and a contingent of his elite Sentinels, waiting for the Maormer flagship The Ash Crab to dock.

The men alongside Oravos was wearing an Ebony set of Ordinator armor, and armed with Akaviri styled weapons enchanted by the King himself. Oravos who stood in the middle of the group wore his famed Daedric armor and Wraithguard. His blade Trueflame was sheathed on his right, but can still be seen to emit faint traces of flame. The group of Dunmer waited until the Maormer flagship stopped before the platform they were standing on.

Hierdan "Five Tongues" Nemuar was nowhere nearly as armoured as the men he was meeting with today. He wore a full headdress comprised of bright coloured feathers, woven silks, glazed and polished chitin, and fine metals. Beneath is headdress was quite possibly the only red head of hair in all of Pyandonea. On his chest was an usekh bearing Anurbis and Pyan-Do-Mai, beneath it a robe detailing the many Maormer Ancestor Spirits.

Hierdan had never seen Morrowind before. Orgnum’s previous translator had before he died two hundred years ago, and described it differently than what Hierdan saw before him. He was expecting more ash, more fire, more vulcan everything. What did catch his eye was the Akaviri architecture. He would definitely ask about that.

As The Ash Crab docked Hierdan looked at Oravos and his men. Dunmer’s skin seemed to much in opposition to Maormer. He couldn’t help but wonder what cursed them to be so… he would say ugly but Hierdan had a fascination with exotic cultures which made him view few races as ugly. Oravos caught his immediate attention. Nerevarine. Reincarnate. God Killer. He waited at the platform for Oravos’ invitation. This one needed care.

Upon seeing Hierdan aboard, Oravos, accompanied by two of his guards, moved forward towards the ship. Oravos walked in a relaxed manner while taking quick glances on the ships of the Maormer.He  was deeply impressed by the sight of the ships, he knew to himself that his people won’t attain such skill to possibly match the Maormer’s, but one can freely dream they can right?

Now just a few steps close the ship, one of Oravos’ security shouted clearly towards the flagship The Ash Crab. “Oravos the Nerevarine, King of Morrowind and Hortator of the Great Houses, wishes the Mer of Pyandonea a warm welcome. Feel free to dock and roam the city as you please, for our King have gathered the finest goods in our land, in preparation for your arrival.” says the guard before returning to Oravos side.

When the previous one finished speaking, the other guard stepped forward and spoke. “Our King wishes to seek audience with the King of Pyandonea, or if not, the Leader of this expedition.”

Hierdan was gripping a ring on his right hand. It was a special ring that he was to gift to the Dumner King should he prove himself and his people worthy. Before he could respond, however, it grew hot and Hierdan was surprised that someone would be using its power so quickly. T’Mol’s construction must have focused on the communications chambers. A mist began to roll from the ship, and forward strode King Orgnum to place a hand on Hierdan’s shoulder. His dark elven armour, made from an ore unseen to Tamriel, glistened with the image of a serpent raging against a storm. Pyandonean script dominated the other parts, his staff coiled visibly around his arm. On his right hand was a very similar ring to the one Hierdan had. He took Hierdan’s ring and thanked his translator. Turning to the guard, he announced.

“I am King Orgnum of Pyandonea, and accept your gracious invitation to the rich and wondrous lands of the powerful and proud Dunmer people. My people will humbly trade the goods they have brought for your rich wares. We have prepared many of our own foods, including the special dish your emissary was so fond of, as a show of good will towards the meeting.”

Orgnum spotted the Akavir styles and was puzzled. Akavir this far and he had not heard word in the history books or from his spies…. the King Oravos was keen.

His crew disembarking with goods, people, and magic research, Orgnum approached Oravos. His beard almost found the ground save for a slight puff of air he conjured to keep it clean. It was all that kept it from being dirty when he bowed.

“In my land a greeting is done over a meal. What is your tradition so that my people may meet it as yours have met mine?” He asked in an honourable and firm tone.

Oravos moved forward through the middle of his two guards, separating them and revealing his form to Orgnum's view. Oravos stood still for a few seconds before Orgnum, letting the image of the immortal King of Pyandonea sink into his mind. After a rather awkward seconds of silence, Oravos speaks, while lifting his right hand towards Orgnum, gesturing a handshake. "I'm Oravos king of Morrowind. It is an honor to be of your presence King Orgnum, its not everyday that I see a wise and respectable person in Tamrielic land, I am truly honored to meet you in person" He says to the immortal King of the Maormer.

Orgnum took the hand of Oravos in his. The grip was firm, and his pale Maormer skin contrasted perfectly with that of the dark Dunmer’s skin. Orgnum detected the sincerity in Oravos’ voice and could not help but smile faintly. The Dunmer King was smart and polite, suffering not from the impatience of youth Orgnum was sure he’d encounter more and more often with the other races.

“I am equally honoured, King Oravos, to meet someone like yourself. Powerful and just, yet uncorrupted by that power. It is not, indeed, that ones such as ourselves often meet.” He let go the firm handshake, his people unloading their goods in a bustle behind him. Many eyes were on the two ageless elves at the dock, but Orgnum was entirely focused on the King in front of him.

Having his hand released from the handshake, Oravos lifted it again, and gestured it towards the gate behind him leading to the courtyard of the keep. "I'd like to show you around King Orgnum, if its alright with you. Morrowind changed drastically in the recent years, I'm sure you'll be interested in the change my people went through." he says before leading the Orgnum and Heirdan away from the dock, and inside the city walls. The group was followed by a small detachment of their guards, but none of them appeared to be alert, rather, they were relaxed.

Once they entered the courtyard,the first thing that the group sees is a group of Redoran guardsmen, sparring with each other with real blades, instead of wooden ones made for practice. The guardsmen weren't holding back with their blade, and can be observed that every strike has the intent of killing their sparring partner. Seeing that the sparring caught Orgnum’s attention, Oravos spoke.

"Fighting is a constant in life, and to hold back means that you're suppressing the true power you are capable of. Our men doesn't hesitate to strike his friend or brother with a killing blow, they are trained with techniques gathered from far away lands that no man in Tamriel has seen before. That knowledge in warfare is something that our people wishes to share with yours, if you wish to accept it King Orgnum." says Oravos before a loud clang of metal echoes in the courtyard's confines. A Redoran guardsman parrying a sword's blow from his shoulder only by using a bonemold bracer caused the sound. It was lucky for him to block the blow with a bracer, but nonetheless, impressive in the eyes that saw it.

Orgnum exhaled sharply like one surprised by what they had seen. “Impressive, truly. I humbly accept your offer. Our men would be highly honoured to be trained by your own, and that you openly offer it is very generous of you.” The King continued watching the Redoran guardsmen for a few seconds. Their devotion reminded him of his Satakanimeri.

Moving past the practice grounds in the courtyard, the group moves into the small market area for the nobles residing in Mournhold. Stalls filled with rings, bracelets and necklaces embedded with precious gems can be found sitting on  soft velvet cushions in the open. Clothing made from the finest silk in Tamriel was also exhibited and hanged for the group to see. Everything in the area screamed nobility and royalty, perfect for person Oravos was showing around.

"Our lands are rich with minerals that most of Tamriel cannot obtain in large amounts. Our smiths and craftsmen are well educated about dealing will all sorts of metals in Nirn, that their knowledge and skills are envied by many" says Oravos while signalling a servant to move to Orgnum's direction, carrying a pillow with exquisitely designed accessories fit for a king. "Please take it as sign of our good intentions to your people." added by Oravos before gesturing the party to move into the keep, and towards the dining hall.

Orgnum chose an ebony bracer to remind him of the firm handshake he’d experienced earlier.

After receiving the ebony bracer, the group went and entered the keep, before heading to the dining hall. Upon entering the royal dining room of Mournhold, a long wooden table filled with every high class meals in Morrowind revealed itself to the group. From seared Nix-Hound steaks with Marshmerrow dressing, to the aged Kwarma eggs garnished with roasted Saltrice, it was the dream of any Dunmeri food connoisseur made reality.

The two powerful figures was ushered into the ivory seats on both ends of the table, with a variety of food laid before them. Once the Oravos and Orgnum were seated, only two of each of their bodyguards remained with them, standing behind the seat of the Lord they were protecting. "I've been informed by my emissary that you have an exquisite taste in food, I hope what Morrowind's delicacies can be satisfying as the ones your people make." says Oravos before nodding to one of his servants to pour a Dagoth Brandy on a cup beside Orgnum's empty plate.

“I’m pleased that my emissary did his job well and told you of our interests with your people, I hope that you found Morrowind as promising as the words that my emissary said. If you wish to explore the lands to see what our province can offer further, just say so, and I’ll make the necessary preparations..”

For the first time since his arrival Orgnum's face did not betray a slight smile.

"I must decline your offer, much to my own dissatisfaction, for I am meeting with the Altmer high king tomorrow. However, to make up for my sudden departure I can take a message from Morrowind to him if you wish." He waited for a reply before tasting the Dagoth Brandy. Oravos was taking his time, and any mortal would likely become impatient to not be at talks already. Orgnum was simply enjoying the tour, and the time away from it all. He'd waited longer for much, much, less.

“I see.. if you wish to explore the lands of Morrowind in the future, you need only to say so, we would be honored to show you around in our lands.” replied by Oravos before speaking again. He knew enough formalities was said, and they weren’t getting to the main agenda of their meeting, prolonging this show would be very improper. “In my days in Akavir, I have seen the people there work together to achieve a common goal, something that I rarely saw on Tamriel in my past travels. People usually don’t get along if they don’t share something in common, which is why I wish to extend the opportunities Morrowind can offer to the people of Pyandonea.” He says before taking a gulp from his cup filled with the same brandy Orgnum was drinking.

“I wish to bring our people closer King Orgnum, if not as allies, then as friends at least.”

Orgnum was at ease in Morrowind. Their people seemed to be just like his people if not for their complete contrast in skin and environment. He finished the brandy, and procured a small box. Within it was a ring very similar to his own but bearing the Moon and Star instead of the serpent.

"I agree with your assessment, and that is why I have come to you. We both understand what is at risk, and what we wish to gain. I will be direct with you because you have shown yourself as an equal. It is my desire that a government be established to guide Tamriel without ruling over it. Representatives from each race will comprise it, with immortals hedging their short ambition. No country will serve this government, it will serve the countries. It will also govern research into undoing Lyrkhat's treachery, thus eliminating godhood among mortals by restoring us all to our place in the heavens. This is my dream, but it is not why I came to your lands. Say so now and I will never speak of it again." The Maormer paused to give Oravos time to respond to this idea, and then moved to the other topics.

"I and my people desire an alliance with Morrowind and her people. Everything your emissary brought to me can easily be initiated in addition to this. Open trade, cooperation between our people, and the upholding of mutual interests are all to our benefit. I will inform you that it is very likely my people will war with the Yokudans of Hammerfell. And yours?."

“Eliminating godhood..” Oravos repeats the words beneath his breath, his thoughts forces him to recall the events in the past. Dagoth Ur and Almalexia’s death, Vivec’s departure, it all came back to him. Before he could speak his mind about Orgnum’s vision, something in the air seals his lips, as if stopping him from saying another word. When Oravos regained his ability to speak, Orgnum had already spoken matters that involved Morrowind and Hammerfell.

“It is an honor to hear those words King Orgnum, I assure you this alliance will undoubtedly bring prosperity to both of our kingdoms” says Oravos before raising his cup full brandy above his face proposing a toast.

Returning the gesture, Orgnum continued speaking lightly. He passed the box to Oravos.

“Inside that box is a ring; a symbol of our alliance should you accept. That ring will allow my allies to teleport small amounts of goods, letters, and themselves, to and from an ongoing project I have. It is a floating island that is to serve as a mobile embassy and harbor for the ships and troops of my allies and I. It is not completed yet, and thus the teleportation chambers are not functional, but the ring will signal you when it is. When my project, called T’Mol, is completed, the ring will grow both warm and cold. If someone wishes to teleport themselves or anything to you, the ring will grow warm. If you are summoned to T’Mol for urgent news and council, the ring will grow cold. But, please, before you accept it and our alliance, give some consideration to what I have said.

My people would call upon yours for aid in Hammerfell, and I wish to know if my people can aid in any military endeavours of your own. Neither of us is foolish enough to agree to a military pact without first knowing the military status of each other. For my other proposition, consider it and return to me your decision when you are ready to. My dream is quite far away on the calendar.”

Orgnum was anxious on the inside now. His offer had been made, and in nothing more than a polite inquiry. Outside, he was friendly and relaxed. He would have felt completely so if not for revealing his agenda to someone else for the first time under such circumstances.

Oravos took the box and opened it, the appearance of the ring reminded him of the one he was wearing right now. He takes it and holds it near a candle, carefully studying the details on the ring. Oravos then looked at Orgnum, his eyes studying the face of the immortal King with much interest. He knew Orgnum wasn’t stupid not to notice the Eastern touches on the city, keeping it from him would not only strain the alliance, but the trust of Orgnum, if he speaks about it first.

“I know you’ve already noticed the Akaviri influences in this city and in Tear, you‘re probably asking questions in your head already.” he says before placing the ring into his left palm, securing it from view for a while. “I’ve been in Akavir in the past centuries, gathering knowledge and information of the country that Tamriel fears. Never have I suspected that I’ll also gain a friend, that is now turning Morrowind into something other than the burning province I’ve seen in my visions.”

Oravos clears his throat before taking a healthy swig from his cup. “Morrowind is covertly supporting the Akaviri invasion by providing them a staging ground on attacking the other provinces. In return, all we ask of them is their support on our endeavours, whether it be military or economic.” Oravos takes another gulp from the cup, before speaking again. “What you’ve just heard is something in return for the honesty you’ve given me King Orgnum, alliances aren’t made with people lying on each other’s faces.”

Orgnum coughed with surprise. “An invasion of Tamriel? An invasion of Tamriel…. This is acceptable to Pyandonea. I do not wish to be presumptuous but do you believe that Pyandonea could ally itself with this invasion? We would support Morrowind wholly in the same ways Akavir does for mutual support of course. Pyandonea will not need economic support, however, as my coffer supplies all the gold we need and will support Morrowind as well.” He lifted an eyebrow curiously to Oravos. “Perhaps the Dunmer will be the first people other than our own to step foot onto Pyandonea.” Orgnum took another drink of the brandy. He thought he’d trade a bottle of Abbarbas’ Misty Waters for his own bottle of Dagoth Brandy.

Oravos smirked beneath the mask he was wearing, as if something just went in place in a puzzle he was solving. “I’m sure Akavir wouldn't hesitate to accept Pyandonea as an ally, your people proved yourself as people of honor and trust, and every Akaviri respects those factors.” Oravos says before taking out a small medallion beneath the robe he cloaked over his armor. He hands the medallion to his servant, to place before Orgnum’s side of the table. “It is a symbol of Morrowind’s trust, if you wish to pursue an alliance with Akavir and meet with the head general, that might help.” The medallion was carved from a metal not local to Tamriel, in the middle was an Akaviri inscription which if read by someone who speaks the tongue, can decipher the word Friend.

“Also, to prove our dedication to this alliance, my people will send troops to support your endeavours against Hammerfell. May this help tilt the balance of power to your favor King Orgnum.” He says before taking the ring given to him and inserts it into his right middle finger, fully accepting what Orgnum offered to Morrowind.

Orgnum studied the medallion. His translators were almost purely diplomats and confidants these days as he’d learned the Akaviri language long ago. The inscription tickled him but he kept serious. He pocketed the token.

“My deepest thanks to you, King Oravos. Our agreement is set, then, and our people will flourish as long as it stands. I will send Hierdan promptly to contact the Akavir and The Ash Crab is yours should you wish to keep it. With our negotiations concluded I must take my leave after dinner and….” he calculated something in his head, “A brief tour of the city. Alinor and its King Aelid make demand of my presence tomorrow. Is there anything you wish the Altmer to know, while my service is offered?” Outside, at the docks, his transport had fully divulged itself of Orgnum’s troops. His mages had met with the Dunmer’s, ores were being traded, and chitin was being loaded into the now vacant transport.

“You have our gratitude King Orgnum, The Ash Crab will be Morrowind’s flagship from this day onward.” says Oravos before bowing his head lightly in respect. “There’s nothing we wish to relay to the Altmers, but thanks for bringing up the offer. Now that everything is settled, let us indulge ourselves with the food on the table, I’m sure you’ll like the food we’ve prepared for you.”

Oravos says it before lifting the helmet off of his head, he rarely removes it and Orgnum would probably the first to see his face directly in two hundred years.

1st Sun's Height, 4E 205
Abbarbas, Pyandonea

High Admiral Uldindol paced about furious that his Captain had made such a decision on his own. They knew little about the status of Tamriel's countries, what alliances they had made, or the naval powers. Blast it all, the Altmer could open fire in hatred! His people had been on alert for several days now, and he gazed stiffly at the bay through his window. Still, if the captain managed to start a ceasefire...... he was interrupted by a sharp knock at the door.

“Sir, news from the battlegroup! They've aided 200 Altmer vessels and taken the waters of Stros M'Kai! Half of our vessels sustained damage, seven of those sunk. The Altmer fleet has agreed to resupply them in exchange for holding position until reinforcements arrive. Additionally, their ceasefire with us is being negotiated. The Captain has agreed to this.”

Uldindol was genuinely shocked. The Altmer? Had they changed so much? And that fool captain making decisions on his own. He wrestled with the idea of sending his fleet to Summurset. Surely the bulk of their navy was at Stros M'Kai.

“What of the Yokudans?”

“They retreated with roughly fifty ships, High Admiral. Their vessels appear to be inferior to our own by a factor of 3:1.”

An unofficial ceasefire with the Altmer, possibly a war with the Yokudans. Whatever King Orgnum was negotiating with the High Elves. Uldindol rubbed his pale chin thoughtfully. This was a mess.

---

1St Sun’s Height
Abarbbas, Pyandonea

Orgnum sat at his throne, going over his people’s needs and wants. The greedy Captain himself had just stepped in to deliver the news of the battle. He stood tall in his finest uniform, a perfect polish on the chitin adornments. The Captain expected a large and well deserved promotion. Beside Orgnum stood High Admiral Uldondil whose skin colour spoke of disdain and wrath at the sight of the Captain. Ognum’s visage was blank.

The Maormer King finished with his civil duties and stood, not yet looking at the Captain. He motioned for the sailor to step forward while straightening his robe. Another motion told the Captain to deliver his report. The Captain gave a quick glance towards Uldondil before starting.

“I have negotiated a ceasefire with the Altmer, sir. We aided them in the battle for Stros M’Kai, losing seven ships and another eight taking damage, while they suffered almost one hundred and twenty losses. The Yokudans lost two hundred ships, and the island is open for siege. The Altmer will share the island in trade for our aid in taking the island. My ships are restocked by the Altmer ready for reinforcement and relief. At your order I will sail a fleet north.” The Captain mostly suppressed a smile, expecting praise to come.

Instead, Orgnum raised his brow silently. He wet his lips before speaking slowly and evenly.

“Your report, Captain, is missing some key details.”

“Details, sir?”

“Yes, details. Details such as your orders to return after clearing the waters no farther north than Woodhearth. Your disobedience to those orders. Your willingness to take it upon yourself to choose which allies and enemies I should have.”

At this the Captain cut in, “Sir, your intention was to ally with the Altmer. I have done nothing but expe-“

A slap and hiss from the King silenced the Captain. Orgnum began walking around the Captain.

“Your report leaves out your lack of discipline, and disregard for the chain of command. You are not of the political caste. You do not negotiate. You were a Captain, a sailor in my navy under my orders. Who is to say that I should ally myself with the Altmer witnessing what is likely a large portion of their fleet being destroyed? You, after losing half of your own ships in unfriendly waters? No,” the King said , now behind the Captain and drawing his dagger, “You do not make such decisions. I relieve you of your burden, Captain.” At the last word Orgnum plunged the dagger through the former Captain’s lower skull and directly into his brain. The elf was dead in less than a second.

The Wizard King turned to his High Admiral, whose satisfaction was evident.

“Dispatch the necessary ships to Stros M’Kai. We cannot suddenly be known to go back on our word, especially violently. The Dominion is weak, but we mustn’t make enemies too soon.”

“And Hammerfell, sir?”

“Lost to us as an ally, thanks to our dear captain. Accelerate our other plans instead. I will meet with the Altmer High King today. We shall see how well he stands up to the Nerevarine’s impressive display. Perhaps this can be made into a successful venture without the Yokudans.”

---

3rd Sun's Height
Thorn, Black Marsh

Hierdan leaning over the rail of the ship he’d been on for almost a week now. After stopping at Mournhold he was sent south to Tear to speak to the Akaviri instead. The sudden appearance of Orgnum had unsettled him. For the past day he’d followed the Akaviri fleet into Black March… another unsettling event. As Thorn approached on the horizon, Hierdan returned to his study. Akaviri had probably changed over the last era, but he’d be masterful in all of it that he knew.

Signals went up from the docks eventually, and Hierdan prepared himself. He’d never seen any of the Akaviri races before in person. Drawings and descriptions were all he had. His ship slowed and docked at Thorn, revealing himself to the new residents.

“Masters, Captain Matiyahu, Lord Ildoryn, Commander Xing,” a Tang Mo messenger rushed into the meeting room. He had clearly just came in from a sprint. “We have foreign ships docking at the port, they requested to see you.”

“What?” Xing questioned, he looked over to Ildoryn, who just returned an equally confused gaze. “Alright, follow me people. Let’s see who these visitors are.”

At the docks was a large ship, hull constructed from chitin. It was similar to those docked in Tear, except this one was far more imposing in scale and appeared to be well built. The crewmen of this ship were elves, elves with exotic skin colors unseen in the descriptions of Tamriel. Then he realized, there were the sea elves of legend, who supposedly made contact with Akavir more than an era ago.

“Greeting foreigners,” Xing hailed, shouting to the elven sailors. “I am the commander here, what do you seek of us?”

“I am Hierdan Nemuar, translator to King Orgnum of Pyandonea.” Hierdan raised a hand containing the Akaviri medallion he’d obtained from Orgnum before leaving to Xing, his voice jolly in its usual manner. “Once I was called “Five Tongues” by your people long ago. King Orgnum is in Morrowind securing an alliance with the Dunmer, and I am here to do the same with your people. I bring this medallion as a symbol of faith from Morrowind.” Hierdan was only partly lying when he said that he was called “Five Tongues”. It [b]was Orgnum’s translator who’d been called thus by Akavir, but that elf had died many many years ago. Still, the nickname stuck and every translator was given it.

He was surprised by the mixed appearances of the Akaviri. ”That one was Tang Mo,” he thought of the messenger, ”And this one is Tsaesci.” The snakelike lower half of Captain Matiyahu, though he didn’t know the Tsaesci’s name, it did amuse him in that his own people considered themselves descendent of the serpent. A coincidence he wouldn’t bring up for the sake of the joke.

Matiyahu shifted uncomfortably at the Maormer’s gaze, something about these sea elves just didn’t feel right to him. Xing, however, ignored the looks on their faces and decided to continue their dialogue.

“I do not have the authorities to speak for the Thousand Isles or Akavir,” it was true, a decision of this magnitude would require the Assembly’s approval. But, a cooperation on the field, between men of actions was something he could see without a room full of bickering politicians. “However, your presence here would indicate our goals to be similar, perhaps a brief collaboration of forces for the common purpose of conquest?”

Hierdan nodded, thinking rapidly. If all went well at each front Pyandonea could advance its goals considerably. If not, they had at least gained one ally and potentially another.

“Yes, a brief collaboration of forces as you say. At what time could Pyandonea meet with a representative who could speak for such an agreement? Furthermore, how may we collaborate at this time?” His completely white eyes were fascinated with the people he’d not seen before, but he kept them from wandering.

“Commander, you wouldn’t possibly think of collaborating with these savages?” Matiyahu turned from uncomfortable to plain distain.

“That is not a decision for you to judge,” Xing dismissed, he never liked this Dragonguard, and he wouldn’t let Matiyahu disrupt an opportunity like this. “Captain, your Dragonguards are on shift for watch duty, you should join them now.”

“Forgive me, the Captain will not act out of order again” the Tang Mo apologized. “Back to the matters at hand. I assume your fleet would be positioned in the south, which would form a pinching attack combined with our soldiers from the north. I have seen a city called Lilmoth, this place should a sea port for your people to mount an assault.”

Ildoryn stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his attention was distracted by the appearance of the Maormer ship, which is why he remained silent up to now. He didn’t have the authority to speak at the matter that presented itself, but he was curious to inquire about the progress made in Mournhold. “Tell me Hierdan, what transpired on the meeting in Mournhold?”

“Our forces will be there in a couple of days to take the Argonians by surprise.” Hierdan stated. He wanted to ask again when Pyandonea could meet someone from Akavir to begin negotiations, but a Dunmer voice cut into his thoughts.

“Ah, and you are?” He asked politely, unsure of how long he’d missed the man’s presence in his fascination with the exotic species in front of him.

“I’m Ildoryn Sarano, Lord of Tear and right hand of the King of Morrowind. Its been days since the scouting party informed us of the arrival of King Orgnum, I’m just curious to what transpired on the meeting of our Kings.” replied by Ildoryn.

“So we are each other!” Hierdan said, completing the last phrase of a Maormer children’s song. “As for your question, King Oravos and King Orgnum got along very well. I’ven’t witnessed him in such good spirits while negotiating as he was just a few days ago. A full cooperation between Morrowind and Pyandonea was agreed to. The deal your emissary came back with was only altered in that our countries will support each other militarily and economically as well.” His voice was full and smooth saying these things. Then he swatted at an errant mosquito native to Black Marsh and cursed its lineage.

If there was one thing Xing could agree with these Maormers, it was that the creatures of Black Marsh were indeed obnoxious. This will be the ground they negotiate on, one of common enemies, to quash everything from bugs to lizards.

“Very well Hierdan,” Xing nodded to emissary. “While your navy takes Lilmoth, you king could negotiate with our leaders. Akavir is far from this land, and travelling there would only hinder our progress. However, General Abasi-Kil is currently based on Ynslea, a little more than a week’s journey for your vessels. If you could wait another week on Ynslea, our leaders could travel there from Akavir.”

“As a counter proposal,” Hierdan started, “King Orgnum could make for Ynslea in a week’s time
to arrive when your leaders do. Is this acceptable?”

“That would be well,” the monkeyfolk answered. Though he wasn’t sure how the general, or the Assembly, or whatever governments other Eastern Nations had think. As one man, Xing just couldn’t move mountains by himself. In this case, he would have to trust the decision makers back home. “I will send a magickal message to General Abasi-Kil and to the Assembly of the Thousand Isles, they will be glad for your audience”

Ildoryn who kept silent after hearing the Maormer publicly say Morrowind’s allegiance to Pyandonea, suddenly glance to S’arah, who also kept her silence during the meeting. Before anyone from the group noticed Ildoryn move, he slipped a small piece of paper into S’arah’s paws before speaking. “Now that’s settled, I wish to head to my chambers, I’m sure you’ll have no need of my presence here.”

The Dunmer briskly walked away from the docks, leaving S’arah to deal with an informal invitation to dinner.

---

Actions
Reactivate two shipyards
Orgnum teleports to Morrowind only due to the ring he gave Hierdan
Pact with Morrowind sealed.
Orgnum teleports back with the ring he took from Hierdan
Hierdan to Thorn, Black Marsh.
Temporary agreement with Akaviri to help take Black Marsh. Negotiations to come later.
Morrowind soldiers to Pyandonea for military aid.
Ships and goods to return to Pyandonea from Morrowind.
Hierdan to return with ships.

1st Sun's Height
Waters off of Sunhold, Eltheric Ocean

At the same spot the Dunmer were caught awaited a patch of Pyandonean kelp and fish lazily feeding and splashing about. Once ]Sea Smoke came near, however, they began their work at stopping it. A large fish hopped aboard coughed up a sealed parchment, and struggled its way off of the deck. The note indicated to the Altmer that Orgnum was coming on his personal ship Damnation of Tamriel shortly. They didn't wait long to see the high black hull.

Sea Smoke one of two Titan Class Aldmeri Naval ships sailed lazily through the water near Pyandonea, the High King of the Altmer aboard it. He had heard the King of the Maormer would wish to speak with him, and he would meet with this King. As they made their way across the open ocean, Aelid began to wonder if he should return home. He had been here hours. Yet all of a sudden a bump stopped the ship, sending everyone off balance for a moment. Immediately Aelid knew they had been found, and peering over the side of the ship he nearly got a face full of fish as one leapt up out of the water, onto the deck.

Aelid was puzzled until it seemed to puke up a scroll with the seal of the Sea Elves on it. The High King smirked and picked up the fish. He thanked it for it’s services and threw it back into the sea, before picking up the scroll and reading it. It appeared he would have his meeting after all.

Damnation of Tamriel rode a soft breeze. At its bow stood Orgnum, whom silently stood as the ship approached. He nodded to Aelid as their ships were pushed by the kelp closer together. With the gangplank lowered Orgnum invited Aelid aboard.

“Well met, High King Aelid. I am King Orgnum. Let us eat over discussions of a peace between our people.” He motioned to the lavishly decorated set of doors opening to his quarters.

The young Summer Elf stepped aboard the dark and alien vessel and found it fitting for such a savage yet lethal people. Orgnum was an impressive specimen of mer, even to Aelid. The Lord Commander and several of his Order followed him aboard, yet as they approached the captains quarters, Aelid would signal for them to stay behind. He obviously wished to be alone with the King of the Mists.

The inside of the quarters was dark and haunting, yet the chitin seemed to shine in the light in a way that reminded him of the own safety of the glass and silks of his ship. He would eat peckishly at the food, unsure of it’s strangeness. He would speak;

“It has come to my attention that your ships assisted mine in the taking of Stros M’Kais waters. I would thank you for aiding my people in this great victory. Reports have come in that we have sunk at least ⅓ of their navy, if not more, in that one battle.

It is obvious the strength of our combined naval forces, and because of that, I would ask for a Naval Union between our peoples. Trade ships between us could flow regularly exposing each other to both of our magnificent cultures, our Military ships would easily control the seas of Tamriel when working together, and I’m more than certain that your ships could benefit from the secret spells we weave into the silks of our sails, as I’m sure that we could learn much from this… chitin.” Aelid stopped at the last word, knocking lightly on the strange substance that was the wall next to him.

“Further, I would encourage you to continue to grow the bonds of friendship with my people by aiding in our campaign against the Yokudan scum. However, if you would withdraw now, I shall understand and thank you for your services. In the least, I believe a Defensive pact could be signed that if any Nations declare war on us in the future, we must send aid. What say you to my proposals, King Orgnum of the Maormer? Though we have squabbled, both of us are the direct descendents of the Aldmer. They would not wish use divided and fighting like men.”

“I have been alive a long time, High King Aelid, and I have rarely heard such wise words spoken. You no doubt have your suspicions of myself and my people. Our history is a turbulent Current, one we have only recently begun to mend truly. We would welcome your spells. My sailors have spoken about how much more quickly the Altmer ships sail than in the previous era. Impressive, to say the least. Our ships have focused on being brutal and efficient in the sea, our mages becoming more powerful aboard their ships, and our tacticians more cunning.” Orgnum ate a fish covered in featherseaweed.

“To the military union you speak, I accept on a few conditions. It is my intention to bring Tamriel under one banner. The histories I have read make it obvious that men and mer cannot have the same government ruling them, at least not directly. The Ascendancy of Races, then, would rule over three governments: The Dominion of Mer, the Empire of Man and whichever union the Khajiit and Saxhleel agree to. Our people,men and the ‘beast’ races, are fundamentally different and it can hardly be expected that they follow many of the same laws within their countries that other, more enlightened species, have privilege to. The Ascendancy would exist as a higher government representing the broader aspects of Tamriel. Of course, the Ascendancy would have a representative from each species but it would take someone disinterested in Tamrielic politics to head it all. Someone with a great amount of experience and the patience to see through short term conflicts. I am, of course, speaking of myself. Each race would be treated fairly and have their own lands. Integration with the more reclusive species would be a gradual and carefully monitored process.

If the Altmer can agree to head the Dominion of Mer while accepting myself as the head of the Ascension of Races, then the Maormer will accept your terms. A united Tamriel, and eventually all of Nirn, is our goal so that we may meet the true creators and rejoin with them as is our birthright.

The Altmer must successfully unite all Mer races as well as provide the same military support and commercial cooperation that we do. As for trade, my people simply require resources. Magical ones, ores, lumber, jewels, knowledge, anything which can be bought. We can export our foods and craft ships from Morrowind Chitin as well as Altmer Wood should you desire. Additionally, I would like my army to train with yours. Our people are specialised at shore raids and sea battles, but lack experience in land campaigns. Your people have this experience.

Within a day we can send the troops and sails for four hundred enchanted sails for our vessels. Our sails are not silken, so your mages may have initial difficulty enchanting the membranes we use. We will send our own mages to watch over the process and aid yours. The payment is no problem, that can be sent tomorrow as well. As for Stros M’Kai, what did you have in mind?”

The young Altmer was glad that Orgnum seemed to be a fairly intelligent and rational leader, and Aelid thought that between the two of them peace may be possible between their two peoples. The mention of the Ascension of Races intrigued him, though he was not sure what the Summer Isles would do if they received word they would, in a way, serve under the Maormer. He cast his thoughts back to Valina, and her prophetic message of the sacrifice of a God. He decided if this Orgnum wanted to lay all the cards out on the table at once, then so be it.

The High King bit his lip and revealed two goblets of golden elven craftsmanship, as well as a bottle of summer wine. He poured the drink like a artist, and offered the goblet before speaking;

“My Lord Admiral informs me that indeed our ships cut through the sea at unparalleled speeds, but it is yours that can truly both deal out and receive punishment. Yet you would ask the Altmer to bow down before your people on our first meeting, and this is something I can not do. If I did, I would return to the Summer Isles to yet another rebellion. They would say I left a King and returned a Slave.

I’m afraid we must even this deal, King of the Maormer. The Arcane Society of Alinor recently came into position of an Elder Scroll, and after extracting the information from it, it appears we need the blood sacrifice of a God. I have heard that you have ruled Pyandonea since before the Great Pilgrimage out from Aldmeris, and if this is true, I can think of none other with the correct blood. If you would seal our Pact of Brotherhood with your very lifeblood, we would swear fealty into this Ascension of Races.

It may cause problems within my lands, but I would see it done. Though I shall rest assured that if the Emperor of Cyrodiil and myself both veto a decision of yours, our will shall be done. This shall prevent too much power being given to any one individual. Furthermore, I would reserve the right for the Dominion of Mer to secede from the Ascension of Races at any point that we feel the Mer have been mistreated. Though I will say the ultimate goal of Ascendence back into Godhood as is the birthright of all true Mer is a very attractive one.

As for enchanting your sails, I’m sure our Arcane Society could do it, though we are quite busy recently. We are working on the Elder Scroll, just received new class of students, sending Mages to the Orsimer, preparing a second uber project, and more. Still, I will make sure the Arch-Mage Valina finds time, as a show of good will between our people.

Our people could export to you Arcane Knowledge, Moonstone, Quiksilver, Soul Gems, Wood, Silks, and more. We would be honored to train our soldiers with you, and believe that you're more skilled operatives may even be welcome among the Illustrious Order of the Renshi.

As for Stros M’Kai, I have currently set up two battle groups of eighty ships each, which blockade the isle and take turns returning to Alinor to resupply. We could either starve the defenders out, or actually communicate and work together for the first time, and show the Yokudan what we are capable when we actually plan to fight together. My Battlemages are tough, and we could prepare siege weaponry in little time. But I would ask for your advise on this matter.

Oh, and I take it the Maormer would officially be willing to become a member state of the Aldmeri Dominion then, as part of this new regime? You are the blood of Mer.”

Orgnum was not expecting an easy conversation, but this one was also fraught with danger. Still, it was going and could end better than expected. He kept from eating or drinking.

"Ah, you have slightly misunderstood me. Our people would be equals, save for in their own lands where they are supreme. The Ascendancy would have little governance over matters unrelated to the eventual reunification of our people and godhood. Things like Altmer ruling Altmer, Bosmer ruling Bosmer, man ruling man, would continue.”

He paused, taking into consideration the Altmer’s youth. “I have ruled a long time and have learned more lessons than can be expected of most, but surely you see that many people claim their birthright while devoting themselves to matters which do not advance it either from necessity or willful neglect. They claim the things which you and I work for and yet do not lift a finger to advance it. Even more so, others act against us. Our knowledge and work is lost at inopportune times to savages and misguided zealots. Greeds, hatreds, arrogances, ignorances, and much much more work against us constantly. This is what the Ascendancy protects us from.

The Ascendancy isn't a ruling government, but a guiding one with little interest in commerce or border disputes. It doesn’t favour Pyandonea, Cyrodiil, Alinor, Hammerfell, Morrowind, Akavir, or any other region. It exists to research and expedite how we can once again have a mended existence free from Lyrkhat The Corrupted and her treachery. Our history cannot be forgotten nor forgiven,”

His voice was rising at these last few sentences, “And it must be avenged. Pyandonea can rally behind this call, despite its people’s grudge against yours. I suspect you feel the same way about Alinor. It would be quite some time before the first decree were to come, as sufficient research into the next step of our birthright would be a long journey. The Ascendancy needs someone whom can look beyond his own lifespan, and this is why I am necessary to it. As King of the Altmer, you would represent your people and their wellbeing without restraint excepting where necessary to assure our reunification. Even then, it would be by agreement that decrees pass.

Why, instead of a slave or king your people should view you as an Emperor or… a god. However, I must inform you that this is all, including our people joining the Dominion, contingent on our success in unifying Tamriel. The steps I have taken towards this dream require it, and it is my price. For now we can both agree not to attack each other, trade resources and knowledge, increase the standing of Mer everywhere, and to cooperate militarily against our common Yokudan enemy. I understand that you wish my people join the Dominion immediately, but think of the consequences. Your people and mine are have a history of hatred toward one another. They'd likely revolt instead of rejoice at news of our peace. A population is always less tolerant of what must be done to assure our proper place in the universe than we leaders are, so they must be allowed to... adjust. Mutual conquest of the Yokudan will give our people respect of each other, and can foster goodwill. Meanwhile, our true goal can advance unimpeded by hatred as our people begin their slow mending.

Let's also consider how we are to coordinate such a grand project, how we will police, fund, and protect these people. I have a method you will be interested in. First, however, we must speak of your own project. The blood of a god..... I must know what project it is you intend to complete and what you intend to do with it.”

The High Elf traced his golden touched finger around the rim of his goblet, and listened to the words of the King of the Maormer. He had to admit, the idea behind the Ascendancy’s attempt to reclaim what the Elves lost long ago was attractive, but he did not like the idea of having any superior lording over him, and was wary of this Orgnum. He decided to inquire further;
“What this Ascendency looks to elevate all of Mer into this Godhood, or only us rulers of our people? Perhaps the Men would be more willing to aid us if all of Elf kind were to leave Nirn once their goal completed. Of course, I’m not sure we can all become Gods.

I will submit to your Ascendency only once you would enter into my Dominion. Further, I agree that working together to crush Hammerfell will bring our people closer, and perhaps rub away old hates. It is true many Altmer still look with disgust upon the Maormer, unfortunately. I take it you would be willing to match the two battle groups of eighty ships each I have provided in this blockade? Let none say one of us carries the others weight, and tarnish our friendship.

My current project is an attempt to control the very ethereal heavens above us. I speak of course, about the Moons in the sky of Nirn. We have worked hard at our goals, and we believe they may be coming to fruition soon. Yet I need the blood of an Immortal to finish this project, and you seem quite immune to Mortality.” He let the sentence hang in the air for a moment before sipping on his wine and continuing;

“I am eager to hear your proposal to deal with the Yokudan. I hope to prove to them the strength of the Elves, and soon enough hopefully they will sue for peace. Yet until then, we must work together to finish what we started, and take Stros M’Kai for the glory of Mer. I take it the Maormer shall bleed in equal amount to the Altmer in trade for co-ownership of the Isle. For if we are to be brothers and equals, let it be in all things, both pleasant and unfortunate. It is important we have a solid plan of how whether we shall continue to starve the defenders out, or Siege the island and take it with force.

But of course, I would also hear your proposal for financing and managing this new regime.”

"Your own history reveals that every elf is descendant from the heavens, separated from it only by Lyrkhat. This is what I would undo." Orgnum felt a tingle at his mind, an old hatred for the shortsighted plans of mortals and the greed which inherently came with it. Aelid was asking him to be an "equal" whom answered to the Altmer. He stifled the feeling, for there was still time to set the young elf straight.

"As regent of your race you must realise that there are times when even a superb species is unbalanced in its position by the myriad of groveling beasts beneath it and that it must ally itself with those like itself for survival. Ask yourself whether my people were in that position when we last vanished from Tamriel. Now, ask yourself whether your people are in that position. What must a regent do to secure his people?" Orgnum let the point sink in. The Altmer had agreed to equal terms earlier, but asking the Maormer to serve the Dominion was far too much for the reclusive people. His tingling was back, telling him that the Altmer truly only wished to serve himself. He pressed on.

"Do not, like your admiral did, boast about victory at high cost. My former captain lies in the stomach of some sea creature for his folly in disobeying orders and attempting to drag my people into a war on his greedy terms. Now you make similar sounds to me. I must join your war on your terms in order to provide you aid? What benefit is this to me, whom can easily speak with the other provinces and get a better deal? Consider whether what you offer is truly equal to what you demand, and if what you stand to lose is greater than what you may gain.

I do not chastise you, High King Aelid. I merely ask you to consider whether you would agree to such a deal were the tables turned."

A tight frown appeared on the mouth of the young elf, both with thought and displeasure. He liked Orgnum, and he agreed at least in part with what he said. The weight of all the Dominion was upon his shoulders, and he would not have only Altmer die to benefit, of all people, the repulsive Maormer. He felt a quaint feeling to throw his arms in the air and tell the Maormer that the deal could not be brokered, nor peace reached. Yet he would not see blood in the waters of Summerset, and especially not a war among other of his own blood.

Orgnum spoke of the regency of races, and Aelid thought he detected a hint of a threat in his words. This King of the Maormer seemed to be taking a very different mer than the one he had spoken to only moments before. He wanted to speak biting words to Orgnum; tell him that he had been defeated and cast back into the Mists once, and it could be done again if need be. But what use would idle threats be? Instead he drank his sweet summer wine and listened politely to the bitter words, then spoke;

“Indeed you may seek relations with other provinces, King of the Maormer. I shall not stop you, nor could I. Though I will say I doubt the Yokudan will forgive you. They still blamed me for the sins of my father and brother, much less actions we ourselves did.

Yet we do not ask for unconditional aid. Though I admire that you are protective for the lives of your people, I find it disheartening that you would call yourself my friend, yet not shed blood with me. I’m afraid a friendship not sealed in blood is not a friendship at all. You may not mean disrespect Orgnum, but it seems you find yourself disagreeable to both my Lord Admiral, myself, and the brave Maormer that would aid my people in their time of need. ”

Orgnum sat silently for a few moments, his face full of thought.

“Your willingness to be reasonable in spite of what should have angered you is intriguing. The conversation had taken a turn towards something we both do not want. Let us right it. I do not apologise lightly, but forgive my temper. Old memories are the strongest, but I am clearly dealing with a different Dominion today. However, Pyandonea and Alinor cannot enter into an alliance so soon. We will agree not to war with each other until the Yokudan is eliminated.Our people will cooperate in this mutual endeavour.”

Aelid’s fury at the Maormer slights was much deeper and with more conviction than arguing with Orgnum now, and he buried his hate from the King of Pyandonea. He felt a bitter taste in his mouth, despite the sweet wine, and the sight of the Maormer disgust him. Peace had been secured, at least for now, and that was what mattered. He smiled a polite and sophisticated Altmer smile, though there was no warmth to it. The High King was sure these Maormer would never be brothers of his, nor he a brother of theirs.

“I’m afraid if I let petty insults and threats get to me that easily, I would have died in Exile long ago, Orgnum. Let us not war, until the Yokudan are eliminated, indeed.” He nodded in agreement at Orgnum’s words before rising from his seat. He knew staying any longer and speaking would only deteriorate the situation further, and Orgnum smelled of rot and wet death. It was repugnant. He swept gracefully to the cabin door, and opened it, revealing sunlight and sea water. The Lord Protector Dobin stood outside loyally, and the young elf stepped outside into the sun, shutting the door behind him.

Lord General Walden Estermont of the Renshi
2nd of Sun’s Height
Aldmer Ruins, Eton Nir Mountains, Summerset Isle

The Lord General crouched low in the darkness of the ruins, flanked on both sides by other Renshi Agents. He had brought a team of three, as the Thalmor hadn’t had time to truly organize and prepare defenses. Walden had sliced the throats of two guards on the way in, but had seen little since. He didn’t trust the old and dank place, and seeked only to fulfill his objective and leave.

“Did you hear that?” whispered the Renshi to Walden’s left, a Imperial like himself, named Reginald.

“I did.” Came the reply of the Renshi to Walden’s right, a Altmer named Piero.

Walden had heard it too, and already disliked the sound of it. He heard drums beating in the deep of the ruin, and the walls seemed to vibrate lightly with the energy of it. The chamber they were in was still near the front, and they could still turn around and leave. Yet Walden knew he had no true choice in the matter.
He drew the Renshi dagger from his belt and crouched low, moving forward into an especially dark hallway. As the small squad moved forward, they began to hear voices and chanting deeper in. They found themselves quickly entering into a small balcony overlooking what appeared to be the main dinning chamber. Torches lighted the walls and the center of the room appeared fairly clean, with tables and chairs filled with summer wine and elven bread. Walden counted nearly forty Thalmor in the room, and knew them far too many to take on directly.

Yet what he found more interesting was that neither the drums nor the chanting came from this room, but from one further on still. Walden would draw his wits about him and, perceiving a small ledge spanning the length of the room along the wall near their balcony, climbed atop it. It was sturdy, but old, and the stone seemed worn down.

“Are you insane?!” Cried Piero with quiet caution at Walden’s boldness, yet the man gave no mind to the high elf. Instead, he began to creep along the ledge along the wall, and found an opposite balcony along the other wall, leading into another room. Reginald saw Walden’s success, and began to climb the ledge himself. This left Piero alone, who begrudgingly would follow.

“You hear about the Justicar Revin? I heard he was secretly planning on killing the High Justicar Aldra after she returned with the Royal Escort, so he could seize both the Throne and the title of High Justicar together. Looks like the High Justicar Aldra was too smart for him though, and orchestrated some Renshi bursting in at the perfect time, getting Revin killed first.”

The voice was of the familiar snobbishness of the Thalmor, and the words hurt Walden’s heart. He had caught that small bit of dialogue floating up from the eating Altmer below, above the drums and chanting, and knew the Thalmor too corrupt to even work together properly. Yet as they continued on and neared the opposite balcony, he heard a reply in the crowd.

“Is that what Aldra told you? Sure, she might have wanted Revin killed before he got her, but she was riding on that coup being successful. Him ruining that has ruined us.”

Walden had reached the balcony now, and hopped down. He lead his group past a pair of old oak doors, and discovered they appeared to come through a upper-side entrance to a large stadium. It appeared as if hundreds of soldiers were down below in the main arena, and above them on the main balcony of the ruins was the High Justicar Aldra, as well as the High Chancellor.

Walden’s pulse quickened at the sight of his potential kill, and he motioned for his companions to stay low and quiet, coming closer to him.

“Piero, I want you to cause a distraction, drawing everyone’s attention. Once all eyes are on you, run, and don’t look back. Reginald, I’ll need you with me.” The two Renshi nodded, and Piero began to climb a ledge once more, coming closer to a large stone seating area. He came into a position in the darkness, yet easily visible if he so chose. The altmer grabbed a small handful of incendiary pellets, a standard part of the Renshi gear, and waited for the signal.

Walden and Reginald climbed along the ledges closer to the Thalmor Officals balcony, yet found the process both straining and time consuming. By the time they neared the Officials, the High Justicar began to speak;

“Brothers and Sisters of the Thalmor! For too long have we suffered under the reign of misguided Altmer who know not the true greatness and glory of our people! They would temper our greatness with humility, and water down our great blood by mingling with our inferiors! Though our initial coup has failed, we have slain the Arch-Mage Nelron, and shown our might to the False Dominion!

We will march on Cloudrest and wrest it away from those who would deny our supremacy, and call those like the Maormer as equals!” Her voice was magically amplified, like thunder, and Walden could tell her Thalmor were whipped into a frenzy by her words.

Walden looked to Reginald, and motioned that Reginald should kill the High Justicar, while Walden would take the High Chancellor simultaneously. Reginald nodded in agreement, and prepared his own dagger. They were poised perfectly, and Walden took a last count of the Thalmor on the balcony. It appeared to be a total of five, two being officials and what looked to be three guards. Walden sighed deeply, and nodded to Piero.

A sudden flash of flame erupted in the stadium, and nearly a dozen Thalmor soldiers set aflame in the crowd at once. Their screams and cries echoed off the walls, and panic began to break out. Walden launched himself forward and his dagger found it’s mark, slicing perfectly into the throat of the High Chancellor. As the Chancellor attempted to yell, and found blood flooding his throat, he scratched at his neck and in his panic fell clean off the balcony, falling into the panicked Thalmor who promptly crushed him under their boots in their attempt to flee.

Reginald wasn’t nearly as lucky, and the High Justicar seemed to move perfectly as his dagger came forward. Instead it landed square in the ribs of one of the Three Thalmor guard, who were already drawing their weapons. Reginald panicked, and grabbing the guard by his elven armor, tossed him from the balcony to the same fate.

The High Justicar screamed and fled through the doors behind her, and Walden found the Thalmor troops down below who weren’t panicking chased after Piero with great speed. One of the three guard, a high elf wearing armour seemingly made of midnight, had drawn his blade and bore it down on Reginald.
Walden attempted to save his friend, but found the second guard in his way. Drawing both blades, he easily cut down the guard, but found it too late. Reginald took a blade straight through the back, coming nicely out his belly. The Lord General clashed blades with this guard, and found his style superior to most, and his form too good for the Thalmor.

Yet just as Walden thought him about to tire, the doors burst open once more, and the High Justicar returned bringing with her twelve guards. They brought swords to Walden, and he was forced to lay down arms.

Soon, he was in shackles, a beaten and bruised Piero beside him.

Arch-Mage Valina of the Arcane Society
2nd of Sun’s Height
The Crystal Tower

Valina had enjoyed meeting the new students, but was glad that classes were officially underway now. The Arch-Mage knew the importance of keeping their numbers up, and was glad that Nelron had ordered this one last thing before his death. She had gone to sleep early last night, and even bathed luxuriously. She knew she needed to take a breather and rest, after such a difficult past few days.

Occasionally, her mind would wander to the Steward Aiden that had served her in helping her read the Elder Scroll, and her heart would ache. She had trouble believing he was with the Thalmor, but had felt even worse upon realizing he was of the Renshi. He was a cute and younger altmer, and their future could have been bliss. It suddenly occurred to her why she had thrown herself into her work as she had done as of late. It had been to distract herself from her wounded heart.

She shook her head to try and free herself from these emotions and looked at what she had prepared earlier; the Ritual of Secunda had been prepared and yet never finished. She knew what she still had left to do in order to finish it. Yet she found herself disgusted by the act. Walden had kidnapped the babe, and Walden could have killed it. He was ruthless like that, though only as ruthless as he ever had to be.
Picking the baby Mane up from its crib, it mewed up at her with large opal eyes that seemed to glow in the candlelight of her chambers. It seemed to attempt to suckle at her breast, and she held it away from her with repulsions. Though the motherly side of her wished to coddle with it, she was still a High Elf, and It still a beast. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment. In one quick and swift motion, she had slashed a blade across the cub’s throat.

Crimson lifeblood spilled onto the ritual floor, and it made only a light squeal before kicking and falling still in her arms. Valina was still and numb, and could hardly believe herself. Yet before she had collected herself from her brutality, a flash of light and heat once more exploded, this time in her chamber. She fell backwards and dropped the corpse of the cub, and found ash and smoke enveloping the room. Yet when the dust had cleared, she found a small seemingly sticklike object, made of ivory and gold, with a small rock engraved at the end of it. Along it said;

’The Wand of Secunda

Valina gasped and nearly forgot about the corpse of the cub at her feet, as she took the strange wand, it seemed to resonate powerfully in her hands. The wand was ivory, with gold tracing up it towards the rock. Inspecting it, she found the rock at the end of it to be a small piece of Secunda itself. She turned in awe away from the ritual table, and found the corpse still at her feet. Kicking it away in disgust and shame, she fled to the window of her chambers, looking up into the Great Heavens.

Her excitement and grief mingled, and she began to weep openly both for the cub and for the wand. She collected herself briefly, and deciding to test it, muttered a simple color-changing spell she had learned as a little girl; Red.

Before her very eyes, and before the eyes the globe over, the moon of Secunda would become a blood moon, turning the crimson in the sky above. She squealed with excitement at this new treasure.

Lord Admiral of the Royal Fleet Orthos
3rd of Sun’s Height
Alinor, Summerer Isles, Capital of the Dominion

Orthos had prepared the Fleet quickly, and the sailors had done their jobs quickly and efficiently. Ships regularly sailed for the Stros M’Kai Blockade now, and they had a rhythmic system to it. Yet the Dominion troops themselves were taking longer to prepare then he had hoped. As did the Battlemages.

Orthos wasn’t sure if the Island was worth this much trouble, but also knew that they had come too far to back out now. He stood over a wooden table with various information’s and logistics on it.

“Lord Admiral?” Came a voice from behind him, at the opening of the logistics command. He turned around, and found a young altmer boy. He raised a eyebrow expectantly;

“It appears we are approved to send 8,000 Dominion Soldiers and 4,000 Thalmor soldiers, as well as several battle groups of Renshi and Battlemages.”

Orthos nodded, unsure of what the boy meant.

“So it true then..? Are we really officially going to war, then? “

“Seems so.” Was all Orthos replied.

The boy nodded and left, and Orthos turned back to the logistics. He had already sent the message to The other 80 he would command himself. He turned and exited Logistics into the bright and warm summer sun of the isles. He raised a eyebrow at the approach of what appeared to be a fairly respected Thalmor official, flanked by two Thalmor guardsmen. The leader of them spoke;

“Greetings Lord Admiral, I am Captain Mainor of the First Thalmor Battalion. It appears my troops will be under your protection until we land. I trust you shall guard us well. Though I know the High Justicar and High Chancellor have betrayed the Dominion, know there are still some among the Thalmor who wish to redeem ourselves.”

The Lord Admiral nodded to the Captain, humbled by his words. He appeared a strong Altmer, having served many long years both to the Thalmor and Dominion. His elven shortswords were strapped tightly to his hips, and his armor seemed made of silver with stripes of glass in it. His face was straight and serious, with hair white as snow.

“We will protect you well, Captain. I looked forward to seeing the valor of the Thalmor on the field of battle.” He nodded seriously, and the captain turned and departed back to the Thalmor War Camp.


-High Chancellor of the Thalmor Extremists has been assassinated!
-Lord General Walden has been captured by the Thalmor Extremists!
-Thalmor Extremists marching on Cloudrest!
-Baby Mane is Sacrificed, resulting in Wand of Secunda!
-Secunda turns into a Bloodmoon!
-Altmer Forces nearly prepared for invasion.

Fort Oakhampton

Argon walked through the hall ways, men were seen everywhere in the fort, doing their normal tasks of the day. A Tall Imperial male in eleven light armour walked near to Arnor.

“ Sir, our forces are ready… what do you have planned? “ the male asked, his name later to be Rolnal
“Advance a few yards out towards Southpoint, near to the old mill” planned Argon, walking towards the war room of the fort
“Yes sir… but why?” asked Rolnal, his hand on his waistband
“Just go!” exclaimed Argon
Rolnal hurried off to the outside of the fort, to gather the men.
Southpoint was Arnor first place of interest to assault. Southpoint was a fortified city, it’ll be hard to assault it at first, but Arnor knew that having Southpoint would allow him to build a military force, and give him some sort of command center to start his operations.
“The men are ready sire” said Rolnal. Arnor dissmed him, nodding has he walked towards a shadowly Female Argogian Figure and Male Khajiit figure , their names being: Ranen, and K’Zharr.
“You stab from the neck, then the back!” exclaimed K’Zharr
“It’s better if you poison the target, then even try to confront them.” Replied Ranen, her arms crossed.
“Listen, both of you, we need a diversion while my men kill off the surrounding guard men, you’ll head to the surroundings and light fires to trick the guard into saying that we have more troops, they’ll spread out, then you just assassinate or do your thing, got it?” commanded Arnor, his hand on his Steel Sword.
“Yea, yea… wait we are taking a town?!” exclaimed K’Zharr
“By the eight , we havn’t done anything so big in a while!” stated Ranen.
“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you have good accommodations for your “people” .” stated Arnor, smirking has he went to the keep.

Midnight , Old Mill near to Southpoint
12:42AM

“Scaling the walls is going to be tough” stated the tall nord, his name being Hjrer.
“ He, walls are tough? I’ve climbed tree’s tougher than them” uttered the Bosmer by the name of Corfin.
“Guess you can’t use teleportation then. Heh” said the High elf Mage, of the name of Ohtienendor
Arnor moved onto the scene, in a small camp created while the people amassed, Hjrer , Corfin and Ohtienendor were present, as well as Ranen and K’Zharr. A table with a map in the center of it was there.
“Listen up, the town garrison is of worry, so we’ll distract them in a simple yet clever plan. First, the Theifs light up 4 Fires around the town” Argon started has on the map, he drew four points. “Then, once the fires are lit, a messenger shall go into the city and inform the Jarl of a garrison of over 2,500 men, bluffing our numbers.” He circles the tower.
“What happens if the governor doesn’t buy into our ploy?” asked Ohtienendor, tapping the table.
“We light up more fires in 3 more locations” Arnor says this while using a two to symbolise secondary locations of the fire.
“Proceed” stated Ohtienendor.
“Once the fires and Governor is alerted, we advise him via the messanger to send out small patrols. These patrols are going to be picked off by the warriors and archers.
“ Heh, target practice” stated Corfin
An Orc came onto the scene, looking to the map.
“I heard killing , what we killing?” asked the Orc, whose name is Brorul gro-Bamag.
“ Bosmer guards” stated Hjrer.
“Fun” Brorul stated went back to talking with some other orcs and a few Redguards.
“Next what?” stated Corfin
“ Once the patrols have been sent hopefully, then we’ll kill them, if the patrols haven’t been sent and the guards are on high alert, we’ll sneak and kill the watchmen, taking towers.”
“ Got it, but what are the Thiefs to do?” asked K’Zharr, looking to the group.
“ Once the fires have been lit, you’ll move into getting ladders to the few side points of the city, and helping with the fight” stated Arnor.
“Very well, let’s get this plan rolling” stated Arnor

War in the North

Gaius sat upon his throne in the Elder Council chambers, the squabbling councillors arguing over the issue of taxation levels... predictably, they would be set at a similar rate they had been last year, and nothing would be achieved from the arguing. He didn't bother to weigh in, it would only stoke the fires in this case.

But then something happened that wasn't so predictable. The doors to the elder council chambers flung open and in ran a redguard male in light legion armour
"There's a war in the north" he yelled "Man against Akaviri!" Gaius stood slowly from his chair, frowning
"Explain yourself this instance." He demanded, folding his arms as he watched him
"They landed in Windhelm, they killed and killed and the Jarl lies dead by their hand, face down in a pool of his own blood."
"The Akaviri you say? Which type?" A councillor said, rising slowly
"Kamal my lord"
"Demons of the frost... My Emperor, we must prepare our forces for war, if the Kamal are invading..."
"If the Kamal are invading all we feared has come true, Councillor. Tamriel opened it's self up for occupation and now we're like High Rock when Tiber Septim invaded." The Emperor spat, turning to the council "Send word to prepare the legions, all of them. I want all of the Empires provinces to be secured for defence, prepare the spares for war, we shall not go quietly into Aetherius."
"Hear hear!"
"And one more thing my liege..." The redguard said, slowly backing up "The moon is bleeding..." The Emperor frowned again and crossed the room, pushing open the door and stepping out into the streets, looking up into the night sky... Sure enough it was a blood moon.
"By the nine..." So this is what the gods had planned, an akaviri invasion, a bloodmoon, a flood in Winterhold... and the Dragonborn had supposedly stopped the end of the world? He certainly hadn't stopped the end of Tamriel!

Outside Senchal, Elsweyr
29th of Midyear, 4E 205
An-Xileel peacekeepers

---

The Argonians camp out in the unfamiliar and uncomfortably open countryside of Elsweyr, even receiving a Khajit message from an unknown and uncared for lap-cat. The leader of the group politely thanks the Khajit, and promises to present the message to his superiors, despite how little care he had for the message. To this particular Argonian, the Khajiit were still untrustworthy beings who began a campaign of hatred over an unproven piece of slander.

Staying the night proved uneventful and in the end, the Argonians set sail on the 29th of Midyear, as promised. Silently, the sergeant was just sad he hadn’t seen any action. There was never any cause for excitement in Black Marsh.

---

Thorn, Black Marsh
2nd of Sun’s Height
Sha’eek

---

Why did she choose to holiday in Thorn?

Choosing to spend a week in Thorn shouldn’t have been a strange decision: admiring its architecture, meeting up with old spawn-mates, taking a small amount of time away from her duties as Matron of the Shadowscales. It had been the first break she had truly taken since Rules-With-Claw had ascended to the throne after all.

And after this one, she swore it would be her last for a long time.

The first word she heard of the invasion, the entire Argonian dock was besieged and overrun. She had spoken with Lord Barkaan about the relative ease in which a seaborne attack could do serious damage to Thorn, and his response had been that ‘spies constantly informed and updated the Argonians about Dark elf fleet movements.’

She saw the first of the enemy vanguard break into the city as she began to rally a defence. The creature was some strange ape-beast. Nothing that lived on Tamriel, that was certain. She shot a crossbow bolt between the beast’s eyes, ending its life in one shot as she realised just how dire the situation was. This threat wasn’t from Tamriel at all; there were very few threats outside of Tamriel. The Daedra, were the obvious ones: yet this was no Daedra. Someone else could give the creature a name or a species. She’d just send them to Sithis, no matter the birth realm.

Soon after the vanguard and the ralled defence clashed, and as she began to count casualties, she knew that this would be no won defence. This wasn’t going to become the song about the heroic defence of Thorn. This was going to become the song of the sacking of Thorn.

Sha’eek had never been called a merciful woman, but she pulled across the bravest looking Argonian and placed a hand on his shoulder, relinquishing the command to him: electing not to mention the inevitability of the defeat. Instead she simply bowed her head and wished him luck.

Sprinting away from the main defence, she moved towards the most important building in the city other than the castle: the Hist hall.

She made it to the hall of the Hist in a quick enough time, and soon she was face to face with Thorn’s main Hist-speaker. By now, he had likely heard the news, and he’d begun to make the preparations with the Hist itself. She knew what the procedure was: and it would scar her Argonian pride to be a part of what was to come.

-A couple hours later-

The process of communicating with the Hist had been a slow one, and the message was being sent through each Hist tree amongst each other, even now. That hadn’t been the process was the slow part. What came next was what had been a labour: for both the Hist-speaker and for Sha’eek. The Hist tree had been slow to react to the thoughts and words of the Hist-speaker, just as all Hist were. Theories bandied around as to the reason: some blamed the tree-like nature of the sentient beings, or how time had affected the creatures so little over the ages that it took longer to answer questions. In this instance though, it was prompt enough.

Sha’eek climbed the Hist tree as high as possible, going to the top most part of the sacred tree and drawing a dagger. She sawed through the branch and the motion felt like cutting off an arm. To an Argonian, it was torture: no matter how necessary.

With the large branch cut off the tree, she climbed down to the ground and nodded to the Hist-speaker. “Burn it down.”

She exited the building out of the back door as the Hist-speaker ignited the tree. He sat directly below the tree itself, content to die with his charge so that neither might end up in the invader’s hands. The Argonians had learned much after the incident in the Third age. They would not hand over a Hist tree again, to be abused and drawn from like some tapped beer barrel. The branch Sha’eek carried would be used to replant the tree.

…after they sowed Thorn’s soil with the blood of the invaders.

-One hour later-

Sha’eek had been patrolling through the city’s edge, starting to shepherd soldiers away from the castle where she could and instead lead them into the forest. They would form the guerrilla force that kept the invaders out of their land. Sha’eek had already made the choice to lead this defending force: she had asked the Hist to tell Helstrom that already. Any she could save would be worth at least ten invaders in the swamp.

After saving a paticular Argonian, Sha’eek heard tell of a small prisoner camp forming. Dozens of Argonians, herded and captured by the invaders, probably to be made slaves of. It made the killer’s blood boil at the thought. No Argonian should be enslaved, ever. They had endured enough indignities thus far.

Arriving in the shadows of the camp, she counted guards in her head. A good four guards were in control of at least 30 restrained Argonian soldiers. One of the beasts, a Monkey of some sort, was examining the Argonians’ cache of relinquished weapons while a strange Snake folk circled the area, as if uncomfortable with the guard duty. Two more monkeys were spread around the area; Sha’eek could easily pick two of them off before the others even noticed. It was such a simple assassination for such a skilled killer.

Instead, she surged out of the shadows and drove a knife through the throat of the lizard beast: glaring into its eyes and watching the life drain out of them in a wordless gurgle of blood. The kill was angry, personal even: full of the rage of an entire race and the revenge that would burn inside the Argonians.

The Three monkeys saw the brutal kill and scrambled for weapons. One of them drew a sword while the other produced small objects and lobbed them at her. She guided the lizard’s corpse into the projectiles before a dagger flew through the air and met the eye socket of the projectile lobbing ape. Two seconds later, a crossbow bolt was buried into the chest of the third kill, a heart shot that ended the creature’s life far too quickly.

That left the Ape that had been holding Argonian weapons. It advanced with a drawn sword, a two handed Katana: Intent on ending the life of the Argonian assassin. She would normally have fled the open confrontation, feared it even. She was a fine warrior, to be sure, but she was an assassin by trade. This open combat should have been her antithesis!

Yet Argonian pride fuelled these actions. The desire to show these invaders the power of an Argonian warrior, and of the war to come now that surprise was their ally no longer, was stronger than any caution. She dropped her crossbow and surged towards the ape, unarmed. It caused the beast to flinch long enough that Sha’eek could draw two long daggers from hidden scabbards. The ape began to swing the Dai-katana and sliced through…

…air. Sha’eek was already moved from that position, behind the ape and out of his attack range. She had her pick of targets: the heart, the head, the gut, each a kill of varying speed and pain.

She buried her dagger into the Ape’s spinal cord, severing the nerve cluster in the top of his spine and in the centre of his back. The fighter slumped to the floor, paralysed. Leaving the blades buried in the ape, she kicked the ape onto his side, pulling the monster’s face towards hers, smelling the fear of the crippled warrior. “Remember these words, invader. Mark them well in your head, because they are now the most important thing you will do: Songs will be sold about this day. You have sacked Thorn, you have killed Argonians and you have made enemies of them. My people will sing songs about this day for decades, and of the indignation caused by you invaders…”

“…Your people will sing the song about this day for the rest of your living memory. This will become the song about your greatest mistake. I will make your children and your women weep at the memory of the day your people invaded Argonia. They will weep at the thought of the Argonian enemy made this day. The enemy that will push you back, the enemy that will extract every revenge against the invaders of our homeland…”

“This is the day your people made their gravest mistake. This is the day you made enemies of the Argonians. We will find you all, and we will earn revenge for each and every indignation. You will learn to fear the names of our champions, and your people will learn to remember the invasion of Black Marsh as your greatest failure.”

She dropped the crippled creature onto the cold ground, leaving her daggers in their new found scabbards. Pulling the key from the crippled beast’s belt, she opened the shackles of the Argonians and led them towards the swamps, after reuniting each with their weapons.

Reuniting herself with her crossbow and the dagger in the eye if the other Ape, she followed the Argonians into the swamp, disappearing in order to lead the Thorn guerrilla force.

---

Helstrom, Black Marsh
2nd of Sun’s Height
Rules-With-Claw

---

Like every Argonian leader, Rules-With-Claw was interrupted from whatever they were doing in order to receive the panicked message of each city’s Hist-speaker. The message of the Hist speaker was of a conquered Thorn, and of an invasion from a force not of Tamriel. The initial thought was, once again, Daedra, yet the Hist knew better. They spoke of an older enemy, and recalled memories of the Ebonheart Pact.

“…” Seeing the hulking form of the lord of Black Marsh completely speechless could leave even the bravest of men to flinch. Rules-With-Claw’s entire body seemed to shudder with rage as he sat upon the throne of Helstrom, taken by the stories of the Akavari Slavemasters of old.

“Every guard is to leave the Throne room: Now.”

As soon as the doors were closed, a bellow that shook the entire castle echoed from the halls of Helstrom. Rage and anger and indignation united under the roar of a ruler. Fury and spite of an entire people flowed through on being. The doors of the throne room splintered under some unknown blow before the rage finally died down. Two minutes later, the doors were opened and the Argonian leader moved through the corridors of the castle, Axe at his side and armour ready.

“I will be back in two days. Inform Stalks-The-Stars to bolster the defences of Stormhold, Archon and Lilmoth.” With that, the lord of Black Marsh left Helstrom once again, alone this time: and full of rage.

---

All of Tamriel
3rd of Sun’s Height
Every Argonian

---

Across Tamriel, upheaval begins.

From the slaves of Morrowind to the dockworkers of Leyawiin, every Argonian heard the call of the Hist. The pull of the sentient symbiotic Hist tree was undeniable to an Argonian, and as such, the mass exodus of the Argonian people began on the 3rd of Sun’s Height. To a trained scholar, the exodus would likely bring back memories of the mass exodus at the end of the Third age. All that is known is that every Argonian marched, every Argonian answered the call: no matter their rank, wealth or status.

27th of Mid Year
Wayrest, Greater High Rock

The flatfooted messenger boy made his slapping footsteps carry him as fast as they could to the throne room. Many of the guardsmen on the walls couldn’t believe what they were seeing, not really on account of any real disbelief, just that they were sleeping off hangovers or still drunk. A lot of them were still deep into their skooma highs which contributed to the scare, as there were soon bandits on the walls screaming about encroaching iron golems. The sober messenger boy was sent by the more level-headed of the bandit chiefs on wall duty and he rushed to get to Pirate-Lord Mackin. Once the doors to his chambers were thrown open, the screams of a few wenches could be heard as they scrambled through the door, past the messenger boy and down the hallway clutching anything they could grab onto to cover themselves. Once the flood of whores had passed, the messenger boy stood in the doorway, beet red from cheek to cheek.

“Out with it, boy!” Mackin spat.

“We’re under siege, sir!”

“What!?” Mackin rose from his bed and slipped on his trousers, following the boy back outside to the walls.

“When did you first see them?” Mackin asked, adjusting his swordbelt.

“Sunrise, sir. Thousands of them! Some of the men said they saw iron golems but the chiefs said they were wearing armor like any living thing that bleeds.” The messenger boy responded, walking as fast as his short, skinny legs could carry him.

“Whose banners do they fly?” Mackin asked.

The boy only looked away and gulped. Mackin growled as he shoved a door open out onto the battlements, greeted by one of the bandit chiefs, “Sir, there are thousands-”

“The boy already told m-” Mackin stopped in his tracks as he saw exactly how many banners were being flown. Every noble house in High Rock it seemed, even the ones who could only offer thirty fighting men to muster were there, if only to say they were. Mackin’s unsure footsteps brought him to the battlements directly overlooking the massive army. Once there, one of the bandits fell backwards with an arrow in his throat. Mackin shielded himself reflexively but saw that there was a message attached to the arrow’s shaft. Carefully removing it, Mackin read the contents of the letter.



Mackin gulped audibly.

22nd of Mid Year
Everard III of Wayrest
Soulrest, Argonia

Everard didn’t know what to do as the orcs marched right up to them, even as their swords were drawn. The Breton thought they’d cast an intimidating figure, three fully-armed and armored men with swords drawn. Everard watched as the orc leader poked and prodded at his sword before telling him that the Orc Chief Yagurz would want to talk to him. Everard smiled, “What was that about being a gamble, Montyard? It seems we’ve been dealt quite the hand and I intend to take it if this Orc Chief will listen to me.” The Breton sheathed his sword and waved his brothers onward to follow the Orcs back to Yagurz’s chambers.

8th of Sun’s Height, 4E 205

The Honor of Osinium

King Burkash gro-Nagorm, Orsinium

---

Burkash looked over the assembled warriors, members of tribes from the Dragontails, the Wrothgarians, even the Jeralls. He knew that their predicament was one that was…quite delicate and one of Orcish pride, but he hadn’t expected this much of a turn-out, particularly from the Wrothgarian and Dragontail tribes, considering the fact that those conglomerations of tribes were surrounded by enemies on all sides, even more so than the ones that were in, say, Skyrim. Burkash furrowed his brow, inspecting them in detail. The vast majority of the tribals were berserkers, though there were those amongst them that were heavily armored troops. Good for slightly longer engagements.

Burkash looked to Lagash, and took his place on a wooden platform, overlooking the disparate tribals, as well as the forces of Orsinium. War was coming to Orsinium…and he was going to usher it in with a thunderous roar.

“Brothers! We have been slighted! Orsinium’s largest smithy has been violated by outlanders, most likely Redguards. I have sent messengers out to your strongholds, to gather forces for retribution. The Code of Malacath demands blood in order to honor this transgression, and we seek to get all of it! Every last drop of blood will be repaid! One way or another!” Burkash looked like the slobbering psychopath that the typically depicted Orc looked like. The tribals looked more than a little impressed, the fact that the King of Orsinium was more than a little upset about the mere idea of someone violating the walls of Orsinium, as well as the sanctity of their forges, was more than a tad impressive. Burkash let out a warcry like a savage animal, and the warriors reciprocated.

The Orcs were ready. Now, they lay in wait to prepare.

---

9th of Sun’s Height, 4E 205

The Favor of Malacath, Part IV

Gurzuk gro-Golmur, The Rift, near Largashbur

---

Gurzuk and his Orcs slogged it into Falkreath Hold, exhausted and worn from a long trip across the forests of Falkreath, as well as into the land of the Rift proper. The band of warriors rested in a small camp away from the road. They knew it was dangerous. They had figured that one out when they were accosted by the bandits in the Falkreath wilderness. “Remember, keep up a constant watch. I don’t want another attack in the night.” The other Orcs nodded, going about their business as they began to set up camp. Skyrim was dangerous, and the Rift didn’t seem to be much different, all things considered.

The lot of them sat around their camp fire at night, mulling over the recent stories of the past week or so, in-between the grumbling about the longer-than-expected travel time. One of the less-experienced Orcs piped up, “Did you all hear of the Akaviri invasion while we were on the road? Rumor has it they sacked Windhelm.” The Orcs mulled this over amongst themselves, Gurzuk snorting, “About damned time that someone else becomes the whipping boy of Tamriel, be it from other men or from foreigners…I believe the Narzulbur tribe is in Eastmarch. Hopefully they do not see any issue from the invaders. Only time will tell, however.” The Orcs nodded in agreement, continuing to talk amongst themselves, preparing to make the final push to Largashbur in the morning.

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9th of Sun’s Height, 4E 205

Here, in Falkreath

Svari Ice-Heart, Falkreath Hold

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Svari spat on the dirt of Falkreath, looking out on the forest and her new army, barely trained and out of the cradle of the Orcs. The lot of them were prepped and ready to liberate their homeland, no matter the cost. At the end of the day, it hung over all of them. Svari and Jartod, Divines be willing, would fight. Ultimately, one shall stand, and one shall fall. Svari looked around their camp as it formed, noticing the amount of grouping that came together.

She noticed clear divisions amongst the rebel army, with the various bandit clans and factions forming their own smaller camps, and the former anti-Jartod force forming a singular large camp. Svari piped up then and there, shouting out into the camp, “I want Hruldur, Galren, Thranlem, Garanor, and Gulmush at my tent, now!” She then proceeded into her tent, taking a seat at the table inside of it. It was then that the leaders of the various bandits and rogues came in. It was like a potpourri of Tamriel, two Nords, a Bosmer, an Altmer, and, hilariously enough, an Orc.

“What in the name of the Gods do the lot of you think you are doing?” The armor piercing question of the day for Svari. Thranlem, a squirrely little thing of an elf archer, piped up, “What do you mean, Svari? We were setting up camp.” Svari cracked him across the face, giving him a black eye right quick, “First off, that is ‘Sir’ to you. Second, you aren’t setting up a camp. You’re setting up four different camps. Merge your camps together with the other one. I won’t have two factions in my army. Any of you have an issue come talk with me about it. I’ll be sure to make you look like a child.”

With that, Svari dismissed them. She had many decisions for the times ahead, and she needed her rest.

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22nd of Midyear, 4E 205

A Meeting of the Minds

Chief Yagurz/Guards, Stormhold

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The guards plodded in before the Bretons even remotely got close, and they got the message across to Yagurz. These were not your typical Bretons, well, they were, but not of the kind that they had seen at the grander summit. Yagurz took a drink from his ale, shouting to the guards at the door, “Let the Bretons in when they arrive! And the lot of you be ready! I don’t want to have to apologize to Burkash about you all being killed!” Yagurz sat there, in the Orc quarters, sipping his drink, waiting for the Bretons, his back to the door, in a room full of guards.

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31st of Midyear, 4E 205

Established

Ilyn Ondrano, Gnisis

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Ilyn sipped his Canis Root tea, as he was want to do, sitting in the Hlaalu Headquarters looking out on the city of Gnisis like it was his own little playground and, if he had to think about it, Gnisis was his own little playground, even if the Ordinators decided that they wanted to play ball in his court. He smiled, looking out on Gnisis and taking another sip of his tea. He really did see why the Telvanni Magisters enjoyed this particular drink. It was quite the tasty beverage. As he enjoyed his tea, another hireling came in, this time with another letter.

“From Sero Arvas, Sedura.”



Ilyn nodded and paid the courier, burning the letter with destruction magic. Now, all he had to do was plan for Seyda Neen. Soon, he would be in a position to seize power over Gnisis…and soon enough, Hlaalu would be back in the saddle once more.

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30th of Midyear, 4E 205

Hlaalu in Bloom

Draren Thiralas and team, Cheydinhal

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Draren and his team sat in their room at the Newlands Lodge, looking down at the streets in Cheydinhal. He had to admit, he admired the mix of Imperial and Dunmeri architecture on the borderlands of the Empire and Morrowind. Draren took a swig of his ale and spit it out, scrunching his face in disgust, “Bah!” he threw the bottle out into the hallway, a great shatter ringing out, “How can they call that swill alcohol?! Damned n’wahs can’t even make alcohol right. Wish we had some sodding sujamma. At least that would taste decent.”

The others in the team looked at Draren like he was insane. Breaking bottles? Spitting ale out onto the ground? He was going to get them caught! “Draren…” began Rela, “Don’t you think we shou--“ He cut her off before she could finish, “Be cautious? Bah. Not here. Sure, the Legion is here, but they aren’t going to do anything at the moment. Infiltrate the criminal syndicates, possibly the upper crust. If we luck out, we can see about getting into the guard, line things up in our favor. Then we can start sending information back home.”

The rest of them nodded and sighed in agreement, or exasperation. They couldn’t overrule him, seeing as how he was a Lawman, and thus the senior most member of the expedition. Their plans set, they went about their business, seeking for positions in the city.

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