The Heartlands, outside Bruma
Legate Vorenus ,
2000 elves stormed Leyawiin, took us by surprise at sunset. Our navy was burnt. We are camped inside Bravil and the city is on lockdown until the problem down south is dealt with. We have 600 men strong, and 100 wounded. I sent orders for the soldiers on the border to move to Anvil and keep it secure from the enemy. Scouts report another fleet move in from the South-East.

I request immediate assistance east of the Niben bay. If we lose Cheydinhal, we lose the Imperial city.

- Legate Won't-Back-Down

It was hard not to lose heart. That would be ironic, thought the young Legate. "To lose heart in the heartlands," he scoffed from his large horse. "The bards would love that,"
He rolled up the small parchment and looked up the length of the road. Thousands of refugees were making their way north, to Bruma and beyond. There would be no relief for the forces now stationed in Bravil. The Dominion chose a convenient time to launch their attack, but the Imperial Legion had been preparing for this assault for generations. The creatures that fell from the sky were another matter completely. For Vorenus the Thalmor were only a secondary problem.

The Empire was his main concern; when the sky began to pour with the dark creatures the White Tower was the first to be hit, the darkness swallowed it and there was no word from the Empire or the tower guards. The legion was too scattered to be effective and by the time Vorenus had them organized all they could manage to do was push out of the city with as many men as he could. Abandoning the Empire had not been a popular decision amongst his troops, but the longer they stayed the more men they lost.

Bravil was well fortified and close enough to the river that the food supply would not be a problem if a lengthy siege took place. He could send word to Cheydinhal to harvest their crops and vegetables and do the same, the Thalmor would have free reign to take the Imperial city then. Under current circumstances they were welcome to it. Legate Won't-Back-Down would be upset and call him a coward twice over. Once for abandoning the Empire, and once for abandoning Bravil.

It was not Won't-Back-Down he cared about, however. It was his father, General Torrhen. Many believed Vorenus to be too soft, and lacked the spine to do what was necessary. Vorenus was cautious and valued the lives of his men. He would not throw them away carelessly.
His father, however, was ruthless. He would have stopped at nothing to secure the Empire and save the city. Vorenus was not his father, unfortunately.

" Tribune," He whistled and the captain appeared. Vorenus handed him a small parchment. "Take fifty of your men east to Cheydinhal and give this to the Count, make sure the food is rationed and the gates are secured, prepare for a lengthy siege,"

"Yes sir,"

He then turned to the messenger who gave him the grave news from the south. "Tell Legate Won't-Back-Down the situation in the Imperial City and tell him I have gone north to rendezvous with my father and his army,"

"You are abandoning us?" The young scout said. He looked exhausted and had traveled very far to reach them. His light armour was in terrible condition and his face was full of dirt.

"Mind your tongue," Vorenus said sharply. "There is a black hole swallowing our capital. I see no problem if the Thalmor wish to take it presently,"

"It is not the Imperial city I'm concerned about! Skingrad, Anvil and Kvatch are all exposed to an attack. Thalmor have the freedom to walk across our lands unchallenged--"

"You would have me scatter my men? Protect every part of the land?" Vorenus asked harshly. "That's just not realistic. A scattered army is a weak army and we must be strong, more now than ever. On you way now, Auxiliary. May the eight guide you." His horse trotted ahead without hearing any further words of protest.

Many of the refugees would be turned away from the city of Bruma. They would likely go north to Skyrim and find shelter in the provinces there, wandering aimlessly until someone took them in. The road was dangerous at times of tragedy, and the young Legate feared what would happen to them. Some would resort to crime and some would die of starvation, but for now many would go to sleep with empty bellies and troubled minds with the loss of loved ones freezing their hearts.

As dusk approached and night settled in, the city of Bruma could be seen lit in the distance, its gates were closed but when the Legion approached the gates opened wide, but no refugees were granted access. Curses and insults were thrown at the soldiers over the wails of hungry babes. The gate slammed out the noise and the young Legate dismounted his horse outside the chapel of Arkay and began to approach Castle Bruma. There were many townsfolk who had come to stare, many had probably expected the Empire, but all they got was the son of a General and his hungry army.

Inside Bruma

From outside the Chapel of Arkay, Eugain heard a hearty commotion and the clanking of gate gears. It roused him quickly from his catnap which had left him splayed out on the pew, sending him tumbling over the side and crashing into the floor.

Hastily he stood, brushing off his robes and surveying his surroundings to be sure none had caught his blunder. Thankfully, the chapel was empty. "Despite my robes," he thought to himself, "it would likely be ill to be caught sleeping here. . ." The clop of hooves against cobblestone paths and the roar of voices behind the ramparts drew his attention once more to the commotion outside. His curiosity piqued, he shuffled to the doors of the chapel and opened them only enough to stick out his head and peer towards the scene outside.

What could have been an intimidating force appeared to be somewhat sallow. Dejected and heartbroken faces lined the ragtag army of Legionnaires. Eugain furrowed his brow; What monstrosity could these men have faced that left them so broken? The Elves were one thing, but these men. . . It was as if they'd stared into the maw of something worse than Oblivion.

Quietly, he stepped outside, just as the man dressed as Legate dismounted and tied his horse outside the chapel path. As he turned to make way to Castle Bruma, Eugain shuffled forward and called out, raising his voice in an attempt to be heard by the Legate over the cacophony of refugees that were denied entry.

"Excuse me, m'lord. If I may ask. . .

What in Oblivion is going on?"

Yelond Cave, Outside Bravil

Dar-zel watched him from the water, brave he was, for a Bosmer, but that would not save him. He came like all the others, full of hope, dreaming of glory. He cut his way through her skeletons as if they were some epic foe. They were only bait. She watched him as he knelt beside a chest, taking, temporarily, the pretties Dar-zel had placed there herself. Like a child eating away at a trail of sweet rolls, stumbling further and further into the dark, ignorant of the witch whose home stood at the end. As he progressed he met the necromancer's more sturdy creations, not the deadly spawn of the Soul Cairn itself, but still formidable, headless zombies and skeletal guardians. The wood elf tired himself hacking away at bones and rotting flesh. By the time he encountered the wraiths, both he and the watcher in the water knew it was over. The adventurer crept back from the shrieking spirit before turning to flee with his loot and life intact. Instead of seeing the familiar passage leading up from darkness to light, however, he saw a lean shadow blocking the way and felt a blinding pain slip through the leather folds of his armor.

The stranger caught him almost gently as he fell, cradling the elf's quivering body atop the damp stone. Her eyes, yellow and glowing, hovered overhead like Nirn's twin moons at harvest season. "The word for it in your tongue escapes me mer," a gentle hiss emerged from the cowl. "Men call it a kidney, a funny thing, like a bean full of," she wet her lips, "blood... If you stab the bean, the pain, she is so great few can move." The eyes were joined by a wraith who swirled overhead like mist. Dar-zel shooed it away with a claw before her gaze returned to the Bosmer hero. "Can you feel it? Your life's sap is leaving you, landstrider. Normally Dar-zel would take her fill and use your husk, but I find myself in need of... skilled labor." She placed her snout close to the dying elf and inhaled deeply. "You know Bravil well, do you not, it's corners, it's rooves, its filthy back alleys. You smell of it. Are you a sneak who thought to become an honest sword?" She did not wait for his answer but instead raised her scaled wrist to his lips, a single claw poised near the artery. "I happen to need a scoundrel, one who knows that wretched city. If you can be that scoundrel, you will continue to live... after a fashion. If not well... I a can always use a fresh corpse." The argonian grinned toothily, "you do not need to speak, I know it's hard. I might have sunk the blade deeper than I intended. If you want my gift simply," she touched his lips, "open."

A moment later, the answer she expected came and she slashed her wrist. Below the torrent of blood a new spawn of the daedra Molag Bal, a new servant of the Soul Cairn, shuddered into unlife.

Kodlak Storm-Fangs, Outskirts of Bruma

---

To many, this day marked the date the abyss decided to open it's insidious maw and devour the realm of mortals.

To Kodlak Storm-Fangs, it was one of the most exciting days of his life. The hunt was on.

Lifting his nose to the air, Kodlak caught a scent of burning bodies and massacre. That could only mean that he was definitely on the trail of strong prey. It had been so long since Kodlak had properly slaked his blade in the blood of a worthy foe that he feared that his sword had gone dull. He practically shivered in excitement. Yes, this would be a rather righteous slaughter, but a good slaughter none the less. He had followed the lines upon lines of refugees fleeing Cyrodiil all the way back to Bruma and wondered how they could possibly live with themselves when their will to fight was so disgustingly weak.

Along the way, there were a few wannabe marauders that attempted to ambush him when they caught sight of his peculiar armor, but they fought in vain. Each one of them were savagely torn apart without remorse, and soon rumors spiraled among the trails of some sort of mass murderer that only targeted travelers. Which really wasn't true, Kodlak had no interest in fighting those who were too weak to even defend their homeland. But he had no mercy for anyone that raised steel against him. When he finally reached Bruma, he was more than disappointed. The Imperials had transformed the city into a fort but he could taste the fear behind their mighty walls and drawbridge.

Wiping sweat off his brow, Kodlak decided against his natural instinct to surge inside their fortress and pillage. While they were detestably pathetic, numbers can overwhelm even the most vicious of warriors. No, Kodlak wasn't fishing for milk drinking Imperials. Every last Imperial could die and Kodlak could care less. What he did care about is what seemed to spook the Cyrodilic army. Whatever beast or force that had stirred up so much fear among them was the prey whose head he wanted on his wall.

And Kodlak had the perfect idea on how to bait the hook. But first, he needed to stake out the place and lay low awhile. Finding a nearby cave of a recently deceased cave bear, Kodlak started a fire to keep warm and began eating the raw meat off the bone of the bear.

Ana Stormcaller, Inside Bruma

The purple-grey robes of a master magician blocked out most of Bruma's cold from Ana. None of her body, save for her neck and the lower part of her face, could be seen beneath the mass of fabric. Slung to her hip was a sword of Nordic make, just above a satchel that jingled and jangled with coins. It'd been a week since she'd gotten into the city, mostly on the fact that she wasn't part of the refugee rabble coming in from the south. As the days wore on and more and more civilians fleeing the terror in the south, she could only feel more and more pity for them. But, alone, there was nothing she could do for them. She wasn't rich, nor influential. She'd force Bruma's doors open if she didn't think it would just lead to the city falling into chaos.

It was on that day that she was ready to head south to the Imperial City and join up with one of the Legions. The Dominion, the Thalmor, whatever those damn elves wanted to call themselves, they'd pushed too far, cost too many humans their lives. And she was going to make sure that they knew the fear that the Stormcloak rebels knew. She might be older, but that only meant that her magic would be far more honed and deadly. The elves wouldn't know what hit them.

But it seemed that it was not to be, at least not for right now. As she headed towards the gate, ready to leave the northern cold for good, the massive doors opened wide. In came a procession of soldiers, legionnaires, lead by whom she presumed was the legate. Her eyes narrowed. What was a Legion doing this far north, when the Empire needed them down south? Deep inside, a burning anger was forming, but she suppressed it. She came to make nice with the legion and join back up, not insult their commander for heading in the wrong direction. If nothing else, it saved her the trouble of having to go to the Imperial City first.

As she headed towards the throng of soldiers and the occasional stray refugee that had managed to smuggle himself in with them, she could hear someone ask what was going on. An apt question, but for the moment, not appropriate to ask. Though, it did make her look closely. The men were tired, dreary, and looked like they'd seen the face of Dagon and lived to tell about it, but were not pleased with what they'd seen. Something bad had happened, worse than the elves. Or the elves had summoned up something great and terrible.

Sparks jumped around her fingers, a sign that she was becoming agitated. She hated playing the waiting game, but for now she'd need to just sit tight and wait for an opening to get in close to the man leading the soldiers. So, she merely followed up beside the soldiers, near the head of the procession, keeping a keen ear ready to listen to any bits of conversation to be had.

Akari Inside Bruma

Akari sat at the base of a statue, its face long eroded by time. Stories told it was a great hero that had saved them...but to her it was a comfy spot to rest her claws. Not that there was much rest to be had for the Kajiit. The constant in and out of people along the gate, the sounds of screaming and crying outside of it, proved the lack of contentment. The noise and commotion matched the storm of confusion within Akari. Just...what have I seen? She asked herself glancing at the sky. Divines just what have you unleashed upon us this time... Though it pained her to admit it, she was curious more than anything -what- this phenomenon was, how it worked, more than how to stop it. A Dunmer friend of hers back home in Riften once told her he thought she should have been a scholar for how much her curiosity tended to take over her higher thinking. Atleast these walls reminded her of home. The architecture so similar to Skyrim's and the people of mostly Nord decent.

The cat's thoughts were stirred by the sudden entrance of the Legate, causing Akari to quickly slip into the shadows out of habit. Realizing where they had came from she stood and followed the tired and scared looking soldiers. Listening in on the conversation to unfold. If anyone knows what's going on...it'll be the Empire... Akari make herself comfortable in a shadow, not invisible, but hard to notice. The priest that spoke to them seemed a bit out of place...something about his demeanor made you want to relax. Handy skill to have, too bad it was wasted on the Arkay Priest. As she listened she scanned the crowds near by absentmindedly, looking for a heavy purse or something shiny. Little of either was to be found now...most left in the chaos or spent, an elder woman in robes briefly caught her eye, but the vibe coming off of her in waves was a hefty deterrent for Akari's sticky fingers.

Treads-Heavily: Bravil

Treads-Heavily gazed to the south out of the window to his room as more refugees were turned away at the gates. Pondering how the Aldmeri Dominion's move on Leyawiin would affect his search. On the one hand, it will force the assassin to accelerate his plans and expose himself. He though. Although the same will apply to me, with the Aldmeri so close the city is locked up tighter than a miser's purse. And the last thing Treads-Heavily wanted was to get drawn into another conflict. He'd already devised an escape route should the body of the assassin be discovered, now it was his only likely means of egress from these walls.

Several days earlier, Treads-Heavily had arrived via a fishing schooner he'd bartered for travel on. As the boat was being moored to the docks he'd handed over the second half of the payment to the fisherman. He remembered how the smell of fish and open water had reminded him of home. He'd asked the fisherman if he'd known of any Inns worth resting at. He remembered the fisherman's somewhat colorful reply.

"You'd be hard pressed finding an Inn without some form of vermin crowding it." The fisherman had paused, taking a quick look at the contents of the coin purse. "Your best choice would be the Lonely Suitor, thieves guild has a vested interest there so it's quiet most nights. Just don't leave your door unlocked."

He'd thanked him before departing the boat with his belongings. He'd wandered the town for a short time before finally finding the Inn, a crescent moon and starts adorned its sign. The rooms were not overly expensive and Treads-Heavily had opted to keep his more valuable belongings on his person than risk his room being pilfered.

Now, days later, refugees had began flooding the town before the local legate had sealed the gates. He walked out of the crowded Inn, finding a bench nearby to watch as people milled about. Either the assassin got here days ago and found a room, or he's in the refugee camp. No way I'd bee able to find him at the camp, and it's likely his target is someone in town, who though? It's obviously someone important if the Black Hand would risk one of their own getting caught up in this conflict. Treads-Heavily suddenly had a revelation about the assassins motives that made his blood freeze. What if he's here because of the conflict?

He'd been wandering the city for days, the high walls and river access meant this small walled town could survive a lengthy siege. But if someone were to eliminate some of the watchmen along the river, some fighters could sneak atop the wall and secure the gates. Looks like I'm going to be stuck here a while. He thought.

Bruma City Square

The priest of Arkay took Vorenus off guard, he turned with his hand firmly on his pommel. He had no intention of drawing his weapon, it was just a habit brought on by nerves. He could not say much to the priest without first informing the count himself, there were formalities that had to be followed and Vorenus had no intention of causing offense on their first encounter.

However, the longer Vorenus stood still the more of a crowd gathered around him. There was some mumbling, and the crowd stood on the brink of a crevice between panic and despair. He swallowed his fear and approached the priest outside the chapel.

"You are a priest of Arkay, no?" He asked the question he already knew. "Come with me, chaplain. It is best you learn of this."

In times of crisis men of faith were in their prime. When the news washed over Bruma of the hardships ahead people would fall prey to their vices: Alcohol, skooma, whoring and religion. If that failed people would turn to violence, it was crucial they did not collapse upon themselves within these walls. Cyrodil did not need a peasant revolt on top of everything else.

He walked forwards, taking long strides up towards the castle. His fingers still rested on the pommel of his sword, intimidating enough that the guards of Bruma Castle pulled open the portcullis of the castle gates and led him inside.

The castle was warm, and the torches were lit brightly. It did not take long for a servant to emerge and offer a glass of wine, and soon the count was before him, surrounded by his guards and dressed in his evening wear.

"You must be Torrhen's son. You have the look of him," Count Carvain said. "Although, he does not usually give me the gift of hundreds of mouths to feed,"

"I apologize for arriving with such a burden, Carvain." Vorenus spoke with strength he did not feel. He took a sip of wine, feeling the bitterness on his tongue.

"The Imperial city has fallen then?" He guessed, as he paced the room. His eyes stared upon his family crest. "Thalmor?"

"No, a different enemy. Something that Tamriel has never seen before," He continued to tell him and the Priest of Arkay everything. How the city was burning black, and the creatures that had fell from the sky, how The White Tower was inaccessible, and how the dead rose up again as enemies. The Count listened without speaking. He was old, aged past his sixties if Vorenus was to take a guess, his hair was long and grey and his eyes green.

"And the Empire?"

"We could not reach him," He couldn't hide the quiver in his voice this time. "It was--"

"It is done," Carvain broke in. "I will take in your army, and send word north to your father. The refugees however must move on. It is always winter in these mountains of Bruma, and the harvest is limited. They must not stay here."

Kodlak Storm-Fangs, Several Miles from Bruma

---

Kodlak had just laid his head down for a moment of restless sleep before he felt something unnatural stir. Carefully picking up his sword and shield, he had no need to suit up in armor since he never took his off. A low, guttural, and wholly inhuman growl emanated from Kodlak as he slowly navigated the darkness of the cave. He had assumed that the bear was the only resident of the cave but hadn't done a thorough search. As if to further increase his paranoia, he heard something scraping against the stone floor. Kodlak sheathed his sword in favor of a still burning log from his campfire and what the fire had illuminated repulsed him.

The cave bear from earlier was fumbling around in an unnatural, contorted state. Ethereal mist leaked from where it's flesh was torn apart and it's eyes were replaced with ghastly bulbs of harrowing light. Kodlak had quickly dropped his torch and grabbed it's sword but by then the bear had recognized it's previous killer. Letting out a haunting cascade of noise from it's freshly rotten lips, Kodlak barely managed to raise his shield in time before it assaulted him. Though Kodlak slew the bear again without sustaining any injuries besides a gash on his arm which was easily repaired with Restorative magic, Kodlak realized what the Imperials were on the run from. They weren't running from the Elves, they were running from something unnatural. Something not of this world.

Something that Kodlak was going to find.

So here Kodlak was, perched on the edge of a particularly high rock several miles from Bruma. He had adapted his wolf form to cover the distance within a short amount of time and devoured two deer and a pig for nourishment along the way. With all of his senses dramatically sharpened from the transformation, Kodlak could make out a dark unnatural cloud devouring the Imperial City. He guessed that it was from there where the strange magic was spawning from. If that was the case, he would have more to worry about than a resurrected cave bear. No, even with the less than perfect weather conditions Kodlak could barely makeout the shining of hundreds, if not thousands of orbs speckling the city.

Kodlak wasted no time returning to his cave hideout and quickly repacked his supplies. If the army of the undead were to invade tomorrow, it would take more than one warrior to stand in their way. No, after tonight he would have to leave for the fort once known as Bruma.

Bruma Square

"You are a priest of Arkay, no?" He asked the question he already knew. "Come with me, chaplain. It is best you learn of this."

Eugain nodded promptly at the question, and nodded once more when his presence was requested. With haste, he shuffled forward towards the castle with the Legate. This was an opportunity, he believed, that he would not get again. If he were able to help, then by the Divines he would. It was not only his duty but his calling, and thus he stepped with pride alongside the military man beside him.

As Eugain entered the temple, his breath was drawn short. The interior of the castle was magnificent to his eyes, with beautifully pointed arches and pillars evoking the feeling of old Nord architecture of the like that was no longer made by man. His reverie was broken as a servant approached and offered him wine; He respectfully declined. Instead, he placed his hands firmly together and slightly lowered his head, angling his eyes towards the ground.

This cannot be well, he thought to himself. Surely, something terrible has begun.

"You must be Torrhen's son. You have the look of him," Count Carvain said. "Although, he does not usually give me the gift of hundreds of mouths to feed,"

The Count's voice was terse. Eugain could hear the note of worry carefully concealed behind his tempered eyes. The man was a bastion, one which Eugain was sure to be, in that moment, impregnable- as a fortress made of mighty steel. Though even his steady demeanor did not prepare Eugain for the news of the Imperial City's fall. The only news worse was that of the refugees finding no welcome within these walls.

He gripped his own hands tighter. This was troubling news. What of the people? What of the thousands across Skyrim who were to fall prey to these... these things? It was not right, morally. Though logically the count's words made perfect sense. They were, as his father had once said, "between a sword and a wall."

"Divines save us," Eugain found himself saying aloud. "One city fallen and already we serve to strip them of what hope they left the ruined walls with..." He reached a hand up and wiped his brow. What would he do? What could he do? It was then that it struck him; He must do something.

"Sir Legate," he finally said. "I would follow you. Please, allow me to aid those men that are wounded and accompany you from here. However," he held up a single finger, "I wish to stay informed. I must know the truth of this situation as it evolves. The Soul Cairn is of Oblivion by nature, and by mine own nature, Oblivion and Aetherius have been the focal point of my studies nearly all my life." He inhaled, turning his eyes from the Count and the Legate.

"Perhaps, with thought, there will be a way to resolve this. Perhaps I will be of help to you and your men. Or, perhaps not, but I must... I must know why the Divines have allowed this to happen. The men outside these walls are testament." He paused briefly before turning to face the Legate once more. "They are testament that something like the Oblivion crisis cannot... Must not happen again."

Castle Bravil, City of Bravil

"Two thousand elves, three hundred pussy cats--"

"Call them Khajiit," The Argonian hissed. He stroked his chin and glared at the map, as if all the puzzles in the world could be solved with time.

"Two thousand elves, three hundred Khajiit, and mercenaries. The Blackwood Company, four hundred in total," the Tribune spoke. She was a nord, conservative and a bit of a racist. She did not like taking commands from an Argonian, the very fact that Won't-Back-Down had reached the rank of Legate was an insult to most nords, but he prided himself on it.

The Tribune's name was Kala, and while she had the personality of a troll, she was a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield. She had led the charge while the elves had surrounded them, and had carried two wounded imperial men on her back while retreating. She was a true warrior, so the Argonian would forgive any flaw she had as long as she could help him with the only problem that mattered: The Aldmeri Dominion.

"Tell the soldiers we will be moving at first light," The Argonian said softly.

"Forgive my boldness, sir, but that is a terrible move, we should wait for reinforcements."

"Of course," Won't-Back-Down smiled widely. "Tell the soldiers, the very chatty soldiers that we are moving at first light to meet with Legate Vorenus and that we march with haste to take back Leyawiin."

"You do not plan to march," She said knowingly.

"No, not really. I am not such a fool, but the city is rank with spies. It is populated with many Khajiit. I want them exposed. Such a lie would get the spies to move in fright... trying to escape to inform their masters. Behead anyone who tries to leave, including the counts personal soldiers. I do not trust him or them or anyone,"

"That will not go over well with the people. Do you really wish to anger them?"

"No, I wish to save them," Won't-Back-Down lowered his face and was silent as the Tribune left to follow her orders. "The Blackwood Company?" He said aloud to himself, thinking of the Argonian mercenary group that had expanded considerably since their founding days in Cyrodil. They were expensive, yes, but the elves had access to their own mercenaries, elven mercenaries that would suit their needs better than recruiting a foreign race...

He then gasped in fright and turned so quickly his tail flipped over a chair. He rushed out of the room, sprinting past his personal guards and he stepped out onto a balcony that overlooked the courtyard. He looked down upon his Tribune, who noticed him immediately. "Kala, to the Riverside! We are under attack! Blackwood Company!"

Her mouth went slightly ajar, and then the realization hit her. She nodded and drew her sword. "You heard him! To the fucking docks!"

Yelond Cave, Bravil Outskirts

"Gentle my child, gentle," Dar-zel pulled the elf off her captive, a vagabond she'd picked off the roads a fortnight prior, and closed shut the iron bars. The mer's fresh fangs glistened with the blood of his first true feeding. "This meat must last us until the time is right to move. I do not risk hunting before."

"I still don't understand why you wait, we should destroy them all."

"You are still flush with the power of your new blood. Think, my child. When better to move on the city? While they prepare for war and are at their strongest or after they have sustained a siege by the enemy and are at their weakest. The Ideal Masters have made this much of their thinking clear to me." The Argonian paced across the wet stone flaw, her claws tracing across the smooth skulls of her dark altar. "We are to wait until the battle is decided. Then whoever is the victor shall be our prey while they still recover from the trial."

"Forgive me sire, but... what do we do until then? Are we to wait here like... cowards."

"Do not mistake my civility for tolerance of insolence," the elder vampire hissed. "These virtues of your mortal days. Discard them. Virtues are nothing but the vices of the weak."

The elf took a knee and waited head bowed over the jagged stone, "forgive me, mistress I live only to serve you and the Ideal Masters."

The elder vampire laughed, "you use their name, but know nothing of them... like everyone else. You will in time." The reptile leaned over her alchemy table wishing she had the skill to open the gateway which would lead to absolute victory, which would raise her to the station of a dark lord, not some mere necromancer hiding amidst forgotten crags. "I have a job for you, something to test your newfound powers. While I am gone you will render yourself to the Dominion and give them whatever aid you can. Portray yourself as a racist, a hater of men and remember that the Aldmeri are pompous. Play the role of a hopeful subservient and they will never once suspect you. Lend them your knowledge of the city and gain their trust, but if you see the battle tipping to heavily to their side do not be afraid to sabotage their progress. We want the two forces to annihlate one another as absolutely as possible. If you are detected or if the battle is decided, do not return to this sanctum. Instead wait for my arrival in the nearby Aleid ruin. You will find it infested with trolls, easy enough for one of Molag Bal's children to slip past, but a formidable defense against mortals should you be pursued. Take whatever equipment, potions or baubles you need." She handed him a dimly lit crystal, jagged and alive with imprisoned lifeforce. "Use soul gems for bartering."

"And what of you Mistress Dar-zel?"

"I travel to the black spire of the new Imperium. I will return with more of our cult and kine as well as an alchemist to help open the way to Soul Cairn. When I return, this city falls, whichever mortal banner flies above it."

Akari Near Bruma's gate

Akari ran her fingers over a bottle of health restoring potion, her claws making a soft 'tink tink' against the glass. She'd payed off a servant to inform her of what was going on in the castle, not wanting to take the time to break in herself. It wouldn't do to see the wrong side of a set of bars at a time like this. Things were moving swiftly she could tell. Her ears twitched as her tail swished lightly behind her. After a few moments her informant approached, whispering what had been said in the castle walls. "Thank you." She said softly before leaning her head against the stone wall of the building she pressed against. The servant sprinted back to the castle his pockets a little heavier than when he left it. Akari sighed softly and looked up at the sky, the sounds of the birds and fauna overwhelmed by the mewling masses outside the gates begging for food or shelter. Bruma would send them away....and they would move on. Some may try the other cities...some may move on to Skyrim... What will I do? She thought to herself as she watched the soldiers and villagers mill about town. Everyone was scared, on edge, not only the Thalmor to worry about, but now this horrific crisis.

The cat moved from the wall and began walking toward the gate. She would not return to Skyrim. Not yet. After all she had nothing to show her brothers and sisters of the guild. It was clear nothing of value was to be gotten here. With a quick flick of her wrist she picked a few gold from a passing noble woman, and on her way out of the gates she tossed it to Kajiit child "Blessings of the moons upon you." She whispered to the cub. Knowing the cat would get little love even among the other refugees. Looking out at the big city...She knew she couldn't hold her own alone in the shape she was in. Her theives guild armor, and bow at her side...She needed something, some Divine backing would be best, but that was most likely not to come. Maybe I'll find some fortune discarded by those who ran. she mused as she wandered out of town...Should she go south to Charrol or East to Cheydinhal? She decided on Cheydinhal, taking a Northerly route, to hopefully avoid some of the beasts streaming from the seam cut through the sky.

Fort Irony, County Bravil

Fardelkus was perhaps the largest Argonian of his kind, he was strong and needed to melt two nordic armours together to fit across his bulky chest. Over his back was a large sword made out of glass, he had claimed it himself off a knight back in his homeland. The memory of that fight made him smile with delight.

The Thalmor had come to him with a chest full of gold, sapphires, rubies and diamonds,-- and that was just for him. They supplied each of his chosen best with armour and weapons and promises of the chance to pillage first. They had stayed true to their word and Leyawiin was theirs for plunder, and his men had enjoyed it. They took the women as bedslaves, and beheaded all the leftovers who were too young to hold a cup, and too defiant to follow orders. It had boosted morale considerably, seeing as there had been much distrust over the Thalmor. Bravil was a chance for them to show them their worth, and Fardelkus rarely disappointed his contractor.

"You put a lot of faith in these men, Fardelkus." The skinny elf said from behind him. He was a wizard, some son of a lord. He spoke too much and expected the Argonian to answer his every beckon call. He was a wizard too, and if there was anything Fardelkus hated more than elves it was elves that were wizards.

"They won't disappoint. They are warriors," He hissed as he overlooked the large river, in the distance Bravil was just a speck.

"They will serve their use," The High-elf smiled. "A suitable distraction."

"Distraction?" Fardelkus asked. Thinking made his head hurt. Why think when the stroke of a sword often held better results and less noise?

"You did not think the Dominion would wager the outcome of a battle on you and your pondscum? No. I can assure you we have been planning this invasion for a very long while."

Fardelkus felt his hand slam across the table. "My brothers will suffice. They have the hist. We do not need your help, Yarundil."

The Altmer smiled, the glint in his dark eyes were chilling "It is already in motion,"

---

Bruma Castle, City of Bruma
The priests offer of help seemed sincere enough. "I thank you, priest. I'm sorry, I did not get your name. I was..., you and the count know the local community better than I. Many men fall onto their knees for guidance from the Eight at times of peril. I would be most pleased if you could announce to the local community of the terrors that plague use down south, and give them what I cannot at present." Hope.

"As for your studies, I am out of my element. I read of the Oblivion Crisis when I was a boy, but I never expected there to be a repeat of the disaster. I would suspect a cult of Daedra worshippers are behind it..., but it is just a guess. My men saw nothing unnatural. Who knows if this is even just the end of it?"

"And what is the Legate's suggestion we do to prevent more of this terror?" The count asked.

Vorenus thought for several moments, his hand never left the pommel of his sword. The count did not seem afraid. "Imprison those that would leave suddenly until we question them. My history on the oblivion crisis is limited, but it only got as bad as it did because Mankar Camoran had spies everywhere, acting out a single objective as a loyal unit of madmen. If we find one, they will lead us to others. I'm certain."

The count raised his eyebrows and folded his hands. "How would you like me to go about it? Torture?"

"It is better to be safe than sorry," Vorenus nodded. "I would act quickly though, Count Carvain. They may have left the city already when they saw the legion arrive on our doorstep."

---

Castle Bravil, City of Bravil

Won't-Back-Down was not one to..., well, back down in the face of danger. His personal guard had heard him call over the balcony and they were trained to take the initiative. When he stepped in from the balcony his battle-axe was waiting for him. It felt warm in his hands, but it had been enchanted by the mages guild back in Leyawiin a couple of years ago, a gift from the city that he was sworn to protect.

Won't-Back-Down remembered the surprise he got when General Torrhen had announced he was to be a legate. He almost cried in front of his supperior, but it had been his dream to be something that his race could be proud of. He was representing everything good about the Argonian culture. For centuries they had been vilified as criminals and cutthroats, with no honour or discipline. The axe was a symbol of his hard work and devotion to the empire. It was recognition, it was hope, it was acceptance. But more than all that it was a promise.

It felt right that he would soon be avenging the fallen mages with the gift they had flattered him with. Promise was held tightly in his hands as he crossed the courtyard.

"L-L-Legate. Sir, Legate, I--" Count Terentius wide frame hid in the shadow of his soldiers. "Is it wise to leave the castle so unprotected?"

"Fear not, Terentius. Your fat head is worth more alive than dead. It is your people who are only at risk of dying," The Argonian hissed as the doors were shoved open before him.

The count was a coward. When the legion arrived, he did everything in his power to deny them entrance. The fat fool thought the Thalmor would pass them by untouched if they chose not take a side. Won't-Back-Down said he would enter the city with his men to protect it, or he'd burn it quicker than the Thalmor and make sure they were denied possible supplies or fortification. The threat had worked, but since that incident his soldiers followed him around, growing in numbers each time the count approached the legate. Won't-Back-Down hated cowards.

"Oh, t-thank the divines!" There was fear of battle, which was natural to even the bravest of warriors at times, and then there was fear of helping others which was something that the legate loathed. A ruler should be willing to die for his people. The count would choose his life over his subjects within seconds, and if the battle turned badly the castle could be handed over willingly.

The large wooden doors slammed shut behind Won't-Back-Down, and he heard the chaos stirring nearby. The bridge had been cut down, keeping him from the city. He peered over the edge, it was far too dark to make out friend from foe.

"LIGHT! THEY NEED LIGHT! WHERE ARE THE BATTLEMAGES?" His voice echoed off the walls of the crevice below. Spells were fired into the darkness, igniting the enemies in light. Bodies of legion soldiers littered the waters below, men scrambled up the side of the cliff, but the Blackwood Company was numerous.

"ARCHERS! GIVE OUR BOYS SOME TIME! NOTCH! DRAW! LOOSE!" The arrows struck down, latching to the skin of their enemies. Yet, even pierced with several arrows they still persisted, dragging soldiers down and slitting their throats, and making great speed up the opposite side of the cliff.

"Why aren't they dying?" A voice questioned from behind him.

"BECAUSE YOU AREN'T FIRING ENOUGH ARROWS! SHUT YOUR DAMN MOUTH AND FIRE!" In truth, he was certain that the Argonians were numb to the pain and were high on Hist Sap, his men did not need to know that however. As the first of the soldiers began to reach the castle,

Accross from them the Blackwood Company was making their way up the opposite cliff across from them. The bridge had collapsed, leaving the castle soldiers unable to move towards the city, arrows followed their enemies movements but for every Argonian that fell another two gained entry to the city.

"Ladders. Get ladders," He ordered his soldiers as the battle moved into the city.

Bruma Castle Interior

"I would be most pleased if you could announce to the local community of the terrors that plague use down south, and give them what I cannot at present."

Eugain nodded quickly. This was the least he could do- his own job. Though he had been in Bruma only a short time before the events in the Imperial City took place, he felt that he knew the men and women of the city well enough to empathize with them. This was no light news to carry, and a heavy load indeed to pass to the shoulders of the people, but it was necessary. With this knowledge, the men and women of the city could do as they please, be it take up arms or flee north across the border.

"It will be done." He turned to the Count. "I could use a hand gathering the people of the city; I alone have not the power to gather them all in one place. It would be a great help if you could use your powers to assist me in mustering them. I would like to inform the people as soon as possible." He stroked his chin in thought. "In this way, it would be easiest to carry out the Legate's plan. With all the people of the city informed at once, those that would escape would attempt to do so immediately, giving themselves away."

Eugain's mind began to churn. In what way would he word this? How could he bring the people to understand, but to still grasp onto the hope they had within their hearts as men and mer? It was indeed a task, perhaps the most difficult Eugain had ever been assigned. But from the Legate and the Count themselves, such a task... It was an honorable thing. Eugain knew that he must perform without fail.

"I will begin preparation at once, m'lords." He bowed deeply to the Count, and to the Legate. "If you would so kindly excuse me. My lodgings are in the chapel. You may find me there." He turned hurriedly and made his way out of the castle, in stride towards the Chapel of Arkay, the weight of his new task bearing down upon him...

**********
Bravil

Do'Ja knew what was coming the moment he heard the chaos. The screams of bloodthirsty men running rampant across the streets, slaying those who were unfortunate enough to be within their path. From the small slat in the window of the abandoned house he now crouched in, Do'Ja believed them to be Blackwood Company from what he could see. "Rapacious fools," he thought to himself. He never was a fan of the Blackwood Company and their underhanded tactics. He knew them to be incessantly greedy, which meant that no matter the dilapidated state of the home he was in now, it would soon be ransacked for what little valuables there may be left lying around.

Like clockwork, it was not moments later that the door came crashing down. In its stead, a hefty Argonian clad in expertly crafted heavy armor with stripes of red war paint spattered across his face. The blade in his hand was stained with fresh blood, dripping to the cobblestone floor below. He immediately caught sight of Do'Ja, turning to face him with a voracious grin. He stepped forward brandishing the sword in front of himself menacingly. Do'Ja stood quickly, his fists clenched tight and his hands held in a fighting position.

"Too bad, little kitten," the Argonian said. "Wrong place. Wrong time. Today, you will die!" With a hoarse yell the assailant leapt forward, thrusting the sword forward in a jab towards Do'Ja's gut. Do'Ja quickly opened his hands, pivoting on his right front foot to swing around forty-five degrees. As he turned, he slapped the hilt of the blade with a metallic clang, sending it tumbling from the Argonian's hand. The marauder stumbled but quickly regained his balance, turning to face the Khajiit, his expression contorting with rage.

Do'Ja stepped forward slowly, a smile forming on his face. As he did, he removed his now-slashed leather gloves to reveal a pair of gauntlets the likes of which the marauder had never seen before. Slatted with fine steel plates, the only skin exposed were the fingertips, allowing for Do'Ja's well-honed claws to poke through. The Argonian grit his teeth, charging forward once more to strike at the cocky Khajiit with his fist. Do'Ja stepped forward, reversing his stance, catching the marauder's arm in a vice. Using his momentum, Do'Ja swept his legs from underneath him, slamming him straight into the stone below. It cracked and crumbled beneath the force of the blow, leaving a small indentation in the shape of the bandit that lay there now. The air forced from his lungs all at once, the Argonian trembled slightly as he struggled to stand, gasping for air.

Do'Ja wasted no time. He would finish this now. He straddled the Argonian who was on all fours struggling to get up, and quickly placed one hand over the Argonian's mouth and the other at the top of his skull. The bandit struggled, but the previous blow left his muscles devoid of the strength to fend off Do'Ja.

The Khajiit grinned. "This one fancies himself a Dragon," he purred. "It is a shame he is nothing but a newt."

With a crunch, Do'Ja twisted the Argonian's skull, snapping his neck and allowing him to fall limp to the floor. He stood, brushing the dust of combat from his clothes, and peered out the window quickly.

He knew there was more bloodshed to come. The city was now truly in grave danger. He would have to be careful in his escape. . .

Akari Just outside Bruma Gate

A guard received notice from the castle as Akari walked past him. "Halt!" He called after her. Akari froze for a brief moment, when a guard yelled halt her natural instinct was to run...and run she did. Naturally the guard gave chase. I was sure no one saw me stealing! How could I have been caught?! she thought to herself as she sprinted, but the unfamiliar territory, not matter how much it felt like home was her downfall as she fell to her knees after tripping over some ice. Vex would kill me... she could see the old woman's glare now...The guard was quickly upon her, pinning her to the ground his sword at her throat. "Get up cat!" the guard pulled Akari up and dragged her back to the city, binding her hands. The refugee's watched as she was pulled back into the gate, causing the cub she had given money to threw a rock in the guards direction in defiance. With a sore back the guard pulled Akari all the way to the main hall. "We recovered this one at the gate trying to sneak away Sir!" He said to the Legate still standing there, waiting for one of the Castle's guards to relieve him of the struggling thief.

When the Legate and some of his men entered the castle, Ana was forced to stay behind. Not because she feared what would happen if she didn't, but out of common sense. And the fact that she didn't know a spell for invisibility. A small smile formed on her face, remembering the words of one of the elves back at the College. "What? You can see me?" Always brought a smile to her face whenever she remembered the shocked look on his face when she'd told him his spell hadn't worked for the upteenth time. And he was supposed to be the Illusion teacher!

With no other options, she back away from the castle, and stood on the outskirts of the crowd of soldiers, amidst those civilians that would have questioned them. But, each time they got near the troops, there was always a robed woman gently pulling them back, and muttering something about the soldier's needing to be left alone. Many would attempt to ignore her, and she'd let them, but then a legionnaire would shoo them away, often harshly, and tell the crowd to leave them be. Of course, not a minute later another would question another soldier, and it would start again.

The mage found herself a bench, and sat, lounging as best she could on the frigid wood. Her hands cupped together, and a small flame appeared between them. Despite its size, the warmth emitting off of it was enough to be felt several feet away. After a few moments, someone plopped down on the bench next to her. Ana's head turned slightly, the fabric of her hood rustling, and she was able to just make out an older soldier, vaguely familiar. His hair had grayed, and his beard was thinner, but she recognized the old soldier, if not able to remember his name.

After a few moments of silence, he spoke. "Fancy meeting an old legionnaire here," he said, not looking in her direction.

"Odd to meet a legion this far north," she responded, leaning forward over her flame. "What're you all doing here?"

"Not supposed to say, might cause a panic among the people."

"I am not the people. I'm just an old war veteran."

He scooted closer to her, and then leaned in, his breath making the side of her hood hot. "The Imperial City fell," he whispered, hardly audible even to her. "Monsters came from the sky, and every one of us that died only got back up to attack us."

"Necromancers?"

"I don't know. You'll have to ask the Legate when he's done with the Count. He probably doesn't even know."

She nodded, and the man moved back to a comfortable distance, and they sat in silence, enjoying the warmth that she was providing.

Treads-Heavily: Bravil

Treads-Heavily shifted his stiffened limbs as he leaned back into the alleyway. Watching the wall and gate, keeping watch for the assassin. He'd been standing in the shadows for most of the day, looking for anyone paying a little too much attention to the guards along the wall. So far all he'd seen were three Skooma addicts and one sleeping guard.

Well this is useless, the assassin's been here for days he's probably planned his assault by now. Or decided the coin wasn't worth risking getting killed by the Thalmor and risk the wrath of the brotherhood. He was having doubts about his sudden conclusion that the assassin was working for the Thalmor. A coincidence was possible but unlikely considering the circumstances.

It was then, as Treads-Heavily was preparing to search elsewhere that he heard a great deal of shouting from the castle. Did the assassin go after someone in the castle? The count? Or the local Legate? By the eight I'm an idiot!

Treads-Heavily dashed from the shadows of the alley, shedding the traveling cloak he'd been using to conceal himself. Maybe if he got there soon enough he could plead his case to the Imperials and "talk" with the assassin before they beheaded him. He pulled the strapping holding his shield to his back taught to stop it from flopping on his back, clanging against his breastplate. The yelling was getting louder and there was something else, fighting?

Treads-Heavily rounded a corner into harsh white light coming from dozens of small stars floating just above the rooftops. He could see the castle, figures of soldiers rushing around but something was very wrong, the bridges were down. Then he saw them, silhouette of his kin rising from the edge of the river into the city. It took him a moment to realize that Argonian mercenaries were invading from the river.

Arrows were flying from the walls of the castle, thinning their numbers to only several climbing up at a time. But most were able to climb up with at least one arrow embedded in their flesh, Treads-Heavily recognized the signs of Hist sap.

The siege's already started, and with the Legion's soldiers stranded on the other side of the river the city will fall in a couple hours. If the assassin was ever here he's gone by now and I'll be dead if I don't do the same. He turned to make a run for the Inn to retrieve his belonging before fleeing the city, that's when he saw the two small children huddled together trying to hide from the fighting that was coming.

He saw their clothes, dirty but not ragged, refugees from Leyawiin that were either living in the camp or on the streets. The camp, all those people were probably going to be dead soon. The mercenaries wouldn't leave many alive and he knew his kin. Many would be taken as slaves and any children too small, people too old or weak for labor would be killed.

There are some guards on this side of the river. A voice in his head told him. The Imperials will have a way over the river, they just need time. He looked to the river, his kin were less than a hundred yards from him now, still few in number but that wouldn't last long.

"Damn it to Oblivion." He cursed, unbuckling his shield from his back and drawing his sword, the elven grip growing hot in his gauntleted hand as a light flame engulfed the blade. "By the eight if I live through this they'd better give me some information on where that damned assassin is."

He brought up his shield, sword pointing forward as he made is may toward the few charging down the street. The first was charging straight towards him, howling with blood-lust brought on by the sap with another only a few steps behind him. Both wielding small weapons and light armor as to aid in their watery assault on the city.

When the first was only a few strides away Treads-Heavily planted his feet, bracing his shield to catch the charging mercenary. The maddened Argonian paid little heed to the weapon, choosing to throw all his momentum into Treads-Heavily trying to break his defenses. At the last moment he shifted his back foot and thrust his shield forward, taking the impact at an angle and stunning the assailant sending him tumbling to the ground.

The first dealt with for now he rushed the second, catching him off guard as he crashed into the steel wall. Treads-Heavily made a quick thrust for his chest, trying to end the fight before the first attacker could join in but he managed to stumble out of the way. Not wanting to give him time to recover he pressed the offensive, stepping forward and slashing low. Catching the Argonian mercenary in the upper leg, severing the muscle causing him to stumble to one knee. Then a final thrust piercing his heart, the mercenary let out a single grunt accompanied by a sizzling from the blade before going limp.

Treads-Heavily gave a quick jerk on the blade freeing it from the body before turning to face the first attacker. He was just regaining his footing as Treads-Heavily charged him, making a quick chop at his neck that nearly severed his head from his shoulders, blood gushing out onto the ground.

He turned to face the next threat, apparently one of the other mercenaries recognized him as a threat and had gathered a small group of five to attack him. Looking for a way to escape he saw a narrow alley that ran between two large buildings, if he could draw them there he could engage them one at a time.

"You shame Sithis with your cowardice!" He shouted at them in his native tongue. They started coming quicker, hurling insults of their own as he drew them into the alley.

"Come on you Imperial bastards, get out of that castle already." he said finally backing into the alley as they broke rank only a dozen paces away and charged.