Smoke rose from the guar hide yurt, chanting is heard. As you approached the yurt grows into a the Red Mountain as smoke grew thicker and the chanting grew louder. You enter in through a cave opening and inside is a child of Velothi, an ashlander. This particular ashlander has as many wrinkles as rings on a tree, yet her violet eyes are youthful and the pools of amethyst pierce your soul. She begins to speak in your native language,

Old Powers have risen, a quest taken by the lowest of castes, together they will stop the Old Darkness, from making the land forever crimson and covered in blackness.

As each word finishes you are pulled farther and farther away by an invisible force only to wake up in cold sweats on your mat. Here, under a Telvanni Tower that is nestled in the Grazelands far away from another town. Underneath the tower lies the roots of the great tower with the help of magic and stone rooms were crafted complete with enchanted bars. The security is lackadaisical since there is nowhere to go for miles, the guards often let small commodities go, for a price. All in all its not the worst place to be a slave.

Away from your quaint little tower filled with quaint little people lies Morrowind, filled with much more interesting people and places. For example take the West Gash, there lies a multitude of Cities bordered by the Inner Sea and the Ashlands. Its the distance is overwhelming, however there lies so much more opportunity, or so you imagine. Ever since you've been enslaved you can only recall good things about the homeland of the rather too proud Dumner. However there are problems, the Great House Telvanni has seceded from the Imperial Province of Morrowind and has began the United Telvanni Kingdom. The two remaining Great Houses Redoran and Sadras have been left to deal with the Province's problems without the magical superiority of Telvannis.

Outside of the Province of Morrowind lays seven other Provinces. Each of them must now deal with the failed Stormcloak uprising by terrorist Jarl Ulfric. The uprising has led with ideas of freedom from the aging and now deteriorating Imperial Empire. In Valenwood the local Bosmer are attacking forts, in Argonia there is total chaos, the Khajit in Elsweyr have remained strangely quiet, Hammerfell is divided in between Redguards and Orcs, in High Rock the Bretons are with the Loyalist as well as Skyrim. The world is changing all while you sit in a little cell.

Kharmam woke with a start. Memories of the dream still lingered in her mind; the guarhide yurt, the mysterious dark elf, the smoke stinging her eyes and nose. They began fading as the pain and cold set in. Where am I? she thought, confused, Where am I, where am I, where am I? Then she remembered. She was in the same damp, dark little cell she had been in for the better part of a year. Stuck in a hole under a big, twisted monstrosity of a fungus which the natives apparently used for housing. Then she reacted to the pain and let out a soft groan. Why was she hurting so bad?

Oh, yes. The beating.

She had her big mouth to thank for that. For some reason she could not recall she had picked a fight with the warden yesterday. Again. Or he had picked a fight with her; the beginning was still a litle hazy. It was unimportant. Their relationship worked like that. She remembered insulting one of the guards and then hurting another, and then some more of them had come with sticks and beat her to a pulp. Maybe not the best outcome for her but she saw it as a victory, however minor. They would never break her, and she would make sure that they knew it every day. Bastards.

It took some effort to get up and Kharmam cursed under her breath at her throbbing bruises. Looking around her it seemed most of the other slaves were asleep judging from the steady pace of their deep breathing. She considered what she would do next, and then spoke.

Anyone else awake?

Ayron woke up from his dark, twisting dream with shallow; he knew not that the dream was a shared vision among some of stronger slaves in the hellish Telvanni slave encampment. The dream seems so real, the voices were crisp and clear like I was in the room. Am I going crazy? Do I reside on some twisted plane of Oblivion as kind of Daedric play toy? Shaking off the thoughts of insanity, Ayron looked around only seeing the Redguard examining her injuries. He knelt beside his cot and in a hollowed root lay his stash. It was full of a myriad of things that could be useful. One of his most precious possessions was an old dwemer coin he keeps hidden for a rainy day, also hidden was a stout bottle of sujamma.

The bottle of sujamma Ayron had bartered for with a mix of a small amount of gold and particularly perfect pearl that Ayron received from the hidey hole of a diver, a slave who dives for pearls and types of sea weed in the Inner Sea. Ayron is the Imperial to know if you want certain things from the surrounding Telavanni Tower. Ayron has one motto that has stayed with him through out his "stint" of slavery and it's,

"Anything can be bought." That applies not just to material goods, but to loyalties as well. "If you keep feeding a cat a bowl of milk, soon enough it will follow you around." These campy and rather rural saying are to quite out of the ordinary for somebody from the great Imperial capital, but quirks must come with treasure hunting.

Out of nowhere came a voice resonating from the Redguard,

Anyone else awake?

Ayron whispered, "Yes." And made his way over.

Kharrn's bloodshot eyes snapped open as he sucked in a deep breath and shivered. The cold sweat was an almost pleasant change compared to the damp heat the Dunmer manufactured for their tower of fungus. He hated this place. He flexed his hands in the dark as he recalled the dream that was more than a dream. Old Powers and Old Darkness smacked of Daedra to the male Orc as he laid on his ragged mat and rhythmically clenched his jaw. Finally he sat up and noticed the other two slaves awake.

"Kharmam," he rumbled quietly as he stretched and tried to ease his sore muscles. "How're the bruises?" He glanced at the Imperial and nodded slightly while folding his legs before him. It wouldn't be long before the guards came around to oust them and the rest of the slaves from their beds. He was surprised more of them weren't awake since this was one of the few times where they could be free of the guards and their harassment.

Not bad, she said, cracking a mean smile. I am trying to enjoy them as much as I can. I worked hard to get them, after all. How is your face? Or has it always been like that?

She did that a lot, insulted the others. Most times they brushed it off or even laughed about it, but Kharmam had gone too far on more than one occation. It had made her a few friends during the years, but a few more enemies too. She did not know why she did it. It just bubbled up in her mind and before she knew it, it had burst out of her mouth too. Most times it was fun but it could be a bloody annoyance. But the orc could take it. He was tough. Unsurprising, of course, as orcs were tough in general.

As the imperial came closer Kharmam nodded and, adding a Hey, sat back against the wall.

Jo'ari awoke with a bad headache, that dream was unsett, not that it really mattered. She looked to the other awake slaves and let out a small, tired hiss, "Why must you wake others up with your loud voices? If you want to talk you should do so quietly, some of us like to sleep a bit more." She sighed, and checked the lynx like hair at the top of her ears, Jo'ari was glad they had not been cut off when she was enslaved. "Well, what's so interesting as to wake up other prisoners? Those bruises you got keeping you awake Kharmam? They didn't damage anything to important did they?" She spoke as she quietly clawed her way to the small group of waking slaves.

Ayron nodded at the rather fearsome Orc, Kharrn as he made his way over to Kharmam, the bruised Redguard who was beaten down by guards earlier. Wow, its kind of strange that they're names are similar, almost as strange as me just noticing that. He shifted his weight around, the rough cloth clothing almost grinding against the dank earthy root while Kharmam insulted the Orc. Ayron chuckled a bit even though he had heard better comebacks from High Elves. Out of the corner of his eye Jo'ari, a strangely patterned Khajit, made her way asking questions.

Ayron had always liked this small group of slaves, they were polite as far as bitter enslaved workers go and they rarely haggled. So in the spirit of comradely he went over to his hidey hole and pulled out the stout little bottle of sujamma and his one tiny ,wooden cup. He brought it over to small group of slaves and said,

"One drink per man or beast." He started to pour a cup and handed it out to the first hand.



A small group of chitin covered soldiers discussed their plan, this particular had many successful plans and have become notorious around the entire Province. They were called the Twin Lanterns due to a calling card, which was obviously was two burning lanterns. The group was funded by an adventurer and rich-elf Anewil Vallu, he isn't their mercenary work for the money only the excitement that he so craves. After returning from a trip in the Black Marsh they were contacted by an anonymous source. The Lanterns soon met and were hired by a mysterious Dumner with unfathomable amounts of gold. The deal seemed too good. The Elf asked of the group of fellow Dumner one thing, free the slaves of the Telvanni Tower, Tel Delora, no questions asked for a huge parcel of gold. The gold in question was in the hundreds of thousands and was deposited to a safe house in the city of Black Light
Now they plan to take the Tower with stealth, killing the guards on the lower floor and leading the group out of the Tower to a Silt Strider. However the escape will be hard due to the magical endowments placed upon the Tower. First they placed a powerful dispel on the Tower that renders the magic inside null and they infiltrated the ground level floor.

Kharrn snorted loudly into the early quiet and flicked a hand negligently at the hissing Khajit with the tufted ears, "Easy, kitten, it's almost dawn anyway." He raked a scarred and battered hand through his unkempt mohawk, frowning at the stubble on his scalp. The expression changed immediately however when he caught sight of the bottle in Ayron's hand along with the diminutive cup. "Malacath's hairy arse, Ayron, you've been keeping secrets again," he growled quietly with a grin as he held out a hand for the cup.

"Sujamma ain't the best drink, but it'll do the trick. I'd give my arm for some Black Briar though," he commented after throwing back the allotted drink. An almost wistful expression passed over the Orc's face as he barely managed to recall his life in Skyrim.

Hey, hey! Kharmam said, smiling even broader, Ayron! What are we celebrating?

He was not a bad sort, the imperial. Imperials in general were not bad sorts in Kharmams experience. A bit greedy at times, what with them conquering all of Tamriel throughout history, but greed was not such a bad vice according to the redguard. There were far worse people in the world. Take Kharmam herself for example. She was a murderous one, and a mean one at that. And just look at all the nice things it had got her through the years. Ayron might have been a slave too, but at least he had a fat bottle of Sujamma to his name. Kharmam only had her scars.

She took a mug for herself and downed it in a single swig. It could hardly have been called good, but it did the job it was meant to do. She could already feel the warmth spreading through her body, and the bruises seemed to hurt just a fraction less than before.

Thanks, she said, bumping her fist on Ayrons shoulder, I owe you one.

"Well orc, almost dawn and currently dawn are very different, but now being awake doesn't seem so bad. Good conversation and a little bit of sujamma are so rare in the life of a slave after all." Jo'ari quickly drank her small bit, it was the first drink she'd had in a long time.

Jo'ari started thinking then, she remembered her life before. Jo'ari had only been a slave for 4 or 5 years now, time keeping was hard but 4 or 5 sounded right, so her old life was still easily remembered. Stealing with her father, using her beloved magic... she almost started crying... it was all so distant now... but she managed to avoid it, hee eyes simply watering up at the most. Dad had always said to keep your feelings hidden, cause someone could always manipulate them

One by one magical lamps flickered and went off. The guards immediately grew suspicious; the magic in this tower was strong due to the Archmagister in charge. He wove many spells into growing this tree, the dispel that was put upon the Tower had an unprecedented effect that the the Twin Lanterns never anticipated. The tower began to tear itself asunder. Parts of the great Tower began to shrink, breaking away and crunching to pieces not bigger than a few inches. Inside pandemonium ensued. The guards began to panic and soon all, but one left. He was the newest addition and he had not yet been hardened to the rough life of lording over slaves. The young Dumner frantically walked to the cell door and unlocked it before running out. Following suit were the four slaves and they experienced freedom for the first time in a long while. All they had left of their "glorious" were scars and the iron braces attached to their wrists.

The slaves turned to the direction of yelling. Afraid of that the screams came from angry Telvanni slave masters they took off. Together they ran into the fields behind them hoping to make it to the thick jungle before anything befell them.

Now they must fend for themselves in the jungle of the Telvanni isle.

By Molag Bal and all of his genitals! Shit, shit, shit, SHIT!

Throughout the shrinking corridors of the Telvanni tower, every soul this side of Oblivion could hear Kharmams curses as she ran desperately for the exit. Or rather, an exit. She did not know the way be heart and damn were these tunnels of fungi confusing. In the end she tagged onto some guards who, after a moment of initial confusion, decided to ignore her for now and leave before they were squashed. Catching a runaway slave would probably give them a bonus to their wages, but there was no way of enjoying the extra money if they were dead. So, the small group got out of the place just in time to avoid being crushed to mush. While the guards went on to someplace else to reconvene, Kharmam and the other slaves opted to try their luck in the woodlands some way from the tower. This was as close as she had come to freedom in years, and she was not going to waste the opportunity.

Crashing through the undergrowth of the woods, Kharmam started to slow down when she was sure they had put some distance between themselves and their previous masters. She started looking around her for the other slaves.

Anyone here? she half-whispered, half-shouted, Anyone hurt?

Kharrn's own curses added to Kharmam's own as the ragtag bunch of slaves fled for their lives from the crumbling tower. Never in his life would he have predicted something like this being the source of his freedom, but then again he had never expected to be captured by slavers either. In the final stretch of their escape, Kharrn took the opportunity to smash his fist into the back of a fleeing guard's head before charging into the jungle surrounding the Telvanni tower.

The Orc sighed and leaned against a tree as he tried to calm his breathing. Slavery had been rough on him and the other slaves. He froze and sank to a crouch what he heard someone moving through the brush. He reached down and picked up a rock that would serve as a weapon for now while he also called up the workings for a basic fire spell he had learned when he was young.

He slowly eased around the tree and sighed heavily when he heard Kharmam's voice, "I'm here, Kharmam. No idea about the others," he growled quietly as he dropped the rock and released the spell.

Ayron popped out behind a tree, he had hid behind it moments earlier just in case arrows followed him. He announced that he too was safe. However there was no sign of Jo'Ari yet. Ayron walked towards Kharrn and Kharmam, this mud slurping underneath his worn moccasins. This Telavanni Jungle was the closest thing to Oblivion on Nirn. Once the three were reunited after their recent escape from those who actually wanted to save them they took in their surrounding with a collective sigh.

The trees were thick and green, preventing a large amount of sunlight from reaching the underbrush of the ground floor. The ground was covered in leaves and with each step you sunk into the mud. Around them were Blight Midges, they flew around your face and occasionally bit you.Remember to curse Pyrite for these damn bugs, Thought Ayron. Taking one last look of the surroundings he saw smoke, at least a day or two away from here Ayron spoke aloud,

"It looks like theres smoke a day or two away from here and we certainly can't go back to whoever was chasing us. I say we first find some animal or root and get a little food in us, if anybody knows a simple Curing spell we can clean the water up and get a fill of it. Kharmam, with me and Kharnn you're with Jo'ari. Anything is better than the lard and Bitter Rott stew, ugh."

I hate to tell you, Ayron, Kharmam said, But I know nothing of hunting. And even if I did...

She rattled her chains.

...I would not be able to do much with these irons still on. We should find a way to remove them before proceeding, yes? Not only are they a hindrance, but other dark elf scum will know us for runaways immedietly if they see us like this.

The redguard turned to Kharrn.

You had a decent rock there, just now. Maybe we could use that.

Kharrn growled and spat into the brush at Ayron's suggestion, "You ain't the boss of me, Imperial, you go with the kitten." He frowned down at the chains dangling from his wrist. They weren't a major inconvenience, but if they were going to town then they would need to get rid of the cuffs.

He glanced up at Kharmam's suggestion and chuckled, a low and gravelly sound, "Rock ain't breaking these chains, Scars. I can heat 'em up and pound on 'em, but we need a bigger rock to beat on." He stooped and collected the rock he had dropped after revealing himself to the Redguard. "I can hunt too, but snares are our best bet in this jungle," he gestured at the short lengths of chain dangling from his wrist, "Most of mine came off in the escape. Lockpick'd work better than anything."

Jo'ari limped towards them, she hadn't been as lucky as they in the escape. Wilst running from the crumbling tower she had the bad luck to have a rather large rock thrown from the wreckage and smash into her leg. "Hey... I think my leg might be broken... or it at least hurts alot... anyone know anything about medicine? Or bones?"

She slumped against a nearby tree, nursing her leg, "As for your plan I should be able to use my magic again now... but most of it isn't to useful for hunting... mostly stealing."

I know how to break bones, Kharmam admitted while leaning back against a tree, spreading her hands apologetically, Mending them was never my job.

Heating the chains with fire sounded like bad business to Kharmam. She disliked magic, especially destruction magic, and the thought of glowing iron close to her flesh brought nothing but bad memories with it. Then the khajiit said something about stealing and magic, and Kharmam looked up at her.

I have heard that there are spells for opening locks. Do you know one?

Ayron glared at Kharrn, This wouldn't happen in the military, Then he mused, Why in Oblivion did I think that? I'm nowhere close to being in the army, I'm only prepared for the slave labor. Shaking off the stray thought in his head he agreed, hoping to avoid conflicts


"Kharmam, I don't know too much magic, I never had any talent. However I used to be decent at picking locks, but last time I tried to pick these the pick melted. Besides who even has one?" This mixture of a tense atmosphere and shackled wrists left Ayron a bit down. Quickly he began to think to crumbling Telvanni Tower, he had heard that a large amount of magic was involved in them. So whatever destroyed the tower must have been a huge dispel spell. Which means that the manacles are no better than bow underwater. But who has a lock pick or, an even better possibility, a hair pin?

He cleared his throat, "Does anybody have a hair pin or something like a lock pick? I spent too long fumbling around with trapped cursed chests to be outwitted by a pair of shackles."

Kharrn shook his head and ran his free hand through his ragged mohawk, "They didn't exactly hand out lockpicks to us slaves. Not everyone can be a thief like you or the Khajit." The Orc dropped the rock he had retrieved and folded his thick arms across his muscled chest with a rattle of chain. He didn't think it likely Jo'ari had a broken leg since those tended to leave their owner stranded. A sprain seemed more likely though he was no healer.

"Why not wait till dark then slip back into the ruins of the tower. You could use a belt or a nail couldn't you?" The typically taciturn Orc reached up and rubbed at one of the bone spurs jutting from his brow. Fire still seemed the best course to him, but he was a smith and a damn good one at that. He studied the lines on his grimey palm and concentrated, grinning fiercely as a small flame blossomed in the cradle of his fingers.