Private The Time of the Ancients

[Mini Mongo]

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The Dwemer, Chimer and Falmer, three races of immense power and supremacy among not only the great region of Merath, now called Skyrim, but of the entire of Tamriel.​

With the Dwemer and Falmer in a uneasy alliance, competing for power among Merath, and the Chimer and Dwemer committing small raids on each other there is great stress among the Factions.​

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The Falmer remain at peace with all, but for centuries have been building a army to conquer Merath, the Dwemer commit small raids and attacks against the Chimer, and they retaliate.​

Though now going for a full out war they remain at the brink of destroying each other, and the clever Falmer eagerly await such decisions to be made, for it would make there conquer much easier.​

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Of course the Dwemer and Chimer know this and both build armies, and with all this greed for power, hunger for death and taste for blood the Factions are cautious.​

But all is not to plan, as the Atmorans rage in civil war in there homeland of Atmora powerful forces are being created, there leader Ysgramor creates a army, and hopes to sail to Merath, what will unfold as they attempt to peacefully settle in Merath?​

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The Dwemer live under Merath, and expand to Hammerfell and Vvardenfell, there great technology providing them power, and there food being taken from the Chimer, though they seem a small threat they have great Scholars and scientists, and knowledge is power.​

Soon they will expand among the mountains, and there powerful leader Dunmac will seek more territory and power, war will be among the Dwemer and Falmer.​

The Chimer are a powerful race, there ability with swords and magic, and there great weaponary will surely aid them if there is to be a war among the races.​

The Chimer's Empire stretches into Merath and across Morrowind, but this causes hard trade among these cities as both the Falmer watch over them, and the Dwemer take their supplies.​

This causes stress among the Great houses of the Chimer, and the leader of Hortator of the Great Houses Indoril Nerevar will surely take action, and strike against the Dwemer.​

And finally we reach the Falmer, a great prosperus powerful and ingenious race.​

Though they are within peace they create a army of great power and seek to conquer, with their great smithery, talents for war, magic of the unknown and there greatest leader and General the Snow Prince they would have ease to conquer Merath.​

They spread among all of Merath, and the forgotten vale acting as their Capital, there Embassadors, army and Generals awaiting under the Snow Princes command of action.​

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But of course none of these great Factions, these Empires know of the Atmorans arrival, as they sit happily, or unhappily among their thrones of power, there seats of command, there swords of death they do not know of Ysgramor's plan.​

This will surely cause havoc among the Snow Princes plan, and though the Dwemer and Chimer would open their arms to the Atmorans the Falmer would surely strike them in the back, for they have a reputation for disposing of the ones in there way.​

But what turn of events will this tide of attacks lead to, what will happen to the great region of Merath, to the continent to Tamriel, perhaps even the world of Nirn.​

A few of Ysgramor's men have been sent on ships to sail and settle in part of Merath, but for now Ysgramor remains in Atmora, and his small group of Atmoran Colonists remain in Merath.​

 

[Mini Mongo]

The Snow Prince was strutting back and forth in his Study, his mind stretches from the reaches further than any Scholars.
He was located in the Forgotten Vale, Capital of the Falmer, within his study of the great Palace.
The Vale as it was most commonly known was the most renowned and religious place among the Falmer, it was the home of the four Houses of the Falmer Empire.
The House of Auriel, the House of Julianos, the House of Firecairn and the House of Nirn, out of the four the House of Auriel was the most powerful, and the House of Julianos the most heavily numbered.
The Snow Prince was of course part of the House of Auriel, in fact he was the Master of it, this was mainly due to the link he had with the God, as he carried the Bow and Shield of Auriel.
Currently the Snow Prince was wearing a long decorated Robe, and a impressive crown upon his head, this was mainly worn during studies, or times of utter peace, which was a rare occasion.
For several hours the Prince had been studying more and more arts of warfare, tactical approaches, schemes of stealth and infiltration, and finally learning of his rivals, the Chimer, Dwemer and the petty tribes that surround Merath.
He began to mumble to himself ''Shall I strike the Tribes of Tamriel first, or the petty race of Dwemer.'' he then paused for 10 seconds until speaking again ''I would be lying to say I fear there strength, but I do not deny their power.''

The Snow Prince then approached the great map of the known world, which was currently only Tamriel, though there had been rumors of lands, one next to Valenwood, one to the north of the Vale, and finally a strange lands begin called 'The Avarivi continent' with the land next to Valenwood being named 'Summerset Isles' and the land to the north being called 'Atmora'
Of course these lands were the stuff of rumors, but if the Snow Prince was to conquer all of Nirn, then he would have to explore the whole of Nirn, for a land is better to explore than conquer.
The Snow Prince, after deciding his plan to end the alliance with the Dwemer finished he called for his Servant ''Boy, enter.'' he said as a small Elf, one of the Tribesman that he found during a raid entered.
''Yes my Lord?'' the boy said, fear in his tone ''I require my Night-Paladins, the High Embassador and the Ambassadors, I wish to comply with them, and learn of the Houses moves.''
The boy then left the room, bowing before leaving as one of the Princes bodyguards closed the doors behind him.
Recently the Snow Prince had heard that the Dwemer and Chimer were on the tip of war, the raids and fights for territory were becoming devastating, and soon the races of Mer would fight for their survival.
Recently Indoril Nerevar was voted from the Tribunal to become the new Hortator, a clear sign of fury, and Dumac, King of the Dwemer was building a army.

The Dwemer weren't stupid, they never overstepped their boundaries into Falmer land, and when they have they accept there punishments, such is the way of true Mer, the Falmer doing the same and having the same treatment.
But of course the Chimer and Dwemer constantly threaten each others power, one of the main reasons is that the Chimer are highly religious, and the Dwemer Godless, which of course in turn means easy land to conquer, but considering they stretch from Merath, to Hammerfell and Vvardenfell conquering them would require a alliance with the Chimer.
The main thing that had been bothering the great Snow Prince was the threat of Colonists, ships had been sighted upon Merath's land, and things being described as Men not Mer arriving upon the shores.
This was a clear sign of possible contact with the Atmorans, and in turn new power among Merath, and another Faction in turn.
If the Falmer could gain relationships while the Chimer and Dwemer fight for power they could grow strong among each other, and finally conquer Tamriel, instead of sharing the land of Merath.
Of course the Snow Prince had one more upside apart from the great armies of the Falmer and new allies, and that was his weapons of Auriel, and power over the snow and ice itself.
The Snow Prince was infamous and feared for his power over magic, and this threatened Dwemer power.

 

[death raider]

Tignsh awoke from his slumber which seemed to last forever. His body aching all over, his legs were limp and saw from the over working of his body in training he did yesterday. He felt the cold stone beneath his naked body. He liked to train daily, but he knew he was getting older he just didn't want to face the fact.

One he got on his feet he felt a new pain in his foot and he gave a cry of pain he looked down to see the ground beneath his right foot had gone red with his blood. He began to curse as he looked at the sole of his foot seeing a part off a broken dwarven sphere stuck to his foot. He yanked it out knowing that a child from the area he lived had put parts of broken machinery all around the room and he knew he was right when he saw 2 children smirking and giggling outside his door. He smiled to himself and he went to a small cage with a turned off dwarven spider.

He opened his front door now wearing some clothes and he lay the spider just in front of him he set the creature on. He heard the faint screaches of the 2 children outside and he chuckled to himself and went to eat some breakfast.

( OCC- sorry it was so short i have to go to bed now sorry! )

 

[Nightingale Khajiit]

“A message for you, my lord.” Kiocks looked up from his readings, not having noticed the young Elf that was now standing before him, fidgeting nervously as he stood upon the High Embassador’s pristine carpet, waiting for a response form the great diplomat. Kiocks rose slowly from his stone reading chair that had been used by his father, when he had been High Embassador before Kiock. As the elder Falmer walked around his bright gold desk, a gift from the Dwemer years ago, he pulled from his pocket a small ruby, which he held in front of the boy’s face, allowing him to admire its very clean and shiny edges.

“And what can I do for you, my child on this fine day? A message from the prince I suppose, everyone else usually comes to me in person, expect for his royal majesty that is.” Kiocks smiled as he said this, showing the boy that he was joking. The diplomat wasn’t one to insult the Snow Prince, especially with the two royal guards inside his study, who were standing on either side of the cambers door. “Yes sir.” Said the boy, cracking a small smile as he relayed his message. “His highness wants to see you, along with the other Ambassadors, it seems to be urgent.” “Very good, here you go for your troubles.” Said Kiocks, dropping the ruby into the boys hand. “Thank you very much sir!” The young Elf said as he exited the room, bowing to the High Embassador as he did so.

When the guards had shut the door behind the him, Kiocks let his smile drop, becoming a frown as he walked over to his closest, another well-made gift from the Dwemer. As the High Embassador put on his finest robes, he thought about what the Snow Prince could possibly want, and was sure he wouldn’t like it. “He’s too obsessed with war, and conquering foreign lands, why doesn’t he just enjoy the fact that we are at a state of peace, and that his people are relatively safe from harm?” Thought Kiocks, making his way out of his study, with the royal guards following closely behind him as he walked the streets of The Vale, heading towards the Great Palace. “And with these new colonists that have landed on our shores, he should be focused on making peace with them, though that seems unlikely, he’s never happy until he’s killed all who oppose him, and even those who don’t.”

While Kiock had been thinking all this, he was then aware that he was inside the Palace, and was standing just outside of the Princes royal study. “As long as the others agree with me, their shouldn’t be anything to worry about, and while their very battle minded, I’m sure those Paladins will come to their senses and focus on what’s best for our people.” And with this thought, the High Embassador entered the Snow Princes great study, hoping that his worrying about war and death were only his imagination, and that for once he might be able to make the Prince see the wisdom of his methods, even though it had seldom happened.

 

[CHIM]

(OOC: I will be bunnying Sotha Sil and Almalexia until someone adopts one of them . Other people from the Chimer are welcome to bunny them until one of them is adopted, or both, too.
Please not this is not the Vivec from Morrowind; he has not yet attained CHIM and is still inexperienced .)

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Vivec woke up, body aching and left arm dead under his body. His armour, to be exact. With the threat of war between the Chimer and the Dwemer at an all-time high, he didn't go to sleep in his usual bedclothes; instead, he went to be in his armour, just in case the Dwemer decided to attack them during the night. Vivec tried to move his leg, but it was of no use. The sleeping philter he had taken didn't help, too. His sword was propped upright on his bedside table, so he grabbed the hilt, ornately carved with designs reflecting his personality, and used it to help him stand up.

"That's how to do it."

Vivec turned his head sarcastically and looked at Sotha Sil, one of the other advisors of Lord Indoril Nerevar. He was clad in flowing blue robes, similar to his own clothing underneath his armour. "We need to talk, Vivec." Sotha Sil had not trace of a smile on his face, but his eyes glittered as if they were sharing some sort of secret with each other. "We must also talk to Almalexia. She must know of my... discoveries."

"Discoveries, you say?"

"Yes, it is to do with the Dwemer. And Resdayn could benefit from it all." His lips curled into a sly smile. "I'm sure this discovery of mine could be of good use to you and our Lord's house. House Indoril, too. I'll be waiting outside." Vivec's ears propped up, if they could prop up even further in their state of awareness. Vivec studied his face for a long time, in the large mirror in his chambers in the estate he lived with alongside the Lord himself. Sometimes, he imagined himself with ashen-gray skin, but it didn't go any further than that. Vivec had the same daydream right then, and reasoned with himself, Chimer have the warmest and golden skin. Those elves do not.

But on the brink of war, he thought to himself if those elves from his mind's wanderings would come out of hiding and show themselves for the first time. Vivec shook his head from side to side, in a small arc, then walked towards the waiting Sotha Sil, who was beginning to grow impatient.

 

[.ol0w0lo.]

Their journey had been a long one. The food was scarce, the water tainted, and the beds ridden with lice. Several men had not been up to the challenge of surviving the voyage. But Yngol thought little of those who had perished on the ship; they weren’t fit to fight under Ysgramor.

Instead, he worried himself with the lives of his people in the Elder Wood. Civil war raged across the continent, and soon, the land would be devoid of life. That was no place to call home—not at all. His people deserved a fresh start in a new place; a place where no Atmoran would be forced to choose between his brother and his lord; a place where no man would be forced to slay the same man he had once called friend.

A place like Merath.

Yngol’s father had sent a small handful of vessels to scout this strange land beforehand. His father had received word that the land was inhabited by a plethora of merithic races, but that there was certainly room for new settlements. This was wonderful news, and now, just two weeks after receiving the news, Yngol and his ship of two hundred were well on their way to the strange land of Merath.

The air was cold, much colder than that of Atmora. The change in temperature was actually quite sudden, and caused Yngol to let out a quick gasp of surprise. While the winters of Atmora could be quite frigid, they come nowhere close to this. Almost as instantly as the cold air had come, the fogs grew dense. Before long, Yngol could not see past the bow of the ship.

“'Scuse me, thane.” Yngol turned to see the man behind him. It was the same man who had delivered the news to his father. “If my memory serves me right, we’ll be comin’ up on the shore in no time at all.”

Yngol nodded at the man, and the man scurried back inside the ship. So we’re finally here. A fresh start, a new kingdom. Fame, riches, and glory await.

A cloud of smoke swirled in the distance, and was just barely visible to the eyes of Yngol and the crew. They were coming close to land, for the first time in weeks. Yngol rushed inside to retrieve his things; he wouldn’t want to be caught without his weapon in such an unfamiliar place. As he entered, he felt the common jerk of the ship which signaled the dropping of the anchor. He watched as men rose from their cots, gathered their equipment, and made their way to the deck. He heard voices full of fear as well as excitement as he made his way to the back of the ship, where his things were kept.

After several minutes, Yngol had gathered his equipment and made his way back outside. Upon arriving on the deck, he was greeted by a few unfamiliar faces. One man, a soldier that Yngol had met many times, approached with his hand extended. Unfortunately, Yngol had never taken the time to learn the man’s name.

“Hello, comrade,” Yngol said as he gripped the man’s hand. The man smiled at Yngol, shaking his hand roughly.

“I doubt that you remember my name, thane.” Yngol struggled to keep a straight face. Very true. The man smiled. “But I remember you, Yngol. How could anyone forget the name of the firstborn son of Ysgramor?! Oh, you must be so proud to be the son of such a man!” Yngol was upset by these remarks; he hated being thought of only as the ‘son of the almighty Ysgramor’. Apparently, the man realized that he was acting rather silly, and regained his composure. “My name is Njord, and that camp over there—“ Njord turned and pointed to the large collection of tents and campfires. “—that is Hsaarik Head. Welcome to Merath, thane.”

“Thank you, Njord. I greatly appreciate your welcome.” Yngol gave the man a rather convincing smile, and proceeded to leave the ship, Njord following suit. Yngol looked around him; even the shoreline was hidden by ice and snow. He looked around at the men and women of the camp, all huddled together at the fires, crying for warmth. This land showed very, VERY little promise, but alas, it would have to do; these Atmorans had very little choice.

 

[Skyrimosity]

Balkhorz and a scouting regiment of the Falmer Army had been watching the Atmoran Settlement for days now, and had learned its name to be Hsaarik Head. What a despicable HUMAN name. Balkhorz and the other Falmer had carefully observed the going-ons of the entire settlement. He had been given orders by a Falmer officer higher up than he to take a small group to watch the camp, and here they were.

With the recent sightings of the camp, the small group of Falmer were watching carefully everything happening. There seemed to be a larger amount of activity than normal the closer the ships got. Then, when a few of the ships docked, and an Atmoran ran up to run and began conversing with a tall, fierce looking man. The man soon got off the ship and began walking to the camp.

But Balkhorz had been watching as more and more ships came into view. He saw that there were about 200 men getting off the ship, the one that had been talked to seeming to be the most important. 200 men all in once... that must mean they're planning something! I must tell a general! No, a Knight-Paladin! No! I shall tell the very leader of House Auriel and the Falmer! The Snow Prince! "My fellow Snow Elves, I must bid you a due! I must go tell our leader of then new arrivals." All the other Falmer nodded and Balkhorz ran off in the direction of the Forgotten Vale, weary that perhaps one of the men at the settlement had saw him.

 

[meben15]

The sun shone brightly over the rooftops of Mournhold as Hortator Indoril Nerevar strode through the beautiful capital of the great kingdom of Resdayn. The great leader observed the prosperous city with a proud eye, as he had contributed significantly to the great country that Resdayn was today. With its towering temples and beautiful canals and gardens Mournhold was one of the most picturesque cities in the known world.

Nerevar pushed his long blonde hair back from his golden skinned face as he strode purposefully across the main plaza of the booming metropolis to the gates leading up to the great center of House Indoril. He smiled past his squad of elite bodyguards at the citizens they passed by. The commoners stopped as Nerevar passed them, staring in awe at their legendary leader. He had to admit he enjoyed the extra attention that being the Hortator of Resdayn gave him, of course the responsibility was far greater.

The Leaders of the 6 great Houses of the Chimer had recently met to discuss the rising political tension in the northern reaches of Tamriel. House Hlaalu reported that their spys had uncovered that Snow Prince of the Falmer was becoming even more aggressive in the claiming of land, and his empire was rapidly expanding. While the Chimer were at peace with the Falmer right now, Nerevar knew from experience that peace was a unstable thing. One wrong move on either side could send them plummeting into a great war.

Then there was the more immediate threat, the Dwemer. The godless deep dwellers had been producing more of their cursed machinery of late, as well as stepping up army recruitment. Even though the Dwemer and Chimer had long been rivals Nerevar knew their leader, High King Dumac, personally. He was actually quite a good friend and Nerevar hoped that the rising tensions between the two races could be solved by diplomatic means.

That was one of the many reasons Indoril Nerevar was glad that the leaders of the Chimer had unanimously elected him as the new Hortator, a position of great respect and honor among the Chimer people. It gave Nerevar supreme power over the entire nation, and he hoped to use this power to prevent any wars with either of their brother races and thus preserve his own.

As Nerevar walked, lost in his own thoughts, he suddenly found himself at the great entrance to the Palace of the Indoril. He smiled as he always did when he viewed the towering statues of Veloth and Azura, crafted from rare volcanic glass surrounding the great pryamid shaped building. Such a wondrous place, why do I ever leave. He entered into the great hall and waved his hand, dismissing some of his bodyguards. Nerevar had actually just returned from meeting with the leader of house Redoran, who had informed him of the increasing activities of the Dwemer. He needed to meet with his advisors and decide how they should approach these new Dwemer activities.

Halfway through the entry hall one of the Hortator's many stewards approached him, "Your Grace, a pleasure to see you once again. I take it your trip went well?" Nerevar nodded at the man, "Yes it did, thank you. But I must speak with my advisors, send for Indoril Vivec and Sotha Sil my friend, tell them to meet me in the council room," He hesitated slightly before adding, "and I wish to see my eldest son Indoril Drayven as well." The steward nodded, bowing to him and hurrying off to fetch those whom he had been told to.

Indoril Nerevar then set off in search of his wife, Almalexia. She was likely in the garden, as she was most days at this time, and Nerevar headed off there to find her. sure enough he found her their, sitting on a bench and staring into the depths of a peaceful pond as two stoic bodyguards stood at a respectful distance behind her. Nerevar smiled once more, glad to see his beautiful wife again. He cleared his throat as he entered the little section of the palaces extensive gardens, and she looked up to him, smiling radiantly. "Nerevar! You have returned!" Almalexia gracefully stood and strode over to him, embracing her husband happily. Nerevar returned her hug wholeheartedly and made a gesture to the guards to leave the two of them be for a few minutes.

The two talked for several minutes about unimportant things that had transpired while he had been gone until Nerevar finally said, "Well, Almalexia my dear, I have returned with news from house Hlaalu both interesting and disturbing. We must go to the council chamber to speak with Vivec and Sil." She nodded her agreement, "Indeed, I have heard whispers of things going on in Merath. We must discuss what is best for our people." With that the two of them set off towards the central council chambers, bodyguards once again in tow.

 

[death raider]

Tignsh left his house know in full armour and an axe in his sheath. When he left the house he left like he was a jester, but not one of those funny ones and he also felt slightly naked because very one stared at him their mouths open. He always got this response when ever he walked outside the eyes staring at him in disbelief and reason why they did this is because he wears armour. Everyone else doesn't see the point of wearing full body armour and a baring an axe in their sheathes.

He ignored the glaring eyes and walked up to the keep of the Hamerfell District where all the councillors met up, but there was something different. People still stared at him, but there was a chill that was sent up his spine. He stood there in the hallway of the keep motionless he stared at a great set of stairs leading to the councillors meeting room which was a long room made a spectacular dwarven metal.

He final came back to his senses and began to trek up the stairs when he came to the massive doors leading to the councillors room. He forced the door open to the usually silent room but to find everyone shouting at each other trying to catch every word he could the only thing he heard was "chimer" and that word he heard a few times. Tignsh stood behind his usual chair which is at the the very top of the table (because he was head councillor) and he waited another 30 seconds before slamming his fist hard against the table calling for attention. Everyone stopped their conversations within a few seconds and Tignsh glared at them all before asking the question he really wanted an answer to "So whats going on?"

 

[cazzer14]

The rain, cold and harsh upon the skin, came down over the lands of the far North, coating the entire nation of Atmora in a storm of swirling, descending droplets. It was just past dawn, the eastern sun rising over the valleys of Kjorlaand, yet the light usually beaming of of the glowing orb did little to penetrate the thck clouds above, and the day remained as dull as the night before.

A courier, mounted on a malnutritioned steed, ribs visible through thin, unhealthy skin, rode up the dirty, muddy track to a palace of stone. Not extravagant, not noble, but a palace nonetheless. A palace of one of the clans of Atmora, the greatest one.

He slowed his horse as he approached the entrance of the manor, clutching a worn satchel as he jogged up to the burly guard watching the road for any uninvited parties. The courier, however, was invited, and nodded in gratitude as the guard let him by, satisfied with the seal of the high court on the envelope of the parchment he was hired to transport.

He crossed the courtyard, and momentarily glanced up into the featureless grey skies above, not breaking his walking speed that was brisk and hurried. He ascended the one of the symmetrical staircases that led to the main lobby of the palace, where the receiver of this document was to be found.

Another guard bounced the door into the study, and yet another check was needed in order for the courier to pass. Satisfied, like his colleague, he allowed the courier passage, and opened the wooden door and gestured for him to enter. The courier stepped in, instantly warmed by the fire flickering away at the back of the room, contained by an iron fireplace.

"My lord, I must insist that you think this over, we must not-"

The sentence was cut short as the courier's presence was noticed, the man who was speaking sighed, and straightened and formalised his previously agitated and stressed position, grabbing his collar with one hand. He stared at the courier for a while, before turning back to the man he was addressing before.

"We shall discuss this later. Please take thought in my words, my friend, they are of wisdom."

With that, he hastily exited the room, collecting a few things from a table as he passed.

The man he was talking to straightened his posture from leaning and hulking over a fine table, and turned to face the courier. As he did so, the courier took note of the figure. He was large, more so than most men. Muscular. Strong. Very strong. A beard, long but well-kempt and groomed became visible as the hulk of a man rotated, then his face, chiselled and healthy, the majority of the lower half covered by his extensive facial hair, but he had enough features uncovered for anyone to see that he was war-scarred, worn, but by no means tired, and by absolutely no means weak.

The man had fully turned, and stood in a confident, slightly intimidating position, one hand resting on his belt, the other leaned against the worktop. His arms were noticeably muscular, built like oaks, but merely mini-oaks attached to the oak of a man he was. His eyes, blue like the surrounding seas, studied the courier, a habitual custom from a man that was so used to war; and war was used to him, for he was a legend in the art, a god amongst men.

For he was Ysgramor.

The Warrior of Jylkurfyk. The Bane of Fjolar. Champion of Atmora. Winner of last years' annual Brojiim mead-drinking contest. He was known by many names, but none can describe the man as much as his actions could, as much as the value his legend holds.

"Courier. I assume you have a document or two to hand me."

His voice was echoing, authoritative. It rattled the bones and grasped the ears, yet there was a passive gentleness to his words, innate, some compassionate tone to his voice, and the courier couldn't determine what exactly it was.

He said nothing, but simply produced, for a third time, the sealed parchments that he was to deliver, and passed it over to Ysgramor. As the Lord opened the seal, put a pair of (slightly comedically undersized) reading spectacles on, and began to read the letter, the courier uttered;

"With regards from Clan Kjorlaad"

Ysgramor, who had just opened to read the document, mentally froze. Time slowed down, and his eyes flickered over to the courier, and then back to the document. The blank document.

Ysgramor sighed, time still moving at a slower pace for him, as he removed his glasses and placed them and the parchment on the tabletop beside him. The courier rushed at him, dagger held and face determined in a mercenary rage, and leapt in the air as he lunged for Ysgramor's throat with the small blade. Ysgramor, rather casually, snatched the arm of his assailant mid-air with a crushing grip, and plunged a dagger of his own into the stomach of his assassin, and twisted the blade as he whispered into the ear of his attacker;

"You die the most dishonourable death. May Shor forgive you."

He heard the man's last breath, his dying whimper as his body fell limp. Ysgramor let it tumble to the ground, pulling his knife out of the assassin's abdomen as the corpse left his grasp. He stared at the lifeless figure, as did his stunned, speechless guards, advisers and friends.

This was precisely the reason why Ysgramor, and all the people he cared about needed to flee Atmora, perhaps Jorgun would understand now. He, all of his kinsman, needed a fresh start, a clean slate, a place to begin anew.

He needed Merath.

 

[MR-WIKI-96]

Dumac was sitting in his chair in his study. Looking at the small Dwemer spider standing on the table in front of him. Dumac admired the metallic spider. He admired how it didn't have to deal with war. He admired how it didn't have to deal with the hardship's of being a king. He admired how it didn't have a care in the world.

Dumac continued to watch the little arachnid. It was looking about, analyzing it's surroundings. It then walked about on the table taking a curiosity in everything it sees. Dumac smiled at this. It then started to walk up to Dumac. It see's him as his master. He loved watching his "pet" walk about. It was like watching a new-born baby try to walk. Come on little one. The small spider walked over to Dumac. It put it's hand up like a hand shake. Dumac smiled at this and took it's cold metal leg and shook it. Your a curious one, aren't you? The small spider nodded. It's almost as if it had a mind of it's own.

A knock came from his study door. Come in. The door opened to reveal Kagrenac. Dumac's most trusted adviser. Dumac then took one of his tools and then gave the red gyro, in the middle of the spider, a small shock. Causing the little metal spider to slowly shut down. Go to sleep little one. Dumac then turned his attention to Kagrenac. So Kagrenac. What news do you have for me today? Kagrenac sighed at Dumac. Are you still playing around with that damn spider? You know that thing doesn't feel emotion. It's a machine. We build them to serve. Dumac stood up with his hands behind his back faced away from the adviser. Just get back to the matter's at hand. What's the news?

Kagrenac opened his scrolls and started basically reading Dumac's "to do list". Kagrenac cleared his throat and began. The Atmorans in the north have started a small civil war between themselves. Should we intervene your majesty? Dumac was not surprised. No. Let them deal with it themselves. If they fight among each other, they'll never get anyway. What else?

There have been no news of the Snow elves. They appear to have kept there boundaries. Dumac nodded at this. Good. I'm glad. We can not afford a war with the snow elves. Fear has played it's part well as a deterrent between our two races. What else?

I've kept the most important to last. The Chimer. Dumac sighed with worriment. The small Chimer raids have been getting frequent. Dumac has increased his, but he's worried that there getting close to full out war. Dumac knew he can't back down. If he does then he'll be marked down in history as the man who lost to the highly religious Chimer; who dismiss anything that might dis-proven there gods. Please tell me that they have ended there raids? Dumac hoped for some good news. No they haven't your majesty. They are still raiding our people and they have increased the secruity of there caravans and areas. Should we continue to attack. Dumac started walking slowly around his desk. Talking while doing so. Well we have to, don't we. We need to keep the balance or one of us falls. I want to make peace with them but I'm unsure that most of our people will accept the other race. Kagrenac nodded. Of course we won't accept them! How can we live with such short sighted people. They're leader is a fool if he thinks- Dumac stopped quickly in his tracks, facing and interrupting Kagrenac. Hey! Enough of that. There leader is a personal friend of mine. We may not share the same views on technology or gods but we share the same view on thing. Peace between our races.

Dumac walked passed Kagrenac and towards his door. I assume that's everything? Kagrenac looked at his list too make sure. Yes my majesty it is. I assume your going on your walk? Dumac smiled and looked and Kagrenac. That's right my friend. I have to figure out this Chimer situation. I'll be around Vvardenfell. Anything else, then leave it in my study. If it's an emergency, come find me quickly. Good day Kagrenac. Dumac walked out into the main hall with Kagrenac. The Dwemer adviser went his ways, back to his room. Dumac always took walks around Vvardenfell to figure things out. Dumac walks down the great golden royal Dwemer hall, past the row of giant centurions that are ready to protect there masters. The Dwemer. He then continued with his walk, thinking about the possible outcomes and solutions with the Chimer.

 

[death raider]

Tignsh looked at the other councillors beginning to get bored with their constant looking at the ceiling and twiddling their thumbs. Then finally just before Tignsh was about to aim an axe at one of them an old friend of his stood up and said " The chimer they have attacked us once again early this morning and we had lost at least 50 men and about 20 civilians" the man then sat down and began to look at the floor. Tignsh was not the head of the Hammerfell district, but he was of high position and if the leader of the district wasn't going to do anything then he would.

Tignsh stood up nodded to the councillors and left the room without another word. He came back to the massive hall where again people started to stare at him. Tignsh then unsheathed his axe and said " if you goggle eyed fools don't stop looking at me I will plant this axe in your head and then send a dwarven centurion into your home to kill your family do I make myself clear!" Everyone looked at each other before going back to work Tignsh smiled and walked out of the keep without even talking to his leader about what he was about to do.

He then stormed off to the entrance which had been closed off due to chimer raids, but it didn't make much difference because the chimer still got in and killed 70 people. He told the commander who is about 300 years old a female and a hardy warrior and who doesn't wear dwarven armour either, to let him through, but before she had time to answer he had taken her key to two great massive doors and opened them. The commander and a few of her men followed behind asking him what he was doing and he only answered " i'm off to see the King" and with that he walked outside, after 25 years of being underground he found this amazing. The sun beaming down on him as he walked and looked at the lush green plants that were so rare to see considering that there in the middle of the desert. He looked towards the commander who was also lost in her own world staring into the deep blue sky.

Tignsh had to shake her to get her attention he told her to gather some men and some supplies. Tignsh knew this was rash and risky and he knew he shouldn't be doing this, but he knew he had to do this not just for him, but his district!



(OCC- please tell me if im going too fast with this)

 

[Mini Mongo]

As The Snow Prince waited he became bored as he walked to his war-map, unlike the other Factions he was expanding, and very fast.
The Map was enchanted and was able to tell whether large armies moved, and all the locations of the cities within Tamriel, but of course the Chimer and the Dwemer managed to stay out of his grasp.
He began planning his next moves and mumbling to himself I should attack the high half of High rock as surely one day the Dwemer will take it. Then Tamriel, and perhaps even Valenwood and Elsweyr. I must not allow the Dwemer or Chimer to become the most powerful race. I hold that and they know it, if not even fear it. finally the Prince stopped mumbling to himself.
He walked out of his study and begin walking down until he caught site of the High Embassador.
''Ahh great to see you, I assume you were told I wanted to see you. Please follow me, the Ambassadors and Knight-Paladin's should be here soon. Sorry to bring you to war matters my friend.''
The Snow Prince then began to direct him to his study, as he approached the doors the two guards opened both doors from both sides.
They were coated in Shellbug armor, this was usually only ever worn as a symbol of a Shellbug breeder, and was used as their secret weapon, though inferior to Falmer armor.

He entered the study with the Embassador behind him, though he hated war he was by far his greatest adviser, and when the time come, war genius, though he hated to admit it.
The Snow Prince walked to his Tactical map, placing both arms against them and leaning at a slant ''High Embassador, we are in times of great expansion, and though you hate war I had to summon you here, an urgent matter is at hand.
As you may or may not know the Atmorans as they are commonly known have stepped foot against Merath's soil, and are expanding in our territory, this is not acceptable.
We have three choices, allow this and gain friendly relations, Go to honorable war with them, or I slaughter them before the other fleet arrives, for I have the power of Snow and Ice itself.''
The Snow Prince knew what the High Embassador was to say, but he had to ask both him, the Ambassadors and the Knight-Paladins. This was a fair vote, and unlike House leadership votes everyone had a choice among the matter, and the Prince accept it.
The final choice the Prince had was devious, if he could start a war among the Chimer and Dwemer against each other, and send the other houses of the Falmer to their deaths he and his House would have ultimate power, but this would be a great sacrifice, and he couldn't do it.

 

[Nightingale Khajiit]

Kiocks looked up at the face of his great leader, knowing his answer to the prince’s question even before he had asked it. “Here is what I propose.” The High Embassador said slowly, choosing his next words carefully. “These intruders present a new threat to our people, but we are completely blind about their intentions, and what their reasons are for arriving on our lands. Until we know more about them, I say that we hold our armies back, and let them build up their colonies. When the time is right, I will initiate a Diplomatic meeting with their leader, and attempt to learn of what it is he seeks to gain by coming to our land.”

Kiocks turned away from the Princes tactical map, pacing back and forth around the room as he continued his proposal. “While I wish to avoid conflict with this new race, I won’t deny that we may not have any choice if they advance on our cites and start a full-fledged war with us. This why I think we shouldn’t attempt peace talks right away, and even though I usually find it rather cowardly , I would suggest that we send spies into their ranks to try to find out more about their armies and weaponry, and who their leaders are.”

The diplomat stopped his relentless pacing and sat himself upon one of the Princes better chairs, feeling tried by the mere thought of his shameful plan. “Once we have gained enough information, I will then speak to their leader about the prospect of peace, and if that doesn’t work, then we have no choice but to force them from Merath, and go to war.”

 

[.ol0w0lo.]

It hadn’t taken long for the Atmorans to recuperate from their long journey, though it would take much longer for them to grow accustom to the extreme cold. Yngol and Njord had found their way into Njord’s tent, where Yngol would be told the details of the current situation.

“What have you got then, Njord? Have you seen any of the natives?”

“Not with my own eyes, thane. There has been talk amongst the men, though. Apparently they are mer of pale skin, nearly the color of the snow. They don’t seem to be dangerous, according to those who have seen them. I’ll bet their afraid of us and our rounded ears.” Njord pointed to the tops of his ears, and wiggled them. Yngol suppressed a laugh—this was really no time for jokes. He had an image to uphold, and a task to fulfill. “You should have a bottle of mead; it really warms you up on the inside.” Njord drained a bottle of mead just as quickly as he had opened it. He then tossed it toward a corner of the tent, where Yngol saw a plethora of empty bottles.

“Have you made any preparations, then? Searched for any resources? My father sent you here to start a kingdom, not to stay in a constant state of inebriation.” Yngol’s voice was scornful, and Njord’s expression shifted to one of glee to a much more serious one.

“Oh, we’ve searched and searched, but the nearest forest is a day’s walk away. Sure, there are a few trees here and there along the way, but to gather an amount sufficient enough to build even a house would be extremely tedious.”

“Why are you here, if not to do the bidding of Ysgramor? My father only thinks of what is best for his people—do you not want what is best for your people, Njord?” His piercing eyes burned a hole in Njord’s chest. “Pathetic—just pathetic. You have no place to call home, and refuse to build one because it will take time?”

“N—no. You misunderstand me, thane—“

“No, I do believe that I understand you completely. Perhaps you should leave here. We have no need for those unwilling to do for themselves.” Yngol stood and left the tent, leaving Njord sitting there dumbfounded. Yngol was not truly upset; he just knew that his words would make the Atmoran feel like less than a man. He would be driven to do better.

Yngol’s speech worked.

“ATMORANS,” Njord shouted at the camp. The camp fell almost completely silent, the only sound coming from the waves crashing on the coast. “Ysgramor, the Champion of Atmora sent us here on a mission—a mission to establish a new home for ourselves. What have we done to honor his request? In seven days’ time, we’ve not cut a single tree, killed a single animal, or even tried to communicate with the mer. Can we truly call ourselves Atmorans? Would an Atmoran sit and drink when his people were dying miles away, or would he work to provide a new, safer home for them? Would an Atmoran sleep while his brethren laid down their lives, or would he seek out allies in new lands in hope of an alternative approach to war? Ask yourselves these questions, comrades.

“Now, let us do what we were sent to do.” With those final words, the soldiers and immigrants all stood in applause. Yngol was not impressed by the man’s mediocre attempt at a speech, but was satisfied by its result. Men grabbed their war axes and set out in search of wood. Women began searching the land for berries and any other form of greenery. Yngol looked to Njord, who was staring at him, hoping for some sign of approval from the son of Ysgramor. Yngol gave the man the simplest of nods, bringing about the greatest of smiles on Njord’s face.

Yngol looked over to the snow covered hills to the south. From afar, he could just barely see the pale skinned creatures. There were four of them, and they all seemed to be focused on him. He lifted his arm, waving at them. This action did not elicit any response, however. The four mer just stood there, watching as the Atmorans moved around the camp. For a moment, he thought it wise to approach them. Would they know our language? I highly doubt it. Perhaps they see us as intruders.

Yngol slowly walked toward the group of elves, unsure of what to expect. He was uneasy, but not afraid of the creatures. He was a more than capable warrior, and could surely handle a few unarmed mer. As he grew closer, he noticed that they were equally afraid, and as he extended his hand, the entire group of elves took three steps back.

Yngol retracted his hand and opened his mouth to speak. “Can you speak?” At this, one elf nodded, and the others soon followed suit. “Will you speak?” All at once, the four mer shook their heads. So they understand our tongue. He opened his mouth to speak once more, but as he did, the elves scurried off to the south, quickly blending into the snow. Yngol rubbed his chin, and turned back to the camp. I suppose they will make contact again, when they’re ready.

A few minutes later, when Yngol had returned to camp, he found that a large group of soldiers had already left to gather supplies. Njord’s speech had truly worked miracles—even the exhausted men from Yngol’s vessel were out working. Yngol was rather proud of ‘his’ work. Perhaps father would be proud as well.

 

[death raider]

Tignsh and the others begin to travel towards the head district where King Dunmac lives who is the king of the Dwemer race. They had with them a small caravan with food and drink mostly ale and mead. The group of Dwemer had been travelling for at least 2 hours when they heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps, at first they thought it was a wild animal but then an arrow flew through the air piercing one of the dwemers throats. Then more arrows were sent flying, every arrow finding it's target.

The soldiers that were left ran in the direction of the arrows finding a group of chimer. A bloodbath commenced against both races. Tignsh drew his axe and and hit it against a female chimer's head, blood immediately falling to the ground beneath her. The dwemer commander had sword which she used to kill 2 chimer with 1 slash of her blade and the blade beheading both chimer. After a while chimer started to lose their blood staining the desert sand. Tignsh was having to gain support from his fellow soldiers after he got an arrow in the knee. He then heard a scream thinking it was the commander, but it wasn't. There was a young girl about 16 at the most she was lying on the ground blood cascading down her front shirt. She began to scream for help as everyone was split up all fighting in small groups and the battle with the girl was with a tall dark haired chap who had a spear made a dwarven metal and he began to spear the girl with it.

Tignsh felt a sense of disgrace for his kind the way the man speared the girl with a glint in his eye and a smile on his face. More howling screams came from her lips as the man delivered the final blow hard into her chest and she had began to twitch uncontrollably before lying still in the daylight. After a while the chimer started to decrease in numbers before all lay dead still and silent. Out of about 20 dwemer men only 7 lived. " Now you see what war does, making people to fight if they are young or old no one cares all the generals and commanders care about is getting new stock to fight for them!" Tignsh says with a big touch of malice in his voice, before walking forward carrying on his journey if it's with the others or on his own.

 

[The_Madgod]

"What did you say you found again, Bthlhl?" A large bronze figure, one which could be mistaken for a centurion, stood in a large room made of the same metals as the figure. The room was void of all furniture, aside from a hole in the wall filled with black soil and glowing blue mushrooms and a small door, covered in various Dwemer runes. The bronze creature towered over a short, plump Dwemer man dressed in the cloth of a peasant. "I-I-It w-was a m-m-mountain of skulls, Sir Belthaz! Th-There was a message there, as well. It was written in the Falmer tongue. We had someone read it. It read...", said the shorter figure, obviously shaken. Bthlhl gulped and continued with, "It said that the Snow Prince... He... He did it. He killed our guards! Captain Lzath, Ene-Zal, even the child! None were spared!"

Bthlhl began to spasm, weeping as if he were on the chopping block. The tall figure appeared cool, though his face was obscured by an emotionless bronze mask, so it would be nigh-impossible to decipher his feelings through any form of body language, and he certainly never changed his tone. "Calm down, it is over. There is nothing to be done about it. Now, tell me word for word what the message read.", uttered the metallic monstrosity, not a tinge of sorrow in his voice. The messenger who had brought such terrible news to the bronze figure gasped, stopped his sobbing, composed himself, cleared his nose in a way that one does after sobbing, a way which should totally have a verb but doesn't, as far as I can tell, and began to shakily speak again.

"I... I am sorry, Sir Belthaz. I... My... I had a sister there. They... They did not skin many of the skulls well, and hers was included... The look in her eyes..." With that, Bthlhl shuddered, looking dangerously close to begin sobbing again. The bronze figure, whom you should've identified as 'Sir Belthaz' by now, said, "Oh, get on with it already! What did the message say?" He showed no compassion, no empathy, nothing but slight annoyance at the plump Dwemer and his emotions. "Yessir. The message read, 'He killed', or possibly died, which I doubt, 'the Dwemer-spawn', or maybe Dwemer-birth, which I also doubt, 'of his own free will.'", said the man, once again regaining his composure. He knew that it was most definitely not wise to anger a man as powerful as Belthaz Iniziel, lower advisor to General Dunmac himself and master Magi-Engineer of the East Merath Dwemer empire.

Bthlhl coughed, his throat scratchy from his long, teary trip to the Dwemer city he now stood in, and did that nose-thing with no verb again, then returned to his uttering of the message, his comments mostly shortened to simply one-word remarks. "Anyway, sir, the message continued with, 'Foul murder is not so foul when it is our (my?) degenerate toymaker (musicians? the Falmer language has some words with multiple, rather odd, definitions) cousins (siblings? spouses? family?) we slay.'" Tears began welling up at the man's eyes, which he quickly shook off. Belthaz Iniziel was not one for emotion in general, and may decide the man was emotionally unstable, unable to take the murder of his sister and many others.

"Okay, it has one more sentence. 'The Snow (ice? cold? sleet? hail? rain?) Prince (king? princess? queen? royalty in general? leader?) wrote this.' As you can see, Sir Belthaz, either the Falmer are getting very uppity or someone is trying to ignite a war.", said Bthlhl, keeping a firm composure the whole time, though sobbing on the inside at the loss of his sister, his only remaining family member after a skirmish with some Chimer bandits that took place when he was only seven. Of course, this is all ancient history, considering the man's rather advanced age of four-hundred and seventy-six (he used a skin-revitilization spell, one that had been developed by top Falmer mages and given as a gift from a friend high up in the Falmer chain of command). The bronze man stood there, in the empty room surrounded by golden walls, and contemplated what the best course of action would be. Eventually deciding on something, his giant bronze head snapped back to the messenger.

"You will be rewarded on the morn', Bthlhl. For now, return to your duties. And don't muck them up, or I'll send Bthardm-Zel after you!", said Belthaz Iniziel. At the word Bthardm-Zel, a scuttling could be heard from the hole in the wall. After only about a second, a chitinous head emerged from the vacant space, soon revealing a centipede-like black creature. It scuttled over to Belthaz and stood at his side, swaying like a cobra, the messenger following with his eyes. Had Btharm-Zel been after Bthlhl, he would already be dead. Hypnosis was usually saved for last. Belthaz snapped his finger, then pressed something on his back. Three occurences followed in quick succesion. The short Dwemer snapped out of his trance, Bthardm-Zel stopped swaying and a large lump on the back of Iniziel began to move. It detached itself from the bronze figure and dropped to the ground, extending legs just as it landed. Soon the rest of the lump of bronze had gone through a metamorphosis, transforming into a famed Dwemer automaton. It appeared to be in the shape of an arachind.

"Now, be gone!", said Belthaz rather viciously. The messenger ran from the imposing figure and left, the door slamming shut behind him. Belthaz reached for his head and grabbed the sides of what appeared to be bronze flesh, then lifted his hands, removing what turned out to just be a helmet. Long, unkempt brown hair came tumbling down, revealing dark green eyes and gray skin. He pursed his lips and stared down at the chaurus beneath him, patting it on the head. "I am thirsty, my friend. How about you?" The creature appeared to nod it's approval, something that looked quite odd coming from such a creature.

Belthaz smiled. His lifelong companion was one of the few things that could cause him to show any form of emotion, aside from anger, which he showed plenty. The robot stood at the Dwemer's side, never moving from it's post. Belthaz nodded his approval, something the creature would never notice, and headed for the door, his two companions close behind. "Life is good.", thought the man as he threw open his door. "We may be on the brink of war, I may be getting old before my time, people may be annoying and I may be drowning in responsibilities soon, but I have to say, life. Is. Good."

 

[Morganatic]

Kinei's sleep is troubled.

She stands above herself, bilocated into light and matter. Her baser self - her human self - lies writhing on the snowy ground, legs bound, arms bound. Micro-fine golden wire, binds her, mummifies her, cutting like razors into her skin, making each movement into agony. The self of light sits, strokes her double's hair, trying to comfort her pained twin. She's lived in Kinei's head ever since she was young, and she regrets that it had to be this way. Every time she's tried to weave herself into a mortal pattern, she's inevitably had to unravel her host a little, and it's always painful. Still, this one seems to be strong. Resilient. There's no zero-sum with her - as the light-self grows in power and strength, the mortal base-self weakens, but only a little. Together, they can be strong, together, they can wake their sleeping mistress - but that will have to wait for a time. There's all the time in the world for that.

The light-self spends some more time comforting the mortal-self, caressing her cheek tenderly, but she can't stay for long. A light is rising in the eastern sky, driving away the night in a storm of red flame and setting the world on fire. It could be Red Tower, burning with its cthonic radiance in far Resdayn, or it could simply be the sun, bringing a new day and banishing dreams and nightmares. She's not got much time, and, with a complex gesture of her hands, causes the coils of wire around her double's body to tighten imperceptibly. Kinei shudders, her back arches, and for a few seconds it seems as

Kinei Muna wakes in a cold sweat. Her skin burns with a nightmarish memory of constriction, of ten thousand cutting edges lacerating her flesh, and her first coherent thought it to bring her hands up in front of her face. Her breath catches in her throat as she sees the heavy metallic bangles encircling her wrists, and, for a moment, she feels like screaming. But no, it's nothing - in the light of day, she can see that they're just inert, unliving, the jewelery that she was wearing when she went to sleep. She takes a few deep breaths, then slinks out to the border of the Hsaarik camp, to brew up a strong poison of Drain Imagination and Damage Pattern-Recognition that will stave off the visions for a time. That done, she trudges up into the camp, doing her best to reform the cloak of mystery and prestige that makes her the Trade-Speaker she is. Drawing herself up, and gathering a few hangers-on and aides in her wake, she approaches Yngol, seeking an audience.

The son of Ysgramor is ever surrounded by a great crowd of admirers and favour seekers at the best of times, and the colonisation of this new world only deepens his cloud of satellite courtiers, with hundreds of well-wishers and would-be leader orbiting around him. Kinei joins the queue, and is initially willing to be patient, and wait, but soon begins bored with being sidelined, and begins to pace. She rolls her hips with a deliberate gait as she does so, her many ornaments, bangles, and regalia of office clanging and jingling together with a metallic clatter that simply screams 'value'.

'Yngol 'sgramori. I can't cut wood, I'm a lousy cook, and I'd make a pretty lousy camp follower.'

She chuckles, but without much humour.

'But I couldn't help but notice your encounter with the knife-ears earlier. Clan Enyli did send their finest Trade-Speaker for a reason - I might be able to communicate with them, get them to see some reason. I was provided with a small fortune in trade goods and little valuable baubles, more as a speculative investment than anything else. It's not as if they expected to make a profit off them, but how about we try to prove them wrong? I could head out, meet some of these Mer, see what goods they produce, how they work, think, talk, live. Maybe we'll trade for new metals, unheard of in Atmora - maybe new artefacts, gems, items of thaumatic power. Maybe we'll just receive frosty looks and sharp blades, delivered point first. Whatever.

All I thought was, well, look at this place. It's fairly grim, if you don't mind me saying, commander. It'll make an excellent staging area, but there's not enough to live on here. We'll need either to set up a reliable food source, or, better, find out where we can live and support ourselves. Establishing good relations with our neighbours will be an important part of that. I'd like your permission to head out now, Yngol, with five or so weaponthanes. There are the creatures you tried to talk to earlier, but I've also - well, I've heard tell that there are two other tribes out there somewhere, one of gold, one of brass. Both sound good partners for trade, and it'll help if we can enter negotiations with as many as possible.'

 

[MR-WIKI-96]

Dumac was walking the great halls of Vvardenfell, thinking about how to deal with the Chimer situation. He prefers the solitude of his own company. He continues to walk down the golden halls of the great Dwemer city. This place was home to nobles, royals and many other rich folk. The rest are usually under Merath or Hammerfell. He sometimes wishes his throne was based there so he'll be closer to the people, to hear their wishes and help. Instead of taking days to carry a message from there.

He sighed and continued. Walking past golden doors, each leading to the study of a noble. He looks around him while he walks. He admires the great architectural design of the walls and ceilings. He admires how the Dwemer race grows and prosper of the course of many years. Dumac believes that if they continue at this rate then nothing can stop them.

Dumac again continues his walk down the rich golden halls of Vvardenfell. He see's a couple of nobles at the side talking. While walking, Dumac catches there conversation. Did you hear? Hear what? Apparently the Snow Elves have a made a mountain of Dwemer skulls and they created it. Really? Who told you this? Mithas in messaging. He's probably lying, you know him. He'll do anything for attention. But apparently he was told by someone then he was told by someone and then he- Just stop it and lets back to work.

Dumac thought about this but he dismissed it as lies. The Snow Elves would never attack the Dwemer. It would cause a war between them that would not end well for both parties. He then considers the Chimer as a factor in this but even though they're on the brink of war he wouldn't think the Chimer would do something as extreme as that. Would they? Dumac shook his head. He's absolutely sure they wouldn't do that. He doesn't know why he's thinking about it. It's just rumors for attention is what Dumac thought.

He has been walking for about thirty minutes and every direction there's rumors about Chimer raids and the "mountain of skulls". He thought this rumor was getting ridiculous. However he believes the Chimer raids. He knew they were getting a little bit frequent. He reached the end of his walk and near the door to his study. At his right about ten feet away he see's a higher up soldier talking to a noblewoman and her daughter. Dumac manages to hear the conversation from where he was standing. He stops and looks at them. I'm sorry to inform you that your brother died protecting one of the caravans. We are sorry for your loss. The woman starts crying uncontrollably. The little girl is confused. She doesn't understand what's going on. Mummy, why are you crying? Cause darling *sob* we won't see uncle *sob" Gharen again. She then continues to cry. The little girl speaks again. Why? Is he going on holiday? Dumac couldn't take this and walks quickly towards his study. He reaches his study and sighs. The Chimer raids has made a little girl lose her uncle and she didn't know this. Dumac walks slowly towards to his desk and sits down on it, staring at the metallic spider who his sleeping on his desk. He sees the little girl in the spider. How they are both innocent to the outside world. How they don't understand it. Dumac stands and decides enough is enough. He's going to have talk with Indoril Nerevar about recent rumors and the small raids.

Dumac was about to get Kagrenac, his advisor, when he came in at the right time. Kagrenac, set me up a meeting with Indoril Nerevar. I need to have a talk with him. Kagrenac then gained a surprised expression on his face. But my King, are you sure? Dumac left his desk and walked up to him. Of course I'm sure. Anyway, what was your reason for coming to see me? Dumac waited curiously for a reply from his advisor. We have just began on figuring out the heart of Lorkhan. It was just an update on our progress with it. Dumac smiled and gave a reply. Good good. It'll be a long time before we finally know how to use it. Keep at it. Now then about that meeting... Kagrenac came to his senses. Ah yes of course I'll get right on it. He then went to send a message to the Chimer. Dumac then walked back over to his desk and waited for a reply from the Chimer.

 

[.ol0w0lo.]

Of the men and women who had not already set out in search of food and inhabitable land, a small group crowded around Yngol. Many of them wanted nothing more than to shake his hand, to stand in his company, to be allowed into his circle. But Yngol had no circle-- he had no ‘friends’. The raucous crowd continued to yell and scream at the young Atmoran, who was quickly growing tired of the noise. Just as he thought about leaving, he heard a woman’s voice.

“Yngol ‘sgramori. I can’t cut wood, I’m a lousy cook, and I’d make a pretty lousy camp follower.”

Yngol caught sight of the woman, who was accompanied by a small party of men and women. On her face were strangely colored markings of green and blue. She wore feathered robes, and plenty of jewelry. In fact, it seemed as if all of her goods were out for display on the various parts of her body. She continues to speak, and Yngol listens carefully as she makes her request. Her logic was solid, and all in all, it was a good idea.

“I see no harm in allowing you to make contact with these ‘neighbors’, though I would like to know where you receive your information—I was not told that there were multiple native groups, only that there had been sightings of knife-eared creatures.” Yngol approached the woman, grasping her hand gently. She was nearly a foot shorter than Yngol, forcing him to tilt his head down as he spoke. “I do hope that you’ll be careful, though. We know very little of these creatures, and wouldn’t want to anger them. In fact, I’d like to accompany you and your party, if you would have me. If all goes well, we may be able to form both political and economic alliances with these things.”

He took a step back and looked at the people around the woman. Some of them looked like warriors, while others looked as if they had no combat experience at all. Surely, the group could use an extra sword, and the camp was in no danger of attack, to his knowledge. His father and brother would soon arrive, and Njord could definitely handle the camp in Yngol’s absence. “I don’t believe I caught your name, by the way. I don’t recognize you or any of your associates. Perhaps a proper introduction would be appropriate?”