Private Kingdoms of Tamriel

[Jo'rak Vandeni]

KINGDOMS OF TAMRIELYear 1, 5E. Rise from the ashe.

The hill itself was the spot of legends. From the deceit of Miraak from the Dragon Cult, to the return of the Traitor to Solstheim, his temple had prided the top of the hill, littered with the dead carcasses of a hundred dragons, killed in a forgotten era, remembered only by his lord, the Prince of Knowledge, who now claimed the land for his own.

The new temple, raised on the constructs of old, was a monument to the prosperity of his people, and their zealous devotion to their god. Master Artisans from all of Morrowind had come to have their names remember in history, as the creators of a wonder.

And the palace was slowly rising from the hills, great banners flying, with the emblem of House Hledhlen proudly adorned, pasted the sides of the massive construct. The unaltered and finely preserved statues of Hermaeus Mora, as well as his servants, the Lurkers and Seekers, left deeper inside the old temple, were copied, and now, huge statues of the Daedra adorned the steps up to the temple, as well as within the great halls, as well as the massive libraries within.

Thirlin had demanded the deepest parts of the temple untouched, and sealed off for else.

It was down here, in the depths of the mountain, the book of Apocrypha was stored away, it's very presence emanating pieces of Apocrypha, slithering through the dark, damp room.

Even stoutest of hearts would tremble, as their senses and mind slowly warped to between the two worlds, but Thirlin feared not the Daedra, his lord protected him, and his servants knew to recognise their master's favoured one.

From the book, the great oozing miasma sprung out, filling the room with a million eyes, observing Thirlin hungrily. A thousand tentacles flew onto him, dragging themselves over him, in a caring, tender fashion.

And his master spoke.

"Greetings.... My dear... Thirrrrrlin......... Your devotion to me is.....charming..... I have seen the temple... built in my name.... You have been busy yes...." Thirlin smiled at his, and lowered his body in an elegant bow.
"I only live to serve, Lord Hermaeus." He said, and the Daedric lord's thousand mouths growled in joy at this remark, and the tentacles frantically slivered over him faster for a moment, tenderingly stroking his arms, face and legs.
"Yeeeeesssssss.... My dear Thirlin..... But tell me...... What are you prepared...... to do to save..... this great..... kingdommm... Hmm?" Tentacles whipped the walls and floor at this, and Mora's eyes studied him even closer, watching for all reactions. What was the reason to tell the Lord of Knowledge anything but truth?
"You know the answer to this question, Mora. Why play me with such questions?" Thirlin said, as he rose to watch his master (or part of him at least.) with a broad smirk on his face.
Mora laughed at this, a slow, rolling thunder of a laughter.

"Forgive me....... I simply love.... toying with you mortalssss........" He laughed again, and some of the mouths performed that joyful snarl yet again, and tentacles whipped the walls and collided with each other, making screeching wet noises as the did so.
"The time has come..... for a new..... Empire............ The world you know is WEAK and BRITTLE..... Many still mourn.... and many still hurt..... after your.... Great War...... Aaaaah.... But from ashe, new rulers have risen.... You are not the only.... To raise a people to prosperrrrr.... even IF you had the assistance of...... Mmmeee." Mora giggled in self-joy at the remark."The future.... is nothing but clear... to me.... I see fire... I see death.... I see shadows of great Kings realms....." He sung the last part... if that was what you could call it... Mora simply added a tone as he said the last, but it was no big difference compared to his usual voice. But the words intrigued Thirlin.

"You speak of war." Thirlin said grimly. Mora murmured deeply at this. And then he continued.

"Yes.... War....Is what I speak... Dear Thirlin..."

Thirlin took a step forward, closer to the largest clutch of eyes, whose irises grew smaller as he closed in upon them.

"Solstheim is not ready, Lord. Our armies are lacking, our city is not even done yet." The eyes rolled at this, Mora seemed uninterested, even bored, at this remark.

"Solstheim will prevail... Thirlin..... As long as you serve.... Me....." A tentacle slid over Thirlin's chin at this, gentle as a lover's touch. The touch made him turn slightly, the slime still felt upon his chin.

"Rrrraissse yourrrr monumentsssss.... Build your... city..... But know.... you are not the only.... Ambitious..... in Tamriel.... Not at all..... I see kings and rulers.... all rise higher.... as we sssspeak..." News from other Provinces had been few, Thirlin was not surprised to hear new kingdoms rising from the ashes of the war. Others had taken the same opportunity as him, surely.
"We will deal with these as see fit, my Lord." Thirlin bowed again. But this time, his lord did not giggle.

"We shall see... My.... Champion.... We shall see....." His voice faded, and the eyes shut, as his master ventured back to his own kingdom. And the book shut in front of his eyes. And Thirlin was left alone again, as he begun the long journey to the surface again.

As the Stalhrim clad warriors of his Guard opened the gate, and the great skies of the north struck him with it's mesmerizing cacophony of various lights and colours, he was welcomed by the temple High-priest, a tall, old Dunmer, by the name of Droth, dressed in simple robes, with the mark of Hermaeus Mora clad upon its back and chest.

"What did the Prince of Knowledge speak this time, King Thirlin?" The old man said, his eyes shining with curiosity and expectation, as would be of a devout follower, speaking to the Champion of their God.

Thirlin smiled at this, and stepped onward, to watch the great temple being constructed in front of him, the glow of the nightsky reflecting upon the stones. And now, he realized what his Lord had meant. Mora was always a tricky one, even with his favoured.

"Send ravens to the mainland. I want all of Tamriel to know, and answer." Thirlin ordered the old man, still gazing upon his construction, no, not his, Mora's.

"W-with what message, King Thirlin?" Droth asked surprisedly.

Thirlin simply turned at this, and smiled at his companion.

"My claim to Solstheim." He turned to watch his temple again, as Droth scurried off hastily for his duties.

It was all so obvious now, with all of Tamriel forged anew... What stopped him from claiming his own royalty?

Thirlin laughed, in joy. The future shone brighter than the nightsky of north.

 

[Blackdoom59]

It was a cold, cloudy day in Orsinium. Raymond Rubysong, the master of coin returns from another one of his "affairs" at the local brothel. He had always despised the orcs, they seemed too brutish to him and in his eyes the orismer lacked their sense of direction. Besides the fine ladies of the brothels, there was only one orc Raymond respected - Wrukaog - The High Chief of the Bloody Fang Clan. That one orc saved his life. As he was walking by the streets of Orsinium, with his fine clothes on, jewelry everywhere, and even a personal orcish bodyguard, the orcs stared at him. Their ferocious eyes tearing him apart. He neared The Red Wolf - a new name for the large castle in middle of Orsinium. It was there where Wrukaog and the council awaited him.

As he was gazing upon the beauty of the castle, a snowflake fell from the sky. Raymond's eyed the snowflake and caught it in his hand as it made it's way to the ground. The snow quickly turned to water and Raymond raised his head once more, to find a dozen more snowflakes dancing as the sun was completely enveloped by the clouds. "Strange..."he stated,"I have never seen snow in High Rock". His bodyguard smiled and replied"Then you haven't been here long". He made his way to the castle and pushed the door open, clearing the path for Raymond. As Raymond entered The red wolf, he could already see Wrukaog sitting on his throne. A large circle of people was set in the room - All the members of the council with their bodyguards and partners.

"You are late"said Nakgu, the warchief, out of disgust towards Raymond. His tone was none too polite, and the frown on his face made it clear that he was not getting along with Raymond. The imperial didn't even look at Nakgu, his eyes were set on Wrukaog "You'l have to excuse me, High Chief, I had important business to take care of and-"his words were cut short by Nakgu "Whoring is not business, imperial dog. Ever since that dumb wife of yours passed away you spend all your time in the brothel. Wouldn't be surprised, your ugliness scares the women away"he laughed alongside his other commanders, but chuckles from here and there could be clearly heard.

Raymond blinked slowly, then turned his entire body towards Nakgu. "Yes, I might pay women, but that is better then forcing and threatening them, isn't it?". Out of anger, Nakgu took a step forward"Why you little-"

"ENOUGH!" Wrukaog's words echoed in the hall. "Fighting between ourselves will get us nowhere, is that clear, Nakgu?"the warchief took a step back and grunted. "I also expect this to be your final delay, Raymond."The master of coin nodded in acceptance. "Now, Xorguk bears news from the bestiary."Everyone tilted their heads towards the Beastmaster. "As you're all aware, our numbers are increasing, and many of the young ones take the path of hunting, and taming. The bestiary is beyond crowded. There's simply no more room for other animals. We need to build another one, as trading is not an option."

Wrukaog frowned "And why would that be?" he looked at Raymond. "Well, chief, since the last raid on Eagle Brook, the bretons simply stopped trading with us. As for rebuilding it, we simply lack the wood to do so. The battleship is still in construction, at it requests a heavy amount of wood. We need to come up with another solution."

Wrukaog sighed "So be it...Luciena, what do our spies tell us?"She walked towards the middle of the circle and begun talking. "I happen to come up with a lot of news...My spies tell me that there is a large kingdom in eastern Hammerfell. They seem friendly enough, but multiple cities are united under the same flag - A green serpent. Our commercial boats have returned from Stros M'kai. The city is heavily fortified, both on land and sea. The flag that can be seen on all the ships in the vecinity of Stros M'kai is a flag with four arrows on it. Other than that, not much is happening here in High Rock, the breton clans keep ignoring us and fight between each other."

Silence felt upon the hall, as everyone worked on the picture Luciena ilustrated. "So be it...send convoys to on this western kingdom and on Stros m'kai bearing orichalcum ingots. We need to have large kingdoms such as those on our size if we wa-" Nakgu stepped in "Chief, you can't expect me to-""Yes, I can! You're all dismissed! It's been a long day, we deserve some rest"

 

[halcyondaiz]

S'ira narrowed her eyes as she watched the recruits practice their archery.

"Sloppy," she murmured. A deep chuckle to her left was heard.

"This one thinks perhaps S'ira-Rii is being too critical, yes? Not all can be prodigies."

"Do'Tasaar, speak not of foolish excuses for the young. This one thinks perhaps Do'Tasaar has forgotten what lies at stake."

"No. Do'Tasaar has not forgotten. Archery training will be increased," he answered, low growl rumbling deep in his chest at her hidden insult.

"If the recruits cannot hit their targets, then Elsweyr has no need of them. The Renrijra Krin is how Elsweyr survives. No disrespect intended, old friend."

"Understood. This one wonders why S'ira-Rii pushes so hard for training now. Is the kingdom not recovering well?"

"Yes, Draxiis is recovering well, and coin flows in nicely. But..." Her voice trails off as she turns her attention to the sands, staring off into the distance.

Do'Tasaar waited, knowing well enough not to push her. The Maneless One was known for her wisdom, never speaking until all possible decisions were considered.

"There is war building. This one can smell its decaying odor weaving itself among the winds, can see it sneaking across Elsweyr. With whom, this one does not yet know, but war is coming."

Do'Tasaar frowned and turned his attention to the recruits.

"War? So soon? Draxiis has done nothing to anger other kingdoms, lending archers and sneaks to assist them in their petty squabbles. Do'Tassar says to let them come, yes? We will destroy them easily."

The Maneless One let out her own growl, and, moving quicker than the warrior expected, had him on his back with her blade at his throat in one flawless maneuver.

"Arrogant fool! Draxiis cannot handle another war. It would kill her, and us along with her! All this one's work would be for nothing! Do not bring arrogance and foolish wishes for war to Elsweyr, Do'Tassar," she hissed, pressing the blade into his neck, drawing a small amount of blood.

"Understood. What would you wish this one to do?"

She sighed as she released her hold, feeling much older than her twenty four years.

"Training needs to be a focus. Send scouts to the borders. They are to send word of anything unusual seen. Send word to the advisors that Draxiis needs to begin preparing food storage, if possible."

He nodded and took his leave, leaving her to ponder her next move.

A war would kill Draxiis. Perhaps, if she played her cards right, her people would stay safe, and her kingdom out of it. It was in the hands of the Divine Eight, she knew.



Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

 

[Colonelscout312]

Nomad awoke in his soft bed. He roles over on his side. It was a lovely day, the sun was shining, and yet the snow still lay on the ground. He sat up. He had had a lovely dream the night before, the dream of a beautiful woman, one who was his wife. What was her name again? He couldn't remember. He couldn't even remember her race.
He got up, putting on his tunic and grabbing his greatsword, Algir. It had been passed down through every generation of the War-Blades, and it was now Nomad's. He went through his morning routine, tutoring his children in math, history, and all the other required schooling, all whilst making them breakfast. They then went to the Palace of Kalder. Nomad would be required to attend a council, but not just yet. He sent his daughter, Sophia, off to train with Runsultare in how to heal people using magic, while he trained his son on how to use a sword.
"That's it, good parry." He said to his son as the fought. The wooden swords moves through the air like blurs, stopping barely when they hit each other, and a clang would resound across the entire castle when he did so. In the end, Nomad won. His son was still not good enough to beat him, yet.
"Now, take your sister and go play. I need to attend a council." He said. Sondheim was still fairly new, and they needed to assess who would be a threat.

"The western empire is our mane concern." Sarah, the kings advisor said, pointing to it on the map.
"They are very large, I assume, it wouldn't take much for them to wipe us out. And we are still building our army. So we have little to no defenses."
"What do you suggest?" Nomad asked, seeing the size of the western empire. Probably best to be a bit more peaceful for now.
"To the west of us. House blackfrost rules these lands. Why not strike a deal with him, an alliance. Together we could have all of skyrim, and we could assist one another when one was invaded. We could trade things, he could help us to build up are army. I believe that both our territories could benefit from this."
"Indeed. What else?"
"The other immediate threat is House Hledhren, at what was once the island of solstheim. They could enter through the sea of beasts, and devastate us. Now, these people may be able to be negotiated with." Sarah said, returning to her seat at the round table at which the council met.
"But we should, be wary of them." He said, looking at the other members.
"Thank you, Sarah. Gulrok, what reports from our military?"
Gulrok stood up, his heavy armor clanking. He wore the typical heavy armor of Sondheim. It had a blue tunic around silver plated armor, with a cross on it. He also wore a red cape, which also had a cross. He had a steel plate helmet, not in his head at the time, with a golden Reath around it.
"The army is growing steadily. We get about fifty new recruits a week. Other than that, nothing to report." He said. He never smiled, at at least, rarely did. He always glared, no matter who he was talking to. But only with one eyes, the other one had been cut. He sat down, having nothing more to say.
"And Runsul, how goes the training of our mages?"
"Nothing to report, my lord." Runsultare said.
"For the last time, don't call me my lord. I don't like titles."
The rest of the council was fairly average. They talked about many things related to crime and other things. The council ended, as it always did, with a prayer to Jehovah.

 

[Kimrisvik]

The sun rose in the east, casting a beautiful, yellowish light over the calm wilderness of The Western Empire. The farmers living round the walls of Stonedale, the capital, were already awake and were now outside treating the animals or their harvests.

Inside the city walls the slaves, or black workers as Renold Berg preferred to call them, were working on the northern part of the walls. “Okay! Foreman Dickens wants most of this section done by midday! So get movin’!” One of the bosses shouted at the Redguards as he slashed his whip in the air, making a loud sound. “I’ve had enough of this plops…” One of them whispered to another. “I’ve been a slave for ten years. I think it’s about time we take back our freedom. Are you with me Ali?” He looked over at his friend as he lifted a large stone block up on the rest of the wall.
“It’ll only get us in trouble, Khari!” Ali spoke. He had a deep voice coming from his bearded face. “Well, join if you want to.” Khari said and grabbed a hammer laying close by.
“BROTHERS! It is time we take back what belongs to us! OUR FREEDOM!” He shouted and lifted his arms. The other workers cheered in agreement and grabbed sticks, stones, hammers and other items they could use.
“Back to work. NOW!” The boss said, as he whipped one of the workers across the face. This only upset the slaves even more, and they rushed at him, and started to beat him to death. “Let’s go to the castle. I need to see the ‘emperor’” Khari said and started to move towards the castle.

Meanwhile at the Castle of Stonedale
King Renold Berg sat upon his throne in the great Hall of Heroes, scratching his graybrown beard. The throne was made of the bones of dragons. Majestic creatures who once roamed the skies of Tamriel. He looked out into the room, where the royal guards stood by all doors. Their golden colored armors shone in the yellow light sneaking in through the large windows on the walls.
“Good morning, father!” A voice spoke from behind him.
“Ah! Morning Theo!” Renold answered and turned to his youngest son with a smile.
“Where is your brother?”
“Still in his room. I saw some of the servants bringing him food, so I would guess he is reading. Again.” Theo laughed mockingly. He had always been the physically gifted one, while his brother was the smart one.
“Be nice to him. You would do well in reading yourself.” Lady Caroline Berg, Renold’s wife had also entered the hall. “Shall we eat?” She asked.

Before any of them had the chance to answer, the great doors were opened, and a knight came running towards the three of them. “My Lord! My Lord!” He shouted. “What is it Ser Perryl?” Renold asked, and rose from the throne. “The Redguards! They are rioting. Already killed four of the bosses, and ten guards.” Renold started to march towards the doors, with Theo, Caroline and the knight following right behind him.
“Where is Sir Dickens?” Renold’s voice was angered.
“He is by the stairs, trying to get them to ease.” The knight answered.
Outside of the doors, they met a horde of Redguards shouting and throwing rocks at the guards holding them back from the castledoors. Behind the guards, stood the chief of the guards together with a fat, bald man holding a large crossbow.
“Roger Dickens!” Renold said and walked over to the fat man. “What is this?”
“I don’t know, my lord. They just attacked out of the blue!”
Renold sighed, and walked towards the angry Redguards. “Gentlemen!” He said with a gentle voice. “May I ask who the leader is, and why he decided to make such a mess?” The crowd fell silent.
“It was my idea!” Khari shouted and stepped forward. In his hand he held a bloodied hammer. “We want better treatment! We work for almost no payment, and against our will! We DEMANT justice!” He said, with the crowd supporting him with cheering.
“Ah, I see.” Renold said. “Mr. Dickens! Whatever they are paid, double it!” Roger Dickens nodded in agreement. The crowd cheered louder!
“And one more thing! Hang that one. That will teach them not to make any more trouble.” He pointed at Khari, and gave him a smile.


-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A few days later King Renold was sitting at his private room writing a letter.
“General Thomas Franklin.
You are needed at the capital as soon as possible. We have matters to discuss. More important matters than those rebels in the west. I have a feeling there will be larger battles soon.
Renold Berg. Stonedale. The Western Empire.”

He looked at the piece of paper and read the letter five times before he rolled it up and sealed it with the royal seal, green wax with a serpent. Then he walked out of the room to find one of the couriers.
“Here, deliver this to General Franklin! He should be somewhere west of Riverpoint.”
The courier nodded. “My lord. Before I go I should tell you that we got supplies. From a smaller kingdom in the north. They sent a supply of orchalium ingots. There were also a few orcs traveling with the supplies. They demanded to speak with you, in person. I think they are waiting in the council room."
Renold grunted as he shooed the boy away. Then he made his way over to the council room, and swung the wooden door open. A few guards followed him in. "Now! Who sent you?"

 

[Blackdoom59]

The convoy arrived at Stonedale. At the gates of the city, the four orcs Igug, Zarod, Larek and their leader Borba. The horses stopped at the gates, and as soon as the orcs approached, one of the guards yelled.

"HALT!" Igug grunted. He was always impatient, this whole trip seemed like a waste of time to him. "Guard up" Borba whispered to her friends before she stepped forward. And explained her intentions. "We come from High Rock, from the orcish fortress of Orsinium. Me and my brothers here represent the Bloody Fang clan, and we have a proposition from our chief to the leader of your kingdom." The guard signed his colleague to open the gates but before he would let the orcs in he asks "What do you carry in the carriage?". Borba smiled, letting out a brief chuckle before responding "A gift for your kingdom. Feel free to check it".

As they walked the streets of Stonedale, they could easily tell the obvious differences between this city and Orsinium. There were all sorts of people - nobles, slaves, workers, merchants - all wondering the streets, gossiping, drinking and entertaining themselves. Larek's pointy ears could gather a bit of the information. Most of the residents were talking about a slaves revolt that occurred recently.

The Castle of Stonedale was large, but not nearly as tall as The Red Wolf. They entered and one of the guards led them to a so called council room. Zarod was the one supposed to do the talking. His breton blood served him well, for his silver tongue helped the Bloody Fang multiple times when it came to negociation. A gust of wind was felt in the air, the flags trembled as the doors of the council room were opened. A man dressed like an emperor came forward "Now! Who sent you?"

"High Chief Wrukaog, of the Bloody Fang tribe. We occupy most of today's High Rock, and our chief wishes no more enemies, especially not from the east." said Borba, leading the way for Zarod.

"We wish to trade, we have much to offer, but no one that we can offer those things to. We can make sure your army is protected by fine orcish armor, that your horses have the best leather saddles you can find, and that your alchemist have ressources for their art" said Zarod with a large grim on his face. "But most importantly, we have tamed beasts of the wilds that we can sell. Wolves, bears, sabre cats, trolls - you name it. I'm sure those can be quite useful. Our chief wishes to see you in person, and strike a deal with you, from whom we shall both benefit. What do you say, your highness?"

 

[Khaotic3]

The night was hot and humid. Wanan-Ei sat at his desk, darkness surrounding him. The only light coming from the stars through a window to his left. That is, until his top spy, Okan-Ra, silently opened the door and the light from the hall flitted in.

"Ah, I see you have returned. What news do you bring? I'm sure the Queen is very interested in your travels." Wanan-Ei did not even turn around when he spoke to Okan-Ra. He knew Okan-Ra had tried his best to keep his presence hidden, but Wanan-Ei had made sure it was impossible. Okan-Ra had most like slipped past the guards, past everyone in the palace maybe.

Okan-Ra tossed his journal to Wanan-Ei before he spoke.
"The king of Solstheim has his people building countless monuments to Hermaeus Mora. It seems the people, especially the king, have a great devotion toward this Daedra. He is like a god to them. As a side note, the place is as cold as Skyrim and as ashy as Morrowind."

Wanan-Ei had turned to face Okan-Ra when he spoke, and sat silently for a moment as he took in the information. This nation sounded like an overgrown cult. But their nation had started as a simple riot, so he was not one to judge.

"Thank you, Okan-Ra." Wanan-Ei stepped forward and wiped the dark red war paint from Okan-Ra's nose, a gesture that meant his mission had been completed. "Help yourself to a meal and a bath downstairs. I'm sure the Queen will be pleased with this information."

Okan-Ra bowed his head, his pink and brown scales covered in mud and ash. His dark leather armor did not cover much of him, and Wanan-Ei noticed he had put on a fur cloak, meaning it must truly be cold up north. As Okan-Ra walked down the hall he took off his cloak and carried it, because of the humidity of the Black Marsh. There was little need for much more than basic armors for these Argonians. They had a tough hide and a warm climate, so armor was more to show status than to protect them.

Wanan-Ei returned to his desk, gazing out his window, imagining hundreds of Dunmer building large statues in the snow.

--------------------------------------------------------------

"Yes, Wanan-Ei? I haven't got all day." Nakila had just finished lecturing a servant when the green scaled reptile entered the room. He stood back up, since he had been bowing in respect, before speaking.

"Okan-Ra returned last night. He says Solstheim is ruled by a king who spends most of his resources building large monuments to Hermaeus Mora. I am still going through his notes, but they sound like a large cult to me."

Nakila gave an Argonian smile. An evil one at that. "Surely Mora is giving them power if it has grown to this extent." She dismissed Wanan-Ei, and began to ponder how to approach them. They seemed like a kingdom that would make good allies rather than somewhere to be conquered. No, if there was anywhere left to take over, it would be the rest of Argonia.

She looked to the servant whom was sweeping her floor. Nakila was sitting on her throne made of hist wood and emerald. Three guards stood around her, one on each side and one in front of the steps up to the elevated floor on which her throne sat.

"Go fetch Pajul. We have things to discuss," she ordered the servant. The servant, a young Khajiit woman, quickly put up the broom and made her way out of the room, not making eye contact with Nakila. The guards chuckled, Nakila was feared by all of the servants and slaves. The citizens as well. It was for good reason, but it was still amusing to see people squirm.

 

[halcyondaiz]

Do'Tasaar flicked his tail in annoyance, eyes scanning report after report. The scouts had been sent out, and word reached his ears that stronger kingdoms were already gathering forces. One in the east had caught a few worried eyes, and it was there his attention was focused.

S'ira-Rii would be most displeased if he ordered an attack. The Maneless had a point: Draxiis and Elsweyr could not stand another war so soon. The Krin were strong, but small. They could not take on a large force, at least not alone.

He let out a growl, resisting the urge to slam his hands against the oak of his desk. Allies were for the weak, going against his Khajiiti pride and honor. But what choice did they have? He would speak to S'ira-Rii. She was better at the world of politics than he. He nodded to himself and stood, stretching as he did so.

S'ira-Rii would have the solution. She always did.

He grinned, feeling somewhat better, and left his war room to find her.

—

For one who was considered a master of shadows, S'ira-Rii was not hard to find, he mused.

Stretched on out the balcony banister of her council room, the young Cathay-Raht looked much like the saber-cat kits he had seen during his visits to Skyrim when he was younger. Eyes closed, her tail swished lazily back and forth as she enjoyed the warm winter sun.

"Ahh, wish to speak, Do'Tasaar?" she questioned, not even bothering to open her eyes.

He nodded.

"For one who walks so easily with Shadows, S'ira-Rii is not hard to find. How did the Maneless know Do'Tasaar wished to talk?"

She chuckled as she sat up on the banister.

"One can always find shadows if they know where to look. Do'Tasaar walks heavy and smells of summer rain. Very unique footing. Besides, who else would wish to disturb S'ira-Rii on such a lovely winter day?"

He laughed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at her.

"S'ira-Rii, reports have came in about kingdoms to the east and west growing in power. One in Black Marsh causes the most concern. It is closest, very militant focused, and is quite a large force."

S'ira yawned.

"This one knows. Has Ji'Ro deployed diplomats and emissaries to our neighbors then? It is important that a war is avoided, at least for the moment until Draxiis has recovered and can stand proudly once again."

"Do'Tasaar has yet to speak with Ji'Ro but will do so immediately."

She dismissed him with a nod. "See to it that Ji'Ro does so quickly, Do'Tasaar."

He quickly bowed and left to find Ji'Ro.

—

Ji'Ro was easy to find, hidden in his library with spell books scattered about.

"Ji'Ro!" he growled, startling the young advisor. It brought a small feeling of satisfaction when he heard the Mage yelp and mutter curses as his fireball spell singed his tail fur.

"Do'Tasaar! What brings the general to the library? Run out of dummies to run through?"

Do'Tassar narrowed his eyes in rage.

"Yes, so this one thought to come and grab a new dummy to practice critical hits on. This one heard mages make the best ones, since they lack formidable skills other than burning their own tails with fire."

Ji'Ro angrily flicked his tail, flame and shocks spells dancing between his fingertips.

"Do'Tasaar, do not forget the library is Mage territory. What accidents may happen down here will be overlooked by the Maneless as an experiment gone wrong," he hiss with a warning.

Do'Tasaar rolled his eyes and shrugged.

"A Mage head on a pike makes for a lovely display. However Do'Tasaar comes with orders from S'ira-Rii. Ji'Ro is to dispatch convoys and establish diplomatic connections with the kingdoms. Draxiis is to seek allies and avoid a war if possible."

The Mage flicked his ears, spells disappearing instantly as he calculated things in his head.

"Draxiis has too few Imperials that it can send to the kingdoms of men. Bosmeri and Khajiiti diplomats? Well, perhaps, if sent with enough soldiers. Crime rates are incredibly low at the moment, so Ji'Ro is sure Draxiis could spare enough blockhead soldiers."

Do'Tasaar felt his temper slipping with every snarky comment and hidden insult the Mage made. He counted to fifteen in his head, resisting the urge to put his daedric greatsword to use and behead the brat. When he reached fifteen, he smiled.

"Ji'Ro will send a Mage along with Do'Tasaar's 'blockhead soldiers' then. S'ira-Rii wants this done immediately."

A grumble escaped the Mage but he nodded. "Ji'Ro will do as S'ira-Rii wishes."

"When Ji'Ro has decided who will go where, and what mages will be sent, Do'Tasaar will be ready to send troops."

He turned and headed back to his war room, leaving Ji'Ro with his head attached.


Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

 

[Jo'rak Vandeni]

"Bring me the ravens." Droth commanded, his voice cracking with old age, as he held tight to the small letters to be given the ravens.

"Honoured kings and queens of Tamriel.
It is in these testing times, that the new dominates the old, it ascends as the pyres, devouring the old in it's wake.
We are all, that pyre.
From the ashes of the war, a new kingdom has risen. By the fires of industry, and the devotion to it's savior, it has grown too strong to remain a vassal of others. It has been unchained, and truth has been revealed to it's devoted men and women.
And those men and women, have chosen their King.
Under the ever-watching eye of our Lord, Hermaeus Mora, the Prince of knowledge, I declare the island of Solstheim, from now on known as the Silvermoon Isle, an independent kingdom of it's own, and with the power declared upon me by this, I ask for your acknowledgement to my claim.

I shall patiently await your answers, and return to my duties of king, duties you are all aware of, kings and queens of Tamriel.

Signed, Thirlin of House Hledhlen."

Droth handed the encased envelope to the Raven-master, an experienced warrior from the Black Marsh invasion, his arms clad in harsh leather, to protect his skin from the talons of his ravens. The man carefully placed the letters upon the several Ravens, who one after another flew off, to each of the corners of the continent.

"How long shall it be until we hear their answers?" Droth asked out loud, not really awaiting a response.
The raven-master looked at him at this, and smirked.
"All in all, we're lucky if they return by the end of Spring." He said, in his heavy Morrowind accent, as he let loose the last of the ravens, the one to be sent onto the remains of Argonia. There had been no news at all from Black Marsh after the invasion, none of them knew anything of the Argonians, or their current power or government, but Thirlin had insisted upon sending the news to them however, insisting there was rulers to answer it. He was a tricky one, Droth often envied the man, to be the chosen of Hermaeus...
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
From the watchtowers of the Waterwalls surrounding the south harbour, Thirlin watched the ravens disappear into the snow and ash, covering his city in it's grey mixture. He blessed their journey shortly, as he turned his gaze upon the galleys departing from the harbour through the great gap in the walls. There were three of them, all sent with the same task. Packed with gold, missionaries and diplomats, these were to travel to Skyrim, Morrowind, and Argonia.

He knew the High-Priest would refuse sending gold and educated men and priests to Argonia, after the millenias of conflict between Dunmer and Argonian. But Hermaeus Mora had granted him the sight. A wave of scales ebbing through his city, unseen by his people, slivering through them, and the eyes of a reptile, gazing upon the island from a mountain of reptiles, shouting names of divines, of daedra and of the "Hist", even as they relentlessly carried their leader upon their backs.

A new contestant had entered the board, Thirlin needed friends for what was to come, if Argonia was truly born anew, they could not have chosen a more ample time to rebirth.

 

[EpicVakarian]

-BRODRAS-​

"My king, the Orcs have sent a gift. Orichalcum, and lots of it." King Brodras' adviser, Talas Bluethorn, spoke quickly and loudly, yet politely. Brodras rolled his eyes.​

"Gods be damned, Talas, if they think they can buy my affection, they're sorely mistaken."​

"Yes, my king, but certain... courtesies must be observed. At least send your thanks."​

​

Brodras sighed heavily.​

"Go on then. But nothing more; just a thank you, nothing else. No defence pact, nor any other deal they might try to strike."​

"Yes, my king." Talas bowed deeply, then stepped backwards. "My king, we are done for the day. I shall come to you tomorrow with the Orsimer's response."​

"So soon?" Brodras asked sarcastically, waving Talas away. "Thank you, Talas. Gods only know how you manage this without getting bored..."​

​

Talas gave a wry smile, walking away quickly as King Brodras stood up, grumbling at his ageing knees. However, he immediately stood up straight when his wife, Thaeril, stepped into the throne room of Stros M'Kai's central citadel just as Talas left. She strode elegantly over to him, then put her hands on her hips.​

"What's all this business with the Orcs? I thought we bore no specific allegiances to any one race."​

"Yes, I know, my sweet," Brodras said calmly, putting a hand on Thaeril's shoulder. "Don't worry, dear, I'm not accepting anything from them. The Orcs sent gifts. The only thing Parikhen will get involved in is hopefully never to occur again. I don't ever want to be fighting the Thalmor again; too many lives lost for too little gain."​

Thaeril sighed with relief, kissing Brodras quickly and walking away.​

​

-FAERVEL-​

The branches shuddered as the wind blew over them, making Faervel almost lose her balance. Almost.​

The daughter of the King was perched on a branch in one of the only wooded areas on Stros M'Kai, a bow on her back and her eyes narrowed, waiting for her prey. And finally, it came into view. Her brother, Aravan. He had drawn a wooden longsword for practice, trying to hunt her down. Faervel nocked an arrow and pulled on the string, aiming for a split second before firing. The arrow shot an inch in front of Aravan's face and embedded itself in a tree trunk, making him almost jump out of his skin.​

"So there you are." Aravan followed the direction the arrow had come from to spot his sister's eyes staring down at him from behind the leaves. Faervel leaped down elegantly, landing silently and sliding her bow back over her shoulder.​

"Here I am. I got you."​

"So you did," Aravan said, chuckling while scratching his head, flushing with minor embarrassment. "Come on, we should get back to the city. Una will be waiting for us; it's nearly dinner-time."​

​

Faervel grinned, nodding. She loved Una more than anything; her little sister meant more to her than anything in the world.​

"Alright then. Let's get going."​

 

[Kimrisvik]

"High Chief Wrukaog, of the Bloody Fang tribe. We occupy most of today's High Rock, and our chief wishes no more enemies, especially not from the east." One of the orcs said looking over at another one. "We wish to trade, we have much to offer, but no one that we can offer those things to. We can make sure your army is protected by fine orcish armor, that your horses have the best leather saddles you can find, and that your alchemist have ressources for their art"said said the other with a large grim on his face. "But most importantly, we have tamed beasts of the wilds that we can sell. Wolves, bears, sabre cats, trolls - you name it. I'm sure those can be quite useful. Our chief wishes to see you in person, and strike a deal with you, from whom we shall both benefit. What do you say, your highness?"

Renold measured all of them, one by one. Then he walked over to a small table by the wall an poured himself and his guests a class of wine.
“So this chief of yours.” He started, before he took a short sip from his glass.
“He sends four men and a caravan, asking me, the emperor of the west, to travel over to his kingdom for a chat?” He smiled lightly. “Why didn’t he just tag along?” He walked over to a chair and sat down.
“I didn’t mean to be rude. If you could tell your chief that he is welcome to Stonedale for a meeting.” He paused. “I wish I could travel over to see how your kingdom is, I truly do. But I’m a busy man, and I await company in a few days. Hope that won’t be a problem for Chief Wrukaog?” He looked over at the orcs with a gentle smile.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Theo got up from his bed and walked over to the window overlooking the courtyard. An usual squad of the royal guard were patrolling around in their usual formation, an X formation with the squadleader in the middle. In the distance he could see their chief talking to some of the newer recruits, which he could recognize by the lack of goldenstripes on their capes.
Theo turned around and walked over to the door to his bedroom. He grabbed an apple from a silverplate as he walked out and made is way over to his brother’s room.


“Hello Garret.” He said as he opened the door. Garret was sitting at his desk reading trough some books and paper rolls. His long light brown hair was tied in a knot at the back of his head. The brothers looked about the same, except for Theo having twice the size of Garrets muscles.
“Ah, hello little brother.” Garret answered without looking at Theo.
“You read too much. You should join us at fighting in the yard.” Theo said and walked over to Garret to look at what he was reading. ‘Ancient Heroes of Tamriel.’
“Why fight? I’ll be a king once, and then my intelligence will be better than muscles.” Garret answered, still not looking up.
“Yes, of course. You’ll be a great leader.” Theo mumbled.
“You’ll be great too, brother.” Garret said, finally looking up from his books.
Theo walked over to the window, also looking over the courtyard the one in his room did.
“You know I’ll be twenty this summer. And I plan on taking the ritual.” He took a pause. “The ritual? We nobles don’t do that!” Garret rose up from the chair he was sitting in. “I know! But you’ll be king, and what about me? If I take the ritual I can at least do something with my life!” Both of them went silent for a short time.
“So you want to become an Elite?” Garret asked eventually. Theo nodded. “Father is not going to like this. Not at all.”

 

[tdatapina]

The conquered land of Alesarius was in turmoil; entire towns were destroyed and forests were burned to the ground; mines were collapsed and rivers were polluted. And yet, King Dion looked over the land from what was once known as The White Gold Tower proudly. He had conquered this land with the help of his ancestors. Together they formed their army, ready to take what land would be open when the war broke out. How did they predict the events? Common sense. By instinct beings are selfish. Ones wants can be satisfied for a time, but for everyone, eventually they will want more. The Asiius family knew that one day war would break out, and they were ready.

From the very top of the tower one would be able to see all of Alesarius, and that was where Dion stood. He faced the north watching the ant sized figures work. It was late at night, but work could not stop. Not if they were to finish rebuilding anytime soon. The kingdom was in no shape for battle, and surely someone would come to take the old land of Cyrodiil. But before they began on their defenses they'd need homes for their citizens, They'd need resources to craft the equipment needed to train soldiers. Rebuilding would take time, and it may not be time they had.

Queen Vilena approached Dion from behind and placed her hands on his shoulders. He let out a breath before placing a hand on hers. "I hope nobody gets too mad about me renaming the tower." He closed his eyes and enjoyed his wife's hands rubbing his back.

"It had to be done, my love." She smiled and placed her head on her husband's shoulder. "You have to let them know that as king you have the rights to do as you please."

He knew she was right, he just didn't enjoy disappointing his subjects. Little did he know, most of them didn't care much about what he had done, and the few that disagreed kept their mouth shut out of respect and loyalty for their beloved king. Dion was loved by all for his kindness and understanding, but perhaps this could be his downfall. Kindness is great in a ruler, but too much can make him an easy target for stronger willed rulers.

Thankfully he had one he could count on to be the backbone for his foreign relations. Roderic Vontan; he could easily persuade many to do as he wished and served as the king's diplomat since the first day of his rule. So far he had little need for the man, but when the time came, he would perform greatly.

The two stood watching over the kingdom for a few more minutes before heading off to bed. After all, ruling a kingdom wasn't as easy as sitting back and watching your subjects work. Not in the slightest.

=======================

Dion placed his head in his hands. "I know we need to start working on our defenses, but don't you think we need somewhere for the citizens to rest between work hours?" General Lexerus Haderus paced the council room frustratedly. "WE NEED DEFENCE. What are we to do when Xeirdor decides they want Bravil? That is our food source. We need it!" Vilena rose from her feet and slammed her hands onto the table. "You will not speak to the king like that! You will address him as 'your majesty' and you will speak with a tone of respect!" Dion gestured for her to sit and rose to his feet and walked towards the General. "I know you're frustrated because you don't have a military to command at the moment, but you will, in time. For now I need you to focus on rebuilding. You're not the only that can't sleep at night. You think I don't worry that we'll hear the marching of soldiers from the south? Everyone has just begun to take their land. Surely nobody has an army ready and fit for battle. Give me time. Soon we'll be ready to focus on your army."

Dion and Vilena waited in the counsel room as Lerexus left. The doors slammed shut and they were alone with just each other and their thoughts. "He's right, you know? We can't put it off too long." Dion groaned in agitation. "You think I don't know that? We need to finish rebuilding the Imperial City, give the citizens somewhere to sleep. Then I'll send out a team to gather resources for weapons and armor." He rubbed his head and chuckled. "How long do you think I've got before this mess on top of my head turns gray." Vilena picked at a piece and said jokingly, "Isn't it already gray?"

 

[Jo'rak Vandeni]

Season-Spring year 2 5E

 

[halcyondaiz]

M'roshki narrowed his ears and steadied his tail for balance as he lowered his body in a crouch. Slowing his breath, he crept closer to his target. In just a few more steps, he'd be within reach and --

He was knocked off of his balance as a body pounced on him, bringing him to the ground. He let out a grunt as his hair was pulled, raising his head and exposing his neck to the blade held near it.

"How?! This one crept slowly like Sister showed," he whined, carefully watching the blade's edge. He knew his sister would never hurt him intentionally, but blades made him nervous, regardless.

"M'roshki breathes as heavy as a bear," S'ira teased him. She gracefully removed herself from his back, playfully ruffling his hair as she stood. "One must remember, to be a shadow, one must stealthy and silent, not stealthy and loud as a cave bear on a rampage."

He frowned. "That is a terrible thing to compare M'roshki to! This one is much less noisy than a bear!"

S'ira laughed, blue eyes crinkled as she pulled her brother in for a hug.

"Perhaps, but M'roshki understands what S'ira means, yes?"

He nodded. "Yes, Sister." A thought crossed his mind. "How did S'ira move so fast? M'roshki never took his eyes off of his target!"

Another sly smile, followed by a small shake of her head.

"An old trick, one saved for another day. Come! S'ira grows hungry after much practice, and little kit could use a meal as well, yes?"

At that point, his stomach rumbled, answering for him. S'ira ruffled his braids again and pulled him toward the Feast-hall.

"S'ira has heard the cooks were fixing M'roshki's favorite meal..." she trailed off.

His orange eyes widened in surprise.

"Sweetened Venison?! With extra moon sugar coating?"

He took off running, and she couldn't help but snicker. "M'roshki best save some for S'ira!" she called as she chased after him.
______________________

The pair sat on the balcony banister, watching as the lovely spring sun set on their kingdom. Bellies full, M'roshki had almost drifted off when a loud cawing caught his attention. He turned his head, looking around for the cause of the noise.

"S'ira? What was that?"

His sister did not answer. Instead, she was crouched on the banister, dual daedric blades ready.

The caw came again, and he readied himself, small fireball dancing on his palm. S'ira raised an eyebrow at him in curiosity.

"Ji'Ro has been sneaking and teaching the young kit magic again, S'ira sees."

He gave a sheepish grin while his sister sighed and put away her blades. "Release the flames, young kit. There appears to be company coming on the winds."

He did as his sister instructed and looked up at the Elsweyrian sky. He saw the twin moons beginning to rise in the distance. Squinting, he saw a small speck on the horizon.

"What is that?" he asked, stepping behind his sister into the safety of her shadow.

"This one would assume it would be a bird," S'ira answered drily, stepping down from the banister.

She was irritated, tail swishing back and forth, ears flattened as she watched the bird come closer.

"If it is merely a bird, why is S'ira so on edge?"

The bird drew closer, and he could see it was black, a bird not common around their land. Squinting harder, he saw a small scroll attached to its leg.

S'ira must have seen it too. He knew a war was in the air - he had heard the conversation between his sister and her general months ago. Was that bird a sign of war being declared? Suddenly he felt small again, lost and afraid in a world he didn't know. He shifted closer to his sister, and she comforted him with an arm around his shoulder, pulling him close.

"Do not worry, little kit. S'ira will keep you safe. The bird is landing. Let us see what it says before we worry."

The bird began to descend, and he watched as his sister slowly stepped forward, arm outstretched for the feathered messenger to land on. It landed gracefully, and she gave it a small scratch under the beak before untying its scroll from its leg.

"Ahh, this one sees you are tired from your trip. Perhaps a rest while this one reads your message would help you feel better, no?"

The raven cawed once more as it tiredly flapped its wings. M'roshki turned and headed for the war room. "This one will tell Do'Tasaar," he called as he walked off. The scroll attached to its leg worried him, and if it had S'ira irritated already before reading it, he would prefer to be far, far away from her wrath.

"Do not disturb him. S'ira can handle this. Go on to your magicka lesson, little kit."

He considered her words, then shrugged and turned toward the library. If S'ira commanded it, he would obey. He trusted her decisions.
___________________________________

The raven waited patiently, perched calmly on her shoulder as she undid the scroll's wax seal.

Her eyes quickly scanned the letters covering the page:

"Honoured kings and queens of Tamriel.
It is in these testing times, that the new dominates the old, it ascends as the pyres, devouring the old in it's wake.
We are all, that pyre.
From the ashes of the war, a new kingdom has risen. By the fires of industry, and the devotion to it's savior, it has grown too strong to remain a vassal of others. It has been unchained, and truth has been revealed to it's devoted men and women.
And those men and women, have chosen their King.
Under the ever-watching eye of our Lord, Hermaeus Mora, the Prince of knowledge, I declare the island of Solstheim, from now on known as the Silvermoon Isle, an independent kingdom of it's own, and with the power declared upon me by this, I ask for your acknowledgement to my claim.

I shall patiently await your answers, and return to my duties of king, duties you are all aware of, kings and queens of Tamriel.

Signed, Thirlin of House Hledhlen."

She let out a small sigh of relief and turned to the raven. "Much better than a war declaration," she muttered as she softly smoothed its feathers. It cawed in response, almost as if it were telling her to write back, and she smiled.

"Are the birds of Silvermoon Isle always so pushy?" she teased, heading to her war room's desk to respond. It responded by softly nipping her left ear and pulling her earring. "S'ira apologizes, friend. It was merely a joke," she chuckled as she sat down. The raven cawed and hopped to the back of her chair, watching her. She eyed her desk for a moment before seeing a stale half loaf of bread that had been left over from her breakfast. She crumbled a small portion of it and offered it to the bird. It hungrily picked at the crumbs, and she crumbled more on her desk before grabbing a quill and parchment.

The bird watched her every move as she quickly wrote a response.

"King Thirlin of House Hledhlen,

Your scroll declaring your claim has reached the warm sands of Elsweyr, and let it be known that this one, S'ira-Rii, of the Renrijra Krin, the Mercenaries' Grin, Maneless One of the kingdom of Draxiis, received your claim, well heard and acknowledged among this one's people. The Khajiiti, Bosmeri, and Imperials of Draxiis hear your claim, and with it, Draxiis wishes your kingdom many prosperous years of good health and well-fortune.

May your roads always lead to warm sands, honored King Thirlin, and may House Hledhlen reign strong.

Signed,
S'ira-Rii, Maneless One of Draxiis"


She signed her name quickly, sliced her thumb, and pressed the bleeding wound to the space underneath her name. Perhaps he wouldn't understand this Khajiiti custom, but the blood sign of the Mane was an honored symbol, meaning the Mane gave his or her word to honor the document. It was a symbol of pride, of honor, of integrity.

The bird, sensing she was finished writing, cawed and flapped its wings, looking at her expectantly.

"Not tonight. Rest tonight and fly tomorrow, yes?"

It stopped and flew to the top of her bookcase, perched, and then looked down at her.

"This one thought you would agree." She sighed and stretched as she stood. She would have to tell Ji'Ro about this. He would be upset that he had not gotten to handle it, but she was certain he would be fine in the end.

She nodded to herself, and happy with her decision, she headed off to her room, ready for a nap.
___________________________________

Early the next morning, Ji'Ro was waiting calmly outside of her war room.

"S'ira-Rii, why does this one hear a strange noise coming from the war room?"

She narrowed her eyes at him and he shifted uneasily beneath her gaze. "Perhaps because this one has a messenger bird waiting on her this morning."

"A messenger? From where?"

"Silvermoon Isle. Its king wished for Draxiis' acknowledgement, and this one gave it to him."

"Is that wise? Without knowing anything about it? S'ira-Rii, Ji'Ro thinks perhaps it should have been left to him to deal with," he stammered, and she hissed, baring her fangs at him.

"Do not forget who is the Maneless One, Ji'Ro. S'ira is more than capable of making decisions on her own. It was simply acknowledgement, nothing more, nothing less. Now stand aside and let this one into her war room. It is rude to keep friends waiting."

He mumbled an apology as he bowed and hurriedly turned back to his library. She growled at his retreating form before turning back to her war room. Opening the door, she found the bird perched on her desk, nipping some left overcrumbs from the night before. She offered it a smile.

"Good morrow, friend. This one trusts that you are well-rested and fed?"

A flap of wings was her answer.

"Excellent. As promised, this one will allow you to be on your way. May this one see a leg?"

The bird offered its leg and she swiftly and securely attached the scroll. Offering it her arm, it hopped on and she walked to the balcony, ready to release the bird.

"Safe travels, friend," she wished it as she tossed her arm up to give the bird a boost. It cawed once in response and flew off, back to its isle.

She watched it go, wondering how things would go from here. Perhaps an alliance could be found after all.

 

[Khaotic3]

Ash. The ash was everywhere. It fell from the sky, blew up from the ground, and swirled in the wind. Veezith could just barely make out the path marker that represented the border between Xeirdor and Morrowind, only 10 yards to the left of him. Perhaps a spy would feel at home out here, but the low visibility made Veezith uncomfortable. But as part of border patrol he was to stay out here and make sure none got passed.

But when he heard a cawing from overhead, he had no idea what to do. The bird would travel faster than he could, and he could not catch it. He sighed. He had never seen a bird brave a storm like this, so there was no way it was just the wildlife roaming around. Not to mention the cawing was not the sound of any bird he had ever seen.

"Veezith! Did you hear a bird?!" The next man on the line, about twenty yards away, called to him.
"Yes, Mush-Tai! But what can we do? Surely it would reach the Queen before news of it would." So the two men were forced to pretend they had not noticed. And in a storm like this, people would believe them.

----------------------------------------------------

Pajul knelt before the large Hist tree in the palace garden. Spring had arrived, and sap was strongly though the tree. After reciting the small prayer, Pajul placed his hands on the large tree, pounded the spigot into its trunk, and drank the sap as it flowed out.

As he finished he heard a loud cawing from the courtyard of the palace. Odd, I have never hallucinated before...
Or perhaps he was not hallucinating. After making sure the spigot was closed, he made his way to the courtyard.

In the courtyard, Nakila had been watching two slaves spar for entertainment. To an Argonian, the weather was gorgeous, but to anyone not from the Black Marsh they may see the weather as 'too hot' or the air as 'too sticky.' But when the black bird weakly landed in front of Nakila, everyone had stopped. The bird appeared sickly, and its caw sounded no better. The bird was clearly not from this area, and to many foreign creatures the marshes were full of poisons and diseases.

The bird meekly stretched its right leg, which had some sort of note attached to it. All of the guards and servants were staring intently at this strange creature.

"What in Oblivion...!?" Nakila heard Pajul's confused words as he entered the yard.

Nakila gently took the note from the bird, knowing whatever the note said was important.

"Honoured kings and queens of Tamriel.
It is in these testing times, that the new dominates the old, it ascends as the pyres, devouring the old in it's wake.
We are all, that pyre.
From the ashes of the war, a new kingdom has risen. By the fires of industry, and the devotion to it's savior, it has grown too strong to remain a vassal of others. It has been unchained, and truth has been revealed to it's devoted men and women.
And those men and women, have chosen their King.
Under the ever-watching eye of our Lord, Hermaeus Mora, the Prince of knowledge, I declare the island of Solstheim, from now on known as the Silvermoon Isle, an independent kingdom of it's own, and with the power declared upon me by this, I ask for your acknowledgement to my claim.

I shall patiently await your answers, and return to my duties of king, duties you are all aware of, kings and queens of Tamriel.

Signed, Thirlin of House Hledhlen."

"Well, well, well. It appears the cult of the north has officially declared itself a kingdom," Nakila explained. Pajul was standing next to her now, eagerly awaiting his turn to read the note. "Go ahead, read it out loud."

Pajul had a gleeful expression as she handed him the letter, and everyone in the yard listened intently as Pajul enthusiastically read the letter.

"Well, my queen, it appears you have a letter of acknowledgment to write, yes?" He laughed. "Silvermoon Isle. What an interesting name." He returned the letter to her.

"Pajul, see that this bird is cared for during its stay. We certainly do not want a dead messenger. Try to get him fixed up, will you?"

Pajul saluted her, gently picked up the bird and carried it inside.
Nakila looked around to see that the servants were still simply watching the scene in front of them.

"Well? What are you waiting for? Back to work, all of you!"

Nakila and her three bodyguards strode inside to see all of the servants and slaves hard at work. She quickly walked down the hall and into her quarters, with all three guards turning and standing outside her door.

She sat at her desk, dipped her quill in ink, placed a piece of paper in front of her, and began writing.

"King Thirlin of House Hledhlen,

Your scroll has reached the harsh lands of Argonia, and I, Queen Nakila Xeirdorus of Xeirdor, along with my people, acknowledge your claim as King of Silvermoon Isle. I have heard you and your people have a strong lust for knowledge, and the Kingdom of Xeirdor hopes you find whatever it is you seek, along with good health and prosperous years.

May your battles be won and your hard work pay off.

Signed,
Queen Nakila Xeirdorus of Xeirdor

P.S. Your messenger bird is looking sick, I may send a convoy to make sure this letter reaches its destination."

Nakila rolled up the letter and sealed it with wax. She carried it in her fist, and made her way to Pajul's quarters.

"Come on now, you have to eat something. You've got a long journey ahead of you!" Pajul pleaded the bird, but it simply gazed at him with sickly eyes. Surely they had once been fierce, but now they were pleading when they looked at Nakila.

"You think you can heal it? It needs to deliver this letter."

Pajul sighed. "I'm trying to feed it herbs, but it is being stubborn!"

"It's a bird for Hist's sake! How can a bird be stubborn?" Nakila fumed. Pajul was always testing her patience.

"Now, now, my queen. I'm sure you were aware this bird was sick and already had a plan for if it did not make it home. I'm not saying he will die tonight, but he is surely sick. Give me until tomorrow morning, and I will have him ready for flight."

Nakila rolled her eyes and and made her way back to her quarters to make another copy of the letter.

----------------------------------------------------

In the morning, the bird was looking better, although not necessarily one-hundred percent. Pajul attached the scroll to the bird and released it, and three couriers left with the other copy of the letter. The sun shone as brightly as it could through the dense trees of the marsh. Hopefully the sun was good for the bird, but being from a cold, ashy land it was hard to be sure.

 

[Colonelscout312]

Nomad waited impatiently as his personal guard prepared to make of to travel to the sea of beasts.
"I don't think I was meant to be a king. It's to boring. I preferred when I was able to travel through skyrim without my personal guard following me around all the time."
Lugot, a Khajiit and captain of the kings personal guard was standing next to him.
"Well, we wouldn't getting caught unaware and killed now, would we? After all, you never know when those warmongering rebels will pop up."
Nomad turned his head and looked at Lugot.
"You can be an absolute pain sometimes, you know that?" He said. Lugot smiled.
"That means I'm doing my job right." He said. Nomad exited the palace. As always, his personal guard walked with him. They tried to shoo off the beggars, but were stopped by Nomad who said:
"We have plenty of coin to spare." He said, giving everyone of the beggars enough coin to buy them food for two days. They continued walking and exited the city, walking to the stables. A group of guards were there, trying to saddle Nomad's unruly horse.
"One moment more, m'lord, and we'll have 'im saddled." A guard said, who was instantly thrown off, along with the saddle, by the horse.
"Let me." Nomad said, grabbing the saddle and placing his hand on the horse.
"Easy... Easy..." He whispered to his horse and put the saddle on it. The captain of the guard in Kalder, Delrov, approached. And in tow was Nomad's children.
"Where are you going, papa?" Sophia asked. Nomad walked up to them.
"I need to go to the sea. I need to check on something." He said, looking down at his daughter, who reached his gut. He hugged her and his son.
"You be good while I'm gone, which shouldn't be long." He said, pulling himself up onto his horse.
"Let us depart." He said to Lugot. "We have a long journey ahead of us." The horses turned and galloped away.

__________________

A Nord watched as the horses galloped away from Kalder. The city was now without its king. It was ripe for the taking. His name was Faroth, he was a rebel.
"Tell Verane that the King has left. The city is vulnerable. And so is its ruler." He said, turning to his companions.

 

[Blackdoom59]

Orsinium, top floor of The Red Wolf

Raymond was sitting in the balcony, his hands crossed on the wooden fence. Why did it have to be her? He asked himself, looking at the black sky. He imagined a lot of things when he looked at the sky. The mere thought of her beloved wife faded away, when images of darkness, agony and war were painted across the sky. Something was coming, he didn't knew what, perhaps no one did. But those thoughts saddened him, so he glanced back at his room, making sure nobody was watching, before taking a bottle of skooma from his knapsack.

After the war, things went to chaos across Tamriel. With no empire to supervise the provinces, nobody cared who worshiped what god, nobody cared about slavery, about drugs, about death. Raymond took a sip from the bottle, then eyed the sky. He frowned, and drank once more. Again he spoke to himself, in silence Another glimpse of her face, another touch from her fingers. He could almost hear her voice, calling him out - Raymond...Raymond...

"Raymond!" Luciena said as she shook his shoulder. He quickly dropped his bottle over the balcony, and as he staggered back to reality, he confused Luciena for his own wife. The two were so much alike - Raymond is used to the touch of whores wherever he goes, but hers was different.

"The council has been summoned, let's not make the chief wait" a bright, kind smile was set upon her face as she spoke. Raymond nodded positively, then shook his head in hope that he will come back to normal before the others could see him. They were climbing down the stairs, moving towards the hall, slowly, so Raymond wouldn't trip over. He was quiet as they walked "You shouldn't do this to yourself" he looked at her, yet avoiding eye contact. "What I do...It's none of your concern".

Luciena frowned "It's our concern, you can become a detriment to the council. That shouldn't happen, you're the best for the job". He looked down "You never showed any interest in me. Why do you do this?". Luciena stopped while she looked right into his eyes "Wrukaog told me to keep an eye on you. But...I do this because I want to. I know what loss feels like, and the way you try to counter it is wrong"

The rest of the trip was silent, but they made it to the hall. As always, Wrukaog was sitting on his mighty throne, decorated with bones and skulls.

"At last, all of us are here" Luciena and Raymond could see some new faces gathered around Nakgu. "First of all, what are the news? Any responses for our gifts?" Wrukaog asked his advisor. She grabbed the report from the hands of a subordinate and begun reading out loud. "It seems that the kingdom from the sea - Parikhen, sends us their thanks, but nothing more. Our ambassadors weren't allowed to speak with their king. It seems the only way we can respond is through letters." Wrukaog grunted. "They don't acknowledge us...yet. I shall personally write a letter to their king" Nakgu stepped in once more "Chief, if they don't want to trade than that's their loss. We cannot stand at their feet begging for them to agree on a pact! We're better off raiding the remaining settlements in High Rock, before they unite against us! In doing so, they will see just how strong we are!" The people next to Nakgu clapped and cheered to his agreement.

The High Chief sighed. Nakgu always felt the need of rushing in. He didn't care about anything but glory and victory on the battlefield. But little did he knew that to win a war, you must do more then to win a fight. Wrukaog ignored him and signaled Luciena to keep on reading. "From the east, the news are more promising. It seems the people that occupy eastern Hamerfell are part of an Empire called The Western Empire. Their emperor agreed to speak with you, but only in Stonedale, the capital of his province."
Wrukaog nodded.


"Now! Who are those people next to you, Nakgu?" Wrukaog called out. The Warchief started introducing them "Well, chief, those are the generals in our army. I am proud to announce that army is now fully organised. Even If I am the supreme general of the army, I cannot rule all of the classes at once. I am mostly in charge of the Orcish army. Battlemasters, Spearmen, Archers, Beserkers and Raiders. Our army is mainly made out of orcs, counting up to 200 orcs in total. Here next to me is Oliver, he is the general to the breton attack force - counting up to 125 bretons in total - swordsmen, spearmen and archers. His brother, Marc rules the breton battlemages, counting up to 50 in total. We also got the master shaman, Gorobash, ruling the shamans in our army, counting up to 25 in total. Last but not least Avik - commander of the redguard army of sword masters - counting up 50 in total. Our army counts up to 450 soliders, which is a relatively low number, if we compare to the western empire. However our solders are trained, most of them veterans."

Wrukaog smiled, getting up from his throne. "This is no small achievement, Nakgu. I am proud of you. Our army is now strong and organized. We are a force to be reckoned with. Tomorrow I shall travel to Stonedale alongside Luciena. In my absence, Nakgu will lead the clan, but if any tough decisions are to be taken, the whole council will decide. Now are there any other questions, before I go write my letter?" Avik stepped forward, the chains from his leather armor bouncing as he walked. "High Chief, I need to speak with you in private." Wrukaog raised an eyebrow, and signaled Avik to go upstairs alongside him.

As they walked, Avik begun to speak "I'l have you know, the city of Sentinel is the capital of a small kingdom, they call it "New Yokuda". The kingdom suffers from a great crisis - they lack food, and they are in a war of succession. It will be easy to conquer them, easier then it is to go for High Rock." Wrukaog placed a hand on his shoulder before entering his room "Thank you for the information, I'l think about it. You will be a great commander, Avik!" And so he begun writing his letter.

"King Brodas

The gift you received is merely a taste of what is to come. I wish to strike a trade deal with you, we have much to offer - tamed beasts, ingots, leather, whatever strikes your fancy. Don't fool yourself however, I do not want to form an alliance of any sorts with you. This is just a deal both of our kingdoms will benefit from

Signed High Chief Wrukaog Will-Bender"

As he finished writing the letter, he heard a quack from his balcony. He went there with haste to check it out. The bird had a letter attached to it.

"Honoured kings and queens of Tamriel.
It is in these testing times, that the new dominates the old, it ascends as the pyres, devouring the old in it's wake.
We are all, that pyre.
From the ashes of the war, a new kingdom has risen. By the fires of industry, and the devotion to it's savior, it has grown too strong to remain a vassal of others. It has been unchained, and truth has been revealed to it's devoted men and women.
And those men and women, have chosen their King.
Under the ever-watching eye of our Lord, Hermaeus Mora, the Prince of knowledge, I declare the island of Solstheim, from now on known as the Silvermoon Isle, an independent kingdom of it's own, and with the power declared upon me by this, I ask for your acknowledgement to my claim.

I shall patiently await your answers, and return to my duties of king, duties you are all aware of, kings and queens of Tamriel.

Signed, Thirlin of House Hledhlen."

Wrukaog sighed as he red the letter. Solsthein was incredibly far away from Orsinium, yet he had the policy to write back.

"Master Thirlin

Know that Orcs of Bloody Fang clan acknowledge your claim, and we wish you prosperity in growth. I do not care what god you worship, as long you're not going to force it down my people's throat, then we will have trouble. But hopefully it won't come to that. May you encounter no problems rebuilding your island.

Signed High Chief Wrukaog Will-Bender"

 

[Jo'rak Vandeni]

"What on earth have you done?!" High-priest Droth roared at the top of his ancient lungs, his hollow voice filling the great chamber which was soon to be the strategic base for the new kingdom.
Thirlin stood in deep discussion, with an architect from High rock, planning the size of the three great windows, which would grant vision of the entire south part of Raven Rock, with the Red Mountain behind it.
Droth could not care less of the damned windows, it seemed.

"How dare you commission my men without my acc-"

"And since when was it, that the priests ruled over kings? Have me and my lord both missed to see the downfall of our kingdom, at the hands of an uprising of old monks?" Thirlin turned to the furious priest as he spoke, and his dark blue garments swirled as the waves striking the cold rocks of Silvermoon Isle.
"I dare commission my men, for they serve me, over the priesthood." Thirlin's tone showed there was no space for discussion, and Droth's temper seemed to leave him, suddenly, he was nothing but an old hunchbacked man again, wearing the robes of the Mora Priesthood.
He seemed speechless, so Thirlin continued, slowly stepping forward onto Droth. All the work had ended in the room, as artisans and architects of all kinds stopped to watch the Cultist-king's next move.

"'Why Argonia?' I hear you ask. True, the argonians have been the enemies of Morrowind for centuries now." He moved his head closer to Droth's, until their faces were mere inches away from each other, and through clenched teeth, Thirlin concluded:
"Enemies of Morrowind. Not us." As he moved his head back, and stepped further away from Droth, the old man seemed to sigh in relief... Was he trembling?

"Besides, the city speaks of a new government, the An-Xileel are overthrown, these new rulers seem to accept all religion of their subjects." He let the high-priest figure the meaning of that out for himself.
"Now leave, my attention is needed here." He commanded, as he waved Droth away with his hand, as he turned toward the main architect once again.
"Now, you mentioned Altmer window panels? Where would we find such?"

Droth left the room hastily, furiously slamming the steel gates as he left. The architect responded with a nervous smile, and pointed toward the island of Parikhen of the Summerset Isles. But all Thirlin could think of was Droth, the man had grown defiant, and his envy and hunger for power was more and more visable, he'd have to deal with that later.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________

With the Throneroom still not finished, Thirlin's court was temporarily held in Thirlin's flagship, The Apocrypha, a massive galley, with three masts, and the ancient skeleton of a drake priding it's front-hull, the dragon's spine and tail going horizontally down the outer hull of the galley. Four grand ballistas were set upon the sides of the galley, and it was painted in the dark, gloomy green of lurkers and seekers, the inhabitants of the realm the flagship was named after. Upon the sails were painted the clan banner of Hledhlen, as well as the eye of Hermaeus Mora behind it, and his tentacles grasping in all directions, spreading all unto the end of the sails.
Thanks to the converting of the Skaal tribes of the North from their All-maker to the prince of Knowledge, their master smiths now trained apprentices in the art of making Stalhrim armour. The first to receive this mythical set of armour was Thirlin's personal guard, as well as Thirlin himself, and now his most trusted men stood upon the hull of The Apocrypha in their shining Stalhrim armour, watching over the steady line of subjects, moving onto the ship to hold audience with their king.

Thirlin himself, was seated in the dragonbone throne found in Miraak's temple, in his own set of Stalhrim armour, a lighter version, and rather than a helmet, he wore the Stalhrim-forged crown upon his head, as he resolved the issues of his kingdom, as well as blessing those who came for that reason solely. At the end of the day, the self-annointed speaker of the farmers approached him, skipping with joy.

"King Thirlin, I come with words of the harvest." The man said, his chest swollen with pride. Thirlin gestured with his hand, allowing him to continue.
"Erhem... Spring was a fortunate season for the farms, the ash yam have sprouted and flourished in the ash, we have counted over twice the number of last year's harvest. The boar farms have slain and butchered last year's cull, and their meat is now distributed on the markets, slightly fewer than last year, but nothing to be worried of.
Now lastly, the Netch farm has been destroyed. A bull escaped his slaughter-hole, and killed three butchers, and ruined large part of the farm, before the militia could take him down, we buried the farmers last week, and from the Bull Netch, the Undryn farm present you this gift." The man held forward a crudely shaped iron sword, formed as a tentacle, with it's handle covered in Netch leather, Thirlin laughed amusedly as one of his guards took the sword and brought it onto him.

"My wife named it Sceptre, it was made by my son, Doril!" The farmer smiled, seemingly happy and relieved Thirlin enjoyed the gift.

he slid his fingers across the blade, it was not sharp, but the design was wonderful, he faced the man again.
"I thank your family for this blade, the loyalty of clan Undryn will be remembered, and this blade will be passed down my bloodline for millenia." He smiled, and rose from his throne, parrying an invisible attack with the blade, to the laughter of the crowd and the farmer.
As Thirlin sat once again, the man left the ship, bowing a million times as he did so.

"Farth, find that man's name, and bring him to dine with me tomorrow, I sense we will have use of a man like him." he told the guard Farth, whom stood closest to the Throne, just as the next subject stepped forward, apparently seeking to solve a dispute of land.

Thirlin turned to look out the large window, looking into the horizon. Would the royals of Tamriel accept his claim? Or was he still just a minor noble, playing king?

 

[tdatapina]

Dion sat atop his tower once again admiring the night sky. The weather was perfect this time of year and it would be a crime to not rest and enjoy the weather for a small amount of time. He sat there for hours until his eyes grew heavy and could barely remain open. As he leaned against the stone wall he heard a sound from the distance. He looked up for just a moment but dismissed it, seeing nothing. CAW! This time his eyes snapped open. He looked around, still nothing. Then it happened a third time. This time from right behind him.

He put a hand on his dagger carefully, and with one quick movement turned to see a crow, black as night, perched on the side of the wall. His eyes drifted down towards the birds feet and he saw a small scroll attached to the left leg. He breathed in relief and went to release the note from the crow. The bird shook its feathers and stood there, watching as Dion read the note.

Honoured kings and queens of Tamriel.
It is in these testing times, that the new dominates the old, it ascends as the pyres, devouring the old in it's wake.
We are all, that pyre.
From the ashes of the war, a new kingdom has risen. By the fires of industry, and the devotion to it's savior, it has grown too strong to remain a vassal of others. It has been unchained, and truth has been revealed to it's devoted men and women.
And those men and women, have chosen their King.
Under the ever-watching eye of our Lord, Hermaeus Mora, the Prince of knowledge, I declare the island of Solstheim, from now on known as the Silvermoon Isle, an independent kingdom of it's own, and with the power declared upon me by this, I ask for your acknowledgement to my claim.

I shall patiently await your answers, and return to my duties of king, duties you are all aware of, kings and queens of Tamriel.

Signed, Thirlin of House Hledhlen.

"I've got to see Bassianus right away..." He tucked the note into his robe and headed for the seal in the center of the tower's roof. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on letting the magicka flow through him and when he opened them he was at the bottom floor.

=======================

"Your Majesty." Bassianus looked up from his books to see his king, standing at the door. He stood immediately and bowed. "Sit Bassianus. You know I require no formalities." The king reached into his robe and retrieved the scroll he had just received. "Read it." He said, placing the scrolls in Bassianus' hand.

Bassianus Calixto was his full name. He served as the armie's tactician master but also as one of the king's most trusted advisers and was also Archmage of the kingdom.

He finished reading the scroll and looked up to Dion. "Well? What do you make of it?" "'Tis nothing my lord. He simply wishes to announce his proclaiming of Solstheim, which I say isn't a big deal." "I don't know... I sense... a thirst for power. I don't trust him. And he works for Hermaeus Mora. Sounds more like a cult than a kingdom." "Speak to Roderic. He may have some input."

The king nodded, rose to his feet, and just as Bassianus was about to raise to his feet to bow, Dion gestured for him to sit. "It's fine, Bassianus." "My apologies..." Dion shook his head as he walked out the room. A man can only handle so much worship.

======================

"What do you think? "Sounds like a cult to me. Really it's nothing to worry about. They're too far away to do anything and they are much smaller than we are. We may not have much of an army, but consider how much land we have. If they want a war, they come to us, and that means we battle on our land, and who knows the land better than us?" Dion sighed and rubbed the side of his face. "Don't worry about it. Write him back, let him know we acknowledge his existence, nothing more." "Thank you Roderic."

Dion hurried back to his room where he wrote the letter quickly.


King Thirlin, your claim has been acknowledged.

Signed, King Dion Asiius of Alesarius

 

[Colonelscout312]

Windhelm, An Hour after Nomad's Departure.

Faroth still waited near Windhelm. He looked up to the sky as he heard the sound of a raven. One of its wings was hurt, and it carried something on its leg. He drew out his crossbow and shot the thing. It fell down onto the snow, dead. He looked about and ran out to grab the bird. He pulled a piece of parchment off of its leg and opened it up. It read:

'Honoured kings and queens of Tamriel.
It is in these testing times, that the new dominates the old, it ascends as the pyres, devouring the old in it's wake.
We are all, that pyre.
From the ashes of the war, a new kingdom has risen. By the fires of industry, and the devotion to it's savior, it has grown too strong to remain a vassal of others. It has been unchained, and truth has been revealed to it's devoted men and women.
And those men and women, have chosen their King.
Under the ever-watching eye of our Lord, Hermaeus Mora, the Prince of knowledge, I declare the island of Solstheim, from now on known as the Silvermoon Isle, an independent kingdom of it's own, and with the power declared upon me by this, I ask for your acknowledgement to my claim.

I shall patiently await your answers, and return to my duties of king, duties you are all aware of, kings and queens of Tamriel.

Signed, Thirlin of House Hledhlen.'

Faroth grinned as he read it. Perhaps he could get someone else to destroy Sondheim for them, then he could take it from they're military which would likely be stretched thin.
He ran back to where his horse was tied up and pulled himself onto it, galloping back to the capital of the rebels.

The Road to The Sea of Beasts, A Half an Hour Later.

Nomad walked down the hill to where his guard had set up camp, a pile of firewood in his arms. He dumped it on the ground and put three pieces onto the fire pit, and lit them. He walked to his tent, which had a piece of parchment in it, and a table. He sat down and dipped his pen into the ink, beginning to compose a letter to House Blackfrost. This is how it read:

"Dear House Blackfrost, my warmest of greetings. I am King Nomad War-Blade of Sondheim, the neighboring country. I am writing this letter to you now as a request for an alliance. I believe it would be beneficial to us both. We can trade resources, and assist each other in times of need. But also, we would be reuniting Skyrim, at least most of it, and bringing it to its former glory.
I will await your response patiently.

Sincerely,
King Nomad War-Blade, of Skyrim."
He folded the letter, and sent it away on the leg of an eagle. Eagles were one of the most respected birds in Sondheim, revered for they're wisdom. Even though everyone knew that was all just superstition, they still treated them with respect. Nomad watched as the bird flew away. He knew the letter wasn't the most elegant or well worded, but he hoped it would get the point across.

The Rebel Capital, Half an Hour Later.
Faroth rode up to the capital that had once been shor's stone. Now, it was a small hold, like falkreath was. Verane was sitting outside, smoking his pipe.
"Faroth, do you have any other news from windhelm?" He asked, blowing out a ring of smoke. Fatigue jumped down and handed him the note. Verane read it, and smiled.
"You are smart, Faroth." He said. He got up and went into his longhouse. He sat down and composed a letter to the House of Hledhlen.

"House of Hledhlen. We do not acknowledge your freedom from the countries of tamriel. Solstheim was once skyrim's, and now Sondheim will take it back for the Nord's. Prepare yourself for war. We declare war on Silvermoon Island.

King Nomad War-Blade of Sondheim."

And with that he sent the letter to Silvermoon Island on the foot of a crow.