And so it was fortold, in the Elder Scrolls, a time of madness would attempt to cover the world in darkness. War, plague, famine, chaos; the never ending cycle's of life eternal spread across the lands of Tamriel. But, in this time of legends hero's have a certain knack for arising to the call.-The Elder Scrolls.
The Fifth Era
The Fifth Era arose from the chaos of Fourth Era and the return of Dragons in that age. Legends of a Last Dragonborn came true and hero's arose and fell in the heat of battle. Alas, respite was short lived, for Tamriel has increasingly suffered under the toils of war, famine, and plague. The Tamrielic Empire is but a shadow of its former selves, the Imperial Legion a pale visage of its former glory. The current Emperor, Tiberius III, can only exert power in Cyrodiil, Western Morrowind across from Vvardenfell, and nominally over the Jarls of Skyrim under High Queen Sylmara.
The Empire however was not brought low just by war, but by internal rot and corruption. The Imperial Administration plagued by inept officials and heavy handed tactics have left the Empire a sick, rotting, ghastly corpse of its past might. Continuously locked in a game of political and military chess with the Aldmeri Dominion, however by this Age the two nations remain in an uneasy peace. With the Thalmor exhausted, but still carrying out their duty of rooting out Talos worshippers wherever they maybe found. However, even the Aldmeri Dominion is not as strong as it used to be, weakened by off and on wars with the Empire and other nations it sees fit to remain passive in these times.
Else ware Kingdoms have rose and fallen with the passage of the years, in the far North-West the Kingdom of Daggerfall under High King Emeric IV of the Bretons has arisen and is exerting its muscles, challenging High King Sylmara and the Skyrim Jarls to holding the Reach. While directly North-West the Kingdom of Hammerfell led by ex-Imperial official Marcus Julianus has become a reality with Marcus supporting a popular government of continuing the cooperation between Crowns and Forebears based out of Sentinel.
To the East the Black Marshes have been lost to the Empire since the Oblivion Crisis and the Argonians have been restored as the sovereign rulers in that region, much like in Elseweyr the Khajiit Kingdoms of Anequina and Pellitine have ceded from the Aldmeri Dominion to become sovereign once more.
Directly North of the Black Marshes Morrowind, with the giant island of Vvardenfell recovering from the devastation wrought by the eruption of Red Mountain. The Dunmer gradually returning to their ancestral lands and picking up the pieces, however they hold the Nords grateful for allowing them safe refuge on Solstheim during the Mountains eruption centuries earlier. Yet, the Dunmer's worries can easily been turned to their declining population, with many thinking like the Dwemer they will pass into the annals of history eventually.
The Blood Pact
Countryside of Cyrodiil
A young man could be seen resting up against a tree, occasionally looking up towards the starry sky and the wonders of the Heavens. All of their mystery, that even the greatest of mages seem to be unable to understand or faintly grasp. The secrets of Mundus and the world of Nirn, these bright orbs in the skies above Tamriel seem such a far away and yet so close you felt as if you might reach up, and grasp these gems in your grasp.
The twin moons rested in the night's sky, as if they eternally shadowed Nirn much like companions, a group of siblings one could metaphorically say. The young man, with his dirty brown hair and equally dirty, worn, and weathered face could only sign at these wonders. Yet, he was not alone.
carrying on the wind one might discern whispering, shadows, creeping and slithering in the night towards the man. Unnoticeable but entirely present, as if something that should not walk the mortal planes was indeed about. A form coalesced behind the young man, that of a young woman wearing all black, with a black hood that could seem to keep the utter darkness of the void huddled inside. With hair so black that light seemed to bend towards it, shades of faint blue much like the night sky present. Her eyes like gleaming crystals of blue, yet wrapped in unnatural energy, an eldritch aura was about her. She looked present and normal from afar, up close one would easily discern that the mortal realm was not her home and see was indeed, fundamentally out of place. She moved her left arm forward, the perfectly porcelain skin soft like smoothed ivory, immaculate finger nails like pearls softly grasped the young mans shoulder.
Province of Skyrim
Eastmarch Hold, in between Pagran Village and Dragon Wood
The rough, cobblestoned road wound through the landscape like a serpent goes through grass. Its thin, yet proportionate body threading along, occasionally a path may branch off or the road forks to some small hamlet or farm community. Yet in this stretch both sides were edged in forest, on the right side rising up along a mountainsides soft incline, jagged rocks protruding forth like the teeth of a slaughterfish. To the left a gentle slope descended into a valley dotted with lakes, hot springs and ruins from ages long past. The occasional howl of a wolf or the galloping stride of a deer adding to the tranquil wilderness. Just off the trail in a small blotch of level Earth a soft glow could be seen, the yellow and orange flames casting out the shadows of night like the Sun in the void.
Three horses were hitched to a nearby tree and a single tent that could fit three people was off to the rear of the little encampment. Three figures huddled near the fire, one sat on a log, a mountain of a man with a mane the color of fire. As if he sought to match the intensity of the flames with a fire equal to it hanging from his face. He munched on a spitted rabbit, the meat cooked well done and melting off the bone, his beaten tankard next to him quarter full of cheap ale.
Directly across from him, and in terms of build his exact opposite sat a young woman with a pretty face like those bards sing about in reference to maidens of legend. Her golden blonde hair hung to the middle of her back with her banks tied to the sides in braids like some Valkyrie of the gods. On closer examination one would see that her face was not one you might expect from a woman, her ears were gently pointed in a smooth fashion, not long but indeed pointed, her eyes of soft purple and green flowing together along the circles of the iris. Her pale, yet unblemished fair skin shown on her face, neck, hands and feet. Next to her sat an intricate golden cuirass of undoubtedly Mer construction. Her elegant bow and quiver rested up against her side as she stared into the flames. Her boots were off and set side by side next to her cuirass.
Perpendicular to them both and facing the road sat another young man, with hair the shade of a ravens wings and eyes of grey ice. His sking was like a mixture of ivory and ebony, not tan, but not perfectly pale either. As if he'd grown up in a warm and cold climate throughout is young life. His belt had been loosed to relax and a sword, sheathed in black rested on the ground. His grey armor was set up in the tent on what would could rightfully assume to be his blankets and pillow.
He idly ate from a wooden bowl of rough make, probably made it himself most likely, his wooden spoon showing the contents of beans mixed in with what looked like squirrel and carrots.
"Sure you don't want another bowl Else's," said the man with the black hair. He turned his head to face her and she looked up at him and replied in a kind voice, "No thanks Val, I'm full, if I eat any more I'll be bigger than Ragnar over there."
Both laughed and Ragnar looked at her with squinted eyes, he was not fat, far from it. His bulk came from the corded muscle one would acquire from a hard working life and the stock of the men from the North. He chuckled sarcastically to himself and continued munching on the rabbit being slowly reduced to bone and any morsel he couldn't gnaw off. The group was an odd trio to say the least; an Imperial, a Nord, and an Altmer all bundled into one party. One didn't see that to often these days and Ragnar still regarded the Mer maiden with some discretion in terms of trust.
The Imperial City
Imperial Palace
2 Days prior
A man wearing ornate robes and a gold badge of the Imperial symbol stood over a table with a motley assortment of other men and a few women. His brow was furrowed and stress could be seen on his tan face, his black hair had been cropped short just above the ears with sloped side-burns and no bangs. His dark opal colored eyes looked at map which spread the entire length and width of the table. It was a map of Tamriel, with numerous colored flags and various parcels of messages spread out on top of it.
"Another Orc raid on Stirk, the Imperial Navy fought them off without a problem. Sunk two of their ships." said a balding man in the livery of the Imperial Navy. Admiral Remilius, commander of the Imperial Navy, or what remained of it after so many years of budget cuts, war and fluctuating manpower. Remilius was a respectable man who cared for his soldiers and ships, making sure every Septim given to him was well spent, as he often didn't know what a new fiscal quarter could bring to his branch of the Empire.
"My Lord, the Fourth Legion in Solitude reports that Reachmen have begun probing raids as far North as Snow hark and the Patrols around Karthwasten have to be increasingly reinforced. The Jarl of Markarth has refused to send any more men other then to defend the town of Karthwasten itself and the bridges to Markarth." remarked a man in golden armor of the Imperial Legion and a wreath around his head. He was General Cornelius, embodiment of the Imperial Legion high command in the flesh. Cornelius, like Remilius was a soldiers favorite, having fought in battles alongside the lowest Legionnaire and won his laurels by virtue of this fact. But, he was now confined to pretty much a desk job, directing orders and translating the Emperor's and Elder Councils will into directives for other Legion officers to follow.
"Last time I checked the Fourth has just over 5,000 soldiers on its rolls." spoke the man people would recognize to be Tiberius III in the royal regalia, Emperor, and son of Emperors.
"Yes we do Emperor Tiberius, but General Martian can not hold all of Skyrim with the Reachmen increasingly active all along the Western third of that country. I recommend moving the Seventh Legion from Bruma up to reinforce the Fourth. The Seventh has 2,700 strong and would be more than enough to hold the Province." remarked Cornelius.
"What of the Village communities at the border? We have a truce with them but they could pose a decisive problem to our timetables, Especially since they refuse once more to pay all the proper taxes." Interjected Tiberius.
"The Seventh can deal with them along the way." assured Cornelius.
"Do it, we can hit two birds with one stone." smiled Tiberius.
Within the hour the marching orders had been drawn up by Cornelius personally and by carrier pidgeon was dispatched to Bruma, a city in the North of Cyrodiil and housing the Seventh Legion of Legate Seranus Lucanos.
Bruma
It was the dead of night in the Legion barracks in the Eastern Quarter of the city when the drum rolls sounded for assembly. Praefects bellowed orders and Quaestors ordered men into lines, the Auxilia force attached to the Legion, numbering 600 of its total fighting force also mustered in their own, separate ranks. The Legate of the Seventh, next to the Legionary standard showing the banner of the Legion portrayed proudly stood in the front of the amassing ranks, facing them, arms folded as he held his own private time piece. It was an expensive piece from master clockwork smiths in the Imperial City. He was measuring the time it took for his Legion to fully assemble, his expression blank as the seconds ticked by.
Legate Seranus Lucanos, from Kvatch, was a disciplined man and a good officer. He ran his fighting men and women hard and demanded much from them, but he rewarded those who worked hard as well. Giving exceptional personnel extra leave or extra food rations at meal times. As such he the respect or at the very least grudging respect of his men.
When fully assembled and dully satisfied as he cracked a smile and put his time piece away in his belt he pulled out a scroll. Unrolling it he began to bellow in an authoritative voice, "Legionnaires of the Seventh, by order of General Cornelius and Emperor Tiberius, we are to march North into Southern Skyrim in the assistance to General Martian and the aide of the Fourth Legion stationed in Solitude. First we will restore Imperial authority along the border villages in accordance with our second order as just said. We march at dawn! Dismissed!"