Although the sun was now on the horizon and its glorious morning rays washed over Tamriel, there was little light to be found beyond the walls of the Elder Council Chambers. Several newly lit braziers littered the columns that adorned the large circular room, their glowing coals and flickering embers producing an eerie glow that set the mood quite nicely. Elongated and twisted shadows danced along the cold stone walls as various members of the Council began to take their places. Thirty seats made of ancient wood and the finest red silk were placed around a giant round table made of stone. Only around a half of these seats were occupied though, with many chancellors either missing or simply busy elsewhere with the war efforts. Those who were familiar with the council would instantly notice that many of the chancellors sat in small groups, pulled together by similar beliefs or goals. 

Only one figure seemed to sit on his own – an elderly Imperial which everyone knew to be High Chancellor Marius. Even those who didn’t know him could guess by the exquisite crimson and golden-threaded robes that he was a man of power and importance. The badly aging man sat slumped with his elbow resting on the arm of the chair and his hand propping up his tired head. His skin was like dark leather, both in colour and texture, which small scars and blemishes adorning his entire body. Dark grey hair covered the sides, back and face, but left a large empty area on top. Both his head hair and his beard were kept well-groomed and had a slight shine from where they had been oiled. [b]“Please could everyone take their seats and quiet down. I think that we have waited long enough. Those who have yet to make it here will just have to catch up.”[/b] the voice that filled the room was not quite a shout, but it was loud enough to capture the attention of all present and it carried with it an air of authority. [b]“We all have important responsibilities that we need to attend to, so let’s not drag out this meeting longer than necessary. We’ll start with an update on the war efforts from General Mordecai before discussing strategy and logistics. We’ll then move on to recruitment strategy. Then financial matters. Then we’ll move onto reports of Daedra cult activity. And we’ll finish by discussing any other business that members wish to bring up. Is everyone in agreement?”[/b] a chorus of mumbles and murmurs along with the gentle nodding of heads was enough to convince the High Chancellor that no one had any issues. [b]“In that case, if you could give us your report General?”[/b] 

All eyes in the room then turned to General Mordecai, a Dunmer male is his early forties. The general was large set for a Dunmer, a trait which was exacerbated by his heavy steel imperial armour. The impressive set was equipped with a regal red cloak and a red plumed helmet, both of which matched the fiery eyes of the general perfectly. The pale lips that were framed by a pitch black goatee parted slightly as the general cleared his throat and prepared his gravelly voice for the report. [b]“Thank you High Chancellor. Not much has changed since yesterday’s report. Leyawiin remains under siege but the latest scout reports that it was still standing late last night. Unfortunately Bravil appears to have been bolstered by another small army, making getting reinforcements down south even harder. Still-”[/b] 

[b]“Do the armies stationed at Bravil pose an immediate threat? Should we be moving our battle-lines?”[/b] a Breton chancellor cut in, fear evident in his voice. 

[b]“The forces stationed there are not large enough to pose any immediate threat to any strategic points. Our forces stationed at Fort Variela would be enough to stop them should they move North, and any attempt for them to go West would lead them into the second Legion fighting along the border; either way it would end in them being defeated and the city becoming vulnerable. The Dominion knows this.”[/b]

[b]“Then why don’t we retake the city?!”[/b] barked a Nord, one of Skyrim’s Jarls. 

[b]“Because fighting a force deeply imbedded in a well-fortified position is a lot harder than it would be fighting them in the open on your own turf. Once we build up a big enough force or see the right opportunity I guarantee you that we will take back Bravil. But for now we must exercise caution.”[/b] The general sighed at having to explain this, for it seemed like he was having to do so on a daily basis. Rather than dwell on the point he moved onto other situations. [b]“Fighting along the West Wield continues as usual. It’s actually been a bit calmer. Neither sides have made any significant moves in weeks, the battle lines remain constant, and bloodshed has remained to a minimum. We expect however that this won’t last – once the dominion forces receive rest and reinforcement they’ll no doubt try to push us back or break through. I recommend we bolster these lines whilst we have the chance.”[/b] 

[b]“Why don’t we ask the Redguards to divert their armies there to reinforce? What’s the situation like in the West?”[/b] The High Chancellor asked with a lazy wave of his hand. 

[b]“The Dominion is dug deep in Kvatch. Reinforcements keep pouring across the Strid river and it seems the Dominion is trying to push towards Anvil. Countless sightings of Bosmer units persist all over the County Kvatch and The Imperial Reserve. These Bosmer units, although small in size, are numerous and are causing massive trouble for local militias and supply lines. The Redguards need to focus on protecting Anvil and the Sea, and ridding the countryside of the Bosmer infestation. Ideally once reinforcements arrive from High Rock we’ll use our western forces to retake the Strid and cut off reinforcements.”[/b] 

[i]*Clap clap clap*[/i] 

All eyes in the room turned to the source of the slow and deliberately interruptive clapping. A Nord sat beside a few other men made the gesture with an arrogant fake smile on his face. A few in the room, including the General, sighed at this, knowing it was trouble. The Nord in question was Jarl Assur, the Jarl of Winterhold in Skyrim and an outspoken hater of all Mer. His very position as Jarl was somewhat controversial, as his father Jarl Korir had previously been removed after siding with the Stormcloaks during the rebellion. It was through almost blatant political assassination that Assur was able to reclaim his father’s title later in life. Hostilities towards the Mage’s College of Winterhold, refusal to raise troops, and regular participation in political intrigue only served to mire his reputation further. Thus, when the slimy looking raven-haired Nord spoke it was almost guaranteed to cause offence. [b]“Very nice speech [i]’General’[/i], but I’m sure I’m not the only one who’s less than impressed with this façade.”[/b] The Nord stood then to gain further attention (not that there was a single soul not watching already), [b]“I still cannot fathom why it is we trust a dirty elf to give us information and advise us about war! It’s his fucking kind that we’re fighting! It’s their kind that razed the Imperial City all those years ago!”[/b] 

Whilst few were so brave as too cheer out-loud, there were certainly those in the room who on some level agreed with the Nord. Many others however moaned and booed in outrage, including Chancellor Iluvian – the representative of the Synod. The golden skinned, golden eyed, golden haired Altmer jumped to his feet and sent a fist covered in flame crashing down on the table. [b]“How dare you! You who’s on father was a traitor to the Empire! You dare to accuse any non-man of being a traitor simply because of your own bigoted beliefs? When the Dominion took over the Imperial City decades ago it was not just the families of men that were slaughtered! Innocent Mer were also tortured and mutilated by the savage Thalmor! You weren’t even alive back then! You didn’t lose anyone! I still remember finding my home in ruin, my family dead! You might find it easy to refer to old memories, but for some of us the wounds still run deep!”[/b] 

[b]“Fuck you. You elfs are all as bad as each other, especially dirty mages like you. We should burn all of you.”[/b] The Nord’s reply was cold and bitter, and it might they might have caused a bloody battle then and there were it not for the intervention of the High Chancellor. 

[b]“That’s enough!”[/b] The High Chancellors voice boomed so loud that it could be felt, like a small tap to the chest. It was almost like a Thuum, but the Nords in the room would know otherwise. [b]“Jarl Assur, your remarks are boring, offensive, unneeded and utterly unuseful. You will hold your tongue. What we need now are practical suggestions and constructive debate, not childish bickering.”[/b] 

[b]“No. What we need is an Emperor!”[/b] 

Yet another interruption.

[b]“…We need someone to fight for! There is no Empire without an Emperor. This interregnum has gone on for almost two decades, and it is time it came to an end!”[/b] The charismatic voice this time emanated from a middle-aged Imperial named Chancellor Sulla, a man even more renowned for political scheming. The well shaven, dark haired man had an air of sophistication and regalness about him, and it seemed many were happy to hear him speak. [b]“As over half the members of the council are present, we meet the quorum, and so I would like to put forward the following motion to be voted on immediately: That in twenty-one days time we vote in a new Emperor!”[/b] 

Audible cheers were raised in the small room, but a few were visibly mortified. Suddenly it became clear that many members mysteriously absent were likely held back from the meeting or killed in order for this vote to be passed. Nearly every absent member would vote against the move, but twas not the case. The High Chancellor felt his mouth go dry and he was uncharacteristically lost for words. 

[b] “Foolish boy! We have refrained from electing a new Emperor because it is guaranteed to end with in-fighting and bloodshed! If you covert the throne so much, at least wait until the war is over before you plunge us into chaos!”[/b] roared Queen Lucia of Wayrest as she sent a goblet of red-wine flying in the trouble makers direction. 

[b]“I agree with Queen Lucia. If we had a legitimate candidate, an obvious choice (someone like the Dragonborn), then I would welcome a new Emperor. But this I just about the petty aspirations of a few greedy politicians and is a waste of time. If my nephew High King Frothar was here he would agree.”[/b] the thick Nord accent belonged to Jarl Hrongar of Whiterun. 

Bickering and arguing continued for some time, but eventually the room settled and the vote was cast. In only three weeks’ time the Empire would have a new Emperor. 

[centre][hider]
I know that I dropped a lot of names and information in this post. So here is a TL;DR. 

Many members of the Council are absent, some for legitimate reasons, but many for unknown reasons. It becomes clear later in the meeting that some have been kept from the meeting in order to successfully vote for an election of a new emperor. There’s some obvious scheming, some racism, and there’s gonna be some in-fighting. 

Here’s a [i][u]rough[/u][/i] visual interpretation of General Modecai’s report. This does not represent a complete picture of the war, nor is it even necessarily accurate. 
[img]http://i1099.photobucket.com/albums/g385/fatboykyle/report%201_zpsza6gphfm.png[/img]
[/hider][/centre] 

[hr]
Sparks of lightening flashed against the cold black sky, but there were no clouds in sight. And thunder was replaced with the shouts and screams of soldiers, fighting desperately for their lives. Thin lines of imperial soldiers adorned the battered but vigilant walls of Leyawin, all doing their best to find cover and occasionally return fire on the invading force. Furious elemental bolts and precise arrows often found a mark, even if it was not the intended one. [b]“We can’t hold out against these mages for too long Legate! What should we do?”[/b] 

Thalmor mages had been brought in and now, in the middle of the night were launching a barrage of magical attacks against the city. Flashes of all colours could be seen hurdling towards the ancient stone walls, sending exploding fragments of flint, blood and bone flying through the air. Dominion soldiers sat crouched in the tree-lines behind the mages, waiting for an opening in the wall or any other opportune moment to strike. They had no more siege engines at the ready, having lost them all the night before, but they had managed to make a few ladders.

Legate Fasendil stood atop the Great Chapel of Zenithar with his second-in-command, watching the carnage unfold bellow. His amber eyes showed no hint of fear and a slight smile grew on his lips. [b]“We don’t need to hold out for much longer. Their mages are powerful but their magic has limits; they can’t keep up with this for too long. Not that they need to. Tell Niryaire and Earoov to do what we discussed.”[/b] With that his petite altmer subordinate Charm disappeared into the chapel tower with haste. The legate ran his rough callused hands through is blonde oiled back hair as he looked on towards the Thalmor mages. Flashes of green light brought back painful memories of the Night of Green Fire, of the slaughter he witnessed in Hammerfell almost two centuries earlier. He wondered if any of the mages that stood against him now had been there. He hoped they were. 

His attention was eventually torn away from the enemy line by movement in his own ranks. On the walls ahead of him he watched with scrutiny as his men quickly evacuated a section of the wall, leaving only two Altmer battle-mages standing on the stretch. Then, just as planned, the duo seemed to blow themselves and the section of the wall into oblivion. The explosion was tremendous and it generated a cloud of dust that took minutes to settle. When it did, it exposed to their enemy the gaping hole in their otherwise strong defences. It was the window that the Dominion was waiting for. Without hesitation the golden armoured enemy charged forward with bloodlust, quickly funnelling towards the exposure. 

[b]“Just as expected.”[/b] The legate mused to himself. 

It was just as the indomitable hoard came within the ideal range of the Imperial troops above the walls that they sprung the deadly trap. Dozens of explosions came at once as the invading troops found themselves entering the freshly laid mine-field of destruction wards. Whether due to ignorance of the situation, unflinching discipline, or just plain bloodlust, the Dominion forces pressed on. Explosions of fire, ice and lightening tore apart their ranks, reducing many bodies to nothing more than gory messes and trip hazards. The Dominion soldiers even began to slip and trip on their fallen comrades, leaving them exposed to the unrelenting brunt of the imperial mages and ranged attackers, and even causing them to be trampled to death by their own comrades. Within minutes the bloodshed saw the Dominion loose more soldiers than the entire sum on the imperial defenders. But their numbers were massive, and despite their loses they pushed through past the mine-field and to the wall. In fact the Dominion might have found themselves at a turning point in the battle… had they not been deceived. Just as the first of the Altmer soldiers went to rush through the gap, they found themselves halted by a hard invisible barrier. Dozens of Altmer crashed into this barrier, breaking bones as they collided or were crushed by those behind them. It was around this moment that the curtain dropped and the wall magically reappeared, in as good condition as it had been before. For you see, the two battle-mages Niryaire and Earoov were not suicidal experts of destruction – they were respected experts of illusion. The gap that the Dominion had lost more than half its troops to abuse did not exist. And it was this fact that shattered the invaders morale and send them retreating back. 

[b]“Fire everything you’ve got! Kill as many as the bastards as you can!”[/b] the legate roared from atop his tower as his men rained death upon the fleeing force, [b]“Kill them all!”[/b]