[B]TIME SKIP ACTIVATE![/B]

[I]One Month Later, 7th Second Steed, Near Cradle Stone Tower, Skyrim…[/I]
[URL=http://img4.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20120124131942/elderscrolls/images/8/88/Skyrimmap.png]Detailed Skyrim Map[/URL]

The rain pounded heavily on the weary travellers as they entered the dilapidated tower not far from the Hammerfell border and nestled on the periphery of the Reach. The gloom seemed to have matched the mood, regardless, as the trials and hardships of Hammerfell seemed to have turned up few things of good fortune to offset the crushing sense of loss. It was becoming apparent that they were facing an enemy with not only vast resources, but a martial prowess that seemed unsurpassable. What was worse was that their association with the Insurgency became well known, and soon it became impossible to be seen publically safely. The sands of the West were no longer safe, which had driven the travellers Northwest, to the wilds of Skyrim, enjoying one of its merciful summers. They dared not travel West, for the dwemer had given pursuit in the forms of long-range patrols that had been avoided or ambushed with effort. Before disappearing back across the border, one of the insurgents who had made the journey with the travellers had warned them that Markarth was reclaimed as the dwemer capital of Skyrim, and that Governor Urthenak, the regional ruler of dwemer-controlled Skyrim, was a brutal and blood thirsty tyrant. Whereas Razlinc attempted to reconcile dwemer and Redguard interests, or at least made the effort to maintain the illusion of compromise, Urthenak was not such a man. Total war and dwemer supremacy were keystones of his rule, and the stories revolving around the cities he sacked were atrocious. Piles of the dead were often left outside city gates to rot before being torched to remove the stench. No record of the dead were kept; it was as if they never existed, as their property, families, and all signs of their existence was thoroughly erased in cleansing flame. Major Kerztar, who maintained his hunt of the Heroes of Tamriel and their companions, would doubtless be reporting to the Governor of Skyrim for intelligence and any potential leads.

Despite the ironclad assault on the Nord homeland, or perhaps in spite of it, many cities had withstood the dwemer so far, or were too small to be considered strategically important in sight of conquering more symbolic or powerful locations. Somehow, despite relentless assault, Solitude still stood, thanks in part to the ability to resupply from sea, the narrow land passage, and the fact that captured dwemer siege weapons were proving quite effective at repelling the expensive airships. Likewise, Windhelm withstood its own sieges with its thick, heavy walls, freezing climate and ferocious weather, and the ferocious defenders of Skyrim’s capital, who faced down the dwemer assaults with almost suicidal determination. To the Nords, this was a chance to prove themselves against their ancient enemy, and dying in battle was as glorious of a death as any Nord could hope to achieve; after all, Sovngarde awaits those who die bravely. Other cities were not so fortunate; Markarth fell within a day from perhaps the most concentrated assault ever launched since the dwemer re-emergence, and soon after the dwemer forces began their campaign to reclaim Skyrim, one hold at a time. Morthal and Whiterun were the next to fall, the only survivors from either of those cities having wisely fled while they had the chance. News from the other cities had been unreliable and conflicting; the passage of information was committed entirely by eye witness accounts or hearsay. More than one person was heard grumbling that it would have been nice if the dragons were still around, a sentiment that was doubtless well agreed upon by those who witnessed the dwemer wrath. 
Perhaps most unsettling were the unforeseen side effects of the dwemer reclaiming their old homes. Bands of falmer, driven out by their former slavers, had forced the blind and feral beasts into the vast Skyrim countryside to the horror of those caught in the open as their bands wander in search of their necessities. Stories of the Falmer emerging from the woods in the dead of night and the savagery that results has kept much of the countryside uneasy, and reports have begun to resemble ghost stories more than actual observances. It was as if the land itself was rising in turmoil and unrest due to the return of something long forgotten to history. 

As the group sought refuge from the storm and to plan their next step, the thoughts of what had led them here and those left behind filled their hearts and minds. After the escape from the mosque had been carried out, it had become clear the dwemer were too powerful to be met head-on. The initial victories in the streets had been largely because of the relatively low presence of dwemer forces, an attempt by Governor Razlinc to maintain a bloodless turnover of power with a complacent and contented population. Reinforcements had been called from other parts of the province and the main military encampments had brought in the heavy weaponry. Now the heroes were known, their descriptions and locations given to the dwemer command by Rashad, all that was left was to escape and find another solution. It was becoming clear that the dwemer would have be beaten unconventionally, which was no surprising revelation to the Heroes of Tamriel; after all, it had been an Elder Scroll that had turned the tide against the Empire and a hidden and waiting Nord army that had helped them storm Imperial City that had ended the auroras. The widely accepted solution was to find out how the dwemer managed to cross over to Tamriel and close the bridge, easier said than done. No one had a suggestion of where to start looking for the answer.

Before the resistance could be trapped permanently by the reinforcements, one final assault was hastily planned and launched against the palace in an attempt to kill Governor Razlinc and several high commanding officers. Casualties were staggering for the insurgents, although they had accomplished the assassination of several officers, although Razlinc was never reached. Some of the attackers had found the arena and the prison and freed many of the forced gladiators, including Wets-His-Blade, who had been the survivor of several battles, his martial ability having earned the respect and admiration of the other prisoners and those who heard of his deeds single handed attacking the Hegathe barracks and nearly assassinating Captain Doshin. For the Redguard of Hammerfell, for once the reputation of a common man was beginning to eclipse that of the Heroes of Tamriel. He was becoming an inspirational figure for those rising up against the oppression. He had managed to rejoin his friends sometime later during the journey East. Zaveed, although he had been in contact with Blade on occasion in the prison, had gone missing the night before the assault, as did several other prisoners, escaped through means that had no ready explanation. There was no sight of struggle, or breakout. It was as if they had disappeared, although the guards that had been posted that night had allegedly been traumatized by something. They could not muster the words to speak, and offered no explanation how a dozen highly guarded prisoners vanished. Zaveed’s name did not appear in any of the Insurgent groups leaving Hegathe, which was made more unsettling by the fact that a small number of Insurgent patrols had gone missing without a trace in recent weeks, having went to scout out points of interest only to disappear without a trace. The dwemer were blamed for this initially, but it didn’t match their usual high visibility operations and brutal show of force. It was a mystery that no one had answers for. It was agreed that Hammerfell’s defenders couldn’t win alone, so many were sent to seek help. Some went North to High Rock, others East to Hammerfell. Nadeen herself had caught up with the Heroes before they disappeared to the East, promising that when the time came, she would be there alongside them at the end, and at sunrise in two days’ time to look to the South at the crossroads before disappearing into the night. Before Nadeen left, she called Urzoth and her men from the ranks to reunite her with the group, having located the orc band not long after they had entered the city. To everyone’s surprise, exactly as predicted, Marassa, Hralvar, Cub, and the unfamiliar newcomer Valsiore had appeared with a group, which included the survivors from Captain Harding’s ship. Together, the group spent the next several weeks heading towards Skyrim’s borders, gaining and losing members to skirmishes over the long journey while avoiding the worst of the dwemer forces. More unsettling was the re-emergence of the mysterious forces that were causing patrols to vanish were becoming more bold. It seemed to be that entire villages had disappeared ahead of the travellers without a trace, save a few charred bodies. A darkness was looming, and suddenly the comfort of night gave way to a quiet terror. 

Before crossing the border, Harding announced her men, several of the insurgents, and her were going to break for Solitude in an attempt to secure a ship and travel to Wayrest to appeal for aid, taking Rena with her for protection and leaving the Heroes and their companions largely alone as they left Hammerfell behind and started into the late Spring of Skyrim. Now they had choices to make, and without Zaveed’s guidance. 

Marassa sat against a wall by the window, staring out into the countryside, her eyes ideal for cutting through the dim gloom of the day, sword laid across her lap. She had seldom spoken to her companions, even those from two years ago she had long dismissed as dead or retired from adventuring. A feeling of resentment crept throughout her that she kept hidden under an impassive mask; Sevari was gone, perhaps safely back to Elsweyr, and Zaveed was gone, her ever elusive brother she had missed by a mere night in Anvil and now several days outside of Hegathe. She did not pay much heed to the gods, but this certainly was an occasion she felt like scorning them and their cruel machinations. She was ever alone, the only two men she had ever let her hard shell down for were missing from her life. All these other people knew was Marassa the warrior, the weathered traveller, the cold. They were the closest people she had to friends, and yet she could not afford to think of them as such. Some were probably going to die, or betray the others. If you didn’t let them close, you couldn’t miss their loss or feel burned by their treasons. She’d learned that lesson the hard way on the road. 

The newcomers were nothing impressive. There was another khajiit, an inexperienced mage boy who lacked steel and conviction in his heart who seemed to feel as if the hardships he faced were unfair burdens of the world. Small, pampered, and an outsider. He was khajiit only in appearance, not in heart. Everything about him screamed that he had been pampered his entire life. 

A Nord woman who wasn’t unlike Urzoth, a hard and brutal killer who existed seemingly for no other reason than to prove her strength, except unlike the orc and her clan ties, this Thyra seemed fueled by the irritable Nord superiority complex that had filled Skyrim so thoroughly that it had manifested the Stormcloak rebellion. She probably didn’t realize that she was no different than the Thalmor altmer that she despised so much. 

Another Nord woman, this one curious because she seemed to have found companionship with Zaveed before he had vanished, and that she was seemingly a capable battlemage who cared more for musty old relics and ruins than people. She was tough, accustomed to isolation and the dangers of dwemer ruins. What Zaveed had seen in her didn’t really make much sense, but how much did she really know her brother? A bloodthirsty, impulsively violent if not charismatic corsair who swayed people with his words seemed like exactly the wrong person to find an appeal in a quiet and unassuming scholar. Zaveed used people and discarded them for his own personal glories, it was his way. Fame had gone to his head; she doubted he kept in touch with any of the other Heroes of Tamriel since their journey together, their usefulness at an end. At least she wasn’t Semedar, the equally emotionally devoid and murderous assassin that had targeted him for a fling before disappearing to presumably hunt down Praetorians to buy the group more time. Sometimes a rotting oyster has a pearl, it would seem.

The dunmer was simply insufferable, an elitist Ashlander who held himself superior to his compatriots and spoke in the baffling dialect and slurs of his people, somehow holding to the belief that being stupid enough to dwell in an inhospitable landscape of volcanic fallout was worthy of boasting about. He seemed to harbour a begrudging rivalry with the Breton man and his optimistic and diplomatic meanderings. She was indifferent to the two of them, and if it kept Zainat in line, she would be content.

A strong contender for person least likely to be in a hardened group of travellers was Eleyna, an alchemist with a pet fox who seemed rather innocent compared to some of the others, and uncomfortable about the predicament she was enduring. She seemed to be one of the more neutral, pragmatic voices in the crowd. This girl wasn’t grating like some of the others, and she didn’t seem to be the kind of person to harbour ulterior motives. It was strangely reassuring. Another man in the simply here to kill scores of people department was the battle wounded argonian that several of the insurgents had fawned over, his reputation of a warrior seeming to have won the respect of the martial people of Hammerfell. Indeed, from what Marassa had heard, he was an admirable fighter, spitting in the face of the odds and nearly getting himself killed doing the impossible. His resolve was unquestionable, but was he too reckless? Perhaps. It would be a shame to lose a capable fighter in the days to come if he let the show boating go to his head. 

Breaking into the conversation, Marassa decided to interject her own opinion. “We should move South, towards Falkreath. The forests will offer concealment and the open terrain advantage the dwemer and their machinations seem to depend on are severely reduced. Crossing the Reach to reach Solitude after crossing the heart of dwemer territory to a besieged capital with one way of access is paramount to suicide.” She said, he eyes resuming their vigil.