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4E, 2043. Titus II is dead. Havfyg has taken his place. Under his banner, The Imperial Empire is nearly fully restored. The Aldmeri Dominion have all but been pushed to their home, the Summer Isles. Emperor Havfyg I readys his armies to wage war, to commit genocide upon the entire Altmeri race. But first, you have to collect a book. For The Empire.

Unwilling. Uncooperative. Persuaded. You all have been given a task by The Emperor, in exchange for your freedom. If you fail this task, the ring around your finger will kill you. Slowly. But it will not be the final death. It has never been the final death.


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A three act roleplay, focusing on the metaphysics and multidimensional eldritch horror aspects of Elder Scrolls. There will be moments of calm and when the storm hits, there will be bloodbaths Mehrunes Dagon would be proud of. Politics will be involved, at a few points of interest. You will be able to influence them. The roleplay is a kitchen sink of ideas that I've always wanted to explore in Elder Scrolls, but never had the opportunity to.

Characters can be fairly badass. Don't worry, there's always a bigger fish.

Quick wit will be rewarded. Violence will be necessary. Harm will happen to you and those you interact with. You have been warned.

But hey, have fun! 

[h2]Character Concerns:[/h2]
[indent][list]
[*]As far as your abilities, you are likely fairly talented in at least one area. Whether a warrior, a professional thief, or a educated mage, you aren't imprisoned because you weren't important or skilled, even if that skill is a thorn in the Empires side.
[*]You did something that warranted permanent imprisonment, rather than instant execution. It was against Imperial interests, or simply against the law.
[*]Yes, you can be a vampire or werewolf. No more than one of each. If you were imprisoned, it's likely that you're starving as a vampire. Don't worry, future vampire and werewolf characters are possible (I will allow characters to contract the disease), but for the purposes of the roleplay, it's not likely many would be imprisoned.
[*]Imperials have mostly accepted Havfyg as their defacto ruler, given his claims of being the reincarnation of Talos, however, his fourty year war of genocide has lead to higher taxes to fund the war effort, along with a few mandatory drafting periods when the war got desperate. Many Imperial are not happy about this.
The Nords are doing much better. Havfyg has actually avoided taxing them at all, and they're some of his most staunch followers.
[*]The Breton, along with the Redguards, were conquered early into Havfygs reign and have been drafted far more than Imperials or Nords. This is due to their natural tendencies towards spellblades and martial prowess, respectively. The Breton have mostly taken this well as many have also been given free education at the Arcane University with only a year of military service required on their part. The Redguard are less pleased.
[*]Altmeri are slaughtered on sight, typically. However, you won't be. Feel free to have your character be as snarky about this as possible.
[*]Elves aren't treated very well by The Empire. However, most Imperial citizens feel rather bad for Dunmer and Bosmeri, given their recent history of just sort of existing and being treated like second hand citizens.
[*]Orcs. One the one hand, they have been given far more respect in Havfygs Empire than they ever had previously, to the point that some of them have ceased to worship Malacath. On the other hand, their population has dwindled over the years due constantly being drafted and sent into the most dangerous battles the Yellow War has ever seen.
[*]For Argonians, the remaining Hist Trees of the world reside in Cyrodil, and are kept by the Emperor as a threat to Argonians, should they think of abandoning his rule. You are understandably not happy about this.
[*]As a Khajiit, your people have been rebelling ever since The Emperor began a moon sugar tax twenty years ago, then a full on moon sugar ban nine years ago that was temporarily lifted mere days before a moon sugar purge occurred. Every legal farm was destroyed and those that remain sell Skooma at a very, very high price. The Empire pays well for informants.
[*]It is possible to have been trained by The Imperial College in Thu'um. You will only know a few words, because it takes years of training if you aren't the Dovahkhin. Don't worry, like any other character, I will allow you to learn more of these skills as the plot progresses.
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[h2]Character sheet:[/h2]

[hider=CS]
Name:

Birthsign:

Race:

Appearance: 

Background:

Typical Equipment: 

Why you were left to rot in the Imperial Prison (this will be changed later, when players who join in later get involved):

Skillset: A summary of your actual abilities. Are you an accomplished mage, able to rend flesh with fire by a mere thought and gesture? A warrior, trained by the sword and lives he has taken? A thief, making their living off stealth and cunning? A mix of these is fine, though as is often the case, we cannot be good at everything.

[/hider]

[Hider=Some Extra Story Fluff] 
[Hider=A Letter from This One]This one writes a letter. It will listen, for the letter that this one writes is of much importance. Many have been sent and many more will.

This one once owned a providential businesss. This one was successful. This one sold skooma up the golden roads Cyrodil, to the frost heart of skyrim, to even the Redguards who are not really red beyond. This one spent its coin in luxury, its nights in comfort. This one was happy.

As the many know, as we know, lasted this did not. When came the sun on 4e, 2032, this one awoke to flames. This ones farm, centuries of profit, burnt to cinders. This one fled. We all fled. 

This one was harried by dogs. This ones children were brought to the ground and butchered. This one cried, but no one cared, least of all the Emperor. This one wondered if there were ones, ones who would fight this evil. The evil of many.

This one found its brothers. This one thinks you can too. Ask for that for which the cat calls. The cat calls for gold.

- Sincerely, Those Who Resist.[/hider]
[hider=A Moment in the Streets of the Imperial City]
Graytus thought this was a nice city, once. Before the riots. Before shops were set aflame, before the The Followers of Talos or the Peoples Blades fought eachother in the streets.

He was passing through the Talos Plaza District. This was especially dangerous, for it was the Emperors Day of Rebirth. When Talos was reborn. A statue stood of the Emperor standing proud before a cowering Dragon, holding a sword that glowed a brilliant golden light.  Gratyus had attempted to steal this sword, once. He awoke days later, in an cell. Paralyzed, they told him. He thought that was it, that it had simply been paralysis. But he had been awake. He had been conscious the entire. Time.

He was somewhere else. It was all black, but he kept hearing words. And now, awake, he couldn't speak against The Emperor. Whenever he tried, he gagged.

"Havfyg is a...havfyg..." he muttered. He coughed. Before the statue, was a circle of worshipers. Those that believed that Talos had come again. That Talos would guide the Empire towards a return to glory. A large man, Imperial, stood with a mighty tome he held in one hand. His voice was that of a orator. "Talos has been reborn! The time of Mer dominion has come to an end! Repent, or find yourself crushed under The Mighty Emperors heel!" 

Well that's unfortunate, thought Gratyus. A fanatic. It wouldn't be long before The Peoples Blades came.

Gratyus looked around. He saw faces looking on in disgust. They began to form a larger crowd, around the smaller one worshiping at the statue. From the other side, more worshipers came. Then it came to shouting. He couldn't make out every single individual shout. But he got the gist of it from the many Peoples Blades, who were identifiable by red armbands, joining the crowd, handing weapons to those that stood with them. Many of them were simple kitchen tools.

"The Emperor betrayed!" "Murderers!" "Bloodline!" "Tyrant!"

Gratyus's head swam. Faint outlines merged with what was really happening. It was as if the shadows of the rioters were moving on their own. Fighting. But, in reality, no one was fighting. At least not yet.

Then, a flaming object Gratyus didn't have time to identify was thrown. It hit the orators skull. He crumpled to the ground, clutching his bleeding head. His followers took a moment to grab him, take him from the crowd. They made a point of not retreating, however, and as they formed lines, to face those who had assaulted them, they pulled out weapons from their robes. Real weapons, like maces and swords.

The melee began. Gratyus tried to move, tried to get away, but then someone grabbed him by the arm. A voice rasped, "This one wonders, who do you follow, Imperial?" 

Gratyus turned to the face of a Khajiit. He had a slight dent in his skull, from a blunt wound that healed poorly. A red band crossed over where the dent would be, creating the impression of a larger hollow. He gulped, "Peoples blades." 

The Khajiit handed him a metal cudgel, then said, "Then fight, brother."

Shoved into the melee, Gratyus did what came naturally. Which was swinging for dear life. A nord approached him, wielding a greataxe. He barely managed to avoid a swing that instead chopped into a Argonian woman, down her shoulder. In the moments it took the Nord to pull back the blade, in the moments between the beginning of a scream and its end, he brought the cudgel down in a two headed swing to the side of his head. He fell to the ground, stunned. Realizing what he had done, Gratyus ran. He hoped the man lived.

Over the sound of yelling, of weapons contacting weapons, the louder sound of full plate marching in unison began to approach from the outer districts. The Guards were coming. Red lights began to emerge, from both sides, as mage began to cast magic. There was so much, it almost became a ambient wave. 

It didn't harm Gratyus, or anyone in the fight. Not precisely. But he started to feel...hatred? Yes. Hatred. For everything. Everyone around him. He started to swing, more violently than he ever had before. And he couldn't stop. Mustn't stop. He was furious. His vision was red, whether from the blood flying from the men and women around him, or just his eyes swelling with it, he couldn't tell.

The Guards broke into the swarm of frenzied combatants like a boulder slamming into a wood house. People fell to the floor and were trampled. Some of the rioters were killed, but most to the credit of the City were not. Merely bludgeoned to the point of death. One guard, particularly bulky and through the faceplate appearing to be an Orc, gripped Gratyus by his shirt, lifting him a few feet off the ground.

The Orc spat, "Stop right there! Right there..." He seemed to have forgotten what he was going to say. "Well, stop right there, criminal! Or I'll beat your face in! Like this!" He smacked Gratyus in the head with a gauntleted hand.

---

When he awoke, he found himself not in a cell, but in...what? A lords solare? Through blurry vision, he could see there were banners, of the Empire no doubt, but also rich animal pelts serving as carpet. He was seated in a cushioned iron chair, but when he lifted his right hand, he realized it was chained, a mere foot from the chair. 

An hour passed. He found he had wine, bread, and meat before him on a long square table. On the other end seem to be placed a similar meal for another. He waited some more.

Then, The Emperor came. 

In heavy, slurred Nordic, Emperor Havfyg said, "So, you see visions of the future. I knew someone would...well, no matter. All that matters now is you're of use to me."

How could Gratyus disagree?[/hider]
[/hider]