[img]https://i.imgur.com/tjJfIVy.jpg[/img]

Dawn. A new day arose over the City of a Thousand Cults, home to well over a million souls and a god for every corner. It was where people came to make or lose their fortunes, to witness the beating heart of Tamriel and for many to become all that closer to the empire that binds it all together. Thousands come and go through the many gates of the city every day, so many that they have not shut in decades, not since the conclusion of the Simulacrum and when the Arena saw peace. Among those many who were waking to this new day and looking towards their own future was a man who also came from nothing, with only this ancient city's promises to act upon. The name Eldamil once could have been just a passing mention back home in the Summerset Isles. Perhaps he could have been a notable mage? Maybe a magistrate? He might have even found a trade and founded an empire of his own, but none of those things were enough for a boy with ideals. The Thalmor had been an ever evolving issue back home, lurking in the shadows and espousing their doctrine of Elven supremacy, and somehow the Empire seemed unconcerned.

For him though, it showed that there was something wrong with Tamriel, with this mundus. The Arena saw untold bloodshed spilling all across the provinces with grudges ancient and new forming the basis for wars, and the mortal realm shaking with the footsteps of Walkbrass. He had been there in Wayrest when the dragon broke, his mind fracturing as he had suddenly shifted from one life to another and another and another within those two days. Mortals had once more meddled with forces beyond their control and caused unending suffering to the entire realm, though they celebrated it in the aftermath with the so-called Miracle of Peace. He knew the truth though, and as he struggled to come to terms with it, that was when he first found that way of change he had been yearning for. A way to truly bring peace to the Mundus, to unite the realm in perpetual paradise and break the shackles that had so long bound them.

An end to mortality, to suffering, to disease, to petty conflicts and all other troubles of this imperfect realm. All that was needed was to usher in that new dawn, a hearkening towards the era when all was mutable and the chaos was a gift stolen away from man and mer alike. A gift that could be given once more, if but those wrongs were undone and Tamriel was made what it had always been meant to be. Under those ideals he had joined hands with other faithful, his purpose renewed, his idealism invigorated and a new goal in mind. The years passed and he proved himself useful time and time again to those of the order, working his way up and forward until the day came that he had been named a magistrate within the Imperial City itself. His duties had been simple but there was a purpose to them, and as days turned to weeks and months he slowly continued to move and advance until the time came for his true purpose to be fulfilled.

That day was this one, the 27th of Last Seed, in the year 433. His day began like all others, slowly contemplating the events on his schedule in the Imperial Palace and waiting for the Blade that would escort him until retiring for the night. Today was a momentous one for many reasons though, for one the engagement ball for Geldall Septim and his love Tamrialle, as well as the festivities being held across the Imperial City in celebration. The Arena District's exhibition match came to mind, where the Gray Prince would face one of the Companions of Skyrim, but his thoughts drifted slowly elsewhere as he turned another page in the book given to him by a man of ambition like himself. It told of all the ways this mundus was broken and twisted and how to bring about a new dawn, and he prided himself that despite the bloodshed that would take place on this day, he would be assisting in that great feat. But that was for later, for now he still had to wear the mask of a loyal servant of the Empire, and his Blade escort had knocked upon the door. So distracted was he by the day's events that he forgot something rather critical, stopping just outside as he noticed one of the palace servants working their way through the hall.

"Mr. Thraigyr, if you would be so kind as to lock up my study when you are done."

And that was that, Eldamil went off about his way towards the Elder Council chambers, unaware of the events he had just set in motion. Hours passed as morning gave way to day, and the sun sat high above. The time of the ball was soon and his own part to play was coming to bear. All he had to do was to excuse himself from the council meeting, something easily done as most had been invited to wish Geldall well this evening. Step by step he made his way back to his quarters in the upper palace, where all was just as he expected, the study locked and everything tidied up. It was a shame that he would not be able to return here after tonight, but small sacrifices for the salvation of Nirn. There was but one small problem that lay unnoticed as he gathered up the crimson robes from his wardrobe. A book was missing from his table that had been there when he left this morning, one that had not gone unnoticed by the humble servant, and had been dutifully reported to the Blades.

The Blades who just so happened to understand that warning for what it was and already were moving to desperately try and counter what he had set in motion. For some it was far too late, as conjured blades flashed in the dark across Tamriel seeking the hearts and throats of those Septims too far from the Imperial City and the watchful eyes of their guards. Geldall himself had received the warning too late, gasping on a mixture of wine and blood as his beloved cackled at the center of the ballroom only to be cut down herself in a storm of swords from the attending Blades. A dozen other members of the Imperial Family found the sharp end of a dagger within the chaos of the ball, though most managed to stumble their way from the fray and the battle of the Palace began as Legionnaires began fighting their own for the traitors hidden within their midst, and the Blades fell upon any who dared not sheathe their own in their presence.

Eldamil made his way through the tower as the flames lit the night sky in the Arena District, not knowing that the Gray Prince had been struck by debris from angry fans and the tensions of the fight had boiled over within the hour to escalate from a bar brawl to a full-on riot. Shouting from the city signaled the march of the Legions upon her own citizens, isolated squads forming shield walls and carving crescents of blood before them just to survive the onslaught. And there in the center of it forgotten by all, brothers Septim with their throats opened and left in the Arena stands.

All of that left just his task and that of another of their order. His comrade was already stalking the city for the most important duty, and he had just to find and deal with the grand-daughters of the Emperor within this very palace, who grew closer with every moment. All around him the halls were filled with rushing palace guards trying to make some sense of the chaos and the orders to shelter in place to lesser magistrates and the panicking servants. For him though they parted, and all he had to do was make his intention clear to them and soon an escort of two guards saw him speeding through all the way to the chambers of the Imperial Family. Now it was just through this door and… Immediately he noticed something was off, as both Juliana and Alexandria Septim stood before him, the younger seeming disappointed and hurt, the older enraged and hand upon the sword at her hip.

That was not what concerned him the most though, that was the coppery taste in his mouth, the strange sensation of tension in his chest that only became clear when he looked down. A longsword had seemed to sprout from his heart, steel reddened and fabric clinging to the worked blade. This… This wasn't right. And that was when he realized the mistake. He had left his robes within his wardrobe, which while suspicious in and of itself, there was that book written by the hand of a man whose name portended disaster in his wake. He couldn't even mouth the words as Baurus withdrew the sword from his chest, leaving him to slowly fade from this world and into Paradise where his master Mankar Camaron awaited…
[hr]
[i]Meanwhile, on the other side of the city.[/i]

The battered guards took what time they had to catch their breath, each of them having taken abuse from not just the patrons of Daggerfall Dan's, but also the countless civilians rioting in the city. Everything had seemed to collapse all at once, a lit match tossed into a tinderbox for all they knew. The true scope of the night's events were of course lost on them in the mad rush out of the Arena district with those they had barely managed to escort from the riots. There was a sense of relief for only a moment as they took the time to recover, several of them bruised and cut from debris and improvised weapons, another with his finger still stitching back to his hand and not letting any of the others forget how he had almost lost it. Each time his grumbling was heard there was of course the chorus of chiding back on how foolish it was to stick his finger in an orc's mouth.

Down below and where the voices of the guards were just fair mumbling at the top of the lit stairwell, a rather impromptu party sat in just the same state as those above. One just barely a man, sporting a rather impressive mark across his face where it looked every bit like he had struck the pavers or something just as unyielding. Another fairly pickled mage who seemed too drunk to be aware of how roughly the guards had dragged him into the cell, and beside him a battered and bruised redguard who seemed rather pleased with himself despite the beating. A pair of half-orcs sat at the back of the cell, siblings by the look of them with their ruddy almost verdigris colored skin, the male sighing as he tried to calm down his sister, who had been shackled to the wall and muzzled for her actions earlier. Most of the group kept their distance from her, knowing her to be the one to have started the entire ordeal in the bar, though equally they kept from the Argonian in the room, who seemed eerily at peace with everything that had transpired.

But of course it wasn't just their cell that had been crowded, as guards came down in groups filling each of the others except the one directly across from them, the smug face of a Dunmer taking turns mocking the guards and dodging the mace blows against the door. This was where it would all begin in truth, the bar simply a prelude to a life-changing experience…