PROLOGUE

1st of Frostfall, 4E206
Whitehall, The Great Forest, Cyrodiil
Home of the Chapter


Autumn had arrived in full force this year. The rains across Cyrodiil had been almost continuous ever since halfway through the month of Hearthfire, and today was no exception. The sprawling headquarters of the Chapter, a compound known as Whitehall, lay supplicant beneath the swaying canopy of the Great Forest and the sheets of rainfall that buffeted its rooftops, walls and windows relentlessly. It consisted of several buildings and designated open spaces encircled by defensive fortifications; walls taller than the tallest Altmer and watchtowers every five-hundred paces created an unyielding sense of security and shelter, and a moat wide enough to fit a sailing vessel between its embankments surrounded the entirety of Whitehall. Some called it excessive, but Gaius Nero had insisted. He was a veteran of the Great War and had seen things that ‘younger folks can only dream of’. He wanted to be prepared for anything.

“Prepared we are,” Snow Clever-Cat mused as he stared out of the window, his eyes alternating between following the paths of droplets across the uneven surface of the glass pane and fixing themselves onto the middle distance, at nothing in particular. He liked rain. Especially if he didn’t have to go outside. It made for the perfect environment to reflect and decompress. He was inclined across one of the comfortable sofas that were placed by the windows of the banquet hall’s mezzanine for this exact purpose, and when he looked around the elevated platform that encircled the great feasting space below, he saw that he was not alone in this activity. Duatheryn encouraged it among all members of the Chapter. And right now, Snow had plenty to think about.

It was afternoon, though Snow only knew this because of the timepiece ticking away on the salon table next to him. It had been equally dark and dreary throughout the whole day. Tonight, after dinner, he was to meet the members of his new field team for the first time. They were either new recruits or newly promoted to Operations, and Snow had not been entirely happy with the idea. It would be easier for him to adapt to his new role as field team leader if he was working with experienced veterans who knew how to follow orders and when to give advice, but that was not the Chapter’s way. They did not break up previously established teams just to give someone else a shot at command. No, Snow was going to have to prove himself by turning a bunch of greenhorns into an effective and cohesive unit that covered each other’s backs. It was… somewhat daunting.

Time passed and Snow eventually heard the unmistakable sounds of the banquet hall filling up with hungry mercenaries and laborers below him. He sighed, got to his feet and blew out the candle that had been lighting his spot. He tried not to worry himself too much. There was also much cause for excitement. If he succeeded at command, there was a good chance he would be able to forge a real place for himself within the Chapter’s hierarchy. But first, food.



After dinner, Snow walked quickly across the banquet hall’s forecourt with his snout behind the upturned collar of his robes and his paws in his pockets -- it was still raining something fierce, and the featureless, gloomy sky above him gave no indication that it was going to stop anytime soon. He made his way to the administrative building that was known affectionately as the Labyrinth for its complicated interior layout, filled with tiny corridors, rooms and archives. Snow had been handed a note by one of the Chapter’s couriers that informed him of which room he and his team were supposed to meet in. A5. He knew where that room was; fortunately, it was close to the entrance, and he found it without much trouble.

He was a little early. It was a small space (but big enough), about the size of an ordinary living room, with a few pieces of mismatched furniture scattered about and a large blackboard suspended on one of the walls. It reminded Snow strongly of a classroom, he realized as he hung his torch up in one of the sconces. It was to be the base of operations of his team; their briefing room, as it were. All of the field teams had one inside the Labyrinth, where they could discuss the details of their upcoming missions away from prying eyes. Snow could tell by the layer of dust that coated everything in the room that this one hadn’t been used in a while. No matter. It didn’t have to be comfortable, just functional. They all slept in the barracks anyway. Snow set about to rearranging the furniture in a semicircle that faced the blackboard when the door of the room opened and the first member of his team stepped inside.

“Good evening,” greeted a gentle, feminine voice. Upon turning around, Snow was met with a shorter Breton woman, hair wet with rain and sticking to her face and water dripping from her armor. As she walked inside, she looked around the room curiously, almost as if she was lost. The room was mostly dark, mostly barren, and dirty, so she did a second take of the room number labeled on the door and said to herself, “ah, maybe I’ve the wrong room...”

Then she did a double take on Snow himself, her eyes falling on the khajiit’s hands on the furniture. Her eyes brightened a bit before saying, “Oh, pardon me, please allow me to help you,” as she hurriedly paced over and gripped one of the heavier chairs.

“Where would you like this?”

“Over there,” Snow said and pointed to the end of the budding semicircle. This must be Marlene Antony. Snow had been given a list of names, races and specializations and familiarized himself with it immediately. He looked her up and down for a second, taking in her chainmail armour, before humming in approval. “And you're in the right place. You are Marlene Antony, yes? My name is Snow Clever-Cat. Welcome.” He offered one of his paws for her to shake. It would be tedious to greet all of the new arrivals individually like this, but he wanted to make a good first impression.

“Oh, so you’re Snow!” She greeted with a humored smile, reaching over and grabbing the khajiit’s paw for a firm shake. “I wasn’t sure who to expect! I didn’t realize that the Snow I was looking for had the surname Clever-Cat. That would’ve made it much easier, yes? Please, call me Mary.”

The Altmer made his way toward the door with purpose. This was to be his first meeting with the field team whom he would be travelling and working with. He was positively beaming. He hadn’t had much time to change accordingly after preparing the dinner, he still had the aroma of citrus and wood garlic imbued into his fingers. Not an unpleasant smell, but surprising - and a clear giveaway of his line of work. His fingertips were peppered too with the juices of blackberries and redcurrants. Not an easy stain to remove. Still, it did not affect his mood. He paced towards the door, slowing down quite considerably as he approached the doorway and took care to lower his head to stoop under it.

He had heard the light sound of chatter, and was glad to put faces to those voices that he had heard. He was the second to arrive. “Good evening my friends,” he began in his breezy tone of voice. “It’s my absolute pleasure to be here. I am Faerion Charmerious…” he continued to walk as he spoke, a modest mistake as he managed to catch his foot on a slightly raised floorboard, which propelled him forwards with a jolt, but he at least did not fall over. “Oh dear,” he remarked while scratching his head awkwardly.

Mary stifled some lighthearted laughter, failing to hide her amused smile behind the back of her hand, then resumed pushing the furniture into place. Snow raised an eyebrow and immediately questioned Faerion’s usefulness, but decided to keep his tongue as the door swung open again.

Faerion’s attention was immediately drawn to the young woman who was laughing at his mishap. She had tried to hide it, but she hadn’t done so well enough. At least I made a pretty lady smile… were his thoughts after that, it made him feel less sheepish over it. The Khajiit however, had not found it amusing.

The next to arrive was a large statured Nord who strode in with confident and authoritative presence, his face commandeered with a broad smile and outstretched arms. “My friends, it looks like I arrived just in time.” Jormun Fireborn boomed with a jolly laugh. He took a few moments to survey the room to gain a sense of what was the assigned task and he set to it, easily picking up a desk as if it were a toy to add it to the arrangements. As he passed the Altmer, he picked up the scent of garlic as he walked by. He set down the table and asked, “Were you one of the chefs? It was simply exquisite, worthy of Sovngarde! If every meal is like this, I may never leave Whitehall.” He said enthusiastically with a wide grin. He carried on the assigned task, looking over to the Khajiit, who was small but carried himself well with an air of authority; his white fur would have felt right at home in the Tundras of Northern Skyrim, and he struck Jormun as an individual who was well-travelled and experienced in the matters of the company. “Greetings! I presume you are our commander? I look forward to serving with honour with your leadership.” He bashed his fist into his chest in a respectful salute.

“Quite right,” Snow said and noticed that he had to crane his neck back a little to look Jormun in the eye. He couldn’t even begin to top Faerion’s incredible height, however. “Jormun Fireborn, correct? I believe we are waiting on one more individual and then we shall proceed with proper introductions,” the Khajiit said. He changed his mind -- shaking everyone’s hands was far too much fuss for his liking. That said, he certainly liked the look of Jormund as a warrior and he appreciated that the Nord was immediately willing to show proper deference to him as the field team leader. A part of him had been afraid that Jormun was going to be a ‘true son of Skyrim’, which is to say a xenophobic knucklehead, but it seemed that wasn’t the case. Snow gestured to the now-complete formation of furniture, inviting everyone to sit down, and turned his attention to the blackboard. He gingerly picked up a piece of chalk and wrote one word in big letters: TALIN.

The door swung open one final time. Entering through it, just short enough not to have to duck under the door frame, was a massive orc. She was short by Orsimer standards, yet her build was wide and strong. Her skin was a dark emerald green; she liked to think it was the brightest she’d ever seen on an orc. Her long dark hair was pulled out of the way into tight braids. She wore a grin on her face that screamed ‘ready for anything you can throw.’

She took in the scene before her, the rest of the team already seated and the Khajiit beginning to write on the board. She shrugged in a gesture that wasn’t quite demure enough to be considered sheepish, the orc walked over to take her own seat, the clanking of her boots echoing in the room. It had been years since she’d been late to anything; she thought the Legion had trained that sort of thing out of her.

“Good evening, everyone,” she grumbled, smiling lopsidedly at each of her companions. She didn’t recognize any except the Altmer from the past couple of days she’d spent in the area. She thought she recalled seeing him in the kitchen, but, that couldn’t be right, could it?

Snow turned around just in time to see Lamzarakha arrive and acknowledged her greeting with a nod. Now that they were all here, it was time.

“Greetings one and all, and welcome to the Chapter. Specifically, welcome to field team Talin,” he said and gestured to the word written on the blackboard behind him. “The Chapter names its field teams after prominent figures, places or events in Tamrielic history. For those of you who don’t know,” Snow said and glanced between Lamzarakha and Jormun while he talked, “Talin, also known as the Eternal Champion, was the hero that saved the Empire in the Third Era by defeating the imposter emperor Jagar Tharn and rescuing Uriel VII from imprisonment. It is quite an honor to have our team bear the name of such an illustrious individual, so I hope that you will live up to the name.” He had his paws clasped behind his back and looked everyone in turn in the eye while he talked in an attempt to make them all feel included and spoken to. He might have been the second-smallest person in the room, but he wasn’t about to let that stop him from appearing as authoritative as possible.

He swept his gaze across the four people sitting before him and cleared his throat. “Once again, my name is Snow Clever-Cat. I have been with the Chapter for a few years now.” He considered being honest and telling them that this was his first foray in field command, but decided against it. “Faerion is no stranger to the organization either, but he has been transferred from Logistics to Operations only recently. The rest of you are new. I’m sure the rules and expectations have been explained to you during your recruitment already so I won’t bore you with those again, but I have my own rules, too. I am open to advice and suggestions while we are undertaking our missions but if we are in a dangerous situation and I give an order, I expect you to follow it. There can be no arguing while our lives are on the line. Now, I have read your files and I know your strengths, but it would be prudent for everyone to know these things about each other as well. Therefore, I propose a small round of introductions,” he continued, looking somewhat annoyed to those who could tell such things about Khajiit.

He had always hated stuff like this but now that it was his turn to lead, he suddenly understood why it was a necessary evil. “For example, I am a spellsword with supplementary alchemical and enchanting skills. I have received education in the magical schools of Destruction, Alteration and Illusion and I’m reasonably capable with this.” Snow patted the pommel of the steel sword sheathed by his waist. “I was raised in Bruma by a Nord couple. Hence the name. Alright? Who wants to go first?”

Springing to his feet, Jormun stood tall and erect, his fists on his hips to exaggerate his already hulking physique. “I am Jormun Fireborn, an adventurer for hire who spend many years guarding caravans and hunting down bandits who would prey upon Tamriel’s innocents. I’m not as learned as our illustrious leader, and spells are beyond me, but I can imagine you probably see that my strength lays elsewhere.” Suddenly smashing a fist into a meaty palm, he exclaimed. “I have a hammer and the strength to kill just about anything that will get in the way, nothing complicated or fancy. I will protect those who need a bit more… space to do their work and take on our foes without fear or hesitation. Potions help in that regard, and healers are certainly welcome companions in my case. It is an honour to stand by your side, friends.” He bowed, and sat down with aplum, looking look a school boy excited for his first day of class, one that probably involved copious amounts of opportunity to smash some unfortunate bandits or necromancers. Mary was sitting wordlessly, but with a wide smile on her face and she gave a little clap for Jormun as he found his seat once more.

Spurred on by the Lady’s reaction to his Nord colleague, Faerion wanted to go next - to impress and receive the same reaction from her. “Our illustrious leader Snow is correct, I have been with the Chapter for some time working in Logistics. I, yes, spend some time in the kitchens that is true…” his tone fell nonchalant as he spoke about his actual work so far. He didn’t want them to see him as a Chef - today he became a field team member - of team Talin no less! He wanted them to take him seriously. “I am a Ranger, I was trained in Valenwood with the Bosmer for many, many years and after that I have spent much of my life travelling Cyrodiil with mercenaries and the like.” He deliberately embellished his story, weaving a tale to big himself up in front of his new friends. “I do also possess a little bit of restorative magic which can come in handy in a pinch, it is as you say Jormun, an honour to stand by your side.” Faerion bowed his head ever so and made his way to a seat beside the Nord.

“Why that sounds wonderful!” Mary commented. “I’ve always wanted to visit Valenwood and see the graht trees for myself, and you know, I’m woefully poor at cooking. You must treat us some time!”

Trained in the culinary or the ranging arts? Snow asked himself as he looked at Faerion while the Altmer talked. He could not help but feel that the elf was simply too tall and gangly to possess the grace and dexterity necessary to be a capable archer and scout. It was hard to tell through Faerion’s elegant robes what strength his limbs possessed. If he was strong at all, his great height would mean that the draw strength of his bow could be very significant, at least. Thoughts like this constantly ran through Snow’s mind; evaluation, preparation, risk-assessment. It was his mind that kept him alive, he always said.

That said, he was not one to pass up an opportunity to poke fun at someone. “Yes, Faerion, please do so,” Snow said languidly and his ears flicked in amusement. It was obvious that the elf did not want to be considered the chef of the group. “It will be wonderful to have a real chef among us when we are out in the field.” He did not wait for Faerion to react but looked now to the Breton woman instead. “What about you, Mary?”

The Altmer’s smile dwindled from his lips. He got the very distinct impression that Snow had already made a decision about him, and that he was to be on the receiving end of jibes. He placed his hands together and twiddled his fingers quietly and let the Khajiit carry on, perking up at the mention of Mary, he leaned forward in his seat to listen to what she had to say.

Jormund leaned over and whispered to Faerion, “Do not fret, my friend. Your talents will be wonderous for morale.” he said sincerely.

Mary’s eyes lit up for a moment, then nodded and calmly stood up, sliding her still wet hair behind her ear. She clasped her hands behind her back and looked around at her new associates. The smile didn’t leave her face, but it did dim slightly. “My name is Marlene Antony,” she began, “you may call me Mary. I am from Jehanna, in High Rock. I began my training to become a templar at…”

The Breton woman’s smile faded and her eyes seemed to grow distant as she began recounting her memories. She finished her thought, saying, “...twelve years old. My temple released me into the field after eight years and I have been purging the countrysides of monsters ever since.”

Faerion couldn't believe his ears! A beautiful Maiden like that, training at such a young age - why, he was enthralled in her story, so much so that a dreamy sigh escaped his thin lips as he listened to her talk.

As if to prove her point, she untied her pouch of trophies from her belt and rattled it around in her hand before gently setting it on the small table in the center of the semicircle formation of their chairs. Mary continued, “I have a well rounded martial skillset and I can support you all with restoration magic and some mysticism.”

“Mysticism?” Snow echoed, eyes narrowed in curiosity and disbelief in equal measure. He stepped over and leered down into the bag Mary had provided, immediately identifying several trophies that he knew as rare alchemical ingredients. She was telling the truth about her work and achievements, at least. He looked up at her again, the skepticism in his expression diminished, and asked: “Where did you learn that?”

“From my temple! It was attended by a chapter from the School of Julianos.” Mary eagerly explained. “They taught us about the flow of magical energies and how to control them, but mostly for the purpose of negating and dispelling its effects. I believe you might be familiar with some of its spellcraft already since you’re an alteration mage, like the ability to detect life forces?”

The Khajiit nodded slowly. “Familiar, yes, but I don't know that particular piece of magic myself. Khajiit can see in the dark.”

“But not through walls.” Mary jokingly quipped with a humored grin.

He chuckled in response, a low purring sound that reverberated in his chest. “That is true. Either way, I did not know Mysticism was still taught as a school of magic anywhere.” Snow frowned, thinking hard, before remembering that this was partially because of a shift in prioritization in how magic was treated over the last two hundred years. Lingering spells were left by the wayside mostly in favour of powerful bursts and there had come a great focus, even academically, on spells that were immediately and self-evidently useful in combat. Too much war. “It is good to know that this knowledge has not been forgotten by all.”

That left only the Orc, who had been quiet ever since she arrived. “Tell us about yourself,” Snow said to her, unwilling to try and pronounce her name again without some practice. They were going to have to find a way to shorten that.

“I’m Lamzarakha gra-Khozorn,” she began, turning to face her companions. She grinned. “I was born in a stronghold, so I’m a blacksmith, as could be expected. But more importantly, I was a Legionnaire.” A slightly twinge prickled her heart as she said it, but she refused to show it. The orc pondered the loss of her discipline in the past few years in the back of her mind. Am I as dependable as I once was? She embraced her most exuberant side and continued. “I’m trained in spears, swords of all sized, shields, sidearms…” She grinned. “But mostly you’ll find me in the middle of the fight with this lady.” She tapped the greatsword on her back’s pommel. “And I look forward to working with all of you.” Though she had her doubts about the Altmer, it still wasn’t a lie; he seemed like he may be entertainment.

“I could not ask for a better companion to stand by my side as we vanquish evil, face to face.” Jormun said to the Orsimer warmly. “Your blade is magnificently kept, even though it has seen some hard use. I can tell that you have quite a few tales to tell; I should like to hear them!”

He stood from his chair and walked over to Mary’s trophies, inspecting them out of curiosity and a half smile on his face. He knew all about that sort of thing; pulling the dragon tooth from about his neck he handed it to Mary for her to look at. “It would seem we have a hobby in common. You’ve had some interesting encounters from your collection alone, this is the only one I felt I couldn't pass up so far.”

Pulling up his right sleeve somewhat, Jormun’s forearm showcased an impressive display of tattoos, beasts and men intertwined in Nordic hammer-style tattooing. “Most of my adventures I left upon my body so I will always have them with me.”

He rolled his sleeve down and returned to his seat, intending to collect the tooth after. He was mighty proud of it. Mary, who was previously captivated by the orc’s introduction even if she was trying to figure out the pronunciation of her name, had accepted the Nord’s offer to ogle at his treasured keepsake with starstruck eyes, darted between the sleeve of tattoos on Jormun’s arm and back to the tooth. Handing it back to the Nord, she replied with a smile and laugh, “You’re quite the overqualified veteran. I hope I’ll be able to keep up with you to have an honorable mention in your songs and legends!”

Taking back the tooth and putting it back around his neck, Jormum offered the Breton a toothy grin. “They would not just be my songs and legends, it will be all of ours. Nothing overqualified about me; I just stepped in when lives were on the line. The only difference between a raider and a dragon is one happens to be much larger and spits fire and ice, while the other spits insults. Both have hard heads, I’ve found.”

Snow allowed himself a smile at the exchange. It would not be as difficult to gel this group together as he feared, it seemed, and he relaxed a little. “Still, it will be good to have someone with us with such heroic tendencies,” the Khajiit purred, leaving the intended nature of his comment (compliment or jab?) up in the air. “I think that will suffice for now.”

He cleared his throat and straightened to his full height (unremarkable as that may have been). “Our first mission is straightforward. The Chapter has received word that one of the abandoned watchtowers of Cyrodiil has become haunted. The restless spirits of the dead are harassing travelers on the nearby road, but the matter was escalated when two hunters disappeared while they were ranging in the tower’s vicinity. Locals believe that they were taken by the ghosts. It will be our mission to discover what has prompted these spirits to become aggressive and to put them back to rest. We leave tomorrow, so take the rest of the night for yourselves to rest and prepare. Thank you all for coming. Dismissed.”