DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN The Elder Scrolls franchise. BUT NEVER THE LESS… this story is my own, so read and enjoy at your own discretion. The tale takes place after the Great War, 180ish something. Don't worry, it isn't a Dragonborn story. Talos forbid I write one of those.

Hope you enjoy, please review if you do.

Now we begin...

Prologue

Night was swiftly falling on Elsweyr. Deep within the center of Torval, the great Capital of Elsweyr, a Khajiit elder named Zoaaksa Romahni, Mane of Elsweyr, sat in his garden, admiring the Nightshade. The fixated gaze he beset upon the purple flower was largely due to his wandering mind. After all, times were troubled in Elsweyr. Though to be fair, most of Tamriel was in a state of disagreeable tension. The Fourth Era was all but pleasant.

The Oblivion Crisis had brought an end to the flourishing Septim Dynasty, rendering the "beloved" Empire crippled. During the early years of the era, mayhem swept across the Tamrielic provinces like the storms of Rain's Hand.

It began in Morrowind with the eruption of Dagoth Ur, Fifth year of the Fourth Era. Nordic and Orcish armies attacked northern Morrowind relentlessly, and without the help of Vivec, the Ministry of Truth fell, bringing the city of Vivec crumbling down with it. But such a feat was not to be celebrated by the invading armies, for at the heart of Morrowind, the Dagoth Ur was foolishly awoken from its deep slumber. The mountain erupted, spewing lava and ash as it pleased, eventually desecrating Vvardenfell and the surrounding areas. In its wake, many of the once proud and plentiful Dunmer people fell to their social knees, gagging on the ash as they went. For it was ash, that laid waste to Vvardenfell, piercing the heart of Morrowind with no more mercy than that to be shown to prisoners of the unforeseeable Great War. No sooner had the ash overwhelmed the once beautiful land, did many of the Dunmer forsake their heritage and migrate west. For many, fleeing was the only option, and flee they did. The Dunmer poured into Skyrim and the other various Providences of Tamriel, but it came with a cost. Not a year later, was all of southern Morrowind sacked by the Argonians. They rushed in and pillaged, burned, raped, and killed. A single destructive retribution for a very long history of enslavement by the fallen Dunmer people. Only by the will of House Redoran's armies, were the Argonians halted in their ravaging conquest. For a time, Morrowind would be at relative peace. But with the five Houses in constant debate, no real progress ever came to that land.

After the eruption of Dagoth Ur, the Province of Black Marsh seceded from the Empire, Elsweyr soon followed.

In the Southwest, the destruction of the Crystal Tower on the Elven Homeland of the Summerset Isles, left many Altmer in shambles. But among that chaos, there were those who sought vengeance, the mightiest of the Altmer... The Thalmor.

The Thalmor took rightful credit in disbanding the Daedra that terrorized Tamriel at that time. Their self-glorification would lead them down a socially formidable road. Which in turn, would only lead them to war.

Shortly after the Stormcrown Interregnum ended, when Titus Mede was crowned Emperor in Cyrodiil, the Thalmor set off on that very road to war; a conquest of Tamriel.

Thanks to a Thalmor-backed coup, the Bosmer government fell and was replaced instantly, severing all ties with the Empire as well. The new union between the Altmer and Bosmer gave the Thalmor a solid foothold on the continent of Tamriel. Thus, with the aid of their Elven brethren, the Thalmor were one step closer to usurping Tamriel from the Empire.

It wasn't until the Second Century of the Forth Era, when the Void nights ended (a period of two years where Nirn's Moons, Masser and Secunda, vanished completely), that the Thalmor were able to expand into Elsweyr to the East. They had convinced the Khajiit that they, the Thalmor, were directly responsible for the return of the beloved moons. Thus, the Khajiit looked to the Thalmor not as friends, but as saviors. The Khajiit swiftly fell under their unwavering rule, concurrently putting an end to any residual Imperial influence in that region. The Thalmor, however indirectly, broke up the Elsweyr confederacy into the client states of Anequina and Pelletine; though the Mane held firm in his position as spiritual leader. Thus, the Aldmeri Dominion was well on its way to dominating all of Tamriel. The only provinces that remained considerably untouched by severe misfortune were the Nords of Skyrim, and the Bretons High Rock. Hammerfell had succumb to internal conflict between the Crown ( with Thalmor) and a rebellious syndicate while Orsinium had been sacked by the combined forces of Hammerfell and High Rock.

In One Hundred Sixty Eight of the Fourth Era, Titus Mede the Second was crowned Emperor in Cyrodiil.

The Mane recalled the crowning of Titus Mede the Second. It was a distant memory for him, yet only two years past. So much had happened since that day. His regrets were heavy on his conscience, and there were many.

After the Confederacy of Elsweyr collapsed, the economy plummeted. Many of the native Khajiit turned to the malevolent trade of drugs as a way to stay alive, or used them harshly as a way to escape the harsh realities of that very livelihood. The most renowned drug in Tamriel was unfortunately native to the Tenmar Forest in southern Elsweyr. Moon Sugar was its name, and it grew by means of the sugar cane only found in the Southern Elsweyrian forests. Though used by Khajiit for mostly spiritual purposes, it's most potent form was in Skooma (an alcoholic beverage made with the addictive drug).

The drug spread throughout Tamriel, and it created a bit of a problem; especially for non-Khajiit persons as they are more susceptible to its effects. The Khajiit had been poorly mislabeled as a result of this drug's dominance in Tamriel, and were cast aside by the other races who thought the Khajiit were nothing more than fiendish Squalor.

The Mane felt a great discomfort; He couldn't decide whether the events leading to his kin's downfall could have been avoided. Sadly, the time had long since passed, if it were ever present, for the Mane to draw strength from the masses, to fight back and reclaim the life his ancestors worked hard to create, and so it didn't matter much anymore.

The Mane nibbled on some nightshade, as was his custom when stress subdued his thoughts. He had received news in council earlier that morning from a Thalmor ambassador. The ambassador had informed him that Elsweyrian "assets" would be required soon, and that he should be ready to deliver his undivided support in the immediate future. The Mane scoffed at how polite the Dominion had been in demanding war resources, which mainly meant Khajiit healers for the wounded and able warriors for the rest. The truth of the matter was that war was immanent. The Dominion was pressing forward with its demands from the Empire, and if those demands were not met; there would be fatal consequences.

The Mane was very confident in his healers but more so the combative skills of his Khajiit warriors. They were unmatched in tactical infiltration. Despite that fact, the Dominion had presented the Mane with a rather arbitrary imposition. Knowing full well their demands were not in the Khajiit interest, yet knowing the Mane simply couldn't refuse them. His "Allies" were handling HIS priorities, and the fate of HIS people, something he did not take kindly too. If only the Thalmor knew just how uncooperative the warriors of the many different Clans of Elsweyr were, and just how difficulty it would be to persuade them all in working together would be!

He was disgusted by the Elves request, but enjoyed a laugh over the "drafting warriors" bit. The Mane was only a spiritual leader, but any one in their right mind could see how war would disrupt the progress of a society. For some queer reason, perhaps it was out of spite in the wake of the unpleasant situation, he smiled. At least there would be many dead Altmer by war's end, so that was something to be less upset about. The Mane sat back and enjoyed a chalice of imported Cyrodiilic Brandy, for he suspected it would be the last import from Cyrodiil, for a very long time.

Many miles away, on the Northern most edge of Elsweyr, the city of Riverhold stood tall in the night.

It was a cool, crisp night across the land, for it was Morning Star, One Hundred Seventy of the Fourth Era; the first month of the year, a very cool time for that part of Nirn. It was an exceptionally quaint night in Northern Elsweyr. The night was peeking into the 15th, a day which signified glorification for the Southern winds to grant a good harvest in the coming months.

However, the idea of praying for good winds hadn't crossed the deepest thoughts of Sulinius, a young Cyrodiilic man who was expecting a child at any moment. Outside the great temple of Alkosh, Sulinius starred aimlessly into the night sky.

Sulinius Holgruf, a Nord by blood, hailed from the Imperial city of Cyrodiil. Though he was born in the cold-hardened land of Skyrim, he had spent most of his life in Cyrodiil where his father served in the Imperial Legion. Sulinius joined the Imperial Legion when he was eighteen. He graduated Legionnaire school at the age of twenty and came out as a Private. He only served for five short years, but was promoted to Quaestor in his second year of service. While stationed in High Rock, he was given the rare opportunity to study business and economics under the Bretons, who are most renowned for that trade. After taking a liking to it, he knew what he wanted to do with his life. After finishing his five year service agreement, he left the life of an active duty Legionnaire behind him and happily pursued a career in business. He was particularly interested in the economy of Elsweyr. Elsweyr had always stuck out to him as an exotically beautiful land. In the back of his mind, it was always a place he had hoped to lived one day. When he was 30 years of age, he took all he had, and all he knew, and moved South.

He moved to Riverhold in One Hundred Sixty of the Fourth Era, where he established an estate and began taking an active role in the major economical facilitation of Elsweyr. He managed trade caravans, Moon Sugar/Nightshade plantations, and even invested in establishing a network with the more indigenous areas of Elsweyr. After only 8 years, Sulinius was considered a noble of Riverhold, by extension due to his Nordic background of course. Sulinius knew his role in Elsweyr was no match to the supreme power of the Clan Mothers. However, his efforts were not in vain.

Sulinius met a Nordic women with whom he fell in love. Her name was Elsef. She was born in Torval and was one of the only other Nords living in Riverhold. She worked in the house of healing as a potions master. She had cared for him for many days after he had obtained an injury fighting off a wild Alfiq-raht (a type of quadrupedal Khajiit, wild by nature and native to Elsweyr) while journeying home from Cyrodiil. They fell in love during that time and were married in Sun's Dawn, One Hundred Sixty Nine of the Fourth Era. Elsef was pregnant with Sulinius's child by Rain's Hand the same year.

Sulinius was drawn from the depths of his mind by the Khajiit who had been sent to fetch him. He went with her into the temple and found that he had a healthy baby boy, his own son. Sulinius was very relieved at the news of his child, even though he looked like his mother. She was holding the baby tightly. She looked up at Sulinius and back down. She finally mustered the energy to say one phrase,"Thurek... after your stubborn father."

"A fitting name for a Nordic boy, my love. Now to get you home." Sulinius laughed, and then turned to the Khajiit mid-wife who had helped, "If that's quite alright."

The mid-wife nodded approvingly, "Shall the baby be blessed?" she asked.

"Indeed" said Sulinius, firmly.

"To whom?" the mid-wife replied, though she knew the answer already.

"Talos, of course." Sulinius said, almost laughing. As if he had really needed to be asked that question. He pulled out an amulet from his pocket and gave it to the mid-wife, "Here this should do, it was my fathers. No son of mine will go un-blessed by his divine name."

The mid-wife took the baby and the amulet then blessed the boy in the name of the great Hero-God, Ysmir. The troubles of the night were now over, and the new founded family headed home. The little happiness the newly found family shared would be needed. For the next many years would be ripe with War, waged between an Empire failing, the power hungry Thalmor, and all the other races of Tamriel.

Yet life remained... in the little body of a young Nord boy, whose journey was just beginning.

Thanks for reading.

(01/23/2016)