Prologue
A tall cloaked figure stood near the edge of a great cliff, overlooking miles upon miles of fields, mountains, and rivers. Just below the cliff remained the sacked and pillaged fort, once known as Ebonheart. As the flames of the invasion faded, and the vultures swept down upon the grotesque and mangled remains of the once great soldiers of the Empire. As the figure looked upon the desolation, a hooded man, clad in black leather armor came up behind him."Father, I have found no survivors." said the newcomer.
"How unfortunate." replied the cloaked man, his voice a dagger through the thick air.
"However, just as the carnage began, I believe I saw two people escaping, what looked like an Imperial legate, and oddly enough, a Breton." said the hooded man confused.
"A breton and an Imperial eh?" the cloaked man mused to himself. "Perhaps it was that Hawksmith boy, he always was crafty." the man said to no one in particular. "Alistair, return to your sanctuary, I have no further need for your services here." the man commanded sternly. Quietly he added a "thank you" to his son Alistair, which was not missed by the latter. Alistair silently nodded to his father, before disappearing in a vortex of purple flames.
"And so the daedra have begun their invasion, in a time of great strife and war. And now that Hawksmith boy is running around as an Imperial prisoner...he'll be fine, the boy always was crafty." The hooded man thought to himself. "And just when I was settling into my retirement too." the former Listener stated to himself, with an annoyed undertone,
