A/N: Alright, this is my first Elder Scrolls fan fiction, as well as my first fic in quite a while. Hopefully it's not terrible... For the most part I try to stay as lore-accurate as possible, except when I'm not. When I'm not is when I'm parodying the in-game technicalities, which don't fit in with the lore. If I write something that is downright lore-incorrect, and it doesn't appear to be parody, give me a shout and I'll do everything within my power to fix it. Read, review, and enjoy!

Act 1: Reasons Unspecified

Sympathy for the Revolting...

"You are far too pretty to worship here." Hjolfrodi the Harrier said, after looking over the newcomer to the Namira shrine.

"You lie. I'm very disgusting, and very stupid. And I must have been especially disgusting and stupid, as I have been banished." this newcomer replied.

It was a dremora, and a wretched one at that. Hjolfrodi was not sure whether its pathetic behavior had begun before or after its banishment; but had it been before, she couldn't say she blamed the other daedra.

But no matter how much it sulked, and argued, and lay face-down in the snow; it was simply not pathetic enough to be a Namira worshipper. The arguing part had pretty much set that in stone, as well as the dremora part. And it was pretty-- at least as pretty as you could call a dremora before it began calling you deceased.

It was taking a female form right now, and it wore a plain black, if tattered robe. It's black, leathery-looking skin was dotted with dark red markings; and ever since it had been called "pretty" it had hidden its face behind its matted grayish hair.

"Listen, for normal people... And daedra, being rejected by Namira worshippers is a good thing. So if I don't deem you cringe worthy, then... Find somewhere else to go." Hjolfrodi continued.

The dremora raised her head, and murmured, "Surely I am so repulsive that no mortal would have words to describe it. My offensiveness is so true that it won't even fit in your mortal brain. I--"

"Listen; there is a wizard's tower up on top of Gnoll Mountain. How about you go practice being repulsive there, until you get good at it?"

Alcatraz had absolutely no idea why she had been banished. But she did know that it had been her fault. As a churl, nearly everything had been her fault. It was a fact of life that you just had to get used to, until you were given the opportunity to rise in rank.

And though she had accepted this long ago, and put up no resistance to her superiors, she had been banished.

Maybe her superiors thought she did not even deserve churl status. She was a terrible fighter, with mace and sword, spear and axe, bow and arrow. And at the various forms of Magic, she was no better, perhaps even worse. But there were plenty of terrible churls; especially those who had just returned from a long trip to the void.

Alcatraz certainly did not feel banished. But she knew that she was, and it was her fault for it.

Welcome to Cyrodiil...

"Cyrodiil certainly is beautiful... And green... And bright..." Refaelia announced, to no one in particular.

This one, Refaelia, happened to be a dunmer mage, with short, blue-black hair, and quite a bit of ambition. She had come all the way from the city of Vivec to join the prestigious Cyrodiilic mages guild, in hopes of becoming a professional battle mage. She had crossed the border illegally, but surprisingly, the only resistance she had been given was a thick magical barrier that covered the border.

But she had not hired a guide for nothing. The altmer who had opted to take her into Cyrodiil had done away with this barrier almost too easily; gibbering some magic that sounded suspiciously like "", before some more Tamriellic sounding words. Soon afterwards, he repeated the incantation, and then bid Ref a quick farewell.

"Ah, Cyrodiil." Refaelia breathed. "Quite barren for the cosmopolitan center of the empire. My map says that a city called "Cheydinhal" is some miles North-North-West of here. Cyrodiil is supposed to be densely populated, but I don't even see a settlement... Maybe it's just because I'm still in the mountains..."

She began to trek down the narrow, dirt path (probably a smuggler's path), whistling a dunmer folk song as she went.

Unfortunately for Ref, minotaurs do not like dunmer folk songs. Their dislike of dunmer music is just enough to bring them to violence, but not enough to drive them away.

At times like this, Ref wished that she had bought a guidebook.

The minotaur stepped onto the path, swinging a war hammer in a threatening sort of way.

"I really should have bought that guidebook..." Refaelia remarked.

It is a good thing that aside from silt striders, boats, and guild guides; dunmer are always walking and running to places on the island of Vvardenfell. It is an equally good thing that all dunmer on Vvardenfell are in good shape.

Refaelia was now into her third mile of running; and was now into the rolling hills and valleys of the Nibenay basin.

"Surely you'd think that I'd have seen a fort or a settlement by now?" Refaelia thought aloud, in a voice that dripped something between fear, confusion, and irony.

She had passed a few forts, only they had been in ruin.

"And wouldn't the Imperial Legion take better care of it's forts in the center of the Empire?"

In her haste, she nearly plowed onto and over two Imperial Legion foresters.

"Thank the nine! I'm saved!" Refaelia panted, dropping to her knees.

"Why... Won't... You... DIE!"

"Huh?"

Ref raised her head slowly; the feeling that she was not going to like what she saw rising in her chest.

The foresters were shooting at each other.

"What in Oblivion..."

And if that wasn't enough to make her want to faint out of pure irony; what stepped out of the grass next was.

The mud crab clicked its pincers, in a quasi-menacing way. The minotaur had long since given up the chase.

Refaelia had no doubts whatsoever about how great the empire was.