The thing about Elsynia, she doesn't know who her father is. Has she ever cared? No. It's never been important. Sure, he's supposedly a powerful prince, but that's all she knows. He can rot for all she cares, leaving her mother like he did. The Ivyvale family of Bosmer weren't that large or influential, but they were one thing. They wouldn't give up easy. Maybe that came from the centuries past, where they worked the land and hunted for everything they ate.
Elsynia, herself, was a young woman now. Many of her traits came from her mother; her black hair, her copper-tinted flesh. One trait, though, she could never explain, meaning it was from her father. Her eyes were always a silver color, almost white. But, as little as her father meant to her, she never paid attention to them.
How foolish a thought that was. Soon enough, these things would come to mean things greater than she's ever known. Such a shame, that demi-daedra are thrust into these things so often. And, for the child of the hunter, it seems she'll be meeting the heir of the very thing destroying His spheres of power.
Two demi-princes made conference with each other. A tension hung in the air, thick enough to choke mortals. These two, however, the one flanked by Knights of Order, and the one flanked by a pair of Seekers, seemed unfazed by the feeling.
The first, wearing an intricate silver, crystalline armor, wore hardly an expression, until she stood before the other. Her eyes matched her armor, though odd flecks of gold seemed scattered through the iris. Her hair, pulled to a tight knot at the back of her hair, seemed to suggest her an old woman, though youth was clear on her features.
The second woman wasn't much shorter than her. Her steel eyes seemed angered, as if the slight furrow of her brow didn't betray that already. Some of strands of her ebony hair fell from the braid that held much of it in place. A strong contrast to the crystals of the other, the Breton wore a set of mage's robes, colored a deep midnight, a shawl resting over her shoulders.
The Imperial was the one to speak first, "Silvane, you know I detest the formalities my father has in place. Should we not be rid of our servants?" her voice was level, not a hint of inflection nor fear. She knew well how to speak as a general.
"I wouldn't have come with the High Seekers if I didn't think them necessary. These formalities remain."
The servant to the left of the both of them stepped back, pulling the chairs out for the two. Their eyes never left the other's face, both searching and reading everything they could from the other. As the Imperial sat, she pulled the gauntlets of her armor off, leaving her hands visible. The same was done by the Breton, revealing fingertips darkened by ink. A simple motion made, and the right Knight departed, returning quickly with a rag for the scryer.
"So be it," The general began, "I understand your father sent you to speak for the Princes. They believe Jyggalag's conquest has been too rapid. I can assure you, it's only been as rapid as those on Nirn allow."
"They allow him to all but strangle Hircine and Molag Bal? They allow him to influence so many laws that many of the princes can hardly do anything? You and I both know how many of Boethiah's rebellions are crushed before they begin, how many manbeasts exist on the entirety of the planet," her eyes narrowed, and her voice lowered, "And you most certainly know how knowledge is being kept out of the hands of those who need it."
She continued, speaking of each and every injustice against the Princes. Every law that kept them from gaining power, that kept their worshipers from doing near anything in their names. It took an hour before she finished.
Moira was quiet, pondering over her words. She knew Ria would be quiet as she did, the breton finally taking the rag offered by her Knight to wipe the ink from her fingertips. When she spoke, her voice was soft, a waving of her hands making the Knights vanish into the air.
"He seeks a control over Oblivion, and of Nirn, that he cannot be allowed to have. He doesn't notice it as I do, his visions of order are destroying the natural order." She took in a heavy breath, pulling a small crystal from her armor. Once placed on the table, it seemed to open. An image appeared, a Bosmer. A young woman, walking, carrying books. "Hircine is getting desperate to keep his influence in the world. He hasn't created a demi-prince sing Ingolf…" Her eyes flicked to the Breton across from her, "I cannot do much to assist her. My duties as General will prevent me from acting."
Ria knew where she was going with it. She could. Oh, certainly, she could. Her magicks could easily grant her everything she needs to know about this woman… And she would have to steer her in the right direction.
"The hunter's blood shall restore order." She muttered. The words had been scried so long ago it felt an age, "It seems… We have an agreement."
"Indeed."