ELDER SCROLLS: BLESSED CHILD

"420th year third era: Veteran Legionary and ranger Armond Tethris submitted a troubling report. In the wilderness of the southern reaches of Blackmarsh Armond was on a ranging when he descovered "a strange manor complex," of a style at home with those of Cyrodil or Summerset Isle. Leaving his fellow rangers to cover him Armond scaled a wall and investigated. He fought and killed several minor Daedra in the courtyard and side gardens, leading to suspicions of a newly formed cult. Once inside... well as he put it "I found the soul resident to be a charmingly well spoken little girl. She invited me to tea and sent me on my way with a slice of the most wonderful pie I ever had!" No trace of the manor was ever confirmed and Armond was later "recomended" for an early retirment. To his dying breath he swore what he saw was real..."

-Recorded Sightings of Misthaven Manor, Thalmor Archives-

Prologe: Dwindling prints

The sands gusted fitfully in the morning breeze, tossed and dropped again and again. The dunes were static features so far in the desert. But they did move, though they did so over the course of months and years. What little life claimed the arid domain usually slept hidden away by the time the sun rose to bake the air. Footprints hadn't graced the hills in time beyond memory.

And all at once a manor appeared between the dunes, pushing mounds of sand up in its wake. It was a large multi winged place surrounded by an ivy covered wall. The wind and its sand parted around the walls, bent away by an unseen force. The blue shadded grass in the manor commons was untouched by the glaring heat. And the place was still and calm like a painting of a house.

The ornate wooden doors opened with a groan and a child bounced out into the commons all giggles and grins. As she skipped around the decorative statues two more figures exited the building. One was an old and balding man dressed in simple black clothing and glancing at the sun with something like annoyance. The other was a Dremora, one of the denizens of Oblivion. He stood beside the human in glistening spiked armor, a hand resting casually on the hilt of the mace at his hip. They both watched the girl at play, her blue dress quickly picking up grass and dirt as she went.

"Where are we today?" Urzkar, asked in the strange berritone of his race.

"Somewhere in Hammerfell I should think," Haskill answered. "Based on the all the sand," The Dremora grunted an affirmative and marched out to the gate to begin his partol. He asked the same question every day and Haskill did his best to guess. Though his own understanding of Nirn's geography was limited it was one of the few things Urzkar was ever willing to talk about and Haskill did become bored from time to time.

"Have fun!" Chirped Nessa as the dremora marched by. A small nod was his only answer. The young mistress (as Haskill called her) was always friendly to her gaurdians, though Urzkar's cappacity for emotion was unknown.

She was twelve, by physical standards at least. Her mop of curly blond hair looked almost white in the desert sun, matching the pale skin of her face. Wide green eyes darted to and froe as she skipped along. The point of her ears were covered by hair and made her look almost human. Her elven blood had never been an issue and Haskill never brought it up in any case. It was entirely possible she didn't even know what an Elf was, as the few visitors Misthaven Manor recieved were usually humaniod with the odd Argonian every now and then.

"Shall we be going out today?" Haskill asked his ward. "Or will we be watching the ants again?" Once she had descovered the tiny insects actually traveled along space and time with her manor she had tried to name and feed each one. That had been a month ago, and so far she had come up with thousands of names, as well as a dozen small red bite marks.

"Welllll," She drew out the word like a king passing a sentence. "Let's go explore!"

Haskill nodded and reached out his hand, summoning a black umbrella from thin air. Nessa fell into step beside him, letting him shade her pale skin from the glare as they went. He opened the gate for her and took up his place once more. They passed Urzkar on his circut and Nessa paused long enough to trap his legs in a hug. Urzkar groaned but made no move to stop her. Then they were on their way again, leaving a trail of footprints that were covered again before long.

First Tale: Raindrops

"If spotted, file report and make no further actions... in short ignore the damn thing and get back to work,"

-Thalmor official standing policy, regarding Misthaven Manor-

The manor was still, the twilight of morning painting the tapestries and rugs shades of grey. The only movement was the slow tick of the ancient Dwemer clock in the lobby and the shuffle of the kitchen staff as they went about preparing breakfast. The hours of night and just after dawn were always of its like. When the young mistress slept there was little demanded of the manor's many residents, both living and constructs. But soon she would wake and another day would begin.

And also as with every other dawn before Haskil stood in the lobby and watched the clock. He didn't sleep as living beings did, though watching the clock did help to pass the time. When he had served his creator he only manifested when needed and knew the oblivion of non existance at all other times. The tedium of existance had taken getting used to. But he would obey as was his only function.

The head chef ambled out of the kitchen and broke the silence with a grunt aimed at Haskil. His only responce was a slight frown and a nod. The current head chef was a fat little Breton who's soul had been held in one of her uncle's realms untill her last chef was eaten by Fluffy. The pet Deadroth had made an aweful mess of it, forcing Haskil and the others to scrub even the ceiling of remains.

"Smells like rain," He muttered with a snort.

"Unlikely, we've yet to fully re'enter the physical realm." If the chef answered Haskil it was cut off by a sudden change in the soft morning light. As with each relocation in space and time this one ended suddenly and with a drastic change in weather. The room was cast in shifting grey light and the dull rumble of thunder barely managed to reach them.

"I stand corrected," The chef simply nodded and began to lumber back to the kitchen.

"Food's done," He added before the oak closed behind him.

"I shall wake the young mistress,"

Haskil marched up the stairwell as the first drops of rain began to click against the roof.

"And this pact we make now, bound in blood and honor. For the price you shall pay your daughter will be given safety and happiness, made family with we the very princes of Oblivion."

-Engraving written into the central pillars of Misthaven Manor-

Writer's note: This was a shorter chapter than those that will follow, ment only to set up the location of Misthaven Manor and introduce the central cast. As always any comments or questions are welcome and will be responded to in short order.