A/N: Sorry about the short length of the prologue, it was just to let you know the background of the story :) Hope you all enjoy.

-H

Chapter 1

Four years later...

After consolidating their power in Cyrodiil, the Downtrodden quickly began to mount war parties into Morrowind from Cyrodiil and Black Marsh. The ferocity showed by the Khajiit and Argonian races, in their anger and resentment at their enslavement at the hands of the Dunmer, quickly cut through the Dunmer territory and destroyed it. The Dunmer are now scarce and in hiding throughout Skyrim.

High Rock has also been taken by the Downtrodden, with Orc and Breton refugees also fleeing to Skyrim.

Skyrim itself still resists the Downtrodden but with their population effectively tripled; waves of economic recession and starvation have racked the country.

After the massacre of Morrowind, the Altmer fled to the Summerset Isles and have warded their home in powerful magic.

The Redguards now fully support the Downtrodden after a coup from within allowed a leader sympathetic to the Downtrodden's cause to take the throne. As the final refugees from High Rock were fleeing across Hammerfell, the Redguard army slew them and closed their border to Skyrim.

Skyrim fights a losing war across its entire southern, eastern and western fronts. Even with the reinforcements of the refugee armies, they are outnumbered in a massive siege of an entire province. They stand alone, having no way to contact the Altmer across Tamriel.


Reman Magria slipped into the narrow alleyway, his slim figure fitting snugly. He was an older boy, almost a young man of 17 years. A shock of dark, unruly hair covered the top of his head and hung above his gleaming gold eyes. His face was tanned with a long scar running from his temple to the corner of his lip, a testament to the cruelty of his uncle. He was clothed in plain rucksack tunic and leggings, with an iron shortsword belted at his waist in a scuffed scabbard. His most expensive piece of clothing was a black velvet cloak that he pulled close around him.

He waited in the alley, breath steaming in the cold, Windhelm air as he panted. Hailing from Cyrodiil, his body was only just becoming acclimated to the Eastmarch's freezing winds and biting temperature. He stiffened as three heavily armoured men stumbled past his alley, weapons in hand. They were thugs, hired to bring Reman's head to their contractor. Reman waited for a minute after they passed then eased himself back onto the paved road. He glanced left and right and began to run in the direction opposite to the thugs.

A sharp movement above him flickered in his eyesight. He jumped to the left and pressed himself against a wall as a torrent of flame melted the ground where he had just been standing.

"You're quick boy," said a high, nasal voice above him.

He hired two sets of thugs? Reman thought bitterly.

"You must've really pissed him off," said the mage who stood on a nearby roof, as if reading Reman's thoughts, "He was almost begging us to take the contract."

"Us?"

A foot crunched in the snow behind Reman, the latter ducking as a sword swung at his previous neck height.

"That's right," said the lanky, sword and shield wielding man behind Reman.

Reman rolled away and came to his feet, his own shortsword in hand. The lanky man swung again but Reman managed to twist to the right, avoiding the blow, and retaliate with a sharp jab. The man glanced the blow off of his shield and stepped backwards. Streams of lightning burst from the mages hand but Reman had expected a magical attack and danced backwards.

"He's mine," barked the warrior, "leave him."

The mage shrugged and seated himself on the roofs edge. Snow swirled around the two as they circled each other. This man is obviously a trained warrior, thought Reman, I only know what Gredj has showed me and that won't be enough.

Reman initiated the violence by sidestepping right and performing two, quick slashes. The man parried these easily and replied with a series of complex forms and manoeuvres that baffled Reman. The latter fell backwards, avoiding the sharp edge and threw snow at the man's face. The man knocked it out of the air almost contemptuously with his shield but Reman was already running away.

Reman sprinted past many other people as he entered a major street. He ducked and dodged around them, noticing with satisfaction as the thugs struggled to chase him through the throng. Reman continued down the street, ignoring the startled cries as he ducked past and the screams of outrage as the thugs shoved people aside. Snow and wind nearly blinded him but he knew his way down this street and before long he was past the people. He stood panting for a while, certain he had lost the thugs. After a minute of contemplation, he suddenly went cold as he remembered the mages' ability to detect life. On cue to his thoughts, the two pushed their way past the edges of the crown, joined by the armoured thugs from earlier.

Swearing, Reman angled for an alleyway. I'd hoped it wouldn't come to bloodshed, he thought as he reached the alleys mouth.


As the thugs reached the alleyway, they took in a frightening sight. A dark skinned Orc, entirely armoured in the armour of his people, stood blocking their entrance to the alley. His dark head was bald except for a thick white braid that fell down the back. The Orc had a massive Battle-axe resting on his shoulder, his right hand sitting calmly on the shaft. Behind the Orc, Reman lent against the wall, panting heavily and eyeing them sadly.

The mage pushed the others aside and strode to the front of the group.

"Get back Orc," he snarled, "We only want the boy."

The Orc calmly looked back at Reman and raised his eyebrows enquiringly. Reman nodded wearily and turned away.

"He said, GET BACK!" screamed an armoured thug as he rushed forward, greatsword held above his head. Without facing the front, the Orc simply raised the axe and brought it down with one hand. The thug's head was cleaved down the centre, blood and brains splashing the walls. The Orc faced the thug and twisted the axe, snapping the man's neck for good measure. The body dropped heavily to the ground, crimson staining the snow in a spreading puddle.

"Is what this boy did really worth your lives?" growled the Orc, cleaning the gore his axe on the snow.

"He stole from one of the major jewel merchants of Skyrim!" flared the lanky man, "Thievery from the rich cannot go unpunished."

"How much is this merchant paying you?"

"200 Septims each," said another armoured thug dutifully.

The Orc raised his eyebrow again. "And how many Septims do you think your lives are worth?"

They all frowned in thought. All except the mage, who strode forward and screamed, "I said to stand aside!"

"DON'T YOU LISTEN?" roared the Orc, a terrible rage leaping into his eyes, "I'M DOING YOU A FAVOUR BY LETTING YOU GO ALIVE!"

Cowed by the loudness and anger in his voice and the violence threatened by his eyes, the thugs broke and fled.

The Orc kicked snow over the blood, grumbling all the while. He turned around and looked at Reman.

"You hurt?"

Reman shook his head, "Thanks to you, Gredj."

Gredj shrugged and began sifting through the thugs pockets. His looting produced 50 Septims and a hunk of bread wrapped in leaves. Reman eyed the bread hungrily and smacked his lips. Gredj broke it into halves and handed the larger half to Reman who wolfed it down hungrily. Gredj ate his thoughtfully, staring at the corpse not three metres away.

"What'd you get?" he asked finally.

From his pockets, Reman produced five pure golden rings and seven silver-with-gems rings. Gredj's eyes widened and he muttered, "No wonder they were so desperate to catch you. This will feed us for weeks!"

Reman's eyes drifted to the world outside the alley as he fingered the cloak he'd stolen two weeks ago. People in tattered clothing shuffled past nervously, half ignoring the corpse at the entry to the alley; such things were common in the major cities, especially since half of Windhelm's food warehouses had been burnt by Downtrodden spies.

"We could do it, you know?" he said dreamily, "get out of Windhelm and head into the countryside. I heard that around Whiterun the farms remain fertile and Whiterun never goes hungry."

Gredj barked out a laugh and said, "Even these rings at a high price wouldn't get us that far."

"They won't get you far at all," said a Nordic accented voice from the mouth of the alley.

They both craned their heads to see as five Windhelm guards trooped into the alley. Gredj's hand closed around his axe but Reman placed a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"We've been ordered to bring you to the castle. Please don't resist as it will only end in pain for you."