Here's the tricky thing. To remain in the Imperial City, after stabbing one of their own, is close to madness. I may slate the Legion any chance I get, but it can't be denied their presence is felt through the districts. Even the Waterfront, a place for thieves and beggars, can't escape their tainted righteousness.

It's not a very easy city to hide in. I was sure by now that Augusta would've given them an accurate description of myself. Money will only buy so much loyalty, especially if another patron is killed. I knew there should be some remorse within me. After all, Cicero was the closest thing to a friend I had made over the past two months I'd spent in the Imperial City. Yet his death was justified, in my head. Where was his loyalty, for the times we drank together, where I confessed of my times in Valenwood? It took a lot for me to tell my secrets, even longer for my trust to be earned. Another reason Cicero now lay dead. Mistrust leads to mishaps and he was certainly in one now.

Unfortunately for me, the city's population did not extend to many Wood Elves. My ears and height stuck out like a sore thumb compared to the Imperials and High Elves that called this place home. There may be a great number of adventurers and treasure seekers who pass through, but few spent time outside of the Market District. Digression was needed if I was to reach Green Emperor Way.

My time fighting the Khajiit in Valenwood lent me many favourable skills. My innate litheness saw me promoted to Scout within a matter of weeks. Then, after displaying a certain talent for quick, precise killing, I fulfilled the role of Assassin. There were three of us in total; three of us trusted to carry out the dirty work the Bosmeri did not want direct ties to.

I'm the only one left now. A Cat killed Athgor; a big Cathay-raht, its favoured claws exchanged for a heavy maul in the heat of battle. Poor bastard didn't stand a chance in open combat. Once his leg was broken, that was it. The maul burst his head like a watermelon. At the time I struggled to watch. Now I find the idea near-comical.

The other ... The Wild Hunt took her. I refuse to think of what became of her. Even for an Assassin, no one deserves such an end. If the end ever came for them, trapped as they were.

I try not to let my mind fixate on the past. Too many haunts to fall back into. These memoirs are tame in comparison to the memories I could dredge up from my time back in Valenwood. Maybe one day I'll note them down like this one. Maybe.

Either way, skulking through the city was not a task a relished achieving. I knew how to stick to the shadows, how to judge a guard's patrol and move accordingly. Patience and adrenaline are not a healthy concoction. The energy coursing through my body, the insatiable feeling of invincible power that the excitement brought caused my leg to twitch as I waited in the shadows for a guard to pass.

Not only was there a city-wide Elf hunt for me, but I also happened to be heading towards for the centre. There was no escaping the White Gold Tower and its vigilant Palace Guards. Since the Oblivion Crisis the security around it seems to have tripled. Perhaps it's due to Potentate Ocato and his ever-growing paranoia. You can't really blame him. If I was in his position, I'd lock the doors to the tower and never open them again. Except he ploughs on, as a leader must, in times of dire need. The empire relies heavily on him, and he gives as much as he can, I'll give him that. I wouldn't be surprised if he was assassinated in the next few years, though. Greed for the Ruby Throne grows in the minds of all those with an inkling for power. Such is the way a leaderless empire will govern itself, creating more strife amongst existing strife.

Somehow, I stole my way past the gates and into Green Emperor Way. I had to hand it to the White-Gold Tower, it was certainly impressive. There's a big historical meaning behind the tower that I've never bothered to learn. I can appreciate the Ayleid architecture but the symbolism is lost on me. Stone is stone, no matter where or what it is wrought for.

My admiration for the tower almost caused me to be caught. A guard swung his torch far too close to my shadows for my liking, and lost in thought as I was, I flinched at the intrusion. I think there was a moment where the guard considered investigating the movement, but a cry in the distance sent him running that way. In my experience, luck is a fickle thing. It would envelop me now, but later, it would abandon me at a pivotal moment. I just had to make sure I was best prepared for that moment.

The skulking became easier as dusk drew around it. The layout around the tower made sticking to the shadows a whole lot easier. I didn't mind walking among the tombstones. The dead scare me no more than the living, especially when they're buried ten feet under.

Having cracked the code in the volumes, it was only a matter of following the instructions. "Green Emperor Way Where Tower Touches Setting Sun" seems pretty straightforward to me. I followed the tombstones around, letting the shadow of the tower be my guide to the correct location.

And there it was. A map of Cyrodiil on the side of an ornate tombstone. I cared little for whose tomb it was, all I could focus on was the market, indicating what, by the simplest assumption, must be the location for the Mythic Dawn. Now it was just a case of sneaking out of the city. If I could just make it to the Market District, I could use the sewers to escape. I sighed, checking my sword was loosened in its scabbard. You could never be too careful.

I said earlier that luck was a fickle thing. I came so close to an escape without detection. It was that fetcher, Thoronir, who drew attention to my creeping. Betrayed by a fellow Bosmeri! The Divines really do have a twisted sense of humour.

Why he skulked near the entrance of the sewers I did not know. I thought those nefarious days of his were over. It may have been several long years, but people never forgot his grave robbed goods, nor how he was thwarted by the Champion of Cyrodiil.

Oh, the Champion of Cyrodiil. How I envy her life. Only once have I seen her in person. And then it was nothing more than a fleeting glimpse as she entered the White Gold Tower. Adorned in her Imperial Dragon Armour, she looked every bit as regal as the Emperors of old did. Still, it matters little. Our paths lead in very different directions, proven by my night's activities. I skulk, she struts. Nothing more than polar opposites.

I fled into the sewers before Thoronir had chance to raise the guards. Losing them would be easy amongst the maze in the sewers, especially for one as light-footed as myself. I'd brought no torch but it was no matter. A quick word of incantation, and a flash of purple light later, I could see as clearly in the dark as though it was daylight down in the sewers. It was a trick I'd picked up during my time as a Scout. It gave a tremendous advantage to see things that would otherwise be shrouded by the night.

In the previous weeks I had spent hours poring over maps of the sewers, knowing that if things were to go array, which I undoubtedly knew they would when the Mythic Dawn were involved, they would be my best means to escape the Imperial City. It did not take me long to navigate my way out and into the open. I came out of the south-east exit, knowing full well that my destination lay along the shores of the Upper Niben, close enough to walk without my fatigue getting the better of me. I had survived worse marches before in my life.

There was the problem of crossing Lake Rumare, but a fascination of the arcane earlier in life left me with an arsenal of useful spells. Another incantation and I stepped onto the surface of the water. The first few times water-walking had felt weird and far from safe. But, as time progressed, and I grew more confident in my arcane abilities, it felt as normal as walking on solid ground. It sure beat swimming and getting wet.

Shinbone Cave wasn't difficult to find. I found a trail left by goblins long before I reached it. Strange, to think the Mythic Dawn would choose to live in a place guarded by goblins. I supposed few were willing to challenge the goblins and their mischievous ways of fighting. Fortunately for me, my ways were just as mischievous. I snuck up on the first three and slit their throats without a sound. The fourth spotted me, yet had time to do little more than unsling its bow before my sword swept across its chest.

That was it for those outside. The smell is what hit me first as I entered the cave. Goblins are far from sanitary creatures, and the cave reflected that. There's always an abundance of giant rats in the dark recesses of Cyrodiil, and Shinbone Cave was no exception.

I slew the goblins and their rats. I was never really in any danger. Goblins may be numerous, but they pose little threat to a nimble Elf like me. I took a lightning bolt to the chest and felt nothing. The next moment, the shaman's head came off its shoulders.

Fighting was all well and good, but I couldn't shrug the feeling that something was wrong here. I recognised the need for a front, but the goblins had made a thriving nest in this cave. Surely the Mythic Dawn wouldn't let their headquarters be overrun by these foul creatures?

It was not until all the goblins were dead, and I reached a rickety wooden door that I had some confirmation that my path was correct. Etched into a descending stalactite was a glowing setting sun – the symbol for the Mythic Dawn. Euphoria filled me. Here I was, finally, at the turning point of my life. My hunt since arriving in Cyrodiil was finally over. I pushed my way through the door.

"Dawn is breaking."

I smiled, though the voice remained hidden beyond even my night eye. "Greet the new day."

The shadows moved. A red-cloaked High Elf stepped towards me. He wore a sad smile, and for the first time that evening I felt truly unsure of what was about to happen. The Elf extended his palm towards me and placed it on my chest. "Dusk follows dawn," he said, before his palm bled white, and I felt reality fall away.