Jul

Lucius

Two bandits escorted me into the main room of Fort Hraagstad, where their leader stood over a small pile of gold. Their leader was a Redguard woman wearing mismatched armor ranging from fur to steel plate. She had twin daggers strapped to her hips, orcish and elven, that were rusted over with old blood. Over her shoulder appeared to be a cape that seemed disturbingly close in appearance to Falmer skin. "Heh – I, uh, like the cape," I told her.

The woman looked over her shoulder with an apathetic glare. "What do you want?"

I grinned. The bandits who had escorted me in were under the power of my Imperial Magick, deeply believing themselves to be my allies. "I'm here to find out what you want."

The Redguard woman's eyebrows raised slightly. "What does that mean?" she asked me.

Lydia said this was a stupid idea. In all honesty, she was probably right. But after everything I'd gone through in my life, I'd prefer to talk the bandits out of the fort. "What can I do for you so you'll leave the fort?" I asked, forcing some fake optimism into my voice. Realistically, she would laugh and tell her men to beat me to death.

"Ha! HA HA!" the woman shouted, confirming my gut feeling. She laughed for a few more moments, then sighed and looked at me. "Oh, that was funny. You two – kill him." She turned back to her map.

I sighed. "Wrong decision," I stated. I drew my blade as the Magick cast on her men began to wear off. Two quick slashes of my blade brought the two down and attracted the Redguard's attention. She pulled her daggers off and a flash of worry crossed her face. "You should have just made a deal." Magick coursed into my hand, and a spike of ice shot towards the woman. She jumped out of its path, narrowly, and rolled to her feet. I launched another spike of ice and ran to the spot where she would dodge to. My saber clashed with her twin daggers in a shower of sparks, and she struggled to prevent my blade, bearing my full weight, from slipping into her skull.

I furrowed my brow and stared down at her. "I didn't want it to turn out this way," I said simply. I gathered more Magicka in my left hand, and the third ice spike ran through her skull. The blood and brain splashed across my armor. I didn't react at all, no nausea or disgust. That not feeling, that's what sent a wave of nausea coursing through my body. I stepped back from the woman's body, which was held up partway by a chair in the room. I pulled the hood on my head down and felt bile rise from my gut. I retched violently for a few moments and the smells of blood and bile mixed to permeate the room with a sickening metallic, fruity aroma. I was suddenly very glad I had traded in my helmet for an adept mage's hood I'd found on the Ustengrav necromancers; the bile had come out faster than I could have unfastened the helmet and torn it from my head.

Images from my past rushed through my head, fear and pain accompanying them. I stood in a dark room holding an elven dagger. A man knelt on the ground in front of me, a black sack of cloth covering his head and muffling his voice. "What are you waiting for, dog? Kill him!"

I flinched as the voice came back to me. Commanding, cruel. It was the voice that dominated my nightmares, even years after it had been silenced. I whimpered in my memory. "Kill him!" I had made no movement to do so. The voice snarled disgustedly and an ice spike flew through the air next to my head. I felt the chill run down my spine from the Magickal projectile as it flew by me. The spear tip had collided with the head of the prisoner, and brain and blood had erupted around the room. It had bathed me – a child at the time – in gore. The vision left me and I was as terrified as when the memory had been made.

I fell to my knees next to the body of the bandit chieftain and felt the stinging of salty tears rushing down my face. Why, of all the battles I had gone through recently, had this one affected me so? The easy answer was the Thalmor I kept running into; Thera had a decidedly "Elven Superiority" tone to her dealings with me. I knew it would be difficult for others to notice, very few can see through a Thalmor spy's training. Usually, the people that were able to had spent an inordinate amount of time around the bastards. Yours truly definitely fit that description.

I finally pulled myself back up to my feet a few moments later, though the nausea and pain still echoed from my gut up into my brain. "Kill him!" the voice ran in my mind again, clearer, perhaps, than the day I had heard it. I felt my knees go weak again, but kept my head and walked out of the room to deal with the rest of the bandits. It wouldn't be a fun job, or even a pleasant one, but it was a job.

Still, why did all my jobs have to do with going somewhere and killing everything there?

Fahiil

Thera

I hauled my tired form into the sparse, stone monastery atop the Throat of the World mountain. Damn humans think it's the birthplace of Man – place should be destroyed for leading filth like that into the world. The building was very... Mannish, with spartan decoration centered around the idea of making the castle seem even more spacious and uselessly large than its size would truly allow. "Who is there?" an old human voice asked from elsewhere. The voice echoed through the castle, disguising the location from whence it originated. An elderly Nord man in gray, ragged robes walked into the main room and caught sight of me. "How can I help you?"

I bit my lip and made myself appear nervous. "I, uh, I heard the shout."

"For the Dragonborn, yes. It was mean to call for the Dragonborn across the entire land," the man explained. "And the Dragonborn answered our summons."

"You – you weren't summoning me?" I asked. The man's head cocked to the side. "Your summons it... it called to me. Dovahkiin... the noise made my feet want to run to this mountain. I could barely prevent myself from abandoning my other projects."

The old man laughed. "We sensed only one voice awoken. If you are Dragonborn, you are not ready," he said.

"Not ready?" I growled. I struggled to keep my hand from my blade.

"We await the test of the Dovahkiin. If he returns with the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller he will..."

The name of the horn rattled in my head for a moment. Without even thinking, my hand glided back to my pouch and grabbed the horn I had stolen from Delphine. "I – do you mean this?" I asked without thinking.

The old man's eyes widened, nearly out of his head. He suddenly became very interested in me. He walked towards me and raised one arm, then his hand ran through the air around me before pulling back. His next words came out with the sound of thunder, despite only being whispered: "Rii Sil Genun!" I felt my veins shiver, and something begin to rise to the surface of my skin. I thought I heard a dragon roar as the world began to take the tint of fire. Then, just like that, all was silent and gray once more.

The old man stared at me with interest and a glint of knowledge running through his eye. "A rare gift indeed," he muttered. His eyes glazed over for a moment as if he was lost in memory. "Jul and Fahiil..."

"What?" I asked, somehow both confused and enlightened by the foreign words he had said. "What's this about a Man and a Mer?"

The old man raised an eyebrow. "Two Dovahkiin revealed in the same Age... A Gift from the Divines unheard of in the annals of the Voice," he whispered. My superior elven hearing, of course, picked it up. "Please, come further. We have much to discuss, Dovahkiin."

Jul

Arngeir

Another Dovahkiin. A Second warrior of the Dragon-blood. Arngeir knew that such a thing was virtually unheard of, two appearing in the same land – especially simultaneously – was beyond rare or impossible. He doubted that such an occurrence would happen again for many Eras, if at all.

The Man was powerful, but there was a darkness in his soul. He thirsted for battle, claiming he wished to protect others. From what the elf – Thera – had said of the man, his desire to protect others was a farce, a facade. He was a coward who was ready to risk the lives of others if it suited him. Only the lure of power could force Lucius into action, even if the risks of such actions were small.

Thera, on the other hand, seemed genuinely altruistic. Despite her Aldmeri heritage, she seemed to honestly desire the best for others, even humans and beastfolk. She had been front and center to fight against the Dragon, even leading it away from soldiers and townsfolk to fight against it. At the last moment, her victory and reward had been stolen away by Lucius. She seemed quite genuine, and Arngeir had no reason to distrust her.

Jul

Lucius

The atmosphere in Castle Dour was, well... Dour. Imperial soldiers grimly and dutifully ran in and out of the main room where Legate Rikke and General Tullius conferred – okay, argued – just loud enough for the soldiers to know that wasting their time would be viewed quite unfavorably. "Wait out here, please," I said to Lydia. I glanced over my shoulder and she nodded. I took a breath and turned away from my friend.

When I marched into the main room, Rikke stopped what she was saying to the General. She raised a hand. "Sir, this is the one I was telling you about earlier," she said. The General turned to me. He was an older man, probably in his mid sixties. His hair was gray and white, thinning a bit at the top. Despite his age, he wore his heavy, Imperial General's armor with a commanding strength that shined clearly in his eyes as well. "The scouts have already reported back that he cleared the Fort – alone."

The General looked me up and down for a moment. "He doesn't seem that impressive," he said finally. He frowned. "Though, I'm guessing you saw something I have yet to see."

"Indeed, Sir," Legate Rikke said.

The General returned his attention to me. "So you want to join the Legion, eh..? Why?"

"Why?" I echoed. I chuckled. "Can I speak... candidly, General?"

"I would not have asked the question if I had not desired honesty," the General replied.

I nodded. "Right." I took a deep breath. "The Empire is... important to me. I lived in southern Cyrodiil, before the Imperial reclamation. I've also visited Morrowind, Valenwood, Blackmarsh... Places without the Empire are in shambles, or controlled by the Dominion." I shifted uncomfortably under the General's steely, unyielding sight. "And the Empire itself is... fractured. It wouldn't survive without Skyrim."

"You seem very sure of that," Tullius said.

I shrugged. "It's entirely possible the Empire, as it is now, won't survive even with Skyrim. All I know is that the Empire is the only structure that has any hope of defending against the Dominion in the coming war."

Tullius narrowed his eyes and continued staring at me. I thought, for a moment, he would call for a Thalmor agent to take me in for my semi-seditious statements. Instead, the man asked, "Are you ready to take the Oath?" I nodded. "Good. Repeat after me. 'Upon my honor I do swear undying loyalty to the Emperor, Titus Mede II...'"

"Upon my honor I do swear undying loyalty to the Emperor, Titus Mede II..." I echoed.

"'And unwavering obedience to the officers of his great Empire.'" The General continued. I repeated the statement. "May those above judge me, and those below take me, if I fail in my duty. Long live the Emperor! Long live the Empire!"

The General nodded, then returned his attention to Rikke. "Tell me again, why I'm wasting men chasing after a fairy tale." I felt suddenly very invisible. I made a move to leave, but both Rikke and Tullius glared at me until I froze.

"If Ulfric gets his hand on that crown, it won't be a fairy tale. It'll be a problem," Rikke said after she and Tullius had returned their attention to one another.

"Don't you Nords put any stock in your own traditions?" Tullius grumbled. He sighed wearily. "I thought the Moot chose the king. We're backing Elisif. When the Moot meets, they'll do the sensible thing."

Rikke shook her head. "Sir, not everyone's agreed to the Moot. You've been here long enough to know that Nords aren't always sensible. We follow our hearts."

Tullius scoffed, then said, "So what - Ulfric gets this crown and then suddenly he's High King?"

"No, it's not as simple as that, but the Jagged Crown would be a potent symbol for his cause to rally around. But, if we found it first..." Rikke left the rest out so that Tullius would see the wisdom of her position for himself.

"And we gave it to Elisif?"

Rikke nodded and said the few words that would completely legitimize her stance. "In the absence of the Moot, it would further legitimize her claim."

Tullius became suddenly pensive. "Perhaps... I'm entrusting you with what resources I can spare. But I'm warning you, if this turns out to be a waste of time and men..."

"It won't be a waste," Rikke assured.

Tullius sighed conciliatorily and gestured to me. "Make sure you take the Auxiliary here. You can send him back when you get there and find nothing but old bones and cobwebs."

"The Stonefist's no fool. He's found the Crown. But we'll get to it first," Rikke said. She turned to me. "Meet me at Korvanjund in four days time." She turned and left the room.

I made to follow her, but was stopped by a hand on my shoulder. "Just a moment, Auxiliary," Tullius said. He turned me around and stared at me.

"S-sir?"

"You were at Helgen," he said simply.

"I -" I furrowed my brow and shut my eyes. There was no point in denying it; he knew my face. "Yes."

"So why did you come here?" He asked me.

"Hadvar. He saved my life, and I his. He told me to come here to join – that he'd vouch for me," I said. "He's in Riverwood."

"Hm... I should send a courier there, tell Hadvar to meet up with Rikke at Korvanjund. He's a damn fine soldier, it's good to hear he's alive," Tullius replied.

"I have business in Riverwood," I interjected. "Sir, I could get Hadvar and we two could travel to Korvanjund."

"Hm... Fine. Fine. Just don't disappoint," Tullius said. I turned to leave once more. "You're right about the Dominion."

I looked over my shoulder. "I know." I left the room and walked over to Lydia.

"How did it go?" she asked me.

I nodded. "Fine. We're off to Riverwood – it's time to figure out just who took the horn."

Fahiil

Elenwen

"Lucius, Lucius..." the elf woman muttered to herself. She was pouring through hundreds of reports on who the man could be, yet none of them seemed to make any sense. There were dozens of different faces attributed to the generically Imperial name, but none had the skills necessary to scare Thera. Elenwen growled exasperatedly and shoved the last report into a bin at the edge of her desk.

"Ma'am," a soldier said as he walked in.

"What!?" Elenwen snapped. The soldier nearly jumped out of his armor at the scream, and he hastily threw a new report on Elenwen's desk before taking off down the hall. "Damn soldiers, interrupting me..."

Elenwen reached for the new report and froze. It was bound and emblazoned in bright red ink with the symbol of the Thalmor Assassination Ops, a branch of Thalmor and ex-Dark Brotherhood associates who had trained sleeper agent assassins. None of their operations existed, even informally. The branch itself was a mere rumor amongst even those as high ranking as Elenwen. The only reason that Elenwen even had prior knowledge of their existence was because she had run into one of their trainers – a traitor – during an old mission. The man had mentioned many of the names of their operational agents before being silenced.

Elenwen knew that since the Assassination Ops had taken an interest of her inquires into the history of Lucius that the man must be a high-ranked target of the group. One who was a great threat, or could become one, to the Aldmeri Dominion. If such was the case, then Elenwen knew that her life would soon become vastly more complicated and worrisome. And then there was the other possibility... one that was much more worriesome.

With a heavy, shaking hand, Elenwen unbound the book and lifted the report to her eyes. She froze and quickly became engrossed in the information she found herself reading. The report was long, almost a hundred handwritten pages. The Lucius described was definitely one who would terrify even the most skilled fighter, be they warrior or mage. The skills that he had seemed... impossible for a human. His prowess in all things Magickal was virtually unparalleled; he could learn powerful Magicks such that it seemed Magicka was what flowed through his veins instead of blood. His swordsmanship was exemplary as well, and – at his prime – the man could easily kill over fifty opponents alone. The dates on the file began fifteen years prior, and ended ten after that point. Lucius had been hiding from the interests of the Dominion for just over five years, a feat, to be sure. But what truly caught Elenwen's attention, over all those accomplishments, was the event at which the file ended.

Elenwen, so scared that her hands would no longer shake, placed the book down on her desk. "Gods..." she muttered as she gazed at the book. There was no portrait of the man included, but Elenwen was sure that this, this was the Lucius that had killed a dragon. Elenwen shivered and shut the book as quickly as she could. The man had a surname – a title he had gained from the final event in the file: Lucius Atmoran.