Almost there, give me some time, but seriously, somebody adopt this. Improve it.

Please?


What is real and what isn't

My name is Lathenil, of Sunhold; proud Altmer, honored member of the Welkynar Gryphon Knights and strong supporter of the Septim Empire, and I write these words so that no one can spit lies of any kind over the horrible events of the Great Anguish.

The rising insistence of the Thalmor was grating on my nerves when they first tried to paint themselves as saviors of our homeland, but after years of their deranged monologues, their boorish antics and their pathetic attempts of sabotage, my patience has finally run out.

Thus, I repeat. My name is Lathenil, of Sunhold; proud Altmer, honored member of the Welkynar Gryphon Knights and strong supporter of the Septim Empire, and as a first-hand witness, I denounce the lies of the Thalmor by retelling the events of that tragedy as I remember them.

Like many of my kind, I was barely more than a child when the Oblivion Crisis fell upon us. What many probably don't remember, however, will forever shine as one of the greatest moments of my life, not because I revel in the suffering of my beloved homeland or that of my people, but because it opened a path for me that would have otherwise remained obscured.

Something I have to make mention of, is that prior to this catastrophe, the Summerset Isles had been going through certain tensions between the older and younger generations.

No sane Altmer would ever dare to raise their hand against our home, but it was becoming increasingly common for the youth to seek more than the often-overbearing society we carefully constructed.

Altmer society is used to have the dissidents simply leave for other places to do as they want, but there is little place that is not occupied in the continent. We had a desire to be more than numbers and legacies, and having no option left, we tried to move our society in that direction and it wasn't long tensions began to rise among us.

The more influential naturally tried to hold on their power and so began an ultranationalist campaign made out of outdated ideals and subtle threats. At the same time, the more free-spirited wished for a complete revolution where merit is awarded by the intelligent and skill by the strong, not ancient bloodlines and old titles.

Like many of my like-minded people, we saw the boycott of Imperial goods as nothing more than the first step into the descent of madness that exterminated the Ayleids. The rising popularity of daedra worship (a disgusting and horrible movement disowned by any decent altmer, and indeed any person with some semblance of sanity) soon proved this right.

And it was on that cursed day, 29th of Last Seed, a day that will haunt us until the death of the stars, that we were changed in a way not even the masters of Artaeum could have predicted. For it was a day of mindless violence and tragic death.

It was also the day we rose to embrace this change, and grow from it. No longer shackled to our past, and instead with a brilliant and hope-filled future that we can grasp just by extending our hands.

Two days after the failed assassination attempt of Uriel VII, two days since the finding of future emperor Martin I, Oblivion Gates opened across our beautiful home, vomiting horrors the likes only something like Vaermina could conjure up.

Twisting and laughing abominations that brought mind-rending violence on a scale we haven't seen since the Planemeld that were only interested in our destruction, and so it was that the first wave was painfully successful, since it caught us all unaware.

As anyone who has ever had dealings with any altmer can attest to, we're a proud race, with thousands of years of history behind us, hardly changing and stalwart in defense of tradition.

As anyone who has ever visited Summerset Isles can attest to, that stubbornness didn't do a single thing to help us.

When the invasion began, many flocked to the shores, seeking escape from Dagon's murderous throngs - but the seas betrayed our people, raising up to smash our ships and our ports, leaving us to fates so vile and wicked that death would be seen as a mercy.

Barely eighteen years of age and only the most basic knowledge in the offensive arcane arts, I ran for my life while attacking anything trying to kill me with paltry tricks and a lot of luck. Around me, the few foreigners tolerated in our lands could do little to stop the madness with their fists or whatever tool they had at hand.

Unlike many provinces in the Empire, weapons are seldom allowed to be bore out on the streets, and those not of Aldmer blood find themselves under heavier scrutiny. This precaution came to cause no end of trouble as every able fighter could only try to stall with substandard equipment if any at all.

I ran for what felt like ages, looking for a place that offered safety, or at the very least, where resistance could be mounted to the bitter end, but it seemed like a vain hope. Whole districts were put to the torch and there were daedra everywhere, people screamed either in despair or agony.

It felt as if the end of the world was upon us.

Then I lifted my gaze, and there my salvation stood. The Crystal-Like-Law stood as a bastion of our might. Countless years had seen it stand guard over our home, a monolith of certainty that withstood wars, invasions, migrations and yet remained as a testament to our might.

More importantly, it served as a place of learning for the arcane arts, and we were on desperate need of mages to obliterate the invaders.

I began to yell to whomever would listen, pointing like an oaf when the sounds of battle and worse drowned my voice. Those closest ones to me began to follow, always repeating after me so that more survivors knew where to go.

Even if our salvation was hours away, even if most of us were not on peak physical condition, we ran like few would understand. Staying in one place meant death but that didn't save some of us as the monster followed. Just as we reached our destination, a hail of arrows and bolts of lighting and fire and other things crashed against out pursuers.

There it stood. The Crystal-Like-Law remained as a fortress where soldiers and wizards were already mounting a defense. We flooded the courtyard but most of us didn't stop until we were inside the Tower itself. And in that moment, I fell to my knees gasping for air.

"We are saved" I thought naively back then, drenched in sweat and lungs burning. Barely able to move with so many people around me, and more flocking to the Tower.

The reality of my situation finally caught up and my relief was short-lived.

To this day I do not know what made me want to see the horde for myself, and I can't even seem to recall when I climbed the walls, but when my vision finally cleared, I remember seeing what could've been hundreds of daedra all trying to reach us; a literal tide of madness rushing with glee against innocent civilians.

And our archers and mages doing everything in their power to keep it at bay. A few hours later and the only thing that kept coming was a stampede of frightened people with soldiers rushing them in.

The Crystal Tower stood as our last bastion of hope, in both the literal and figurative sense. Refugees filled the Crystal Tower until it could hold no more. I could taste the fear hanging in the air; feel the pall of despair suffocating us. We could see the daedra moving through the trees in the distance, but they did not come. Days passed, and still the daedra would not approach within arrow-shot of the battlements.

In the distance we could see an unnatural storm raging, thunder striking the earth with violence and I could only imagine the terrible destruction unleashed on whomever was unfortunate enough to be there.

Hope began to grow even as supplies began to run out. "They fear us," some would say, "even a daedra knows not to trifle with the wisdom and magicks of the Crystal-Like-Law!" It was as if the foul denizens of Oblivion had been waiting for this very spirit to stoke our hearts before they acted.

As we slept, innumerable legions of daedra amassed around us... and they were not alone. Hundreds of Altmer prisoners were gathered with them. As dawn tried to break the heavy cloud of the sky, we were awoken by their screams as the daedra began to flail them and flay them. We watched in abject horror as our kinfolk were defiled completely... carved up and eaten alive, impaled on their depraved war machines, and worried apart as meals for their profane beasts.

I do not think there are any alive who can possibly comprehend the sheer horror I felt at that moment. I was no warrior, and was squeamish about any bodily fluid; seeing such disgusting spectacle, impotent at my own weakness. A soul-crushing despair grasped my heart.

Our great and noble bastion proved as much of an impediment as a mighty oak to a landslide - standing tall for but a few moments, appearing almost able to ride the tide of destruction around it, but ultimately being swept away.

Lighting and thunder soon gave way to a storm, an adequate change for the tears running down my cheeks. Many around me began to wail in despair, for we had no hope left. The only thing we could do was wait for our turn. Despite that, the soldiers didn't even flinch, steel discipline kept our defenders from breaking down; for our sake they endured.

Our exalted wizards decimated the fiends, roasting them by the dozens. Archers were finding the narrowest of chinks in their daedric armor at over a hundred paces, felling their captains and commanders. The might and skillfulness of our heroic defenders was astonishing to behold, but it was not enough. The daedra clambered over the corpses of their cohort. They marched headlong into death and destruction that would make the mightiest armies in all of Tamriel quake with fear.

And in that moment, when it seemed like fire would consume Mundus, our salvation arrived from the very skies.

Before they could breach the walls, a miracle saved not only our lives, but also our home.

The heavens roared and the sky itself was rent by searing bolts from above, the raging storm above us not a profane spell of the daedra, but a herald for the arrival of our salvation. With a flash of lightning and rolling thunderclap the gleaming warhosts of Tiber Septim himself charged from the heavens to avenge the crimes of Oblivion.

As far as the eye could see, Thunderstrikes burned the invaders, leaving behind divine warriors that no mortal could hope to match. Their weapons wreathed in crackling arcs of lightning, not even the long-thought invincible daedric plate could withstand their assault.

Rising taller any man and even any mer I have ever seen in my life; the warriors clad in golden armor made short work of the nightmarish hordes of demons. Every strike, every slice… every single movement a perfect choreography of war. The numberless tide of monsters broke like the waves against the shore, behind their stern, expressionless masks they killed with contemptuous ease.

At risk of sounding like an arrogant bard, or any other charlatan glorifying a story, I can assure any reader who asks me that without any embellishment, I saw the giants slice at the very least eight Dremora before being saved b their peers, for they fought not as individuals but as a united force, each retinue moving and striking as one.

Soon, the vertical tide of monsters assaulting the keep were stopped dead on their tracks, and soon after broken. Very few had escaped and would soon be hunted, but such was the awe inspired by not only their arrival, but their very presence, that the dumbstruck audience fell silent.

The skies cleared, and for the very first time in my life, I was relieved at seeing the sun, soon a gentle breeze caressed my faced and blew through my hair, I was grateful for being alive. And yet all of that paled in comparison to the single moment that set my on this path, and that years later would put me amongst the very elite of my kind.

Against the army of giants, clad in perfect, gleaming heavy plates, decorated with gems, scrolls and symbols, plumes, crests and tabards, with weapons of such matchless artifice, the raiment of our own defenders was seen as modest. Yet there was no arrogance to be felt among them.

Great variety I saw and my eyes burned with their radiance, tears gathering at the edges until I the pain forced me to blink. Their matchless power humbled me not in its uncontained glory but its sincerity. An open hand, an invitation to become like them. I cannot begin to describe how jealous I was of them, and how I wanted to be seen like that; not out of pride but for the hope I felt when witnessing their imposing figures, stained as they were on that field with blood, mud and a sea of corpses that soon began to burn, returning to the hellish realm from whence they came.

One of their number soon broke formation and our own soldiers tensed. Would they demand tribute? Mayhap begin to draft? The constant threat of being overwhelmed had left them exhausted, but the oath to their duty kept them on their feet.

The woman, for despite her size she couldn't have been mistaken as anything else, reached for her helm, and when the ethereal beauty of her face was revealed we all fell to our knees, for before us stood none other than Queen Ayrenn Arana Aldmeri, daughter of King Hidellith of Alinor and Kinlady Tuinden.

Founder of the First Aldmeri Dominion and one of the greatest rulers of the Summerset Isles.

The great seer-mage Rynandor was the first to rise at behest of her Majesty, with commanders of the garrison and his own colleagues soon following. Their words were private and no one could hear what they were saying, soon other giants joined but their masks made it impossible to get a glimpse of anything, though words were not needed.

Her majesty motioned to the rest of our beloved home, and with master Rynandor nodding enthusiastically, it was easy to infer the message. All across our ancient kingdom the magical storm had raged, and all across the besieged cities and towns of our land, celestial reinforcements crushed the vile hordes of Dagon with divine fury and rightful wrath.

It would be much later when I found out that the same miracle had occurred all across Tamriel, though the colors and standards varied across the different provinces, the reality was the same.

Giant warriors crashing against the invasion with the power of lighting and thunder, weapons crackling with the fury of tempest, riding majestic beasts - amongst them dragons! - or flying across the sky with ethereal wings and magical bows or crossbows.

Of their casualties across Tamriel I knew not, nor would anyone consider the blasphemy of looting the bodies of our saviors to confirm, but I can say without fear of looking like a blundering idiot that most likely, they could be counted with one hand.

Not long after, our former queen left with her peers, to keep fighting while our defenders began to ask for volunteers, arming them as best as they could and basic instruction on the way of the sword. There was no shortage of youths falling on each other to follow, while our elders presented themselves to serve and obey any order given.

The miracle that happened before my very eyes inspired me to conquer my fears, for how could I waste their sacrifice by hiding behind the walls like a coward? As it stood our mission was to look for survivors and help the injured where we could find them. Our saviors knew of several places that could use the help.

A third of the soldiers stood behind, to protect the refugees along with some mages, of those who went ahead were assigned four volunteers. This ramshackle formation of squads was focused solely to search and rescue; we followed until reaching the city-proper and soon began to call for those who had been hidden for two nights before the nightmare ended.

Unbelievably, we found several people entrenched all across the city: retirees, trainees, soldiers who stayed behind to mount a defense, the crippled and even foreigners. And the children and women who were not fast enough during our retreat to the Crystal Tower. Not everyone was captured I realized with shame later on.

They all spoke of what we ourselves witnessed. The fury of the sky releasing an army of golden giants, striking with the power of a thousand war hammers when the battle seemed hopeless.

They had appeared the day night before, under the heavy rain to save whomever they could, forcing the daedra to escape with only a fraction of the victims that would otherwise would have been sacrificed before Crystal-Like-Law.

The reason they had chosen not to pursue was because Dagon's vile army left its mindless monsters behind to buy the smarter ones some time to enact their terrible crime. Yet this was but an act of desperation, for the noble steeds of our saviors fought with the same ferocity as their masters, reducing their counterparts to minced meat and disfigured corpses.

They all spoke in awe of what they saw, of the selfless heroism of these strangers that vanished into thin air much like the daedra that made us suffer so.

It was then that I swore… I would someday be worthy of the second chance these warriors gave me. Stormcast Eternals as Rynandor called them by dusk, when we helped whomever we could.

The following days were a myriad of activity as we struggled to make sense again. Our rulers wasted no time to organize us all into camps, workers rushing with no rest to repair whatever they could, volunteers offering their services and speeding up the reconstruction of our land.

We could not afford to be weak in the face of this crisis.

This reckoning, unfortunately also had the side effect of creating a distance between my people. Hence where this 'Thalmor' come in.

In the following days where our saviors returned to the heavens, many of these deranged extremists began to spit their poison. They were the ones that saved us, they claimed, working deep and subtle magicks. It was their efforts, their sacrifices that delivered the Altmer from extinction.

Even as the Stormcast Eternals protected the helpless, talked with us, roused the defenders where they were hit the hardest, where the casualties mounted in the hundreds and their speeches roused my kinsfolk to take up arms to fight by their side!

Even as their fantastical beasts ripped apart Dagon's blasphemous engines and corrupted abominations piecemeal!

And even as her Majesty Ayrenn met with the kings and queens of out nation to coordinate rescue efforts and begin reconstruction of our ruined cities!

It is true that the Great Anguish has changed us in a way we could have never predicted, the newer generations often leave seeking adventure, wanting to be a fraction of those who defended our home during those terrible days, coming back with a maturity and an understanding of conflict and the world that would otherwise remain out of their grasp by clinging to tradition and the strict teaching of our ancestors, bringing with them new and useful ideas on how to always improve our little slice of paradise, but the blessings of this change are often overlooked by those who remain shackled to the past, scared to venture to the continent even as simple glimpses.

Alas, no one truly knows if they even mounted a defense anywhere in Summerset, and while I can respect anyone who fought in the Crisis, by no means am I amused by the wild claims and the shameful impact they have on our beloved home.

Some of the elder generation have begun to promote ultranationalist sentiments, with those growing up in such an atmosphere often expressing xenophobic views. Of those few who survived and were ruined, a bit of coin and some semblance of normality was enough to make them fall into their grasp; even as the Empire and indeed, our own aristocrats, offered compensation, restitution and new positions.

For those who still remember how our society worked before the crisis, I invite you to speak up, whether for good or ill about everything that was before, what has changed of us and how this brave new world treats us.

Are we truly not better off in this Fourth Era, barely twenty years in?

Is the Empire we are part of not stronger for it?

Can anyone truly dismiss the contributions the descendants of the Aldmer had done in this time?

Humans calls us 'High Elves' for our pride but also our enlightenment; is sharing our knowledge to the benefit of everyone not proof of this enlightenment? Is it also not a source of pride now that our young bravely venture into the continent, to make contributions and cultivating names of their own?

While I myself never particularly worried about this, can any son or daughter of Summerset deny that our popularity has risen?

Not for our blood, nor because we were ever entitled to it, but because for probably the first time in our long history we decided to help our neighbors.

And did we not also benefit from this change now that the Septim Empire has us in such high regard? The elevation of knowledge in almost every aspect of life has created new talents, new currents of thinking and in such ambience, creativity sometimes out of our reach strengthening us.

Our buildings stronger, our ships faster, our armies vaster. And one of my greatest joys, our formerly brilliant but limited cuisine far wider than ever.

My own order changed and grew, formerly a court of four, unfortunately insufficient to truly tackle the enemy with our limited numbers, now forty and with talks to grow even more. Do we not save more lives by being more available? Would we be as effective now if not for the wake-up call of our saviors?

Would the Crystal Tower still stand if not for them?

The few times I ventured towards Cyrodiil, many young nobles often ask why our arms and armors gleam like Gold. I am always proud to tell them the story of our salvation. How the Golden Giants helped us in our time of greatest need, how our strongest warriors fought side by side with them against Hellish knights, how our brightest wizards shined even brighter when combining their arcane might with that of the very heavens.

And the parting words of one of our saviors, a man of fair complexion, sharp features and larger than life, a smile on his lips.

How it was an honor to fight by our side…

That we would fight until our last breath for not only our home, but also for the safety of Tamriel.

It is as our saviors said before departing.

Let our actions speak for us, for we have to keep on fighting. No matter the place, no matter the foe.

Howeverm I admit I have yet to learn why they reffered to Talos as Sigmar.


For those who will instatly jump the gun and say that there's no way an Altmer will consider a human for a Divine, in Rising Threat, Lathenil refers to the gods as the Nine Divines.

Not eight.

I actually had to read that line several times to make sure I was seeing things.

As for how the 'Cast were there during the Crisis... Mara help me some will want to kill me. Remember how the world is more or less just a dream? Who says time makes sense in a dream? Already droped a hint on an earlier chapter on how things go in Tamriel with an invasion.

Anyway, be careful and take all the precautions you can, here where I am things just get weirder. I'm going to sleep.