Sun's Dawn, Tirdas, 24th:
It must have been a little before four in the morning when the wick of a candle caught fire to lighten up the small space around it. Droplets of white wax slid down into the sconce underneath which caught it like a tray. The candle had been inserted just yesterday, so the sticky wax had yet to overflow onto the capital. Its flame flickered and danced as the holder set it down on a nightstand by the bedside. In the minimal view, he could see the pair of large sacks by the pillows and opened them to triple-check the contents inside. Both were filled with clothes and contained everything he would wear, so he tied the ropes to keep them closed. Next, the young man turned towards a heavy Imperial shield lying next to the sacks and inspected it. Finding it was in perfect shape and putting it closer to the other end with the sacks, he then took the candle towards a desk near the bed. Upon it rested three different weapons that he examined. The first was an Orsimeri longsword that rested snugly in its sheathe. He quietly slid the blade out to make sure it was in good condition too before reinserting it. The second and third were a war axe and a mace, both also of the Orsimeri craft. All three had been forged by Shulmonk gro-Glorul, the old Orsimeri blacksmith from Sutch whom he apprenticed under for the past four years, as parting gifts. Orsimeri runes had been carved into the wood between both of the metal heads and the leather of the mace and war axe, and along the hilt of his blade. Each one respectively read as "smash," "cleave," and "slash," in the common tongue. A custom of Orsimeri blacksmiths, one Shulmonk passed down to him by teaching him the dialect.
They were a fond reminder of the old Orsimer and his lessons on weaponry and armor. He learned a lot about blacksmithing from him and appreciated his firm teachings. His favorite lessons in particular were on medium armor and medium armor repair. Knowledge of how to forge heavy armor and repair it was most invaluable too since he did wear heavy gauntlets and boots and used a heavy shield too. As were the lessons about forging and repairing his weapons so they would not fail him in battle. It was why he always carried a repair hammer, leather straps, and a whetstone at all times to mend dents, sharpen his weapons, or reconnect cut straps and lacings. The equipment was inside the trunk with his armor at the foot of his bed. He walked towards it and knelt to undo the latch, opening the lid. Removing a pair of Imperial chain greaves, he sat down on the bed to put them on over his dark blacksmith's pants. He returned for the padded Imperial chain cuirass to slip it over his blue-collar shirt, followed by a pair of Imperial chain pauldrons for both shoulders. He removed a pair of Imperial steel gauntlets for his hands next, then an Imperial chain coif to put over his head. It covered his neatly trimmed auburn hair well while leaving the front exposed. Last was a pair of Imperial steel boots to complete his armor, with the tools for repairing his armor and weapons, before putting the boots on. Once suited up, the warrior inspected himself in the mirror.
His reflection stared back at him, his blue eyes especially seeming to delve into themselves from both sides. The young man stood at ease while examining his features, checking to make sure his face was clean shaven. Even though he did not exactly feel composed, he maintained a grip on his emotions so he would not start tearing up. What helped was seeing how strong he had become. Though he was a Nibenese Imperial by birth, one could easily mistake him for a Colovian Imperial. Both looked mostly similar even though there were very clear distinctions between their physiques. Nibenese Imperials and Colovian Imperials could tell themselves apart from one another; so could the other races when looking at them up close. Their accents sounded different because the former came from Nibenese Cyrodiil to the east, whereas the Colovian Imperials hailed from the Colovian Estates. Nibenese Imperials were also more skilled practitioners in the schools of magic, alchemy, and enchanting than their more martial Colovian foils who could better master the ins and outs of warfare, battle, and combat. Although the two were even in politics, Nibenese Imperials tended to be more subtle and covert through surreptitious subterfuge. Colovian Imperials relied heavily on intimidation, action, and the strength of arms. And Nibenese Imperials were comparable to Bretons from High Rock, whereas the Colovian Imperials were to Nords of Skyrim. Without those crucial characteristics, the Imperial race would have lacked a key layer of divergence to distinguish them.
In spite of his birth, the young man lived the life of a Colovian Imperial growing up instead. The upbringing had not been entirely his to choose since there were circumstances beyond his own control that turned him onto the warrior's path. He was not exactly free along the way, though the journey allowed him to explore and experiment. It gave him the power to determine how he would do it and what kind of training he needed. For some time at the very least, up until the moment had come for him to continue alone. He had already mastered the basics novice warriors learned under their masters, and was now ready to tackle the world as an apprentice in search of greater challenge. He could wield long blades, axes, and blunt weaponry like any Colovian Imperial could; and wear the same kind of medium and heavy armor with ease the same as them. The young man was more athletic than other Nibenese Imperials around his age, able to climb, run, and swim long distances. And nimble enough to jump high and dodge out of harm's way. Short blades and spears, while not his strong suit due to their limited range and hefty thrusts respectively, could sometimes be of aid. Shortswords and daggers in particular were quicker than longswords, and spears were much longer than long blades and sometimes even greatswords. Bows were the young man's greatest flaw as a warrior; although he knew how to aim and shoot, he had little practical experience beyond hunting. Rather than let that weigh him down, his main strengths more than made up for the lone deficiency.
Still, he had a lot to learn and considered that one of the reasons why he was leaving Anvil. It made for an effective cover story, not to hide lies since he had none but to keep from telling the whole truth. Not that anyone would care who he was. In distant lands, his name would mean little to nothing. Most warriors would have proven themselves, their given name, and their family name. Not him; he could not afford to be special enough to warrant the kind of attention warriors gained, nor to become a hero like many of them and the few who had even ascended into legend. As much as he may have desired to, he had no choice but to be ordinary, regular, plain, and even dull. There was no ulterior motive nor a criminal background to hide. Though it was personal and it had been the other reason for his departure. He preferred keeping that one to himself and between those who knew too. And to keep the number of people who did down to prevent others from finding out too.
The young man returned to the desk and strapped his longsword and war axe to his greaves' belt. Then he lifted the mace to strap it against his back with the head hanging down. He opened a drawer to pull out two pouches that each contained two hundred drakes. Both totaled four hundred, the maximum amount he decided to take with him that was small enough to be considered chicken scratch. He strapped the coin pouches to his belt too and closed the drawer before heading over to the bedside. The drakes jingled softly as he walked, stopping to take one of the large sacks to strap it on his back too. He claimed his heavy Imperial shield and slid it onto his left arm before grabbing the other sack with his left hand. Returning to the desk, he took the candle and walked towards the door. He quietly opened the door and stepped out into the darkened corridor beyond his bedroom's threshold, shutting it on the way out for the last time in his life. The candlelight served as his only guide but he knew the manor well and could have found the way without it. It was a bit comforting at least, so he welcomed it as a temporary companion more than anything else it probably offered.
His steel boots countered that though since the noise from his footsteps reverberated across the floor. The best he could do to keep their echoing at a minimum was to walk slowly and lift his feet up just high enough to proceed like normal. He considered trying to pass himself off as one of the house guards since theirs were noticeable too. Except theirs were distinct from his, identifiable by years of service and experience maneuvering in steel boots they were more accustomed to than him. The young man could actually hear several of them on duty, a couple of whom were patrolling the manor. As a resident, he had access to their schedules to know who was assigned to where and when. Enabling him to navigate his way through halls and rooms they were nowhere near and get by without issue. He hoped they would also write off his footsteps thinking he was one of them or be slow to investigate if suspicious. A few were understanding towards his plight and several others were bribed to look the other way. However, not all of them were and those bribed could go against their promise out of loyalty or, they thought, a raise or a promotion. Though in addition to receiving neither, they could be discredited too for stealing or taking more than their allotted income allowed.
The curtains were drawn over the windows because it was still dark outside but would have been pulled once it got brighter. Daylight was soon approaching and the townsfolk would be going about their business with it. By then, he would have already boarded the ship his mother chartered for him. Although he could have headed there a little later in the morning, the young man preferred arriving ahead of the crew's schedule before they unloaded and loading cargo. He did not want to get in their way but did not wish to wait either, so he arranged for a sailor to welcome him aboard before the day began. Nor did he desire to answer questions from inquisitive townsfolk or become the subject of conversations if they saw him. He could avoid guards on patrol by taking side streets and alleys, having memorized their routes and the time it took for them to reach certain points. He knew when to make a break for it in between those moments. Most of the guards stationed at their posts could be bypassed too because they often faced one direction. Those guards still listened for anything out of the ordinary, however, but often did not pay too much attention or fell asleep while on duty. The only guards he could not get around stood at the portcullis to the Harborside District since he needed to speak with at least one for passage. One he could, ideally, persuade to keep his departure secret. He wore the Legion's standard Imperial chain armor and had a strong physique, so perhaps the gatekeepers would mistake him for being a Colovian Imperial Legionnaire called to duty in the Second Great War. Unless they realized just one lone soldier leaving made no sense.
Paintings and tapestries hung from the walls but the young man did not stop to look at them like he used to. He observed those multiple times throughout his life and could recall many except for the new additions. He also noted them in his peripheral vision while passing by, taking care to avoid the tapestries that bore his family's insignia. It was another reminder of why he was leaving, and he did not want to spend time recalling precious memories that would hold him back. He kept himself neutral towards them, lest his emotions get the better of him. Because although some were of happy times he wished would have gone on longer, reminiscing brought up bad memories too. And while he did regret leaving, most children left home when grown up. It was part of becoming an adult. That did not prevent him from missing everyone he knew in Sutch and Anvil and did not have the time to say goodbye or write a farewell to. Including his mother, whom he held dear and close to his heart, whose own heart his departure would crush most without saying goodbye to her. He struggled heavily on whether to or not before deciding not to was for the best. Nothing he said or did would have made it any better or any less painful. His only comfort was her awareness since she helped book his passage out of Anvil, so an extended farewell felt unnecessary. He was always going to remember her and their final moments together well after departing, for the rest of his life even, so there was that at least. The young man closed his eyes for a moment while walking through the darkness to cherish those last moments and all the happy times they shared together prior. Then he opened them to steel himself for the journey ahead, finding the stairs and descending to a sitting room on the ground floor. He heard the house guards but none stood between him and the entrance.
The young man went over, maintaining his gait so as not to cost himself at the last minute. He gripped the doorknob with the hand carrying the sack while lifting his candle, readying himself. Once he opened the door, it would be the last time crossing the threshold never to return. This was his last morning in Anvil, and his destination beyond was just on the other side. He held his breath and turned the knob, about to blow out the candle and place it upon a little side table near the door.
"Young Master?"
The soon-to-be-immigrant exhaled at the interruption. It did not surprise him that someone caught him leaving, having expected somebody would try to stop him or halt his exodus for a few moments to minutes longer. Recognizing the old voice, he knew it was the latter and turned to face its speaker. The elderly Redguard exited the shadows into the candlelight, dressed in a blue velvet outfit with matching blue suede shoes. Cyrodiil's nobility popularized the outfit and other clothing worn by them, though it was not normally worn by those not born into it. It was not exclusive to Cyrodiil as the nobles of Hammerfell, High Rock, and Western Skyrim imported it. Though only a servant, the elderly Redguard dressed properly and professionally as if he was one himself. House rules dictated it, and it was a standard norm across much of Tamriel. The old Redguard was mostly balding too, save for several loose strands of gray hair on his head and a neatly trimmed mustache of the same color under his nose. His brown eyes expressed awareness of the young man's exodus.
"Endille…" he spoke the elderly Redguard's name, wondering why he was fully dressed.
Endille acknowledged his preparations with a rhetorical question, "Leaving so soon?"
"Mm," the young man nodded somberly. "You know the reason why."
"You are sure this is the only way, Young Master?"
The Nibenese Imperial looked down in shame, "I am afraid it is. There is no pleasing him."
"You still have time, Young Master," Endille tried to encourage him, "if you wish to stay."
The young man shook his head, "No, it is better this way. He will not have to suffer me."
The elderly servant gave an understanding nod. "I shall not stop you if you feel this course of action is necessary. But would you like me to at least prepare some food for the journey ahead?"
The young man declined, "No, thank you, there will be enough aboard the ship." He patted the coin pouches on his belt gently to avoid making further noise. "And I have enough to get by."
"Of course," Endille nodded, accepting his answer. "You will speak with her?"
"She knows," the young man answered quickly while maintaining his polite tone.
The elderly Redguard simply nodded again, appearing to know something he did not. If he did, Endille chose not to share whatever it was with him. "As you wish, Young Master," he bowed.
The young man gave him an appreciative nod and turned back to the door before recalling, "Oh, and one last thing, Endille. Once I step through this door, I am no longer your Young Master."
"I understand, Young Master," Endille got the message but smiled as he came forward and took the doorknob from him. When they made eye contact again, the young man was met with one of the proudest grins the elderly Redguard had ever given him. "Though if I may, would you permit this old servant to treat you to a final token of service? One last kindness as a humble parting gift?" Tears formed in his eyes but none slid down his cheeks, save for a lone droplet that alone advanced. It did not finish the descent, stopping halfway as if it realized dropping to the floor would be noisy.
The young man smiled tearfully, setting the sack down to give a parting hug of appreciation for everything up to and including this moment. "Of course, my friend," he accepted the kindness, making it last longer than he intended because the elderly Redguard was one of the closest people he valued. Once he felt confident Endille would recall this moment fondly for the rest of his days, the young man stepped back. He picked up the sack and gave Endille the candle to wipe tears from his eyes. "And thank you for everything, Endille. I will never forget you and your tireless service. You have been like a grandfather to me, and even more of a loving father to me than he ever was."
Endille let go of the doorknob to place his free hand on his heart. "And you were the son I never had, Young Master," he responded tearfully. "You and your mother both have given this old man the only family he has ever known. It has brought me joy standing by your side since the day you were born. I am eternally grateful to have been of service to you, and I am proud to call myself your servant. I still will even after your departure, and even in my last days while on my deathbed."
The young man could not help but tear up again at that. "I apologize in advance if I cannot be there when the time comes. But I hope you will not have to feel pain and that it will be peaceful."
The elderly Redguard shook his head, "Thank you, Young Master, but you do not have to. While I would appreciate having you there, I shall not force you. Besides, I do not wish for him to disparage you if you do. You have a big adventure ahead of you and must find your purpose in the world beyond. From here on out, nobody but you can determine the way forward. It will be difficult and challenging at times. But if anyone can do it, it is you, Young Master. You have matured into one of the greatest warriors Anvil has ever seen, on par with multiple heroes throughout the ages."
He chuckled humbly, "I would not say I am their equal. I am but a fresh apprentice. I have never even experienced an actual battle beyond the occasional highwayman out on the local roads."
"It does not matter, Young Master. You have the heart of one and follow it unflinchingly," the elderly Redguard praised him. "There are none in Anvil more courageous and kinder than you."
It was the young man's turn to shake his head. "Nor have I gone that far as of yet." Though he remained modest, he could still count himself amongst their number if not at the top like some.
Endille bowed his head thoughtfully. "Well, either way, you are one of Anvil's best all the same." He opened the front door. "And like many of them, you must spread your wings and soar."
The young man saluted his old servant. "Goodbye, old friend."
Endille returned the gesture. "And goodbye to you too, Young Master."
With a smile as he bowed his head in appreciation, Sitirus Kratian exited the manor he had called home for two decades. Now used to call. The twenty-year old warrior stepped onto the porch and stopped to take the town of Anvil in. As much of it as he could that early in the morning since it was still dark. Only the torchlights dotting the streets and patrolling town guards carrying torches afforded him the chance to view its buildings. It was the last time he would see his hometown from this spot and he wanted to remember it. Sitirus never knew the old Anvil when it used to be a city-state. Apart from the ruins of old quarters now inhabited by squatters, beggars, thieves, and thugs, little was left in the wake of Lady Arannelya's besiegement after the First Great War started in the year 4E 171. He remembered it was a large village the day of his birth and that it was declared a town shortly after his early childhood ended. He was seven when the mayor made his proclamation in 4E 193. Looking back, Sitirus remembered how hollow the announcement's impact was. Anvil made one of the slowest recoveries in its recorded history, rebuilt only in limited space which used to be surrounded by towering stone walls. Those walls were long gone, substituted with the much shorter wooden palatines built from imported logs. The four inner districts that were razed by Lady Arannelya's army were reconstructed to various extents. Most of the buildings were homes for the locals, the majority of which were small Colovian shacks or larger homes in the blend of Colovian Imperial and Forebear Redguard architectural styles. Few, including Sitirus' own, happened to be manor houses inhabited by the few elites who returned to Anvil or migrated there. There were also several shops, an inn, a guildhall for the Fighters Guild, and a small chapel to the Divines. Sadly, the outer districts were no more. Except for Harborside, the ruins were all that remained standing, and the mayor was not inclined towards rebuilding when there was nobody to inhabit the districts.
Harborside had yet to be rebuilt by his birth, though much progress had been made since it started prior. That waterfront was actually pretty small since there were only two docks for a couple of warships and two smaller commercial vessels. A shorter dock had also been constructed for the pair of tinier fishing boats that sailed out into the bay to catch fish. Offices and warehouses for the Imperial Trading Company and the East Empire Company were built close to where the ships left port and docked so cargo could be stored easily. Fisheries and fish hatcheries had been constructed along the water to catch and breed fish for sustenance and commercial trade. And bunkhouses and taverns were established to house sailors for the night, though pirates, smugglers, and thieves took beds in those places too. There were no houses for anybody to live in to divide the townsfolk from incoming sailors. The peninsula where Anvil's old lighthouse stood remained bare since the mayor had yet to plan and collect funding for its reconstruction. But in addition to it and the house where the lighthouse keeper would live, he was also considering the idea of building several small shacks for workers who would help maintain the structure. Shacks had also been there when Anvil was a city-state, though they had not been so different from the residential homes inside the walls. There was a monolith in its place with a large brazier lit at night for incoming ships, though firelight was not as bright. Although Sitirus never saw the city-state's Harborside, he knew that it encompassed Anvil Bay in full. It included a priory dedicated to the Lady Stone, a place commonly known as Lady's Watch, a subdistrict of Harborside; and garrisons for the Imperial Navy with enough space for imperial warships to stand alongside commercial vessels and smaller fishing boats. Everything was gone now, replaced by new structures that were part of the new, albeit pale and sickly, Anvil.
In spite of its limited use, Harborside was actually Sitirus' favorite district and the only one that brought him comfort. Walking along the boardwalk and observing the ships afforded a glimpse into Harborside's past as one of the greatest ports in Tamriel. It was a grand majesty of King Bendo Olo's All Flags Navy against the Sload of Thras around 1E 2200. In King Bendo's time, the district and the rest of Anvil was no different than its current state of ramshackle buildings. Thieves, pirates and corsairs, smugglers, thugs, and refugees laid claim to the land until the king returned to convert the place into an impervious stronghold and maritime city-state. Many still did because Anvil never could erase its dark history of criminality. Refugees from Valenwood—Bosmer, Imga, and Wood Orcs—left their province for sanctuary in areas such as Anvil and its outskirts. Pirates and corsairs of the Abecean Sea plundered Anvil and neighboring port towns in the Gold Coast for loot, selling some of their ill-gotten treasure across the region's southwest for coin. The Imperial Navy usually kept them in check, though did little so long as currency circulated and because the war was raging. The Cyrodiil Thieves Guild and independent thieves had their own hideouts around town, running a black market to fence stolen goods, smuggled contraband, and drugs. Local town guards were in on it to some degree, keeping the black market afloat for their own gains while curbing its activity to maintain at least some law and order and satisfy those who could not be bought or bribed to turn a blind eye. As ugly as Anvil was beneath, the surface was just as beautiful because the town, like the rest of the Gold Coast, was the only place in Cyrodiil to watch and paint the Abecean Sea from.
So long as one overlooked the belligerent sailors and thugs who gathered at the bunkhouses for roughhousing, drinks, gambling, and illicit romance. And the pirates who celebrated their raids across the Gold Coast. And drug dealers plying foul wares like Skooma, Balmora Blue, and Moon Sugar in furtive backrooms. And thieves who planned heists, fenced stolen goods, and gambled in the darkened corners to cheat honest folk out of hard-earned drakes. Some even took advantage of vulnerable lovers. The wharf was not safe either because they frequented the alleys in between and the piers, inviting clients or victims over to partake in business or rob them. They knew to distance themselves from Legionnaires of the Imperial Navy and town guards who frowned on their crimes. Keeping the impression of being law abiding citizens was just as critical as their shared desires for adrenaline, coin, drink, and love. One false move at the table or in bed was all it took to lose it all.
Still, Harborside was much livelier than Sitirus' home district of Chapelgate which lacked personality and was a mere shell of even the shadow of its former self. Since Chapelgate, otherwise labeled the Dibellan District, was once Anvil's center of religion. It used to be administered by the House of Dibella, an order of the Imperial Cult that dedicated themselves to the Divine their name came from. Until Lady Arannelya's army came and destroyed it in the First Great War. Before she attacked Anvil, Chapelgate was a beautiful place filled with gardens of different colored lilies that attracted all kinds of moths. Including Ancestor Moths because of the canticle trees that also grew there, so the Cult of the Ancestor Moth maintained a priory to produce exotic silk and clothes with Nibenese Cyro-Nords and Nibenese Imperials. They sold the goods in markets all across the region and the rest of Cyrodiil. Conjurers often collected several Ancestor Moths, harvesting their wings for alchemical potions. All of that was possible since the gardens were inspired by a cross between the Nordic worship of Dibella in Skyrim and the ancient Atmoran worship of the Moth. It appealed to Anvil's Nords and drew them towards Dibella. The gardens were not just a religious attraction that helped induce meditative states to her among the fields of lilies or in the covered arcade while under the watchful eye of her statue though. They were also one of the utmost landmarks that Anvil ever cultivated, drawing tens of thousands each year to see the lilies bloom and the moths fly about.
It was also where various cults to the Goddess of Beauty and Love preached their teachings, from innocent practices to more inappropriate measures. The subject of their worship often varied between artists, aesthetics, and women. Though the House of Dibella was the leading cult because it was part of the greater Imperial Cult. Their Great Chapel to Dibella, County Anvil's parish, was the tallest building throughout the county and where the House of Dibella preached from. Like the Cult of the Ancestor Moth and a few of the other cults to the Lady of Love and Queen of Heaven, they had their own priory in Chapelgate. Unlike them, the House was the only one to hold political power on account of being in the Imperial Cult. Making them the authority figures on the worship of Dibella in the city-state and its county and allowing them to govern Chapelgate on behalf of the county's ruling dynasty. They were also responsible for managing Chapelgate and enforcing their policies and the peace with their templar order, the Order of the Lily, which had their own garrison in the district. And their Primate also served as the royal court's Court Chaplain, evangelizing the worship of Dibella all over the county and converting people or reconverting them to her worship.
The Cult of the Ancestor Moth was an exception since they worked directly with the Elder Scrolls in White-Gold Tower's Imperial Library. Their political power was greater than that of the House of Dibella's, waiving its responsibilities towards the latter's policies. Although, the cult did defer to the House out of respect for the Divine. It was a neutral relationship between the two that lasted until Lady Arannelya's army razed both to the ground. Only a handful of Moth Priests made it out of the carnage alive but wounded like many other survivors. But they never returned to Anvil because saving the Elder Scrolls from Lord Naarifin was more critical. From what Sitirus learned, the Moth Priests rushed to beat the Thalmor general to the Imperial City before he could surround it, warning the Imperial Library's staff and defending the Elder Scrolls when Lord Naarifin arrived. What happened once the Thalmor general conquered the Imperial City remained unknown, though it was later rumored that he and his mages placed teleportation spells on the Elder Scrolls to spirit them to the city-state of Alinor in the province of Alinor. It helped explain when they disappeared after the Battle of the Red Ring in 4E 175 to catch the Empire off guard. Lord Naarifin's army had been completely obliterated just prior, and the Thalmor general was believed to have been snatched from his imprisonment atop White-Gold Tower by a winged Daedra a month after his defeat. The disappearance was said to have happened just after, leading some to suspect Lord Naarifin plotted the surprise attack for contingency. Giving the Thalmor an advantage when negotiating the White-Gold Concordat with the Empire. That could have been why the terms remained largely identical.
However, there were other possibilities as to how the Elder Scrolls vanished. Some people speculated that Lord Naarifin and his mages were unable to apply the spells or control their magic once placed because the Elder Scrolls' power nullified their magic. Many thought the Elder Scrolls were sentient and disappeared or teleported by their own accord to places of their choosing. Some Moth Priests were known to have escaped the Imperial City under Lord Naarifin's occupation, so others believed they brought the Elder Scrolls to the Temple of the Ancestor Moths, located in the northeastern Jerall Mountains, for safekeeping. Their priory and community were unreachable for the most part, save for a lone road from Cheydinhal that went directly there. It was their sanctuary, a place the Moth Priests retired to when blinded from constant reading of the Elder Scrolls or when they grew too old to keep serving the Imperial Library. Retired Moth Priests kept producing cloth from the silk while blind, and were said to master the art of Akaviri swordplay peerlessly regardless of their blindness. The thought of observing one in action made Sitirus wonder what it was like to face them in a duel. Unfortunately, it had been a long time since they were seen in Anvil. With the gardens and canticle trees burned to the ground, nothing remained for them to maintain. Ancestor Moths supposedly came back without the monks for some time, before leaving or dying out after.
It was not entirely difficult to answer why Lady Arannelya and her army brought the district to greater ruin than most of the other districts. The Dominion did not worship Dibella or the other Divines because the Thalmor outlawed the religion. The Imperial Cult was abolished from Alinor, the province, after they took over and then again in Valenwood when they reformed the Dominion. Worship declined in Elsweyr following its secession from the Empire. The Imperial Cult splintered within the Khajiiti kingdoms and pulled out, leaving individual orders to fend for themselves. The House of Dibella was one of the most successful, propagating in their lands until they and the other cults were abolished by the Thalmor shortly after the province was claimed in 4E 155. Propaganda against Imperial Divines became common in the Dominion, spreading from Alinor to its domains. The Dominion's provinces were the Empire's enemies but it was also because the Imperial Divines were human goods. Dibella was a Divine of the Nordic Pantheon, whose worship spread to Nedes and Bretons in Cyrodiil and High Rock centuries ago. Forebear Redguards of Hammerfell counted themselves among her worshippers too because the House of Dibella still had power there. But the Crowns did not worship her or any of the other Imperial Divines since they had their own Yokudan Pantheon. However, the Crowns did respect her worship and let it remain as a gesture of goodwill.
By the First Great War's end, virtually nothing was left of Chapelgate. The district and all the priories and homes were smoldering piles of rubble. The Great Chapel's spire toppled from its roof onto the House of Dibella's priory, and Anvil's Order of the Lily was eradicated in full. Gone were the lily gardens and the arcade, with nowhere left for the Goddess' worshippers to revere her in peace. Her statue was obliterated; although the House of Dibella tried to have it restored, drakes were in short supply and had been allocated towards other infrastructure. The House tried to reform itself and the Order of the Lily attempted to as well. Although their templar order failed, the House of Dibella managed to build that small chapel from the Great Chapel's remains. Sadly, the people no longer believed in the Lady of Love anymore. Their absence of faith was understandable given that love, while strong enough to keep them together, was not enough to save Anvil from the army under Lady Arannelya nor last in its reconstruction. Few flocked to the House and only several of the other dedicated cults returned. In time, those cults soon dispersed to other regions of Cyrodiil and traveled north into Hammerfell. The House of Dibella, trying its best to stay relevant, struggled to keep up with changing attitudes towards the Divine and the lack of faith and funding. Until they too closed their doors due to the decrease in worshippers and priests. It could not be helped because Dibella's influence in Cyrodiil waned. Although she retained her status as one of the Eight Divines, she, the House, and their templar order lost favor within the Imperial Cult throughout the province.
Sitirus could not even remember the last time he saw priests from the House of Dibella. He had been a small child when they were struggling to stay afloat. He recalled asking where they had gone at some point and his mother's tearful reply that they left Anvil and Cyrodiil altogether to go into Hammerfell. Looking back on it now, Sitirus believed she worshipped the Goddess of Beauty and Love and was saddened by losing her. He never once asked about her faith because it seemed like a sensitive topic and he did not want to hurt her feelings. Nor did his mother explain it further, likely because the House of Dibella's dissolution in Anvil gave her heartache. He often witnessed her gripping the amulet of Dibella every time she prayed by herself and with him sometimes. The amulet was blessed by the Divine according to the House, though Sitirus knew they created it and figured they gave it to her like all worshippers. Or that it was personal gift from one of its members or somebody in the Order of the Lily. In spite of the sorrow that became associated with it, Sitirus believed the amulet still brought his mother some comfort now that Dibella worship had left Anvil.
When they were besieging the city-state, Lady Arannelya and her army went to such great lengths to desecrate Chapelgate that it was beyond disrespectful. They defamed the whole district. Its priories were brought to ruin with the Cult of the Ancestor Moth's own and the gardens. So too had the House of Dibella and Order of the Lily fallen to their blasphemy when her army forced the two institutions into the Great Chapel. She personally led the massacre and set fire to the alter with such powerful Destruction magic that it seemed like the whole building erupted like Red Mountain.
Like when Meridia's Auroran soldiers did the same after Martin Septim's glorious sacrifice banished Mehrunes Dagon back into the Deadlands. Except even that incident paled in comparison to the sheer devastation Lady Arannelya left in her wake. It was unclear where the Aurorans came from at first but scholars and priests of the House and their templar order posited that Meridia sent them from the Colored Rooms, her Plane of Oblivion. Her unexpected involvement in the Oblivion Crisis caught all of Cyrodiil off guard. Nobody thought the Lady of Infinite Energies and of Greed would have joined the Prince of Destruction in waging war against the province by capitalizing on his invasion's failure. As the people soon found out from a puzzling prophet who suddenly showed up in Chapelgate, the ancient Ayleid Sorcerer King, Umaril the Unfeathered, was behind the Great Chapel's desecration. That did not mean Meridia was not involved in his imminent resurrection as she might have seen the state of Cyrodiil and Dagon's defeat as an opportunity to restore Umaril's rule under her authority. And, by proxy, the renewal of Ayleid civilization under Umaril's control.
The most powerful of the Ayleid Sorcerer Kings from the Early First Era and their emperor, Umaril was another force to be reckoned with and a foe one could not take lightly either. The Song of Pelinal, Volume Three, said he was a half-Mer demigod born out of wedlock between an Ayleid mother and a god. Both parents were unknown, though Umaril was a devout worshipper of Meridia and tied his soul to the Colored Rooms so it could recuperate safely without fear if his mortal body died. The semi-divine circumstances of his birth and his pact with the Daedric Prince made Umaril the strongest Ayleid to have ever walked the face of Tamriel. Yet there was some debate as to how mighty the Sorcerer King actually was. The fourth and seventh volumes of the Song said he fought from a distance, the latter literally saying, "Umaril favored ruin-from-afar over close combat." A quote that seemingly proved he was a weak coward who skillfully manipulated his army of Ayleids and Aurorans from behind the frontlines and the battlefield since he was more adept at politics and Meridia worship than battle. Or so human scholars of Ayleid lore claimed based on the Song alone.
Though correct in their assumption of where the Aurorans originated from, they had yet to determine where they manifested in Cyrodiil and how. It was thought the liminal barrier between Mundus and Oblivion had been sealed by Martin Septim's sacrifice which should have prevented Umaril's resurrection in the first place. Except his pact with Akatosh only sealed access to Dagon's Deadlands specifically. Not any of the other Planes of Oblivion, including others Mehrunes Dagon ruled. The Prince of Destruction was still able to influence mortals and events in Tamriel and offer access to his other Planes. But he would never again pose a danger to Tamriel to the same degree, nor had been remotely involved in Umaril's return even though some people thought he conspired with him and Meridia. As the pact did not close shut the jaws of Oblivion like many had believed, Meridia's Aurorans could manifest in Cyrodiil and attack the parishes. Dibella's worshippers were their first victims, and the assault on the district and its Great Chapel was just the first stage in their holy war against all the Divines. A united Ayleid-Auroran crusade to retake Cyrod from Alessia's descendants, late Dragonborn usurpers of the Reman and Septim Dynasties who inherited her rule.
Fortunately, Umaril was slain in the Early First Era by Pelinal Whitestrake, the First Divine Crusader and one of the greatest heroes in Saint Alessia's army. Proving he could be still be killed; although, the victory was pyrrhic. Pelinal could only destroy the Sorcerer King's physical body on Tamriel. He could not pursue the Unfeathered into Meridia's Colored Rooms to finish him off for good, giving Umaril more time to reform and plot his reconquest of Cyrodiil with his mistress, the Daedric Prince. Perhaps including the resurrection of his entire race when reinstating his rule, like what the Imperial City's Altmeri Ayleid Revivalist, Umbacano, attempted during the Crisis. It was thought that Umbacano had been collaborating with Umaril and Meridia to usher in the reconquest. That had not been proven or had yet to be, just as there was little evidence tying Umbacano to the Thalmor when the Blades discovered they funded his research into the Ayleids and expeditions to Ayleid ruins across Cyrodiil. The Seventh Champion of Cyrodiil even slew him after he collected all ten of the Statues of the Ancestors from some of those ruins and an Ayleid carving from Malada, the High Fane, and the ancient Ayleid Crown of Lindai. It was that last Ayleid artifact that did the Revivalist in, since the Champion realized Umbacano wanted him to claim the Crown of Nenalata from a rival scholar of Ayleid lore and culture named Herminia Cinna by theft or her murder. That was when he figured out Umbacano wanted to transcend as an Ayleid Sorcerer King himself. The Altmer's plot might have worked if he had the right crown, though the Champion had just enough strength to put him down even if he did as Umbacano said. Thereby crippling the Ayleid recovery.
His plot was ended sometime before the Champion helped Martin banish Mehrunes Dagon back into the Deadlands. And after the Prince of Destruction was taken care of, he traveled across the province again in search of the Crusader's Relics and to reform the Knights of the Nine against Umaril. When he succeeded, the prophet bestowed the newly arisen Second Divine Crusader with the Blessing of Talos, the very power Pelinal himself lacked since Tiber Septim had not been born nor ascended to divinity as the Ninth Divine in the First Era. With that vital key to stopping the Sorcerer King, the prophet sent him and the Knights of the Nine to Umaril's stronghold, the Ayleid ruin of Garlas Malatar, the Cavern of the High Wood, in the Gold Coast, northwest of Anvil, where the Aurorans had been manifesting in Cyrodiil through a portal to the Colored Rooms. Where they invaded Chapelgate from. And where the Second Divine Crusader and his new Knights of the Nine cut through swarms of the Aurorans before he killed Umaril—both his body in Garlas Malatar and his spirit in the Colored Rooms—permanently. For accomplishing what Pelinal once did and going a step further than the First Divine Crusader on behalf of Cyrodiil, the Champion became the most acclaimed figure in its lands. A true successor to the Ruby Throne and a saint to the Imperial Cult.
The year 3E 433 seemed apocryphal to Cyrodiil with Mehrunes Dagon and Meridia vying for its downfall. But with the Seventh Champion of Cyrodiil, the Hero of Kvatch, and the Second Divine Crusader, the province seemed poised to retake control over its bleeding empire. That was until the Champion was last seen entering a strange portal to the Shivering Isles of Sheogorath that suddenly appeared in the Niben Bay near Bravil. Considering his might and prowess as a crusader, battlemage, and warrior, everyone assumed he would return after putting the Mad God in his place. Who would have expected otherwise from a hero who stood against the forces of two other Daedric Princes and united Cyrodiil against both? But they doubted his success when he failed to reemerge from the Shivering Isles victorious. The wait for his return lasted for years before resigning to the fact he would not. It seemed Sheogorath achieved what Mehrunes Dagon and Umaril had not. The apparent defeat felt downright impossible but it seemed he, the Seventh Champion of Cyrodiil and the Second Divine Crusader, was no match for the Mad God's guild and insanity. Few thought that Sheogorath collaborated with the Prince of Destruction and the Lady of Greed if the trio conspired together, though it remained unproven. It was a stain on the Champion's great legacy but had little effect in diminishing his conquests against the other two and numerous feats attributed to his might.
But his absence helped kill the Mages Guild alongside a growing mistrust of magic reared by the Oblivion Crisis. Had he been around, the guild could have begun its own recovery from the Crisis and Hannibal Traven's horrid mismanagement. The Mages Guild used to be one of the most upstanding guilds throughout Tamriel. Sadly, it was on the verge of having its charter revoked due to the overly excessive limitations Traven enforced upon it. The upheaval began when Traven was appointed to the office of Arch-Mage in 3E 431 over Kvatch's more qualified Guildmagister. She was said to have been jealous of his promotion and angry with the Council of Mages because they overlooked her in favor of him. Politics were at play but it had more to do with the fact that Traven was a successful Guildmagister. He ran the cleanest guildhall in Anvil and bought enough property for it to become a full campus on par with the Imperial City's Arcane University. His presentation of the guildhall's reputation amongst its mages and Anvil showed how effective his administration was. The whole city-state applauded his policies as the best framework the guild could implement, granting Hannibal Traven immense prestige and political power that most mages only dreamed of.
Unfortunately, although Traven's policies functioned perfectly in a single guildhall, trying to apply those policies to the management of an entire guild that spanned the whole continent was an impossible undertaking. Each provincial branch and individual guildhall had their own ways of doing things to make the Mages Guild work. Forcing them to follow a specific set of rules just one of those individual guildhalls operated by caused serious friction worsened by the sheer magnitude of Traven's arrogance, inexperience, and incompetence. He was not suited to run the whole guild, lacking the proper understanding of how to manage one of Tamriel's largest institutions. Allowing imperial politics, self-promotion, and self-interest to guide his practices caused Traven to become dictated by conceit. He wound up kneecapping the Mages Guild's administration something fierce, grossly restricting admission into the Arcane University under the sole condition that applicants to the guild required a total of eight written recommendations from each of the Guildmagisters in all of the capital city-states around the Imperial City before they could even step foot onto its grounds. Opposition was swift as the Mages Guilds of High Rock, Elsweyr, Valenwood, and the Summerset Isles stopped sending mages to Cyrodiil. Each of those branches wrote new policies to expand the services they provided to students and faculty instead. They also stopped communicating with the headquarters in Cyrodiil but maintained communication with each other. Their response was akin to officially seceding, a step Kvatch's guildhall openly took because it chafed under the limitation. Although, its Guildmagister's growing hatred for Traven also caused it to buckle under the stress.
Worse, Traven did not just stop at leaving the Mages Guild in poor shape. He quite literally signed its death warrant with his outright ban on Necromancy. While not as controversial as limits on admission into the Arcane University, it left the guild heavily divided. The guildhall in Chorrol in particular faced part of the blunt since it focused on the School of Conjuration that Necromancy fell under. Most of its mages withdrew into the Colovian Highlands around the city-state to protect their studies into the discipline and continue conducting research in secret. Leaving only a handful of mages loyal to Traven to operate the diminishing guildhall. Larger provincial branches had more autonomy to administer themselves but often deferred to provincial cultures with regards to certain matters, Necromancy being one of those predicaments. It was permitted in Cyrodiil and High Rock to an extent as necromancers loyal towards the Empire were provided with cadavers of traitors and criminals to work on. So long as they operated on just those corpses, they were free to experiment as necessary. The Order of the Black Worm once tried to negotiate a similar arrangement with the King of Nova Orsinium, Gortwog gro-Nagorm, though made no headway. While Necromancy was allowed in Morrowind, the Dunmer abhorred the practice against their kin and fellow Dunmer. To them, it was an act of blasphemy against their ancestors. Practicing with human or Betmeri corpses was, however, acceptable. In Elsweyr and Black Marsh, the Khajiit and Argonians were indifferent to Necromancy. Bodies were actually products in the markets of the Khajiiti city-state of Senchal, where even the Sload could purchase cadavers. Necromancy was also prominent in Skyrim despite the objections of its Nordic population and the difficulties of acquiring corpses to work on. Mainly cadavers of late Nords who perished from ironic exposure to the cold or from being slain in battle. The snow preserved the cadavers but there was too much of it for the necromancers to dig through. But the Summerset Isles, Valenwood, and Hammerfell were utterly against Necromancy since the cultures of all three provinces forbid it in full. However, the Altmer made exceptions because they used Necromancy to prolong their own lifespans, experimenting on themselves instead of reviving the dead. If those branches had not yet officially seceded from the guild, they now had a reason to.
However, the matter was left up to the discretion of individual guildhalls so Guildmagisters could evaluate it themselves and come to their own conclusions. In most cases though, the public was in favor of abolishing Necromancy from the guild. However, it was not without consequence. Some guildhalls attempted to compromise while others rejected the ban following critical review. Traven was not happy with either outcome, charging the guildhalls with brutally harsh penalties if they did not comply. In spite of winning public favor and approval from the Imperial Cult, half the Council of Mages resigned their posts in protest and much swifter retaliation than their opposition to the restrictions on admission. Their withdrawal stunted administration and communication. The deepest schism in particular was with the Elsweyr Mages Guild; it seceded, becoming independent. Few, including Guildmagister Voth Karlyss of Corinthe, continued to show support even as their parent organization became its enemy. So did the Nova Orsinium Mages Guild when Traven gave the order for the Order of the Lamp to arrest Guildmagister Ulliceta gra-Kogg when she was caught practicing it. While the Nova Orsinium Mages Guild and King Gortwog had reservations over her work, Ulliceta was in good standing and adhered to imperial law on Necromancy. The arrest failed since she escaped, and it was seen as an extension of Traven's politization. Prior to the arrest, he invited her and Voth to talk about Necromancy in a debate labeled as: "The Black Arts on Trial." Although Traven claimed it was an objective discussion and had the debate recorded for posterity, it was anything but. His decision was already made prior so he could use the debate to justify his ban. It was later found out that he was fully aware of Ulliceta's experiments and sought to use her work as a political tool for legitimization. And even though Voth's argument was equally valid as hers, he was a devout collaborator looking to advance his position and reputation. The debate was still published, but became discredited when both men were caught. The Skyrim Mages Guild also considered seceding, though never got around to it. It soon collapsed into a decline of its own and was left with just four guildhalls in the end. Leading other Mages Guilds to reconsider their futures.
The ban did improve the Mages Guild's integrity to some extent, though at the cost of more critical reception towards Traven's improper administration. His policies were misguided because he based them on the Psijic Order's own rejection of Necromancy and one of the original intentions Vanus Galerion held when he founded the guild. His beliefs were understandable but mostly fueled by a specific incident in 3E 335, ninety-six years before he was appointed to lead the Mages Guild. A power-hungry necromancer named Lorgren Benirus had terrorized Anvil with his experiments in an attempt to achieve lichdom. His manor house in the city-state was thereby raided by a union of disgruntled citizens, city guards, and members of the Mages Guild, led by the Altmeri illusionist, Carahil, who served the Mages Guild. It was not known if she was the Guildmagister or was given the position as a reward for leading the joint operation. Even more peculiar was how she inherited it from Traven when he became Arch-Mage—he actually named her as his successor without even considering other candidates. There were people in Anvil who believed she manipulated him with the School of Illusion and that he was her protégé, commanding the guildhall on her behalf as she led from behind the scenes to construct her own powerbase. Rumors among the nobility and local Elder Councilors in Anvil suggested the Blades suspected her for something. Some thought it was her looking to undermine the Mages Guild. The circumstances of how she rose to prominence and supposedly mentored Hannibal Traven personally were questionable enough to warrant suspicion. Especially as she did not have much background prior to her assault against Lorgren Benirus. But there were people who claimed the promotion was justified for maintaining Traven's policies and the clean reputation in Anvil's guildhall. That she deserved it for being one of Anvil's most active citizens and stopping Lorgren Benirus in his tracks before he could become a lich. It was uncertain whether her role in his defeat was an act of valor or for political benefit. Though she soon became one of County Anvil's most trusted illusionists nonetheless, even gaining approval from the Blades and the Elder Council. Less people questioned her fealty to the guild and desire to help its growth.
Although, Lorgren's remains were never found because he disappeared during the raid. He was believed to have been slain or destroyed though since nothing else happened and he had never reemerged from the shadows if he survived. If he did, the necromancer would have been someone else's problem. They were proven wrong during the Oblivion Crisis when the Champion purchased the manor house from Lorgren's descendant and unknowingly helped the man revive as a powerful lich. Luckily, he was able to destroy Lorgren for good before any damage was done. Allowing him to take ownership of the manor house and the full Benirus Estate as his primary place of residence. After his disappearance into the Shivering Isles though, the manor house was turned into a museum dedicated to his pursuits and endeavors across Cyrodiil. It contained several of the most impressive collections of written notes, books, journals, diaries, weapons, armor, jewelry, and artifacts he had gathered during his adventures. Making it the most lucrative target for heists conducted by Thieves Guilds across all of Tamriel. Until Lady Arannelya had what had not been stolen yet seized by her army in the First Great War before demolishing the entire estate. Leaving nothing left of its remains or the collections taken as spoils. New homes were eventually built over the property, and but one plaque was installed on a signpost to commemorate the Champion's legacy and the original estate.
Unfortunately for Traven, the situation regarding Lorgren Benirus was but a single incident and one of the only two examples he used when arguing for its abolishment. The other being how dangerous Mannimarco, the Altmeri King of Worms, and his Order of the Black Worm were to all of Tamriel. Which meant his ban on Necromancy, why he implemented it, and how helped destroy the Mages Guild's reputation alongside the Oblivion Crisis. Many began to think his policies were going to lead to the guild's utter destruction. They could not have been more right as Mannimarco and the Order of the Black Worm entered Cyrodiil to bolster their own ranks. Not all necromancers, including disgruntled members of the guild, joined them in opposition to the guild but they neither supported the Mages Guild either. Instead, they chose to stay independent and remained neutral to the conflict between both the guild and the order so they could practice their experiments in peace. Nor did any of the other provincial branches come to aid their Cyrodilic headquarters, too occupied as they were with the Oblivion Crisis and bitter towards Traven's negligence. Though the Cyrodiil Mages Guild did not immediately take affirmative action. They needed to gather information about the situation and intelligence on the Order of the Black Worm. A hard task at the time because the Council of Mages' power was severed by half and they had other work to do. Though Mannimarco had yet to arrive in Cyrodiil at first, they were too late to stop him from devastating their guildhall in Bruma. He and his order were aided by mercenaries from Leyawiin's Blackwood Company too since they hired them for the assault. Nor could the guild stop defectors, including Caranya, a most trusted Altmeri advisor to Traven who had actually been one of Mannimarco's high-ranking spies and a high-ranking agent of the Thalmor party from Alinor, from siding with the King of Worms.
Traven was reticent to take immediate action at first, though found he could no longer stand by and watch the guild collapse. Although that was mostly his responsibility as a poor Arch-Mage, he shifted all of the blame onto Mannimarco and the Order of the Black Worm to avoid taking any himself. Sadly for him, the few efforts he took were still heavily politicized. When a colossal black soul gem was retrieved by slaying Falcar, another Altmeri spy under Mannimarco who served him as the Cheydinhal guildhall's Guildmagister and was, like Caranya, a high-ranking Thalmor agent, Traven purposely sacrificed his life so his soul could be stored in it. That was its intended purpose, and he did it knowing it would save the Seventh Champion of Cyrodiil from Mannimarco's most powerful Necromancy. Then he sent the Champion to Echo Cave alone for one final confrontation with the King of Worms, aware that only he could singlehandedly kill Mannimarco with ease. The worst Arch-Mage in the Mages Guild's entire history was right about that at the very least, though his martyrdom was soon realized to have been nothing more than a ploy to make his efforts appear noble. The Elder Council was quick to reject his martyrdom, labeling it yet another example of his blatantly sheer incompetence at managing the guild and equal ineptitude tackling imperial politics.
But sadly for the Mages Guild, they did not stop there. As a result of its situation involving Mannimarco and the Order of the Black Worm, coupled with changing perceptions against magic in general, the Elder Council soon revoked its charter. The guild was then dissolved, splitting into the two splinter organizations which came to be known as the College of Whispers and the Synod. Although some said the Champion might have been able to prevent the dissolution or try mitigating the outcome, being the Seventh Champion of Cyrodiil, the province's hero and a hero across much of Tamriel itself, did not actually make for a legitimate argument in the guild's favor. While Traven named him his successor and Arch-Mage, it was done so unofficially without regard for procedure or documentation. Meaning the Elder Council could in fact refuse to acknowledge both that office and title. Granted, Traven believed he did not have enough time to follow procedure and document the transfer of both and the powers invested in them. But it was rushed nonetheless. Several Elder Councilors even claimed the Champion was invited to debate on that after defeating Umaril; a few even confirmed they were going to deny the appointment but could not speak for the others. Except that meeting never happened since he entered the Shivering Isles to rout Sheogorath from Cyrodiil and never returned. Letting the Elder Council pursue its plan to replace the Mages Guild. Although some said the Champion delved into the Mad God's realm partly to divert it, his departure had the opposite effect, leaving his legacy vulnerable to doubt over whether he might save the guild or not. Some people even said he went through the portal on purpose to escape responsibility for the role.
Sitirus sighed as he hopped down from the porch and walked across the darkened yard. He could understand the reservations against magic but did not think the entire guild should have had to suffer from Hannibal Traven's atrocious administration and attempts at making social policy to make himself look competent. Not that he was in a strong position to complain since that happened long ago. The College of Whispers and the Synod both were already acclaimed institutions by the Empire in respective respects. It was a shame he could not join either, particularly the Synod since his father was one of its most powerful leaders, on account of his inability to cast spells. It was not Sitirus' fault because he was born with a rare defect that left him without Magicka, a rarity amongst Nibenese Imperials normally born with plenty that usually put them on par with Bretons on average but second to Altmer and Dunmer. A Nibenese Imperial who could cast magic and take up politics was as valuable as a native-born Breton from High Rock's kingdoms. They could become courtiers in royal courts and even rule; County Bruma's dynasty was one of the greatest examples. Although few Nibenese Imperials had the same defect, they struggled to overcome it through political drive and subterfuge to more than make up for it. Their success stories were of how they gained lucrative positions in royal courts across Cyrodiil and the other provinces not part of the Aldmeri Dominion. The luckiest were those who took thrones and ruled for years to even decades before their passing.
Not Sitirus, sadly, because he and his father never got along due to a one-sided relationship. His father, Luthiele Kratian, was a well-respected battlemage of note in imperial politics thanks to his fame in the Synod and contacts in the Cyrodilic courts. He was also one of Anvil's most vocal advocates for reconstruction since the First Great War's end, calling for the restoration of its status as a county that had been taken away because of Anvil's heavy losses and quite minimal recovery. The man exemplified everything that made a proud Nibenese Imperial, demonstrating what it truly meant despite serving one of the Colovian Estates. Luthiele did not hesitate to take dangerous risks most Nibenese Imperials like him would not dare try. He had to since House Kratian counted itself among Anvil's oldest and most prestigious families. A reputation Lady Arannelya nearly destroyed when she invaded, which was why he did everything he could to restore it. House Kratian's power came first and foremost above the rest of Anvil during recovery since Luthiele believed the town's survival was solely dependent on their family. They were one of the last of those old families after the invasion, and the only one to have returned to Anvil unlike the others who left the town behind. Sitirus' father was certainly pressured by the impact but excelled at not showing it. Partly because he could now exploit the benefits of his station for personal gain even though his status meant very little to nothing anymore. Before Anvil's fall, Luthiele served as its County Battlemage, one of the most powerful offices and titles in the county. As typical of a power-hungry tyrant, he maintained both even though the County Battlemage no longer carried any weight. He could not stand people who did not heed his claim to fame or disrespected him, believing it was a crime to disregard him.
Nor did Luthiele want Sutch to be given county status because he believed they, as his only competitors, threatened to take away the office and title of County Battlemage. Sutch had a strong claim to rule half the Gold Coast alongside County Kvatch following Anvil's downfall. Compared to the town Anvil slowly grew into, Sutch turned into a greater city-state to replace it. Its incredible growth under Orsimeri rule was quickly becoming more and more impressive day by day. Strides in warfare, weaponry, armor, hand-to-hand combat, and blacksmithing were increasing faster than expected. Though a martial people like Colovian Imperials than battlemages or sorcerers, Orsimer were surprisingly gifted enchanters too. Their advancements benefitted the Imperial Legion as did their service as Legionnaires and quartermasters. County Kvatch and the neighboring Kingdom of Rihad in Hammerfell also sought out the works produced by Orsimeri blacksmiths, drafted soldiers into their armies, and hired Orsimeri mercenaries from Sutch quite often. The Fighters Guild took Orsimeri warriors in for the same reasons; their guildhall in Sutch recruited more Orsimeri warriors than any of the other guildhalls in Cyrodiil. Sutch was practically the Second Nova Orsinium under a reborn Gortwog-gro-Nagorm but without the worship of Trinimac that helped define the first. It was such an astounding city-state that the Elder Council was seriously giving thought to its petition for county status. And it appeared highly likely that Sutch would be granted that power very soon.
The thought that Sutch would succeed where Anvil failed angered Luthiele to no end since he believed the Orsimer were not only unworthy of the status but were in no position to receive it. In his eyes, the Orsimer were unfit to rule like counts because of their violent nature. He saw them as berserkers infringing upon the Gold Coast, mongrel beasts produced by Malacath to spread the Daedric Prince's heretical worship. Sitirus lost count of all the times his father complained about how the Empire permitted Malacath worship in the coast for the Orsimer and protected it from the Vigil of Stendarr like they did for the Three Good Daedra in Nibenay. His father was not afraid of expressing his racism against the Orsimer in public and slandered them over the most trifling things he perceived as issues. He threatened to overturn the Empire's protection from the Vigil and vowed to lead the Vigilants himself in a pogrom that would absolutely erase all trace of Orsimeri society in the Gold Coast, styling himself like the Breton and Redguard kings of the Iliac Bay. He certainly had a few advantages over Sutch, opposing them whenever and wherever he was able to. Luthiele did not want to let them take the right to rule away from Anvil while he still drew breath. However, his threats were emptier than he let on. Despite his racism, even he had to admit in private that the Orsimer were of help to Anvil in the town's slow recovery. Before quickly making it seem like the Orsimer were only assisting so they could take over. That Sutch was giving an impression of caring for the town by giving Anvil what its people needed so they would be more submissive to its rule.
The Orsimer did not stoop to his level as Luthiele would have liked, simply awaiting word from the Elder Council on their verdict while aiding the war effort against the Aldmeri Dominion. But the King of Sutch did reach out to Anvil's mayor with their concerns about Luthiele's conduct, demanding he rein in the man or they would take the matter to court. There was no threat to attack Anvil or have Luthiele assassinated, though that was implied by Sutch's might. Or so Luthiele said when he instructed the mayor to read between the lines and submit the letter as evidence of Sutch's intent to conquer Anvil by violence. If it was, the king's phrasing was certainly effective as a good example of Colovian Imperial influence. Putting the mayor in no position to refuse the demand in spite of Luthiele's objections to the contrary, so he had no choice but to censor him for threatening to attack Sutch. It was an insult his father never forgave, and he started to view the mayor as weak and incompetent in the face of Orsimeri rule as it threatened Anvil's county status. But true to his nature as a Nibenese Imperial and a nobleman of House Kratian, Luthiele took the offense with as little protest or public display of rage as possible, expressing his displeasure with proper etiquette.
But when it came to spellcasting and combining it with Nibenese Imperial politics, Luthiele cared not for the consequences of disparaging his son in public and private alike. He was a martinet when it came to the belief that Nibenese Imperials had to perfect both as he did. It was how Luthiele became the best battlemage in Anvil even as his office and title were ceasing to exist. When Sitirus was born, Luthiele expected he would grow powerful enough to serve as his apprentice and covert agent in the political spectrum to help him combat Sutch and its Orsimeri king. But upon learning his son had zero Magicka, he was quick to disinherit Sitirus and label him a bastard child no matter how legitimate the birth was. He instantly viewed Sitirus as nothing and a liability to House Kratian and its future in Anvil and the rest of Cyrodiil. Luthiele even got most of their family to agree with his perspective and the decision he took because he was the family patriarch. To oppose either one or both was to be disinherited too. Except for Sitirus' mother, Motira, who thought nothing less of her son and wanted the best for him. While she was little more than a trophy wife Luthiele married to solidify a political connection with her own Nibenese Imperial family and presented to Anvil as a token of his status, Motira had her own resources too. When his father forbade him from entering politics, it was her backing that got Sitirus the four-year apprenticeship at Sutch he wanted against Luthiele's wishes. Young Sitirus had only ever wanted to please his father and show him he could do great things as a Nibenese Imperial provided he let him. Sadly, his father's spoken regret of not killing him upon learning of the defect dashed his hopes of ever being accepted in his father's eyes.
It hurt hearing that more than the pain of leaving Anvil. He spent most of his life attempting to prove his worth so his father could see he was just as capable as any other Nibenese Imperial in Cyrodiil. He knew deep down that his endeavor was an impossible task, though tried anyway since giving up went against the warrior's nature. Only, he realized that had been his only option and he wasted the past twenty years of his life fighting against it for nothing. The Orsimer he apprenticed under in Sutch and other Orsimer he trained with told him he would one day hit a wall and that he would have to figure out how to overcome it himself. That day had come and its full weight came crashing down upon him. There was nothing he could do about it now, he reasoned at first, thinking he probably still had a chance. That doing something heroic like serving in the Imperial Legion or the Fighters Guild and fighting in the Second Great War could somehow win his father's approval. Had his father not forbidden him from attempting to outshine his reputation in the Gold Coast and the rest of Cyrodiil, not wanting his "bastard" son to steal fame he believed he rightfully deserved and was entitled to as a high-ranking member of the Synod and patriarch of House Kratian. Clearly, Luthiele did not appreciate his own son competing against him by making a name for himself as a member of the house he was disinherited from but still connected to. And he was doing everything he could to make Sitirus a huge disgrace to the family's reputation beyond revoking his legitimacy to have him labeled a bastard son. It was almost like he wanted to drive Sitirus into killing himself.
The young warrior had no choice but to accept he would never become a Nibenese Imperial in the Nibenean sense. Luthiele's demands were just too impossible to even fulfill, making it quite a harsh surrender long in the making. It pained him because it was not his fault but was blamed as if it was his responsibility alone. Sitirus knew the fault lied with his father for belligerently refusing to compromise. For not allowing him to at least become a great politician in Anvil's royal court to try making up for his defect. For not accepting his decision to become a warrior and insulting him upon his return home. Sitirus half-thought his father would have shut him out, maybe going as far as having the town guards exile him from Anvil for receiving an education from Orsimer in Sutch. But upon hearing Luthiele's death threat against him, he worried his father would consider having him assassinated if he had not tried already. Although his training as a warrior steeled him, Sitirus could not help but fear that would be his end before he even had a chance to actually prove himself. It nearly made him give up all hope and put his weapons down to avoid getting killed or accepting death because life was just too cruel. If he was not allowed to do anything, he was nothing. Nobody.
And yet, Sitirus felt comforted despite it because even though winning his father's approval was impossible, the burden of proof was no longer his to shoulder. A huge weight was lifted from his shoulders which allowed him to see an opportunity in defeat. Sitirus did not require his father's approval to be a warrior, realizing he never needed it in the first place. He already proved himself, not to his father but to himself and his mother. By choosing self-exile, he was no longer obligated to follow the path of a true Kratian and could forge the way ahead as he saw fit. No one could stop him from making a name for himself and defining his own meaning of a Nibenese Imperial. What it personally meant to him, and he could do it for himself. Seeing it as a learning experience, Sitirus realized warriors did not always have to secure victory. They did not have to climb the walls or try to take them down. Instead, they had another option: To go around and continue onwards, leaving the wall there as a testament to their strength. Because the best warriors, the greatest warriors, kept some walls standing in place as reminders of their mortality. They knew when to sheathe weapons and had the ability to pick their battles carefully instead of throwing themselves into battle simply because they could. They did not have to bash their heads against the walls like stubborn barbarians seeing only one way through and trying it. Like what the barbaric usurper and his serf army did in their rebellion against the Empire in Skyrim. Leaving them with no walls to contain their violence.
As he walked through the darkened streets, avoiding town guards on patrol, Sitirus thought about the evil barbarian High King's rise to power. He had not intended to, though the comparison to true warriors, proper warriors, got him on the subject regardless. Although he never met the man himself, Sitirus knew Ulfric Stormcloak exemplified everything that defined the Stormcloaks who blindly served under his command and overzealously worshipped the ground he walked on. Ulfric was not a proper nobleman nor a gentleman like his counterparts of Western Skyrim or those kings of Eastern Skyrim who sided with his rebellion. He was just a rude, belligerent thug; some shirtless serf who thought showing off both his abdominal muscles and the muscles on his arms which gave him strength were the only things that made men and warriors both who they were. He might have been the High King of Skyrim and King of Eastmarch, though Ulfric did not even have the right skills or education to rule. Nor the intelligence or interest in how to use his martial strength for the good of Skyrim. He was no man nor even a warrior, just a monster and an ass of a barbarian whose lust for power drove him into rebelling against the Empire and assassinating High King Torygg in front of his wife, Elisif the Fair, and the rest of Solitude's royal court, among other crimes against Skyrim and the Empire. All because he believed he was the only Nord with the right to rule Skyrim and Eastmarch however he wanted as if he was simply entitled to the Hold, the province, and more. Like he was destined for it as if the Prophecy of the Last Dragonborn justified and legitimized him.
Stories of how it happened circulated throughout Skyrim, each varying on the details. The common theme was that Ulfric challenged the High King to a duel, though that was where he and his Stormcloaks diverged from the truth. They arrogantly claimed Ulfric incapacitated Torygg with the Thu'um before ending his life with a sword. But the Holds of Western Skyrim and even some of Ulfric's own Stormcloaks argued it was the Thu'um alone—a single use specifically—and that Ulfric did not actually need to coat his sword in the High King's blood. The city-state of Solitude, as well as the rest of Haafingar, in particular, added a twist: That instead of challenging Torygg to a duel, Ulfric just walked right in and blatantly assassinated him with the Thu'um right as Torygg was holding court so everybody could witness it and without issuing a challenge or saying anything at all. All without regard for Nordic and Atmoran traditions. Then he simply strolled on out like it was just part of the average citizen's daily grind, unsullied by the High King's blood as if using it as a symbol or the blood itself was completely beneath him. Which, according to Solitude and the rest of Haafingar, was exactly how Ulfric behaved during and after the foul deed, during his flight from the city-state and its Hold, and the rebellion as a whole as it was something Ulfric would do.
Sitirus was not a citizen of Skyrim and could not decide which was the true account. Both sides of Skyrim generally went along with whatever the two lead candidates for High Kingship or High Queenship claimed. But he did not have to because memory stones, including the one Torygg was holding, corroborated eyewitness testimonies to prove Ulfric had indeed assassinated the High King without issuing a challenge or saying anything at all and without covering his sword in blood. But Ulfric and his Stormcloaks said otherwise anyway because he claimed it made him look good and the Stormcloaks were too stupid to believe otherwise. Including the Stormcloaks who saw the assassination happen right before their eyes but ignored what their vision told them because it went counterintuitive to Ulfric's words both because they wanted to believe him over the truth and were too stupid to even understand what the truth even was even when actually witnessing it in person.
However, Sitirus had to admit there was some validity to the Stormcloaks' beliefs. Though they were not telling the truth, the notion that their version could have been true suggested Ulfric's act of treason was not a crime against the High Kingship and the Empire. In their minds, it was an overthrow of authority that had already turned against them. The Stormcloak Rebellion long boiled beneath Skyrim's surface like a powder keg just waiting to explode. Ever since the First Great War ended with the signing of the White-Gold Concordat, Ulfric was always at odds with the Empire's decision to make peace with the Thalmor and both abolish and criminalize Talos worship. To them, Talos was not just the Ninth Divine but Tiber Septim, progenitor of the Septim Dynasty as well as the Third Empire's founder. Nords everywhere worshipped him as such, though none of them had ever been as faithful as Skyrim's Nords nor as overzealously dogmatic as those Stormcloak Nords. The abolishment and criminalization of Talos worship escalated with every situation that piled on after whenever other Nords like them tried to speak out against that particular clause of the treaty. Such as the Markarth Incident when Ulfric retook Markarth from the Reachmen in the year 4E 176 after they claimed the city-state two years prior in 4E 174, while the First Great War still raged in Cyrodiil and Hammerfell. An act he was then imprisoned for before being released. For years, the evil barbarian spent much of his reign as King of Eastmarch agitating for the right to worship Talos and Skyrim's independence from the Empire. Assassinating High King Torygg was his declaration of war against the Empire and Western Skyrim's kings for subsidizing it and to receive recognition.
It was also the signal he gave for his Stormcloaks to invade Western Skyrim and attack the Empire's forces. Falkreath Hold and Hjaalmarch were subjected to raids and attacks by his bandits right as Elisif the Fair was assuming her rightful place as Queen of Haafingar for the Empire. The newly widowed woman was understandably overwhelmed, so the Empire tasked General Tullius, a Knight of the Imperial Dragon in the Imperial Legion and a Paladin of the Imperial Knights with decades of experience in the art of war, conquest, and subjugation, with backing her claim. For as much as there was talk of him genuinely supporting Elisif, there were others who could understand the writing on the wall. He was actually there for the Empire's sake because the rebellion's success was actually a failure. A divided Empire could not stand up to the Thalmor and Ulfric Stormcloak. Tullius arrived in Falkreath Hold just as the Stormcloaks were invading and quickly accomplished feats that made astounding headway. He successfully destroyed the majority of their forces in the Hold and succeeded in capturing the barbaric king when he dishonorably abandoned his own army in an act of legitimate cowardice. It could have been the beginning of the rebellion's end so shortly after it started, all thanks to his quick thinking and how he handled the situation like a professional.
Had not Alduin, the World Eater and a powerful god of the Nordic pantheon, assaulted the town. According to Imperial Legionnaires in attendance, it happened right as the headsman nearly brought his battleaxe down to decapitate the Last Dragonborn, a fellow Nord from Cyrodiil's own County Bruma whom crossed the border illegally to join the Stormcloaks. The situation gave Ulfric and the Last Dragonborn the opportunity they needed to escape Helgen for Windhelm in the Hold of Eastmarch so the two of them could begin plotting the Empire's destruction together. But even if Alduin never showed up so suddenly, returned as the Nords believed, the aspiring usurper could have escaped anyway. Plenty of Stormcloaks were still in Falkreath Hold, prepared to lay waste to the town with an escape route through the Rift already mapped. There was a chance they may have gotten their leader and the Last Dragonborn out even if the operation cost them their lives. Tullius, of course, fortified Helgen and kept its use as the site of their execution secret to prevent their plot. Except he did not know Stormcloak scouts were trailing the Imperial Legion all the way to Helgen.
The catastrophic failure may have been mitigated or even solved had the Last Dragonborn, who had not gone by that title then, not been involved. He could have stayed in County Bruma; he could have gone anywhere but Skyrim. He could have joined the Imperial Legion or stayed neutral. He could have died, either at Helgen or back in Bruma; or wherever else he could have gone. The Last Dragonborn also could have never even existed, never being born in the first place. He could have done anything. But that prophecy had to exist and direct him towards Skyrim, and he just had to become a Stormcloak under Ulfric Stormcloak since he was an evil barbarian exactly like Ulfric.
In fact, General Tullius and the Imperial Legion already assumed he joined the Stormcloaks when they captured him. If his execution was a success, it would have taken a load off vanquishing the Stormcloaks. If only that had happened as everybody in Western Skyrim and Cyrodiil wanted. But even as a treasonous Stormcloak, the Last Dragonborn would not have been a dangerous threat had he been a normal Stormcloak serf as everyone thought at first. They could not have been more wrong as dragons kept dying by his hands alone and Ulfric kept winning battles which were made easier for him when a single Dark Brotherhood remnant assassinated Emperor Titus Mede II after the Last Dragonborn destroyed their Sanctuary in Falkreath Hold. It accelerated Ulfric's conquest of Skyrim, enabling him to destroy the Imperial Legion in days and depose Queen Elisif the Fair's rule over Haafingar in less than hours with the Last Dragonborn's prowess. The frightening victory was made all the more terrifying by the next move the usurper could have made then and was still plotting to this day: a sudden invasion of Cyrodiil the same day Skyrim fell to his Stormcloaks that would end in total domination, the total assertion of Stormcloak supremacy all across Tamriel, and enslavement of everyone who was not a Stormcloak Nord. Which was exactly what the Thalmor's goals were with their own Thalmor supremacy if they were the ones to ever overthrow the Empire. If Ulfric succeeded, he would proclaim himself the second Talos or usurp Talos' place as the Ninth Divine by overthrowing him on purpose and slandering him for being too weak of a Divine to stop the Thalmor. The irony of being an identical reflection of the Thalmor could not have been thicker.
That was just the Stormcloaks' nature as barbaric serfs. They were farmers, fishers, hunters. Average Nords of Eastern Skyrim who never wielded weapons and had zero experience in combat. Ulfric did not mold them into soldiers nor gave them any formal training whatsoever. All the King of Eastmarch did was put weapons in their hands and armor on their bodies before instructing them to raid, pillage, rob, loot, violate, and kill. That was all it took for him to turn idle Nordic serfs into berserkers, immoral bandits and beasts like himself who became wilder and more and more violent and aggressive with every murder. Their reputation for barbarism and racism was unmatched, and their baffling conquest of Skyrim puzzled everyone while diminishing morale across the continent.
As dangerous as they were though, the Stormcloaks were not without their uses. Realizing they could tap into their aggression and try to tame it, the Empire and the Lhotunics brought Ulfric to the negotiating table where they could postpone his invasion of Cyrodiil with a common enemy: the Thalmor and their Aldmeri Dominion. The barbaric usurper bought into it easily, believing he could turn against them in a spur of the moment advantage once they weakened themselves in the Second Great War. He did not even bother concealing his real intentions behind politics and stealth anymore, too emboldened by his conquest of Skyrim to realize his "allies" were playing him. The Stormcloaks became so enamored with his power they unquestioningly believed the honeyed toxin spewing from his mouth. They fanatically drank the sweetened poison without regard for their own dying intelligence because the feeling of being brainwashed by Ulfric Stormcloak himself was just too intoxicating for them to live without. Because despite his own sheer unintelligence, Ulfric was just too good at masterfully manipulating them into fanatically believing he was the one true Living God. A powerful psychotic belief fueled by religious doctrines of the ancient Alessian Order and Morrowind's old Tribunal Temple mixed with Moon Sugar and every known drug produced from it, including Skooma and Balmora Blue, to create a lethal concoction. Stopping Ulfric Stormcloak before he could make Skyrim the seat of his empire with Eastmarch as its heartland and Windhelm as capital and establish Stormcloak supremacy as immediate as possible could not be any clearer.
The worst part was that Ulfric, again despite his sheer unintelligence, somehow knew how to continue cloaking his personal agenda and desires behind the veil of two legitimate rights: Talos worship and Skyrim's independence. Nordic supremacy was not one though Stormcloaks claimed it was because the Empire tarnished their rights and cultures by infringing upon their province and imperializing it for centuries. The Stormcloak Rebellion was as much a way to break free as it was a holy war and an independence revolt. However, the Stormcloaks were so unintelligent they failed to know and understand how to and neither did Ulfric despite his claims to the contrary. All he and his army knew was that Skyrim belonged to them and that Ulfric was either Talos incarnate, going to become the second Talos, or rightfully and justifiably usurp the Ninth Divine's place in Tamriel.
It became a running joke amongst Altmer that Ulfric was the loathsome Trickster God from their creation myth, Lorkhan, in mockery of the man and his army. In the flesh, given flesh, made flesh. Punished with mortality so he could reascend to divinity or die a mortal's death so he would never be able to return and become a necromancer's plaything. As funny as it was, the world dared not laugh. The Thalmor were said to actually believe it was true. Both the Empire and Hammerfell thought the notion mad, as if Sheogorath himself inspired it, though were taking counter measures. And Ulfric and his Stormcloaks accepted it as part of their fanatic dogma while slaughtering those who said it simply because making light of his supposed divinity was a crime punishable by death. He was so incredibly self-centered that he literally ordered them to make the jest his creation myth.
Sitirus could only hope that reality would never come to pass. That it would hopefully end during the Second Great War with Ulfric's death in battle or by assassination. Or after it ended by the hands of the allies he was plotting to betray. Or that it was all just a nightmare to wake up from, hoping it would never come true. Because if it did, a second rising threat would quickly dominate.
Passing by a familiar mermaid statue and the lake it overlooked, Sitirus paused to observe it. The statue had been one of Anvil's main attractions when it used to be a city-state, and was the only one reconstructed to celebrate the village's evolution into a town. It went by multiple names, each attributed over the centuries: The Brine Maiden; the Salty Serenader; Selkie of West Skerry; the Stone Seductress; and the Leggy Lass. Although no one knew how long she sat there, everyone thought it was Anvil's first cornerstone since the city-state was built around the statue. It possibly predated Anvil's existence while marking its first recorded mention in the year 1E 2200 centuries ago. Nobody could tell if that was the founding year though, so it was the closest estimate anyone could make according to historic records. Each 1st of Morning Star, Anvil celebrated its founding as part of the New Life Festival. Its variation of the festival was more triumphant and cheerful than in Cyrodiil's other capital city-states and the lesser city-states. And throughout its lands back when Anvil was the seat of its own kingdom, then as the county it ruled under the Empire, as the capital city-state's New Life Festival was its pinnacle. The mermaid statue was always at the center each time since Anvil's rulers would declare the festival's beginning and conclusion from the dais at its base. Without her sitting there, Anvil's founding would have felt hollow and devoid of all meaning.
The one and only time she was known to have been desecrated was when Lady Arannelya's army broke through Anvil's walls and destroyed everything. Leaving nothing but debris and fires, bodies in the streets and buildings, blood in the water, and the vile stench of death. The mermaid's image especially was utterly demolished, toppled into the water by the Thalmor general's soldiers. Lady Arannelya herself even personally gave the order and stood by to watch its collapse from the dais. She was aware of the statue's significance to Anvil and used its fall as a symbol demonstrating Anvil's destruction. Local stonemasons who rebuilt the Brine Maiden once Anvil grew into a town called her rebirth a sign of Anvil's own rebirth in defiance. It strengthened the New Life Festival, especially because reconstruction began on the 1st of Morning Star in the year 4E 183 and, for flair, ended on the 1st of Morning Star a year later in 4E 184. Their intentions were to show the recovery had only just begun by reaching a milestone. Sadly, the town's claim of having the best New Life Festival in the Gold Coast and the rest of Cyrodiil became disputed. The past three eras concluded before the final year of each could reach a full, conclusive century. That did not dampen the town's spirits though since they still celebrated twenty-four centuries worth of Anvil's history, labeling it the best in spirit despite losing everything else that defined the New Life Festival in the city-state.
That was easier said than done, unfortunately. The people were never able to fully recover from the siege regardless. Although it was incredible having the Leggy Lass back, the damage was already done and its symbolic meaning would forever remain associated with Lady Arannelya and her assault. Of losing everything to her and the army she commanded. Sitirus could remember how he felt that as a young child from witnessing his people's sorrow whenever they saw it. He recalled how they diverted their attention to avoid viewing the new Salty Serenader, often asking his mother why they turned away from her. Because he was born in 4E 186, the young Nibenese Imperial did not have the understanding to identify with their intense pain. Nobody born that same year or after could. It was only when he learned that he felt sorry for their losses and comprehended why Lady Arannelya conquered Anvil. The Thalmor general attacked the city-state only to stop its army and local Legionnaires from flanking her advance into Hammerfell as Lord Naarifin invaded Cyrodiil. She did not dare try to lay siege to Kvatch because of its powerful fortifications. But Anvil was in her way, and she ensured its fall with meticulous calculation and daring from land and the Abecean Sea. The city-state fell easily and most of its citizens were brutally slain by her troops. Those who lived to tell the tale of its destruction became homeless and many struggled to survive their injuries. A refugee camp had been erected for displaced citizens who lost their homes in the conflict, though many went to the neighboring city-states of Kvatch or Sutch for shelter. The two were much better alternatives than the camp or wallowing in the ruins of their destroyed homes among Anvil's ruins.
Hearing footsteps from one of the side streets nearby, Sitirus resumed his pace so the town guards would not spot him. But he turned his head back to make it seem like he was still glancing at the mermaid statue. His real targets were the town guards who stepped out of that side street by the lake, from around the homestead overlooking it. There were two of them, a Colovian Imperial and a Redguard. Listening to them walking in the direction of Anvil's small chapel, Sitirus turned his head back while contemplating the obstacles. The town guard consisted of a somewhat diverse cast of Colovian Imperials, Redguards, and Nords. The Imperial subrace and those two races were Anvil's primary demographics because of its status as a port town and proximity to the neighboring Kingdom of Rihad in Hammerfell. Their jobs were to defend the town from any assaults, serve the mayor, and keep the peace, all while under the command of a Captain of the Guard. Guards could also be assigned to protect and serve advisers and courtiers of the royal court and prominent folks in the community. House Kratian fit both groups, so Anvil's town guard worked for Sitirus' father as much as they did the mayor and his council. Even though they were not house guards, Luthiele exploited their service as if they were. It was a privilege of having exceptional influence throughout Anvil, and Luthiele took full advantage to abuse it for personal gain. Normally, that was unlawful; however, his father's status as the County Battlemage and patriarch of House Kratian allowed him to get away with it because that put him above the law. Certain limits in Anvil's laws kept Luthiele in check though, but there were several loopholes he could easily manipulate without consequence.
Crossing the street to avoid the gaze of another town guard, Sitirus ducked into an alleyway in between an armory and the Anvil Fighters Guild. The lights were not on but Sitirus heard some activity from inside the latter building. He walked quickly by the windows to avoid being spotted, entering a gap in the stone wall to cross its backyard. One of the backdoors suddenly opened as an older Breton emerged from the building. Sitirus did not get a good look at the man but recognized him as one of the guild fighters. The Breton caught sight of him too and seemed like he was going to say something, so Sitirus took the initiative. He gave an acknowledging nod as he passed by so the Breton would not alert other guild fighters who might have been up too. Worrying that he was going to have to part with some drakes to keep his passing a secret, Sitirus started wondering how much the guild fighter would have wanted until the Breton, realizing the passerby meant no harm and mistook him for a new Legionnaire, returned the gesture as he descended the steps. The young man internally breathed a sigh of relief, lucky the Breton prioritized training with a bow and arrows over questioning him, allowing him to continue on his way without needing to bribe the bowman.
The sound of footsteps on the cobbled streets gave him pause while waiting in an alleyway by the guildhall. Another pair of town guards went by before he emerged and quietly strolled down the street one of them left. He cast a momentary glance back to make sure they did not follow him. As he was turning back, Sitirus took note of all the shops and the guildhall one last time. He visited a number of them with his mother to help her whenever she went out shopping, and oftentimes by himself for something he needed or gifts for her. It was Anvil's new Market District, replacing the old Guildgate that used to be there. Originally, there were two different market districts by both of the gates; one for maritime trade and commercial fishing and the other for goods produced locally and exported from the rest of Cyrodiil and the Kingdom of Rihad. Both were comprised of various shops, taverns, and inns as expected of a port city-state. The one inside the gate to Harborside was not rebuilt, unfortunately, so business that used to be conducted there had to be brought further in.
Reminded of Guildgate, Sitirus recalled learning that Anvil's guilds were established there so it would be easier to find them. Although, a few guild offices were founded in other parts of the city-state for convenience. The Fighters and Mages guildhalls dominated Guildgate since both had been part of their respective institutions and answered to Anvil's counts and countesses in regards to administration. After Lady Arannelya's conquest, some of the other guilds shut down or packed up and left, leaving the Fighters Guild and a few that were important to Anvil's infrastructure such as the Tinkers, Cobblers, and Architects. The Fighters Guild in particular lost its lead status though, becoming no different than the rest of Anvil's local mercenary companies aside from being a part of the larger guild. The Mages Guild was not rebuilt, and the Synod office that replaced it had been constructed in another part of town. Though Anvil's fall was not the only reason why its guildhall never returned. After the Seventh Champion of Cyrodiil succeeded Hannibal Traven well into the Oblivion Crisis, it was discovered that Carahil was involved in a shady plot by the Thalmor. Even though it was unknown how long she had been a member of their political party in Alinor or served as one of their Justiciars, it was enough for the Blades to reopen the small casefile they had on her.
It began when Carahil instructed the Champion to stop a rogue mage who was responsible for attacking traveling merchants on the Gold Road. Since he was still just an Associate attempting to learn as much as he could about magic at the time, she assigned a pair of battlemages, a Breton named Arielle Jurard and a Colovian Imperial named Roliand Hanus, to watch over him. The two of them were to ensure both his safety and the rogue mage's death. The climax of their assignment revealed the perpetrator was an Altmeri mage named Caminalda, who was later revealed to be one of the Thalmor's active agents in the Gold Coast. The Blades knew she was one of their assassins, though had not yet figured out who she was receiving her orders from. Until they later intercepted a letter Carahil sent to the Champion requesting he join Anvil's guildhall in mourning Traven. The letter was enchanted with powerful magic from the School of Illusion that seemed to implicate her in the plot. It also suggested Traven was either brainwashed by her illusions or had been a willing participant. Although that was circumstantial and irrelevant by itself, their case got stronger when considering the Champion's role. It implied Carahil knew Caminalda was the rogue mage and that she was exposed. Caminalda was slain not to stop her from killing traveling merchants but to keep the Blades from finding out she herself was one of the Thalmor and the one authorizing the attacks.
But she was not the only suspect. Roliand Hanus and Arielle Jurard were believed to have been complicit since they were the battlemages appointed to help the Champion or assassinate him if he proved useless to Carahil's cause or somehow knew too much. Interestingly, Arielle Jurard's name was shared by a necromancer from the Barony of Lainlyn in Hammerfell who venerated the King of Worms and resurrected Baron Shrike's brother, Lord Kain, in a plot to control the knightly order known as the Host of the True Horn on Mannimarco's behalf. It turned out that Arielle knew who she was and adopted her name for herself, indicating she was not who she said she was. Which helped protect her identity from the Blades and the Mages Guild in case she was found out as some sort of criminal or necromancer herself. It was possible she knew Carahil was part of the Thalmor and had been contracted by them. The Thalmor did not let anyone who was not an Altmer, as well as fellow Altmer not affiliated with them, join their movement. But they did hire mercenary work.
The two battlemages were not the only members of Anvil's guildhall thought to be part of Carahil's alleged plot. The other three mages: The Dunmer, Felen Relas; the Breton, Marc Gulitte; and the Bosmer, Thaurron, were all suspected of willingly assisting her or were under her control.
Most of their suspicions were proven true when they detained Carahil from trying to depart Anvil for the Summerset Isles after Martin Septim's sacrifice. The reasoning she gave was that she was just going there to help some family members who survived the Oblivion Crisis. During their interrogation of her in Anvil, the Blades noticed how the illusionist attempted to work her craft on their subordinates. Although their own illusionists and spymasters saw through her deception, they failed to stop her from leading a surprise attack within their midst. What initially appeared like her shock at finding out her colleagues from Anvil's guildhall were detained too gave way to quite an elaborate plot in the making. Their detention was not unexpected; Carahil had plotted to assassinate Countess Millona Umbranox under orders from the Thalmor while the Oblivion Crisis was raging. And most of her colleagues, her hired subordinates, were knowingly in on it. Except the Countess' life was not their only target; Count Corvus Umbranox returned to the throne after a decade's long disappearance, and Carahil was all too eager to go after his at the same time. With some help from Langley, the disgruntled former Captain of the Guard, she and her subordinates escaped to combat the Blades and castle guards. Although each of them fell along the way as they fought towards the Count and Countess' private quarters, Carahil's plot to assassinate them succeeded. Thus bringing an end to County Anvil's Umbranox Dynasty, with no heir or distant kin to lay claim to the throne.
The Thalmor apparently got what they wanted out of that victory over Cyrodiil. But theirs was not the only success against Anvil. Ever since his demotion, Langley had been bent on revenge against the Countess for replacing him with Hieronymus Lex, a former Watch Captain who served the Imperial City prior. Even though he was not aligned with Carahil, she reached out to join forces with him in a pretend bid to put him on Anvil's throne. It was easy for her to play with his ambition to rule and hatred for the Countess and his replacement. But when the Count retook Anvil's throne, Langley asked Carahil to spare him since he became content with the idea of regaining his position in service to Corvus. She kept him out of the loop but asked him to assassinate Lex so it would be easier for her to assassinate the Countess. Sure enough, the vengeful guard did as he was instructed after Carahil arrived in the private quarters. He was the only accomplice to have initially survived, though was later hung for treason after telling the Blades everything when they apprehended him. Because for everything he became at that point, Langley's only regret was failing to save Corvus. He had nothing against the count since Corvus had not done anything he could hold a grudge over.
The only member of Anvil's guildhall who had never been part of Carahil's plot was Felen Relas. The Dunmeri alchemist was just as shocked at her betrayal as everyone else and remorseful over never having gotten wind of it himself so he could report it. He was truly sincere in his regret and proved he was the law-abiding citizen he claimed to be. However, he could not forgive himself for cowering while the assassins sprung their plot. Although he could have conjured himself some bound weapons or Daedra since he was skilled in the School of Conjuration, both disciplines were his only combative prowess and he regretted learning the school as a result of the Oblivion Crisis. The trauma of both the Oblivion Crisis and the assassinations that followed would have been way too much for someone like him to deal with. But Felen managed to pull through and he was cleared of suspicion by the Blades, allowing him to assume leadership of the Synod's new office in Anvil. Up until his untimely passing which was rumored to have been foul play. Some people thought he was assassinated by the Thalmor to tie up a loose end. Others thought the Dark Brotherhood were contracted to assassinate him. There was also talk that it was someone unhappy with his leadership.
However, the assassinations created a power vacuum in County Anvil that had to be filled. With the Umbranox Dynasty gone, several claimants presented their candidacy for a vote from the Elder Council. Including one of Anvil's Elder Councilors, the Colovian Imperial man named Jivich Vedilius, who received the throne because he was the most experienced with the county's politics and its geography. He already had living family members older than him but got the honor of being his dynasty's progenitor which helped cement its rule until their destruction in the First Great War, at the hands of Lady Arannelya herself. The royal family still had relatives in other parts of Cyrodiil and Hammerfell, though they were distant kin and most lacked the direct bloodline to be regarded. Several were not even born into the nobility and were barred until they made names for themselves.
Because of her crimes against the Empire as a member of the Thalmor, Carahil's plot sent shockwaves throughout the county and the rest of Cyrodiil. The whole county had been completely duped by her illusions and trickery into thinking her devotion to Anvil was totally unshakable and unquestionable. Her reputation was ruined and the credit given to her for opposing Lorgren Benirus and stopping Caminalda was taken away. The discovery, though shocking, was nothing new to the Blades or the Elder Council. The former had already discovered plenty of networks throughout the Empire and either shut them down or acquired as much information as possible before the Thalmor got away. Carahil led hers in particular as the head of operations throughout Cyrodiil. But it seemed she had taken a particular interest in ensuring the Mages Guild's demise and ushering in the Order of the Black Worm, whether of her own initiative or the Thalmor party as a whole. Many citizens, Sitirus included, did not even know who most of Carahil's underlings were. The only ones he and the rest of Anvil knew were the city-state's guildhall, save Felen Relas; Hannibal Traven, since he was later discovered to have been one of their most willing members which further eroded his own reputation; Caranya and Falcar because of their shared infamy in the plot against the guild; and an Altmeri mage named Varulae, shipowner of the Serpent's Wake which retrieved a crystal ball from Summerset Isle and returned it to her in Harborside. The cover story she created was that it was an heirloom of her family's, though it was really the Thalmor who sent it to her so she could scry any potential targets and threats to their network and communicate with their superiors in Alinor. Even though the Blades never figured out where on Summerset Isle the crystal ball was delivered from, nor who among the Thalmor sent it, knowing it was part of the Serpent's Wake's cargo and that it was for Varulae had to do. It was the only intelligence they could gather on her duty to the network. The same was true of the intelligence found with regards to all of the other members under Carahil.
There was also Umbacano, though he was not part of the network and more of a client. His knowledge of Carahil's network was limited to how much the Thalmor were funding his research. It led the Blades to conclude that while Carahil was focusing on the Mages Guild and the Order of the Black Worm, the Thalmor also had her maintain their financial relationship with Umbacano to work towards the Ayleids' reestablishment. Which could have implicated them in Umaril's return, though that too had yet to be fully determined. Or they could have sought to raise an undead Ayleid army to conquer Cyrodiil under Umbacano's command so they would not have to waste resources.
Sitirus could not tell one way or the other himself. He was but an average son of a nobleman from Anvil. His education, though teaching him everything he knew, was lacking in tangible proof left behind. Partly because it was destroyed when Anvil fell but also because the Blades, and their replacement, the Penitus Oculatus, kept most of the information confidential. His only sources had been the history books his tutors supplied him with and a copy of the White-Gold Concordat which gave the Thalmor free reign to strut around Cyrodiil as if they ruled it. Like they could dictate what the Empire and its citizens could and could not do. Emperor Titus Mede II was cast as their easily replaceable puppet on the Ruby Throne they could easily dispose of if they so desired and however they saw fit. If they even had the power to do it after how their armies fared in the First Great War.
Growing up, Sitirus often saw them in Anvil and Sutch. They were a bunch of pretentious Altmer dressed in dark robes and dark hoods with golden embroidery, as if they were some Daedric cult like the Mythic Dawn. They were always snooping around as if they suspected foul play going on all the time, putting their noses in everyone's business even when it never involved them. They always demanded everyone and everything meet their standards at first, though gave up when they realized it was impossible to enforce conformity to proper Altmeri etiquette. So long as they were unoffended, whether anyone instigated them on purpose, by accident, or if the Thalmor were really the aggressive instigators and pinned the blame on others to frame them, they let the populace be. Sitirus could recall a few run ins with them in Sutch and was able to get off with not even so much as a slap on the wrist. He was not a worshipper of Talos and had nothing on him to indicate he did such as an amulet of Talos or a personal shrine to the former Ninth Divine. Those were more often found in the homes of Nords who still believed in his divinity no matter what their Concordat said. Sitirus knew the Thalmor had established an embassy somewhere in the Imperial City and smaller offices in each of the capital city-states, regular city-states, and cities. Oftentimes when they were not patrolling Cyrodiil or investigating the province, they had the Emperor, the Elder Council, the Counts and Countesses, and other important figures come to them. Making entrapment rather easy since they did not have to run the risk of putting themselves in danger. Despite the fact it also made them look lazy and cowardly, especially since they usually delegated work to avoid it themselves.
One would have thought that they were Elder Councilors or Hlaalu politicians the way they behaved. It became a running joke in Cyrodiil that they were like, or were part of, some of the old Nibenese Imperial dynasties such as the Tharns, Terentiuses, and the Caros. Telling it around some Thalmor Justiciars and their guards, or spies the Thalmor contracted, led to detention or execution.
Voices from a couple of patrolling guards as he weaved his way through Westgate captured his attention. Although Sitirus could not make out what they were saying, he silenced his footsteps in the residential district to avoid alerting them and the homeowners. Disturbing what remained of their rest would have been rude. Like Chapelgate and Harborside, Westgate was one of the original districts in Anvil. Alongside Chapelgate, the district had been reconstructed but looked so different from its previous incarnation. Back then, there was a bigger town square for street vendors to hawk their wares with benches for residents to sit on at the base of a mighty tree. That tree was no more, replaced with statues of the Seventh Champion of Cyrodiil, Count Corvus Umbranox and his wife, Countess Millona Umbranox, and Captain Hieronymus Lex to honor their respective legacies. And there were a lot more houses than before, most of which were much smaller with more shacks than Colovian Imperial-Redguard styled homes. The district as a whole was another sign of Anvil's fall from glory as a city-state to a struggling town now trying to make ends meet from maritime trade.
Approaching the portcullis between Westgate and Harborside, Sitirus stopped to check for guards in the streets. He saw two standing by torchlights, keeping their eyes and ears open. Another came over to relieve one of them, taking the man's spot while he left. Neither of them were looking in Sitirus' direction; though there was a gatekeeper on duty by the portcullis, standing by the stairs leading up to the wheel. Quietly approaching from around the corner of a shack he observed them from behind, Sitirus was relieved it was just the one gatekeeper he needed to speak with. Although he did not think the other two at the torchlights would have noticed, he believed he could convince the gatekeeper to vouch for him. Steeling himself, but keeping his footsteps quiet enough to avoid catching their attention, he made for the gatekeeper to negotiate passage. Watching the gatekeeper turn to him while gripping a steel longsword at his side, Sitirus realized he was a Nord whose name he unfortunately could not recall. The Nord did not get a good look at him at first and was cautious, calling out, "Identify yourself," at the young man stepping forth with his hands raised in innocence.
Sitirus did not want to lie but had to. "I am a new recruit in the Imperial Legion," he replied evenly to explain himself briefly in the hope his answer would have been enough to let him through unopposed. The Imperial chain armor helped with the impression. "My orders are to take a ship to Valenwood. My commanding officer expects me there soon to take part in the siege on Glenpoint."
"Really?" the Nord asked, doubting his story. He stepped closer for a better look at Sitirus. Even though he wanted to step back, the young man resisted the urge because it would have made him look more suspicious. He had to endure the gatekeeper's scrutiny. "War's at Glenpoint now?"
"Yes," he tried to remain committed to the fabrication. "General's orders. Legion's to take the town of Longvale and its neighboring villages of Meadow Run and Glenpoint so we can move into the lands north of Greenheart and east of Woodhearth. We are to reinforce the Imperial Navy."
"I thought the Legion's been assaulting Elden Root," said the gatekeeper, sizing him up.
"Stormcloaks are," Sitirus falsely clarified. "They just started their attack on its walls."
"Have they now?" the Nord asked, still not buying it. "Ain't no imperial orders I'm aware of. And there's certainly no Stormcloak presence around Elden Root anymore, not since they went around to ravage Southpoint." He slowly looked up as he spoke, each word piercing the deception he so easily saw through. The Nord was just about to demand his name and interrogate him further, now looking Sitirus in the eye. The young man stood rigidly but prayed recognition might prevail where speechcraft failed. As the gatekeeper scrutinized him, he seemed to suddenly realize whom he was addressing. "Sitirus Kratian? Of House Kratian?" He blinked once to check if he was seeing the right person in front of him and then a second time to be absolutely positive it was who he saw.
Sitirus could not help but sigh at being found out. "The one and the same," he said quietly.
The gatekeeper still could not believe his eyes. "Wow…been a while since I've seen you," he reminisced. "Last I checked, you were, what, a scrawny sixteen-year-old. Heard you've headed off to learn from those Orcs at Sutch for several years. Must've just come back to Anvil recently."
"I did," Sitirus confirmed, apologetic that he did not know the gatekeeper's name.
"And now look at you, a bit older and strong enough to wear that Imperial chain armor you got on," said the Nord, sounding impressed with the young man's growth. "Gotta say, you're more of a man than some of those new recruits we just enlisted. Those Orcs must've trained you well."
"They did," Sitirus gave further confirmation, wanting to be brief with his answers.
"But what are ya doing here this early in the morning? You're not leaving again, are ya?"
Sitirus nodded. "Afraid so," he sighed. "But I guess my cover story is not exactly perfect."
The Nord blinked again. "Cover story?" he asked rhetorically before realizing what Sitirus was talking about. "Oh, you mean your father?" He watched Sitirus nod a second time and added, "Tsk, figures; man's too hardheaded to even give a damn about seeing how his son's all grown up. More than us Nords and some of the others. He's not on the up and up about you leaving again?" Before Sitirus could answer, he held a hand up to halt him. "Say no more, I get what you're saying."
It was Sitirus' turn to confusedly ask, "You do?"
"Yeah," said the gatekeeper as he turned to walk up the stairs. "Not the first time someone's lied about wanting to join the Legion. Some people up to their eyes in debt used it as their excuse."
"I can imagine," the Nibenese Imperial commented, understanding their plight.
The Nord shrugged as he ascended. "Not that I'm complaining, less trouble for me to deal with. Seems like everybody's leaving Anvil these days. Not as profitable as this war going on over in Valenwood. People have been signing up to join like crazy since it started," he explained before turning back to face Sitirus once he reached the top. "Population's dwindled since everyone's gone over to fight the good fight. You don't see too many people on the streets nowadays since they've all left. Anvil's gotten pretty quiet lately with them gone. Seems like it'll even stay that way." The gatekeeper rested his arms on the wheel as he looked out at the Abecean Sea. "I reckon for good."
"I am sure some people shall return," Sitirus tried to remain optimistic for the town's sake.
"Maybe," the Nord seemed to agree if only to an extent, turning back to him. "Except most of them are likely dead or dying right about now. There'll be less people coming back. Some might not even want to stay any longer. They may take their fortunes elsewhere or find it someplace else. That's just the way things are right now, Sitirus. People are saying Anvil will never be the same."
"Perhaps that is so," Sitirus could not disagree. "But I would like to think there is hope."
The gatekeeper shrugged again. "Could be, though I'd wait and see. Might need to consider leaving if there's not much action. Pay hasn't been good lately." Sitirus wanted to suggest it could improve but kept that to himself. He would not have been able to change the Nord's mind. Instead, he watched the wheel turn. "By the way, your mother knows about this, right? She'll see you off?"
Sitirus shook his head, saying, "She is aware and has helped barter passage for me, though she will not. I do not believe I would be capable of making a final farewell any better or hurt less." He turned to look back in the direction of his manor house. "I might just wind up wanting to remain here with her." He could have added that it might place his life in danger too but chose not to. "But our last interaction is enough. She knows I am leaving and has already bid her farewell in advance."
"Sometimes it is," the gatekeeper agreed to an extent, "but oftentimes it's not."
"I will regret it. But she knows where to find me and how far to search if I am not there."
I won't ask. None of my business, and I take it you don't want your father finding out?"
"My mother and I do not, no," Sitirus confirmed. He was not going to tell the Nord that his father could have sent assassins after him instead of trying to retrieve him like a usual noble would.
"Good, let's keep it that way," the gatekeeper acquiesced while raising the portcullis when he and the young man both heard another guard approaching. He turned to face the man so Sitirus would not need to, noting he was another Nord and that the third guard was watching them as well.
"Oi, who's this guy?" the guard demanded. "And why're you letting him through the gate?"
"He's been drafted for the Legion, needs to head on over to Valenwood," the Nord kept his explanation brief, using the cover story Sitirus tried to feed him. "You gonna try and stop someone from wanting to help bleed the damn Thalmor dry and obstruct the Legion's official regulations?"
The other guard looked at Sitirus for a couple moments to size him up, eventually deciding a confrontation with the Imperial Legion over recruits for the Second Great War was not worth it. "Fine by me if it's alright with the Legion," he surrendered easily, signaling to the third guard that it was all good. "Wouldn't want to keep them from recruiting." He turned back and gave Sitirus a friendly clap on the back for encouragement. "You go give those Thalmor what for on our behalf!"
Sitirus returned a grunt of acknowledgement, trying to look nervous with the gatekeeper's help. "Oh, he will, trust me," he assured the other guard with a laugh to set the impression. "He'll be representing all of Anvil like the others. Whole town's cheering for them to win big in the war."
The guard laughed too, "Yeah, I hear ya. Mayor's gonna have to throw a celebration after."
"Oh, he will, alright," the gatekeeper agreed, checking that the portcullis had risen just high enough for him to wave Sitirus through as the other guard headed back to his post. "Alright, head on out, lad. We're all rooting for you, so come back strong and make sure you bring war stories to tell in the tavern. I'll personally buy ya a drink and call for a toast to celebrate your honor in battle."
Sitirus smiled back. "Thank you," he called, keeping his voice just low enough for only the gatekeeper to hear. "I will do my best and be sure to bring back some war stories to share with you all." Although he was not actually going to Valenwood nor joining the war, Sitirus maintained the impression he would in case that other guard was still close enough to hear him. "Wish me luck."
"Sure thing," the gatekeeper returned the smile, leaning forward as he chuckled. "Oh, word of advice, lad: I thought it odd that only one Legionnaire's been called. Where's the rest of them?"
Sitirus understood, chuckling too. "I will keep that in mind," he replied as he went out.
"You take care now," the Nord added, closing the portcullis behind the Nibenese Imperial.
"You too," Sitirus waved back from the other side of the threshold. Although he considered calling back to ask for the Nord's name out of respect, he decided not to. This was the last time he saw the gatekeeper and felt there was no need to if they were not going to meet each other anymore. Now that he was out in the Harborside district, the young man walked forward to look at the docks. To his right were the bunkhouses managed by the Imperial Trading Company and the East Empire Company. From the muffled noises coming inside, Sitirus had no doubt some occupants had begun rising for breakfast or early morning work. He also expected some were still sleeping off hangovers or did not have to rise just yet. Not everyone who served on the ships in Anvil's harbor took rooms in the bunkhouses but some did. Down the peninsula was the monolith and a small campsite made for its keeper, who had to put up with bad weather whenever he could not take shelter in buildings. And to his left were the company buildings, warehouses, fisheries, and fish hatcheries built across the area. Torchlights lit up the boardwalk so the guards on duty could see and for fishers and dock workers heading to their jobs that early in the morning. Cranes with nets at the end towered above the piers where larger ships docked to make loading and unloading cargo much easier for everyone.
Sitirus wanted to get a head start towards the ship he was boarding so he would not get in anybody's way when they woke up. Of the two ships currently docked in Anvil, his was the larger one and manned by privateers in service to the Empire. He knew the ship was called the Red Dugal after the infamous Torradan ap Dugal and his crew, the Red Sabre. They were an elusive pack who preyed upon ships in the Gold Coast's waters during the Camoran Usurper's invasion of the west from 3E 249 to 3E 267. A full eighteen years until Commodore Fasil Umbranox, future progenitor of the Umbranox Dynasty, arrived in Anvil to lead his ships against the Red Sabre. Sitirus learned the campaign against Torradan covered most of the Abecean Sea and ended when the Commodore saw through the pirate captain's ploy, supposedly killing him by attacking a cliff with some mages.
Or so the account went. Although some people back then expected the Lord Captain of the Red Sabre—the Cutthroat of Hunding Bay, Terror of the Gold Coast, and Scourge of the Abecean Sea—to have not only survived the assault but made an escape, in reality they were only half right. Torradan and his crew did live but found themselves trapped in a cavern created by the collapsing cliff. The Red Sabre struggled to survive on their limited amount of rations but slowly died off one by one. Since Torradan was the last survivor and lived long enough to tell the tale before perishing close to two decades later in 3E 286, it was assumed he and any surviving henchmen found a way out and made it seem like they were trapped. But that was not the case according to his own journal which described how they remained trapped while sickness slowly took their lives. Some believed it was strange how he managed to survive for about two decades, thinking he probably died earlier and that the journal was written by his ghost. Or that he and his crew succumbed to madness while turning to cannibalism. It was a common ghost story around Anvil ever since the cave's discovery in 3E 433 during the Oblivion Crisis, when a merciless pirate just as elusive as Torradan burrowed his way under Anvil Keep singlehandedly and defeated the Red Sabre's animated skeletal remains. Before using Dunbarrow Cove, as it was called by the late captain after a small town from Skyrim's northern coast that he grew up in as a child, to form his own crew and build it into a large armada.
That was how the fate of Torradan and the Red Sabre became known because the pirate let the story spread in Anvil and even shared the journal in public. Although Count Corvus Umbranox and Countess Millona Umbranox considered dealing with him before their assassinations, they did not have the resources to prevent him from becoming Anvil's next big pirate captain. The Oblivion Crisis had taken such a toll on County Anvil that a lot of pirates like him were flocking to the city-state from around the Gold Coast, Valenwood, Hammerfell, the Summerset Isles, and High Rock. Making that pirate powerful enough to have influence over the county's economy and which ports conducted trade with Anvil. While his ill-gotten wealth could have made him a claimant to Anvil's throne after their assassination, he preferred letting Jivich Vedilius take it instead and even backed the Elder Councilman's candidacy. Jivich did not fully appreciate his aid but recognized that Anvil needed a leader and a reformed economy. So long as the new pirate captain stayed in line and left commercial ships from County Anvil alone, he would not oppose him. Over time, however, Jivich found the partnership rather lucrative since it brought more drakes into Anvil and the pirate stepped up to defend the county when threatened by enemy fleets. It was a fair, if rough, business relation.
Sitirus never knew what that pirate's name was. Nobody in Anvil ever did. The man knew how to keep his identity a secret from whoever wanted to know. Neither the Blades nor the Penitus Oculatus could figure him out, and he was a complete mystery to even the Thalmor. It remained a secret even after his death, one of Cyrodiil's greatest wonders that continued to endure even when the Imperial Navy finally crushed his armada. He seemed like a ghost than a living corsair, leading some to believe he was descended from the Lord Captain of the Red Sabre or was his reincarnation.
As he looked down the boardwalk, Sitirus realized he would not have been able to walk by so easily. The Imperial Trading Company and East Empire Company each had a number of guards on duty outside. They were there to deter thieves from breaking in even though there were actually other ways in. Sitirus heard those offices and the warehouses were often broken into despite all of the security measures implemented. There were at least two town guards on the boardwalk he was able to make out; one was standing all the way at the other end, and the other paced back and forth by the Red Dugal and the smaller commercial ship. That second town guard had a torch in hand to see in the dark, and he caught sight of Sitirus just as he had stepped through the portcullis. Though he paused in his beat to examine the young man from afar, so Sitirus gave a friendly wave to show he meant no harm and was not a criminal. The guard did not return it at first but did moments after, mistaking the Nibenese Imperial for a Colovian Imperial Legionnaire in Imperial chain armor. He could have thought he was going off to the Second Great War in Valenwood or had been contracted by the companies. The guards of both companies included Imperial chain armor in their attire too, so it was easy for Sitirus to blend in as one if not passing himself off as a Legionnaire. The young man was glad to see that guard turn around while he started descending the steps, glancing over at the monolith's brazier out on the peninsula. Though no ships were coming, its fire was lit for them.
While making his way towards the Red Dugal, Sitirus looked straight ahead at the looming structure upon the neighboring island. That was the formerly impervious Anvil Keep, a once-proud fortification constructed by the Commodore after his victory over the Terror of the Gold Coast. A literal crowning achievement that brought him the monarchy and title of Count of Anvil. Funding to rebuild Anvil from the ground up went into the city-state's establishment and to construct Anvil Keep atop the island he trapped Torradan and the Black Flag under. The keep became a symbol of imperial resolve against piracy in the Abecean Sea. It cemented Fasil's reputation as a man pirates would not dare stand up to. He became the commanding authority against any and all corsairs who sought fortune in Anvil's waters and the greater Abecean Sea. His astounding legacy was inherited by all kings, queens, counts, and countesses who took the throne after. Each one laid cornerstones of their reigns in the sea, building a maritime empire of trade, fishing, exploration, and naval power like never seen before in Cyrodiil. Those who crossed the lands or stepped ashore for the first time would experience the full might of Anvil's oceanic dominion and taste its seafaring achievements under the watchful eyes of its rulers, who stood upon Anvil Keep's ramparts observing their reach.
Sadly, Anvil Keep was not deterring pirate ships in its ruined state. When Lady Arannelya besieged Anvil, she personally led her troops into the castle while her ships bombarded its fortified walls from the bay. They destroyed it, leaving behind nothing but debris and rubble inside. Sitirus never went inside because it was too dangerous, haunted by the apparitions of defenders who stood their ground against the Thalmor general. Adventurers often rowed over the bay to enter the ruins in search of treasure and thrills, and to explore the keep's darkened chambers and halls. They told tales of how the abandoned structure was inhabited by spiders and undead, and of the secrets they uncovered in its forgotten nooks. One of the most intrepid was Rivercrest's legendary warrior, the first man to enter Anvil Keep alone and lived to tell the tale. However, others before his expedition had already made discoveries of greater note and picked apart the most valuable artifacts from the keep's solid carcass. Although the townsfolk boarded up the doors and all the windows to prevent them from reentering, there was always somebody to take down those fortifications and other ways in. Including pirates bold enough to use the old smuggler's cave below and necromancers in search of moldy carcasses to work on. The townsfolk were right to worry because they feared the undead and spiders would break out sooner or later, as a curse upon Anvil for trespassing within the keep.
Although he could not see it, Sitirus knew the ruin of an Oblivion Gate could be found over on the land just past Anvil Keep. That particular Oblivion Gate was one of two that threatened the city-state during the Oblivion Crisis. The Daedra that poured from it were going to attack the keep from the southeast while another invasion from the northwest entered through another that opened up on a Wayshrine of Mara, just near the Sidri-Ashak Runestone to its west. Fortunately for Anvil, the Seventh Champion of Cyrodiil successfully closed them both before petitioning Count Corvus Umbranox and Countess Millona Umbranox for aid as preparations for the Battle of Bruma began.
Stopping in front of the Red Dugal, Sitirus glanced up at its bow to examine it for a second. The jibboom and the bowsprit it was connected to reached out over the boardwalk, nearly touching the East Empire Company's third floor. The young man found himself wondering what the workers inside the building thought about it possibly penetrating the wall or a window. He figured it would have caused quite some damage to the company's office and that it would be expensive to rebuild. The figurehead and forepeak jutted from the bow, hanging just above the boardwalk. The front of the hull looked perfectly intact for sailing, though he was not standing close enough for a complete determination and was not looking at the entire hull. But he was fine with it because the crew knew what they were doing and understood how to maintain their own ship. It was not his place to judge even though he was a passenger which gave him a right to worry, though he trusted their judgment.
He was just about to head down the pier so he could board when someone spoke up to stop him, "Leaving so soon?" A bead of perspiration trickled down Sitirus' cheek as he paused because he knew who the voice belonged to and now regretted not having given her a proper final farewell. He slowly turned around, finding an older Nibenese Imperial woman cloaked in a black robe with a matching black hood. Her blue eyes matched his as she pulled up the hood, letting her long brown hair flow down her shoulders. She stepped forth and raised a hand up to fix the front of his hair so it would look neater, smiling as she then backed away to fully examine him. "You look like a true warrior, Sitirus," she complimented him, looking over his Imperial chain armor from head to foot.
The young man opened his mouth to express gratitude but realized he needed to apologize first. "I am…" he began, pausing only so he could figure out how to word it. "S-sorry for departing without telling you, Mother. I-I thought I should have but believed it would have only pained you."
Motira's smile never faltered even though Sitirus could easily tell she was saddened by his departure. "It is alright, my son, I understand. I knew you struggled making that decision. I would not have allowed it myself if it obstructed your parting. It was not easy but I am glad you decided." Even though she forgave him, Sitirus could not help but feel guilty for leaving despite being given the chance to say goodbye. He opened his mouth again to express that regret when he saw a couple of figures standing in the shadows behind them. Aware they had been spotted, both emerged from the shadows to make themselves known. For a moment, Sitirus thought they were assassins coming to kill him and maybe his mother. But then he realized few were brave enough to reveal themselves when there were a pair of town guards and handfuls of company guards present. When they stepped out while keeping their distance, he identified them as Tulion Ponenshield and Vanton Nirentanus, a pair of Colovian Imperial house guards who served House Kratian. Since her son was now aware of their presence, Motira motioned for them to stand back. "They are here in your father's place to ensure I deliver his message. It would seem that seeing his own son off into exile is beneath him."
Sitirus inclined his head in understanding. Delegating work to the house guards was typical of his father but not uncommon among the nobility of Cyrodiil, High Rock and Hammerfell. They assigned duties to their own, so Luthiele tasking his was no different. It was, although, an example of how Luthiele was still clinging to power that had already left Anvil in the hope it would return. Sitirus knew his father well to comprehend the man's obsession; and since Luthiele was the driving force behind his self-exile, the young warrior had a feeling he knew what sort of message Luthiele instructed his wife to say. "What does he want?" he asked politely even as his tone of voice carried a hint of intolerance towards his father. "Surely he is not demanding I stay put and take his abuse? To be his scapegoat for whenever things do not go his way and a shield to protect him from harm?" He was about to add becoming a target for assassination but restrained himself because who would want him dead other than his father? There was no reason to kill a young man who had never once proven himself before, apart from apprenticing in Sutch, and was thus not a threat to anyone except his father's success. In spite of keeping it to himself, his mother seemed to understand the unspoken threat but kept herself from shedding more than a single tear in response to Sitirus' silent thought.
"Nothing of the sort," she confirmed, a pained smile reinforcing her answer which showed how happy she was at it being otherwise. She placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder to comfort him as she added, "Thank Dibella for that," before taking a breath in and lowering her gaze as she was having some trouble expressing her husband's wish. "He has just forbidden you from traveling to the Kingdom of Rihad, is all." Sitirus blinked and tilted his head before getting why his father's last demand was so obvious and rather lackluster of a threat. It surprised him that Luthiele was not actually trying to obstruct him from leaving, making him wonder if his father truly meant to avoid interfering or stopping him or lacked the power and authority to. Motira could not help but chuckle wistfully as she continued, "It is rather astonishing, right? I am honestly shocked that he would be so open to your self-exile while still keeping you from, as he perceives, standing in the way of his fame." She looked up with a smile of disbelief as she said, "Maybe he does care, in his own way."
Sitirus shrugged indifferently. "It would be news to me," he responded in a way that meant the revelation had no bearing on his departure. "He just wants me to stay out of his world and keep my nose out of his business. As long as I maintain my distance, he has no reason to even care about me." He sighed and turned to look out at the darkened early morning horizon on the Abecean Sea. "Provided I do not make a name for myself, that is. Any fame I earn is bound to trigger a reaction."
Motira stepped closer to stand beside him as they both took in the view. "You truly cannot seek glory for yourself?" she asked, catching him shake his head in her peripheral vision. To which she replied, "Then what is the point of becoming a warrior, Sitirus? Of leaving home to make your fortune elsewhere?" She turned him to face her, adding in a pointed tone, "If you do not stand and fight, what good are you for anything? A man who refuses to raise his sword when needed will not amount to anything, Sitirus. You have to take initiative. Or have you simply decided to run away?"
The young man was not surprised at how sharply she spoke. His mother always had a way of convincing others they were worth something. He knew from personal experience that she often got her way, though was uncertain this was one of those occasions. "That is what I am doing, yes," he answered honestly, ready for the scolding that was to come. He watched as she scowled at him in frustration, bothered by his submission, though when she responded it was with an even inquiry.
"Then why did I bother sending you to Sutch, Sitirus?" she demanded pointedly.
Sitirus knew the answer straight away as it came easily to him. "Because I am your son."
"And I shall always love you dearly for that, Sitirus," she replied, bringing him toward the boardwalk's edge. She wanted them to get out of the patrolling guard's way as a curtesy but to put some distance between them and the house guards. She turned back to watch as Vanton and Tulion started to approach but stopped and stepped back when she glared daggers with a hand raised. "Do not interrupt me when I am saying goodbye to my son," she commanded tartly, putting the pair in their place before turning back to Sitirus as the town guard passed by. Since he overheard Motira's order, he made sure to grip the hilt of his steel longsword as a warning to the house guards, passing by slowly so he could linger long enough for it to sink in. Not wanting trouble, both widened their distance from the nobles to give them space. Appreciative of the town guard's timely intervention, Motira nodded her thanks as she faced her son again. She resumed speaking as if she had not been interrupted, saying, "But I cannot help you if you do not allow it. When he refused to acknowledge you with love upon realizing you had no Magicka, that nearly made my heart stop in terror. I could not stand by and watch as he disinherited you and delegitimized your birth as if you were nothing. I poured all of my heart and my very soul into your upbringing, Sitirus, to try and make up for that. To give you all the love you could possibly have. A part of me wished your father would soon see just how precious you are and cherish you like I do, so I believed it was my duty to love you more on his behalf." She inclined her head in shame and sighed. "Until I realized I should not have since that man will never change. He is just so fixated on trying to reclaim the power he once held here."
"I do not blame him for that, to be honest," Sitirus caught her off guard on that point. "Lady Arannelya's conquest of Anvil sent its people spiraling. It is not their fault for trying to recover as much of what they lost to her. They are just trying to regain control over their lives." He turned to the Abecean Sea. "However, that does not give him the right to step on others and cast them aside."
"Indeed, he should not," his mother agreed, adding, "especially not to you, Sitirus, his own son—his own flesh and blood. You are a part of him just as much as he is of you. You are our sole heir, the only child of ours bearing the Kratian bloodline. He does not have the right to revoke it."
"I am afraid I am going to have to disagree, Mother," Sitirus gainsaid. "He is the patriarch, so his word carries the authority of that rule." He considered mentioning that her own family could have taken him in but decided against it. He did not want to offend his mother by faulting them to an extent. By law, marriages in Cyrodiil, High Rock, and Hammerfell were patrilineal, so the noble families deferred to the men their women married. Though only an in-law, the nobleman was given greater power than the lady he wed. His mother's family would not have been able to help even if they wanted to because they did not have the legal right. It was also an arranged marriage, so they had given their consent to Motira becoming little more than Luthiele's trophy wife since it helped improve relations with House Kratian. Arranged marriage was not free unlike those of the middle and lower classes. Political gain and the dowry were more important than the couple's feelings for one another. Still, his parents' marriage produced him though, so Sitirus could not hold the system fully accountable despite its perceived controversies as some viewed it. "But I certainly appreciate the lengths you will go to resist it, Mother. Without your aid, I would not be the man I am today."
"No, you would not," Motira agreed, then as if testing his statement's validity, she pressed further by asking, "But are you a man, Sitirus?" It was her turn to catch Sitirus off guard, parrying his claim by doubting the assertion. She struck true as he began second guessing himself, thinking she might have been right all along and blaming himself for doubting her. As she watched her son question his drive, she turned towards the Abecean Sea herself to gaze at its waters and the horizon beyond. "Sitirus," she instructed him to follow her gaze by pointing at both, "cast your eyes to the Abecean Sea and tell me what you see. What do you think lies across from where we stand now?"
Recognizing the question as one Shulmonk gro-Glorul often asked when he apprenticed to the Orsimeri blacksmith, Sitirus realized he knew the answer she was looking for. He turned to the Abecean Sea alongside her, staring at the potential futures ahead of him. "The world beyond Anvil and the Gold Coast," he responded knowingly. "A place ripe with danger and challenge to test my resolve, although full of opportunity and adventure to be had. Where someone can become anyone they so desire. It is the road ahead, taken or less traveled. The decisions I make shall be my own."
"Exactly, Sitirus," she confirmed as she turned him to look at her again. She smiled warmly at him as she went on, "Where you can assume a different name and identity for yourself. You do not have to be the son of Luthiele of House Kratian or have your destiny predetermined by him for you. Go out into the world and be yourself, Sitirus, however you choose to be. Become anybody."
"Will he not find out, nonetheless?" he inquired of her. "His sources are stretched all across Cyrodiil and into Hammerfell's Kingdom of Rihad. Word of my actions will likely reach his ears."
"He may," his mother conceded before adding, "unless he is kept in the dark or if the news is of no interest to him. Any glory you seek should not matter to him if it does not compete against his interests in Anvil. You could go wherever you want, Sitirus, and become a hero and the greatest warrior ever known. He should not care one way or the other now that you have been disinherited, so I believe you will be safe from his wrath even if you were to defy his demands to keep yourself from the rest of Cyrodiil and the Kingdom of Rihad. But, so as to satisfy him, I am not having you trudge across the whole province or sail to that kingdom. Instead, I made arrangements with Horlka to ferry you up the bay to the capital city-state of Taneth, where you can begin a new life, because I want word that you disembarked safely straight away on her return. Even though this is goodbye, I still want to know that you are alright while still heading off into danger and the unknown beyond Anvil and Sutch. There is no doubt I will ever see you again, Sitirus, but please write to me often."
Sitirus smiled. "I intend to, Mother," he said taking her hands into his own. "I do not know how frequent though, but I will whenever I can, even if there is nothing noteworthy to write about."
"Thank you for promising me that, my son," Motira smiled warmly, not releasing him. The young man knew she feared a day might come when he would be unable to keep it. He would have seriously reconsidered his decision to leave and stay if she asked him to. Not wanting to influence her own choice, he refrained from speaking to let the moment's silence last. His mother eventually let go and said, "Do not be afraid to withdraw if you feel overwhelmed. Negotiate first if you think it is possible to avoid bloodshed. Draw your weapon only in your defense and use it for protection. Try to spare your enemy if you can but do worry if you have to take life; if you must, make it quick and painless. And never surrender unless you find yourself unable to escape or to spare lives. The warrior's path is fraught with peril, though take it one step at a time. Do not rush to an early grave, Sitirus, but die gloriously if the fight will be your last. Live for the present and fight for the future." She then pulled him close to whisper, "And do not breathe a word of your heritage to anybody you do not trust. Especially people you believe work for Luthiele. And including anyone trying to take advantage of your past for personal gain or to assassinate you. Be wary during these trying times."
"I know, Mother, and I shall," he pledged, closing his hand into a fist over his breastplate. It was something of a warrior's gesture commonly used by Legionnaires and city and town guards.
Glad he understood well and clear, Motira embraced her son in a final hug that he returned. While they were holding each other, Sitirus believed this was what Endille must have meant when he and the elderly Redguard spoke. Perhaps the town guards in Harborside were also in on it. The young man felt her squeeze him tightly but gentle enough so he could breath, like always whenever hugging him. It brought back memories he cherished of their time together that he would not forget even as the passage of time and the distance between them was beginning to widen. He hoped they would one day see each other again and wondered if fate would let him return to Anvil. But Sitirus knew their hearts were forever connected and that their souls would meet in Aetherius upon death.
"I am sorry it has to be this way, Mother," he apologized again. "Were things any different, I would happily stay by your side. You, me, and him—all of us together could have been a family. Honestly, a large part of still does not want to leave you. I want to stay in case something happens to you, so I can be your sword and shield." He smiled tearfully, "All you would need to do is ask."
"I know, Sitirus, but…" Motira paused as tears formed in her eyes, "it is better you go."
Sitirus knew how painful this was for her. Although he wanted to avoid it for her sake, the young warrior now realized it should not have been his place to determine that for her. "I will write to you once I have reached Taneth," he promised her, thinking a compromise would be fair enough.
She shook her head, still wearing a soft but sad smile. "That will not be necessary, my son," she assured him. "Horlka will let me know you once you arrive safely. And it would be better you did not; I fear Luthiele might discover your whereabouts or get an idea of where you have traveled to. But thank you for thinking of me nonetheless." She relinquished him and stepped back, taking his hands in her own. The sack of clothes Sitirus carried lightly dropped to the ground. "You have the heart of a true warrior, Sitirus, and the strength to overcome whatever is thrown at you. I know you will find your own path now that your journey in the Gold Coast has come to its end. And that you will succeed no matter what. Warriors of Anvil like yourself may be hard to come by nowadays but none of them, not even the greatest, can ever compare to your powers. Your kindness and skills will be of aid to those in need most, and your reasoning can guide not just your own hands but the hands, hearts, and minds of others. Even if you were to fall by the wayside, you can get back up."
Motira let go of his left hand so she could press something into his right hand. She clasped it and his right hand with both hands, letting him feel the item through his gauntlet before allowing him to see what it was. His eyes widened somewhat as he recognized the six leaf-like stems which seemed to grow from its strap and the jewel that contained a gem which could have been either an amethyst or a sapphire. "This is…" he uttered, surprised at receiving something so precious to her. Something she never parted with prior and should have kept but gave to him to remember her by.
"Yes," she confirmed what he was seeing with a warm smile. "My amulet of Dibella. I gift it to you willingly so she could watch over you." She took the amulet from his hand and motioned for him to remove the Imperial chain coif so she could put it over his head. "Always wear this with love, Sitirus, and know that Dibella will be your guide should you ever feel lost. Though you may not worship her now or ever, please advocate for harmony in her name and defend it as a warrior. As her command says, "Open your heart to the noble secrets of art and love. Treasure the gifts of friendship. Seek joy and inspiration in the mysteries of love." Follow this with your heart, Sitirus."
Sitirus smiled at her quoting from the Nine Commands of the Eight Divines, a slim volume that replaced the earlier Ten Commands of the Nine Divines as per the terms dictated by the White-Gold Concordat. Both versions were the same, though the Nine Commands omitted Talos because his worship and place among the Divines was abolished. "I will," he promised to uphold the creed.
Motira smiled warmly. "I know you will, Sitirus." She gently grasped his shoulders to pull him close, asking, "Can you pray to Dibella with me one last time?" Sitirus did not have to give a verbal answer, letting his mother press her forehead against his. He remembered her doing it with him a lot during his childhood and into his early youth. She once explained it was her special way of praying to Dibella with him and always concluded it with a kiss. Though his mother never once tried to actually convert him to the Divine's worship. Sitirus thought she might have believed that it may not have had an impact on him, and while that much may have been true, he was not one to deny or reject her belief in Dibella. This was the final time the two of them were praying together, so he remained silent with his mother as they kept their heads together before she gave his forehead one last kiss. Because it was the last one, it lasted longer than the ones she often bestowed on him.
Then she stepped back with such a bright smile that Sitirus no longer saw the sadness which plagued her heart. As if Dibella herself assured his mother that he would be alright. He personally believed the Divine had and that, in his heart, he too heard Dibella's voice praising him for having been such a loving son. Motira knew the Divine had too as she let go of his arms and stepped back, saying, "Now, go my son. Your ship awaits, as does the way forward. There is no more I can do."
"Mm," Sitirus murmured before giving her one last hug. "Goodbye, Mother."
"Goodbye, my son, Sitirus," she returned the farewell before breaking away to let him pick up the sack of clothes. It would have been embarrassing to hear his mother say he forgot something even though he would have welcomed it. Yet another moment with her would have been a treasure. But he could not afford to get greedy and she understood why, so he hurried down the pier towards the Red Dugal. One of its sailors, a Breton, stood at the gangplank past a crane with a torch in hand to welcome him. But Sitirus stopped to wave his mother a final goodbye. The patrolling guard was kind enough to stop so he could see her wave back in his torchlight. As she lowered her arm, Sitirus lowered his and nodded to let the sailor know he was prepared before following his escort aboard.
