The eyes of the Imperial Guard of Windhelm followed the robed Dunmer as he crossed the stone bridge that allowed entrance to the ancient city over the River Yorgrim. Taking long strides, the light plates of ebony that protected his chest, shoulders and forearms made light clinking noises as his armoured boots touched stone; the blade that hung at his waist tapping against his in their winter equipment, the guards watched with suspicious eyes. Dunmer only came to Windhelm for refuge. This man was clearly no refugee.

Kelran marched towards the main gate, a tall, hulking steel door locked inside an ancient and ornate archway. The age of the city was clear from the gateway alone, the symbolic engravings clearly the work of the Nords of old. It was common knowledge that Windhelm had been the capital of the Nord people during the First Era, however it was less known that it was built in the Merethic Era in Atmoran fashion by elven prisoners.

As Kelran approached the gate, the two Imperial guards that flanked the gate slowly stepped forward, both a hand on their blades.

"What is your business in Windhelm, elf?" demanded one of the guards. He was short for a Nord and his fair hair hung down to his neck in thin, wavy strands.

Kelran stopped and glared at the guard with crimson eyes, making him shuffle uncomfortably and glance at his comrade with uncertainty.

"None of your concern, Nord, I can assure you that much." He said callously, stepping forward to move past the guardsmen. The other guard quickly drew his sword and blocked the Dunmer's path, frost already coating the steel. Kelran looked amused under his ebony mask.

"Are you sure that's wise?" he smirked, narrowing his eyes.

The guard raised his blade up to Kelran, his brow furrowing with anger.

"Keep that tone up with me, elf, and you might find yourse-"

"Stand down! Let the Dunmer through!"

The three of them looked up to see a heavily armoured and black bearded man standing atop the gate. At that, the guard sheathed his sword and spat in the snow.

"Yes sir." growled the guard in frustration, eyeing Kelran with animosity.

"Be glad you didn't finish that sentence…" whispered Kelran smugly as he shouldered past him, the gate opening with a hulking creak as he approached.

A quiet bustling of words met Kelran's ears as he quickly entered the city. Candlehearth Hall lay before him, with stone paths either side of the building. Another two paths extended to his left and right, both flanked with high black, snow-capped walls. Grey clouds layered the Nordic sky, dusting Eastmarch with light snowfall. Kelran stood in the open courtyard before Candlehearth Hall, patiently waiting as several men and women passed him, looking him up and down with suspicious eyes. A door burst open from the tavern as several drunk men fell into the afternoon snow. He watched as they stumbled around, casting drunken slurs into the open air and laughing merrily.

Kelran turned back around to the main gate to find the bearded man from the gate marching towards him; a heavy greatsword sat across his hulking back.

"Didn't I tell you last time not to challenge my men?" he shouted, his large face red and flustered, "and take off that bloody mask too!"

The Dunmer sighed as he removed his mask, "Then make sure you don't recruit racist brutes, Almund, it might get them killed." He reached into the satchel on his right side, producing a weighted bag of coins. He tossed it to Almund as he came close to Kelran, the man catching them in his large, bear-like hands. Almund smiled and nodded, then brushed his black hair away from his forehead.

"Do you have anything for me?" whispered Kelran, his brow furrowed as a business-like seriousness shadowed his grey face. The large man nodded, then bowed his head to Kelran's height, speaking in hushed tones.

"Aye, its not much but you might find it useful, I can't really say."

Kelran raised a questioning eyebrow.

Almund swallowed, looking hesitant and fumbling over his words, "J-just a few old texts and things. I um, I don't really know if it'll be of any help but trust me I have-"

He stopped as Kelran laid a firm hand on the big man's shoulder.

"Where is it?"

"The New Gnisis Cornerclub, um, sir"

The robed Dunmer released his grip on the large man, nodded and then slid the mask back on.

"Thank you, Almund. Give the Thieve's Guild my thanks, and that of the Great Houses."

With that, Kelran strode past Almund, leaving him standing in the courtyard alone. He glanced back at Almund to see him looking through the bag of coins he had handed to him in payment for his services. Kelran chuckled to himself quietly.

"Simply an illusion, my friend. Simply an illusion…"

Kelran passed into the infamous Gray Quarter, the home to the Dunmer of Windhelm. As he walked the snow-covered streets, his boots crunching in the snowfall, he removed his mask again. It was safer here to show his face; it wouldn't be long before the racial tension towards the Dunmer skyrocketed however. He wondered how fast the news of the secession would spread across the Empire. His eyes surveyed the cramped alleys, catching glimpses of religious banners hanging outside of houses bearing the various symbols of the Reclamations. He made eye-contact with passing Dunmer who made way for his approach the moment they recognised the style of his robes, the mask hanging from his belt, and nodded in respect, to which he returned the silent greeting.

Kelran increased his pace as he saw the tavern. The New Gnisis Cornerclub was a fairly dingy building, with the upper floors being supported by three pillars that stood just outside the front door. Various Dunmeri banners and tapestries hung above the entrance, giving a small element of vibrancy and colour to this small corner of the dark city. He approached the wooden door to the tavern and pushed it open, quickly entering the building and shutting the door behind him. As he entered, all eyes turned on him. Kelran stood as he felt the patrons look him up and down, realising who he was. The club had been expanded since the last time he was here; the bar still sat central with an array of stools, but there were now several tables that littered the open area. Today the New Gnisis Cornerclub was moderately quiet, there were a surprisingly large number of people in the building but they made very little noise for their number. All of them were Dunmer, aside from a few human females who occupied one table by themselves. They can't have been Nords. The owner wouldn't have let them in otherwise.

Kelran cast several nods around the room as patrons returned to their drinks and then quietly moved to the bar. The owner, Ambarys Rendar stood staring at his approach as he cleaned a metal tankard.

"I believe you have something for me, Ambarys?" asked Kelran with a stern tone.

"Good to see you again, Serjo." Ambarys pointed to an empty table lit with two candles, "That one's saved for you. I'll bring over your drink in a few minutes. Canis root tea if I remember correctly?"

"Nei, juohn (Yes,thank you)" replied Kelran with a respectful nod and smile.

"Not many people still use the Dunmeri tongue anymore, it's good to see that some of us still keep it alive." said Ambarys with an expression of gratitude.

Kelran took a seat at the table that Ambarys had reserved for him, the wooden chair creaked as he sat. He stretched, then removed the ebony blade at his waist, it still in its scabbard, placing it on the table. As he lowered his hood, he looked around the room again. Kelran grunted as he caught the glances of a few of the patrons. In a way it pleased him, it felt good to be respected, even if they didn't know his name. He himself was unsure however if that respect was coupled with fear, or hope.

A tankard of Canis root tea and a small pile of parchment was placed on the table, kicking Kelran out of his daydream. Quietly giving his thanks to Ambarys, Kelran took a quick sip from the tankard before turning his attention to the various pages on the table. Laying them out across the table, Kelran quickly scanned them before giving any his full attention. His brow furrowed as he looked at one of the pages which quickly caught his eye.

Daedra and Aedra - A full account of the relics of the deities.

By Cecilius Dresius, Vigilant of Stendarr.

Kelran picked up the parchment and found the pages that accompanied the first, quickly scanning through with a finger passing along each word, muttering under his breath.

"Auriel's bow, Auriel's shield, the Staff of Magnus, Chrysamere, the Heart of Lorkhan…"

His mind filled with the memories of the Red Year, the eruption of Red Mountain at the heart of Vvardenfell. The skies of Morrowind burned red for the whole year, like the entire province had been transformed into a daedric plane of Oblivion. Morrowind then became victim to quakes and floods, which along with the eruption, devastated the landscape, paving way for the Argonians to invade. He cursed under his breath. The text was useless.

Kelran drank again from his tankard. He pushed the text to the side and looked over the others a second time, scanning them for specific words. Still no luck.

"What're you looking at?"

Kelran's head shot up at the sound of the female voice. A woman stood before him, leaning on a chair on the opposite side of the table.

"Nothing you need to know about." He growled, gathering the array of pages into a pile. The woman sat down without invitation. He looked at her, alarmed and irritated as she thrust her hand out in greeting.

"Elara Ashcroft, and you are?" She said with a bright smile. Kelran glared at her, unmoving. She was average height with fair skin, smooth light brown hair reached down to her shoulders. Her face was smooth as well, easily placing her age at around twenty years. Her garb however was unusual to say the least. She was clad in leather armour, several knives lay in small scabbards across chest diagonally. Kelran looked to the table where the human women had been sitting, spying a quiver and bow hanging on the back of the only empty chair. The other women were clad in the norm, typical dresses and such.

Kelran met her light blue eyes then slowly shook her hand.

"Someone you are best not knowing about." He said with a slight smirk.

Elara smiled and looked around before turning back to him.

"You say that but, I've seen how everyone looks at you. How everyone stared as you entered the room..." she leaned over the table, balancing on her bare arms.

"If anything, I would say you're probably the most important man in this room."

Narrowing his eyes, Kelran leaned back in his chair.

"Ashcroft, that is a Breton name if I am not mistaken."

Elara smiled again, "Well, well, someone has travelled quite a bit. Surely you've got stories to share, whoever you are."

"Too many." He stated, watching Elara's movements with suspicion.

Several moments passed whilst they stared at eachother.

"You don't exactly talk much do you?" She said, giving him a rather girly look.

Kelran continued to stare, hoping to make her uncomfortable.

Elara pushed her chair back slightly and then put her feet up on the table, "Ah well, no matter. I can get used to the silence I suppose."

Kelran felt his annoyance burn inside. Why did this woman have to intrude? Surely she could see that he was busy?

Kelran coughed and stood, gathering the pages and his sword.

"It was nice talking to you Miss Ashcroft but I must leave." He said, leaving the table and quickly striding to the door.

"Farewell, mysterious Dunmer!" She childishly called across the room as he gripped the door handle. Kelran sighed out of irritation, then left the tavern.

The sky had darkened now and the air was even colder. He was glad to be away from that insufferable Breton. The Dunmer here recognised him, as expected, but if anyone else did...

No, too many questions would be asked. Too much was at stake.

Kelran walked the dark streets, keeping a hand on his blade. His mind wandered as his feet printed the snow. What small lead he had was a dead one, he could only hope his comrades in the other provinces were faring better. His ears picked up a faint mumble of voices some distance away. Shouting.

Curious, he quickened his pace and walked towards the noise. As he drew closer, his heart beat faster. He turned a corner, facing into the courtyard by the main gate and Candlehearth Hall. There was a small crowd of people huddled around a town crier.

His mind stopped dead.

"Houses of Morrowind secede from the Empire! The Dark Elves are no longer part of the Empire!"

The crowd were shouting racial slurs and words such as 'traitors' and 'cowards'.

It was time to leave.