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Cyrodiil

Author: 
Anonymous
The heart of Tamriel and the Empire. The Alliance War rages over its wooded hills. 
 
Once more we have driven back the assault on Drakelowe Keep, but the Dominion battalion will not relent. They began their attack as dawn approached and damaged the southern walls before our squad of Nightblades could dismantle their trebuchets. We created a distraction with a powerful fire spell aimed at their tents while the strike team snuck through to neutralize the siege weaponry. However, by midday, the Dominion managed to seize the nearby lumber mill and farm. I worry that they intend to starve us out; it’s as if they knew we were running low on supplies.
 
With the mill in their hands, we can expect even more siege weapons, too. When I told Bites-Four-Stars, he just laughed. “Let them build more. My Nightblades will burn them as soon as they rise.” I hope it is not just bravado. Our numbers dwindle, but we will not allow these lunatics one step closer to the Pact holdings. I swear it by the Three.
 

We must understand history to advance our culture. Elves once ruled over Cyrodiil, but our cousins the Ayleids fell into decadence just like the modern Imperials. The humans rose up and defeated their Elven masters, but they didn’t stop there. No, they strove to eliminate Elven society entirely, destroying nearly every remnant of Ayleid culture, art, and literature they could. And then, as men are so prone to do, they forgot what led their masters to their demise.

Now the events of history play out on the same stage with new actors. These Imperials have lost control of their once-great Empire, have allowed their people to turn to Daedra worship and pleasure-seeking, just like their enslavers before them. They have invited ruin to the world with open arms, allowing corruption to sneak into their highest court and treat with evil itself. This will not be permitted to continue.

The Dominion stands ready to correct the wrongs of the past, to bring light to the many dark places in the Empire. When we claim the Ruby Throne, we will break this cycle and usher in a new Era for all Tamriel's peoples. We will protect them from themselves, as they have proven their incompetence.

The obnoxious gibbering of scamps and their tendency to set things on fire prevent them from being much sport at all (beyond perhaps releasing one into a rival’s quarters to wreak havoc), so let’s move on. The clannfear! First, the obvious safety notices. The clannfear is still a formidable foe, so don’t attempt this alone or if you don’t have confidence in your abilities. They want nothing more than to tear the flesh right off you, and never forget that. Get out of the way when they charge, don’t get bitten by that nasty beak, and watch out for the tail swipes. 
 
Now, on to the fun! You need a rope, a horse, and good aim for this one—and, of course, a clannfear. That shouldn’t be too hard to find these days. Tie your rope up into a noose-like knot with a wide loop at the end. Then, ride in big circles around the clannfear, spin your rope over your head, and try to land the loop right where he’s going to step. If you can catch the leg and trip it, you’ve won!
 
Members of the Elder Council serve the Emperor and the people of the Empire, managing routine affairs and providing stable conditions for the Emperor’s reign. They are typically concerned with taxation, infrastructure, and minor legislation (over which the Emperor has the power of veto). Appointment to the Council is both an honor and a burden, though some nobles view it only as a means to obtain more power and influence. 
 
In recent years, the importance of the Council has been proven over and over again. With the frequent turmoil and changes in Emperorship, the Council has maintained what degree of order it can under the leadership of Chancellor Abnur Tharn. Without his guidance to many neophyte Emperors, the Empire would surely have disintegrated entirely by this point, and though there is much to reclaim, there is no doubt that a man such as Chancellor Tharn—long-lived, educated in every sphere, and well-versed in political maneuverings—will be instrumental in rebuilding what has been lost.
 

“It’s no wonder the Empire’s come to this sad state. Shows what happens when you turn away from the Eight, if you ask me. There was a time we stood together as Imperials, Colovian and Nibenese. Now the Nibenese distract themselves with debauchery and worse—Daedra worship.

They’ve forgotten the glory of the Empire, satisfied to bicker over its remnants, and it’ll take us Colovians to put them and all these upstart alliances squabbling over the throne in their place. We will restore order here and in the other unruly provinces by whatever means necessary … as soon as we can agree who to put on the throne. Hundreds of years from now, they will surely look back at this dark time as the only weakness the Empire ever displayed.”
 

Grandfather understood. I think he was even a little proud of me as he helped me don the armor he once wore into battle. Mother and father begged me to stay, but if I remain here and try to ignore the world like they have for so long, what legacy am I leaving behind? I want to be someone. I want to make a difference. One day, I want my children to run carefree through the streets of the Imperial City in the glory of an Empire restored. 
 
I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen, and I can’t stand idly here and wait for the outcome of this war. I will stand and fight if only to drive back the Daedra. But whose service should I swear my blade to? Who can restore the Empire that Tamriel deserves?
 
I haven’t slept a full night in weeks. Every time I drift off, the vision returns. The screeching of metal and wails of the damned, the darkened sky opening like a wound, the feeling of my innards squirming as if to escape … the voice in my head … and the Daedra tumbling out, eager to spoil and ruin Cyrodiil with their filth.
 
I’ve written reams and reams in my sleepless nights trying to capture the horror, but every line I scrawl is pitiful, inadequate. If we have words that can describe this nightmare, I do not know them. They have the words, though. I hear them calling, coming to claim us for their lord. How can we hope to stand against such power, such relentless and wanton hate? Is it already too late—has Molag Bal torn Nirn beyond repair?
 

“The Moth Priest sent another demand? Fancy that. I’m in a good mood today; let’s send a friendly response. Yes, I know they want the Elder Scrolls we’re borrowing back. Yes, I know they’re valuable relics that must be protected at all costs, and you can tell him that they’ll be safe and cozy again with the rest in their dusty old Library soon enough. In fact, let him know that it is my personal goal to hand-deliver ours and those held by the Pact and the Dominion to White-Gold Tower! There’s just this little matter of a war to win first, and we so truly appreciate his order’s patience in the meantime.

He can come visit if he doesn’t mind crossing one of the most deadly battlefields in Tamriel’s history—we’d love to have him. Assure him we’re taking very good care of the Scrolls and even built these lovely temples to house them appropriately. After all, the Scrolls will lead us to victory, or so I’m told.”
 

Experienced stonemasons needed!

Receive excellent pay, see beautiful Cyrodiil, find steady work on incredible ancient fortifications, and receive the adoration of the people as you repair and maintain keeps under Pact control. Your efforts will help us secure victory in the most important battle of our time.

Must have proof of apprenticeship with a registered master mason, provide own tools, and be ready for immediate departure. Combat training a plus! Inquire at your local barracks.

Initiate Pulcheria,
 
We were in the same summoning ceremony three nights ago upon the mountain. You may remember me—I was noted by our ritual-master for my strong chanting voice and mastery of the dread syllables (for such a new worshiper, at least). I’m not usually one for letters of this nature, but I must say: I was simply astounded by your conjuration abilities. Your sigils were traced perfectly, the daedroth you called forth was one of the finest and strongest I’ve seen, and the power that radiated from you … I was speechless.
 
Pulcheria, I believe we can do great things together. I feel we should convene privately to discuss the potential for destruction and chaos we could unleash. In fact, let’s make an evening of it! I have a wonderful recipe for stewed mudcrab and know the perfect little hillock where we could meet.
 
Eagerly awaiting your response,
Initiate Marcellinus
 
A broken land limps
Down un-tread path
Dawn's light has fled the Hill
I've lost my heart
I've lost my way
But Reman's dream stirs still
 
Usurper's boots tread
The Tower's halls
The diamond's gleam grows dim
I'd pay in gold
I'd pay in blood
For it to rise again
 
Our destiny waits
To be restored
It lies within our sight
I'll raise my head
I'll raise my sword
To reclaim our birthright
 
“I’m not so scared of war anymore. Turns out a lot of the stories they told back home aren’t even true. I haven’t seen any invincible Altmer mages wearing nothing but lightning or Dunmer gods flying above the battlefield raining down death, and I’ve killed a bunch of Argonians without their blood melting my sword. I’m much more afraid of being hit by fiery debris from one of these catapults or getting skewered by a ballista bolt, in truth.
 
I have seen the Daedra pouring out of Coldharbour, though, and I know we have to stop it somehow. We can’t let what’s happened to Cyrodiil happen to our homes in High Rock, and the best place to start will be winning this war and bringing some order back to Tamriel. I try to focus on one thing at a time though. Here, give me a hand fixing this thing up—we attack at dawn.”