Work Text:
By, Anonymous.
Tamriel's Stretch has gone far, and the strife within its borders seems to grow ever more. Within Skyrim the borders are being torn apart from the inside, anger welling within the local Nordic race whose human god has been stripped away in exchange for peace.
Ask anyone of the Stormcloaks, I'm sure they would rather be fighting the High Elves which made the so-called peace treaty. Such a document prevents people from fighting with the Altmer Dominion, but they couldn't give a damn if their new citizens ripped their own families apart. Those who agree with the Legion, and those who resent them. They could be siblings who have been together since birth, who now face one another on the battlefield.
Many-a-Times I have seen this happen, I have faced those I would now consider my children and slain them. Was it right? No, if you want my true and honest opinion, I wish I'd never joined the Imperial Army.
However, I wouldn't be where I am had I not signed up as soon as I had become of age. Fighting alongside brothers and sisters - many of which, including myself - who still had a strong connection to our human god of Talos. After meeting him, I still feel just as strongly, if not more. If He has survived thus long, surely there is more mortality in the Eldergloom tree than the one stripped away from us that the Dominion wishes us to see.
I guarantee one thing, and one thing alone. There is a change in the air, one that will blindside the entire Imperial army and one that will sweep the Stormcloaks under the rug. Because underneath it all, we are all the same. From the poorest Dunmer shivering in the streets of Windhelm to the richest of Imperials in the heart of their city.
No walls of stone could keep this beast out, and they have ties to every single one of us.
This hidden foe walks with the Shadows on their backs, the Dread Lord Sithis and his Night Mother also send their regards. The foe walks in the footsteps of the greatest Smiths. Quaking on the cliffs in the college even, our blood boils. The foe has knowledge untapped by anyone but the Dwemer. They have even the strongest of dragons gliding over them, and the shouts to back them up on the ground. But most importantly, they have their Human God. Talos will prevail, and with the help of many others, the landscape of Tamriel will change.
I know exactly what you're thinking, how could I, an author of a book know this? Well, I would doubt as well, if I weren't one of them. I walk only one of the paths mentioned, and we may be few on our own, but our families support us, even without yet knowing. But when the time comes, I will not lead them, we lead only ourselves. To where? To our destiny, to rewrite the history books and take back what is ours. Not just Talos. Not just Skyrim. But we will take back the Empire and all of Tamriel. We will fix what our ancestors have done, and back it up not with steel or words or paper. We will back it up through action.
My last point is that Enchanting is just as common as the common gem itself. Many animals have their souls harvested into petty, common, great, greater, and even black soul gems. But - through experience, I may add - the soul of any Orsimer will only enter a black soul gem. As is the same with an Altmer, a Bosmer, or Dunmer. A Nord or Imperial soul can be trapped in the same object as well. But let us not forget it is the same for even the sneakiest of Khajiit and the heartiest of Argonians. Bretons are no exception and neither are Redgaurds. We are all the same. No matter how much one is ridiculed, beaten, left alone, or forgotten - our souls are all equal. Whether we go to Sovenguard or the Attribution's Share, the Realm of Clavicus Vile, or even Apocrypha. Some of us may join in the eternal hunting grounds of Hircine, or the Ashpit overlooked by Malacath. The Deadlands, Spiral Skein, or Colored Rooms all hold some of us. There are those who may be bound to Coldharbour or the Scuttling Void. It does not mean they are any more or less than those who end up in the Evergloam, the Pits, Myriad Realms of Revelry, or the Quagmire. I will leave with these final words,
We are All the Same.
"Don't you think this is a bit.... long?" A masked man raises a brow. Although it goes unseen by the Bosmer before him because of well, obviously, his mask - once belonging to the very same Clavicus Vile mentioned in the book. The bosmer is flipping through the pages, there was so much more than he's used to duplicating.
"It's a message my superior wants to be published. I have nothing to do with the contents written in the pages." A somewhat suspicious look crosses the Bosmer's face but he says no more on the particular subject.
"I don't know... It would take quite a bit of gold to even begin to consider-" A heavy, quite bloated at that, coin purse is set on the counter.
"...Ahem... May I?" The Masked individual nods and the drawstrings are undone. After spilling some of the contents into his hand, the elf seems to hesitate a bit longer.
"The rest of the payments can be sent later, my Lord was in a hurry when he sent me out."
"How many payments are we talking?" The wood elf's complexion seems a bit pale. There is a lot of gold in the bag. More than most of his scribing commissions.
"I was told eight more of equal value, he wants at least fifty books published between payments. If it becomes in demand he will pay the funds for the books themselves."
"I- I don't know what to say, what is in this book?"
"I already said, I don't know. But unless you have more workers, I feel you'll have it memorized by the time the next payment comes in."
"Well, yes I suppose--"
"A courier will be here in a fortnight to pick up the first set and will be requested to drop off the next amount. If he tries to siphon any of the coins please report to me."
"A- A fortnight - you want me to write fifty copies of this in fourteen days?"
"We can double the payment if it is a bother."
"No - Um -... Who did you say you're Lord is?" Now profusely sweating the Wood elf looks ready to back out on the deal.
"He wishes to remain anonymous." Not giving the now very busy bookkeeper a chance to rebuke, the masked man turns to leave. "The next four payments will be double." And with a wave, he leaves.