Elder Scrolls Duskside - Darian

“Bring out the prisoner!”

Several Imperial soldiers were gathered around a small transport vessel that had only docked moments before. At the call of the legate, who stood alongside his troops without sign of concern, a man was brought off the ship bound and sullied. The prisoner’s golden skin and sharp facial features were sign enough of his Aldmeri decent, though his long black hair and thin beard were not so common amongst his people. The lean elf was escorted off the ship by two armed guards who seemed none too happy with the act, though their captive didn’t looked thrilled by his situation either.

If anything, he was saddened by this turn of events.

“Darian Forma, Templar of Akatosh, prisoner of the Empire, welcome to Skyrim.”

Darian looked up, shocked as the soldier told him of his location while taking hold of his shackles with key in hand. The Imperial unlocked the bindings, allowing Darian to rub his sore wrists for the first time in days. He had too many questions in that moment, but all were answered when the legate handed him a letter with an all too familiar seal pressed upon it. This was his brother’s doing…

“Considering the unique nature of your crimes and your particular skill set, the Elder Council has decided to put you to work here instead of leaving you incarcerated. The Imperial Battlemage in particular feels you are best suited for the task in question.”
“Tillin…always trying to save me from myself. If only I had listened to him sooner.”

Darin held the letter tightly, sorrow crossing his face as he remembered the wrongs of his past. Some of the legionnaires were indifferent, while others felt anger towards the High Elf and those that had arranged his freedom. All were shocked when their commander reached out his hand and placed it on the elf’s shoulder, a similar look of sadness in his eyes.

“I heard about what you did for those people in Taneth. Regardless of who or what you were before, that act alone redeemed you as far as I am concerned.”

“They were innocent people…I couldn’t just let them die.”

“And that’s why you’re getting a second chance.”  

A second chance; that was the last thing he deserved after his part in the Taneth Massacre. He was resolved to spend the rest of his days in some dark prison cell, repenting for the sins he had accumulated in his god’s name. He knew now that Akatosh would never have wanted him to become the hero of a massacre, but that was exactly what he had become on that dark Midyear day. But now he was in Skyrim, a letter from his brother in hand and a so called second chance along with it.

In truth he didn’t want to open it because he knew it would give him a new purpose in life. All he wanted was a life of nothing but four walls of brick and mortar cutting him off from the rest of the world while he rotted in his self loathing. Yet something inside of him, some little spark of hope left from a time before he had lost his way, compelled him to read the note. So he did and as he feared it gave him a new reason to live, if not for himself than for others.

“I’ll need a horse and supplies.”

“We have both prepared for you. Right this way.”

The legate led Darian to a nearby storage room where a warm meal awaited him along with a bath and change of clothes. What caught his attention more than the rest was the armor that had been set out for him: gauntlets, greaves, and a cuirass all made of plated steel in the Nordic style. It wasn’t extravagant, but it was better than what he had expected to be given considering the situation. He wondered if Tillin had played some part in that, no, he knew he had.

While he ate the stew of pork and vegetables that had been prepared for him, Darian decided to ask about the state of the world since his imprisonment. The legate, Ramius Lecicin, was happy to share what he knew about Tamriel’s ever changing political situation. What he had to say wasn’t all surprising, but a few details were a bit unnerving to say the least.

“Let’s see, well you know about the Sload invasion of the Summerset Isles that started ten years ago.”

“Of course, it was that and the unrest in Valenwood that prompted the Empire to help Hammerfell regain its freedom from the Dominion. Why, has something changed?”

Darian asked this between bites, forgetting how good a substantial meal could be after eating nothing but moldy bread and slop for what seemed like decades. What Ramius had to say next was enough to affect even his long forgotten appetite, however.

“Yes, we now know why the Sload attacked after so many years of seeming disinterest. Turns out they have an agreement with the Sea Elves, who in turn have made an alliance with Black Marsh.”

This was shocking news to Darian who put down his spoon and looked at Ramius with perplexed eyes. In theory it made perfect sense for the three water faring races to become allies, but for it to actually happen was more than surprising. Did this mean the Sload trying to conquer his ancestral homeland was part of a bigger invasion plan? Ramius began speaking once more, and what he had to say more or less confirmed Darian’s fears.

“As far as we can tell the Maormer have agreed to assist the Sload in invading Tamriel, but only if they can prove their strength by capturing Summerset. At the same time the Argonians seem to be preparing to invade Elsweyr, south-east Cyrodil, or more likely Morrowind again. Regardless the south is where everyone’s attention is right now.”

“With the way things are in the Dominion I doubt they could give much aid to Elsweyr if the Argonians did attack. That would leave them with only one other option.”

Ramius smiled and said his next words with a very pleased tone, clearly feeling some kind of pride at being able to speak them.

“That’s right; they would have to ask the Empire for help.”

For several decades the south had been a powder keg just waiting to explode into a second Great War. Now it seemed things were even more chaotic with two nearly forgotten factions joining the chaos as a third readied to invade its neighbors. The only question now was if the various provinces of Tamriel could put aside their differences to defend against these new threats. Darian wouldn’t hold his breath in anticipation.

His meal complete, the satisfied Altmer prepared to bathe himself once his new acquaintance had stepped out of the room. While he washed away the grime of both the Imperial prison and the ship that had brought him to Skyrim, Darian pondered on everything he had been told. His mind then slipped to his brother’s letter and the words within it. Now knowing what he did about the turmoil in the south, the former templar understood why he was here and what he needed to do. He wanted to pray for guidance and aid from the divine whom he had served since childhood, but he couldn’t find the strength to do so.

He hadn’t lost faith in Akatosh but in himself, yet Tillin still believed in his wayward sibling.

Hopefully that would be enough.

Clean as he could get with soap and water, Darian dried off and began dressing himself. The leather jerkin and doe skin slakes fit well enough, though the armor took a bit of adjusting before he felt comfortable in it. It had been made for a hefty Nord, not an Altmer who had grown thin from his long imprisonment. He finally donned a green, cotton hood before picking up the weapon that he assumed was meant for him. It was a fine, steel mace that fitted the make of his armor and in a way felt just as heavy.

He hated to admit it, but the weapon felt good in his hands. Darian swung the cudgel a few times, reacquainting himself with the weight and size of such an armament. He hadn’t forgotten his training at the temple, nor with the legion during his campaigns with them. All seemed well until the weapon slipped from his grip and fell to the ground with a loud clang.

Darian looked down at his hands and sighed aloud; he had let himself get rusty. Perhaps too rusty, but at least the knowledge and muscle memory were still there. Now he just had to get his body back into shape. He hooked the bludgeon to his belt and then walked out of the storage room, Ramius waiting for him.

The two walked down the docks and toward shore where Darian’s horse, already equipped with supplies for his journey, was being kept for him. Looking up at the cliff overhead Darian could see the walls of Solitude and the tops of several buildings within its walls. He had always wanted to see the “Jewel of the North” at least once in his life, but this was as close as he had ever gotten.

Even at this distance it was a tremendous sight to behold, but it did bring a question to his mind that probably needed asking considering how long he would likely be staying in Skyrim.

“Ramius, tell me, what is the condition of Skyrim right now?”

The Imperial seemed surprised by the question, but he understood why it was being asked. Ramius was no Nord, but he had spent enough time in the North to impart some information to his elven acquaintance.

“Well, in the seventy or so years since the civil war, I’d say things have become quite stable here. Skyrim is part of the Empire but isn’t subject to Imperial law, which is still a matter of debate in Cyrodil but not so much here. The holds are self governing with only the High King having the authority to change laws or deny rulings by the Jarls; both of which he rarely has to do. It’s just like the old days from what I hear, except the Jarls aren’t trying to kill each other day in and day out.”

“I doubt that means there is nothing for me to worry about during my travels.”

“Yes, well, I guess I should say things are politically stable. Socially the locals aren’t at all fond of your people or of outsiders in general. The legion isn’t exactly well liked either outside of Solitude, but the citizens tolerate our presence for the most part. Other than that you shouldn’t have much else to worry about except for bandits and beasts.“

“What about Dragons?”

Ramius laughed at the question, only ceasing when he saw the expression on Darian’s face. Realizing he was being asked seriously, the soldier cleared his throat and answered to the best of his ability.

“I doubt it, unless you just go looking for one and even then your chances are slim to none. Most of those monsters were either killed or driven into hiding by the Dragonborn, the new Dragonguard, or the hundreds of would be Dragon slayers out there. I’ve even heard a few left Tamriel all together to find a place where they could live in peace, if Dragons even understand the concept.”

“That’s a relief then.”

In truth, Darian was disappointed. The Dragons were the first creations of Akatosh who were made in his image. To see a Dragon was to see the face of their creator, or so he had been told by those priests and worshipers who had seen them in person. Many had told of receiving divine insight upon seeing the timeless beings, while others had their faith rocked to the core. Darian would gladly take the risk if it meant better understanding where he stood with the divines, especially his patron, but it seemed it was not meant to be.

The horse that awaited him was a strong, heavy hoofed steed who looked as accustomed to the rugged land as the people who called it home. Darian took a moment to acquaint himself with the mount before taking his place upon the saddle. Ramius passed on one last piece of advice to the grim rider before sending him on his way to whatever destination awaited him.

Those words would linger in Darian’s mind for days to come.

“I don’t know what your mission is, or what it will take to give you joy once more, but if I were you I wouldn’t travel alone. Find someone you can trust and stick with them if you can. Just knowing you’re not alone in the world can make a difference."

"Ramius...thank you."

Darian kicked his horse and began his long journey; one that would either make or break what little of his will remained. He looked toward the east, the sun shining on the horizon as he prayed more out of habit than anything.

“Dawnstar…I pray my deeds will not bring you nor your people harm.”