30th of Frostfall, 4E 171

Everyone in the courtyard stared in stunned silence at the grisly offering that had tumbled from the upended cart brought in by the Thalmor ambassador. His Imperial Majesty, Titus Mede II, schooled his features from shock to stern anger. The Blades, he thought, recognizing the Akiviri helmets encasing the severed heads that spilled callously on the stone walkway in front of the White-Gold Tower at the heart of the Imperial City. All of them? he wondered, but something told him that he knew the answer, and his face grew tighter still. He forced himself to look up at the Altmer emissary.

“So,” he said softly, “It has come to this.”

The high elf sneered. “Too long has mankind misruled Tamriel, and its glory has diminished with each passing moment. The Aldmeri Dominion will allow no further degradation under your stewardship. We lay claim to the lands we have demanded, and we shall seize them by conquest since we must. War is the only language you humans seem to understand.”

Now furious, the emperor roared, “Come and take them!”

Posted by Darth Krzysztof

Second Seed, 4E 164

He found her on the short run of steps leading down from the door of the alchemist’s shop, foiling her escape with the gentle insistence of a hand on the girl’s stomach. “Good day, Martine,” he said with mock friendliness. “Been awhile, hasn’t it? I do hope you’re well.”

“I am, Theo; thank you,” Martine replied. She hadn’t seen him since just before her thirteenth birthday, three months ago. Longer than I expected to avoid him, she thought, but still not long enough. She stopped herself from swatting his hand away. “Did you have business with Marie-Helene?” she asked, easing to the side and aiming a thumb at the alchemist’s door, though she already knew what he’d say.

Theo shook his head. “No. I was looking for you.”

“Well, here I am.” She managed some false friendliness of her own. “What can I do for you?”

“You can put my mind at ease,” Theo said. Barely three years older than Martine, Theo acted like he’d never been a child. She’d never found anything to like about him. “How are you getting by, without your father?”

“Well enough. Marie-Helene pays for exotic ingredients, and I bring her nirnroot from up the coast now and then. It’s not much, but it’s bread on the table.” Martine’s father had taught her that a partial truth was easier to swallow than a whole lie…