Young Writers Society

6th Era, Year 232.

It has been centuries since the fall of the Empire and the Aldmeri Dominion, leaving the world of Tamriel a sectarian and prejudiced land, where the ten dominant species are constantly in conflict with one another. At an end are the days where the provinces worked in harmony to expand and conquer the harsh natures, and when the races integrated to improve their living conditions. Now the nation is at its weakest.

The Daedra, despicable beings from the pit of Oblivion, have located a legendary Elder Scroll, a unrivalled source of magic that exists in a dimension separate to our own, but has somehow been summoned to the realm of Tamriel, allowing any to access its raw, unlimited power. Four of the Daedric Princes, greedy for the strength that the Scroll shall grant, are in contention to retrieve it, diabolic intentions in their minds.
The old and wise Greybeards, contacted by the balance of virtue against the Daedra, known as the Aedra, have called together the greatest warriors and travellers in all of Tamriel, to obtain the divine artefact before the sinful Princes, and destroy it before the power it bestows is abused.

Upon the tallest mountain in the land, the Throat of the World in Skyrim, each of these characters have met to be briefed about their calling to save all that exists, and have no idea about the dangers they shall soon face. For the fate Tamriel rests upon their shoulders, and it is essential that they succeed it their endeavours, or the realm will meet a cataclysmic and untimely end...

Characters:


Link to DT:

Race: Khajiit

Gender: Male

Name: Ki’Tzung

Age: 34

Appearance:

Skills: Speech- Smithing- Enchantment

Personality/ Culture: Ki’Tzung is entirely obsessed with money; he will scam businessmen and tempt his fate with nightmarish creatures to get his immoral paws on another few coins to add to his ever increasing collection. When it comes to life, the Khajit has no care for others’ safety or the sentimental value of any of their possessions. He is deceitful, self-interested and often heartless, but fights well and is more than capable of using his formidable charisma to talk himself out of confrontation with other people.

History: Ki’Tzung travelled since the age of nineteen, after being banished by the Mane for selling his people watered-down skooma for full price. This did not stop him from being an immoral and disgraceful trader, however, as he wandered Tamriel selling swords he took and refined from those he killed, some guilty, others not so. Ki’Tzing found that all that he cared about was the feeling of gold in his back pocket.

However, in a search for greater power, he consulted a worshipper of Peryite in Skyrim and spoke with the Daedric Prince, and carried out his bidding for organisation and disease for several years. But the Khajiit had become addicted to money, its influence too strong to shake. It was soon that Ki’Tzung began to sell the essence of Peryite, to innocents, and single-handedly caused the death of all in Rorikstead. He fled from the Daedra and he pursuers, but continued his unsavoury activities regardless.

The Khajiit, went on to become one of the greatest smiths in all of Tamriel, his skill in weapon crafting virtually unrivalled, but he retained notoriety as an unscrupulous businessman, yet the two pretty much cancel each other out in the eyes of his buyers.
While resting at his manor built in east Hammerfell, he dreamt of all his gold being melted in an enormous furnace, before being turned to coal. Upon the back of one of his gold coins were the words: High Hrothgar, so he heeded the divine event as a calling, and travelled back into Skyrim in secrecy.

Weapons/ Magics: Night-eye- Ki’Tzung can see in the dark as easily as in daylight. Quick-healing, Ash-shell. He wields an enchanted Dwarven mace with electricity damage and soul-trap, and uses the Daedric artefact Spellbreaker. As a result, he is a nightmare to most mages. He can carry one other weapon that he salvages so he can improve and sell it.


Armour: Full Stalhrim armour, excluding helmet, enchanted with stamina and health fortifications. Has a set of blacksmith’s robes that fortifies both smithing and enchanting.


Other: Ki’Tzing flips a coin to make hard decisions- it’s a ritual of his. He also talks in third person, calling himself ‘Ki’Tzung’ instead of ‘I’, as Khajit have a tendency to do this.

Name: Sorek Kincaid

Race: Redguard

Gender: Male

Age: 29

Appearance:

Skills: One-handed

Sneak

Light Armour

Personality/culture: Cocky, arrogant and insulting when it comes to talking to people he doesn’t know. However beneath the layers of the obvious wise-guy act, he is cool-headed and unfazed when the situation calls for it, although he will still throw around smart-ass remarks if he feels something bad is going to happen. He does have trouble trusting others, a trait that has been instilled in him when he was in the nightingale order, although this wouldn’t apply when it comes to Moghakh, someone he trusts and respects and will (unusual for even him) lay down his life for his friend.

History: Redguards as a race are meant to represent honour and courage, true warriors. Sorek was an exception. Trained in the ways of the thief and the assassin, Sorek is an outcast even to his own kin, and as such, most Redguards dislike or outright hate him. Some will not even do business with him, for fear of ridicule and scorn. This caused Sorek to have few to zero friends and this is what caused him to join the thieves’ guild.

He showed exemplary prowess in the ways of the thief and showed remarkable skill with blades and quickly climbed through the ranks of the guild. Quickly drawing the attention of the Nightingale order, they offered him a place and Sorek accepted with much delight. The tasks he was given he completed with an unwavering zeal and determination, but he chose his tasks, only willing to do ones on the guilty and corrupt. However, he overheard a few members planning to take down the last few friends that he had, for reasons that were hushed, and fled to warn them. He never made it.

After abandoning the order and having travelled for a few days, he found himself cornered by the very members he had known. He cut down a few of them but one of them got lucky. Left for dead and bleeding out fast, he managed to get to an orc tribe led by Moghakh. Sorek Begged for aid and Mogahakh, recognising the warrior spirit in him, agreed to help. However, the Nightingale order, furious at their failure to kill him once, decided to try again. They attacked the tribe, slaughtering every orc. Sorek, being healed in the chiefs’ hut, with Moghakh beside him, getting the details of what happened; suddenly found themselves surrounded by the order. Moghakh, livid with anger, went berserk which is why he did not notice the member that had managed to slip by his blows and was about to backstab him, however Sorek threw his sword and embedded it in the members neck.

Sorek and Moghakh now travel together to wreak revenge on the nightingale order, both doing it for the tribe that had been lost. Their relationship, once full of hate, has now turned into mutual respect.

Weapons/Magic: Adept with weapons in all their forms, he still has his Nightingale blade and bow, and is proficient in the ways of destruction magic.



Armour: Uses the iconic Nightingale Armour:


Other: Due to leaving the order and angering nocturnal, all the abilities of the armour and weapons have been neutralised.

Can boost stamina regeneration for a large amount for a short time.

Race: Altmer

Gender: Female

Name: Aeril

Age: 87 (She’s an elf, that’s actually fairly young.)

Appearance: pic's at the botteem. her skin is a bit lighter.

Skills: Restoration, Destruction, Speech

Personality/ Culture: Altmer are perfectionists, having so many years in which to attain that ideal. She’s very formal like most of her people, making her seem very cold and haughty. Altmer believe that they are the best race out there, and she holds this opinion as well. She values her religion strongly. She’s fairly introverted. She believes in the ideals of the Thalmor, and hates owing people, because she believes if she owes someone, she must have failed at something. After all, she’s proud. Very, very proud. She’s patient and diligent-has to be to learn magecraft. Aeril has a tendency to overplan, as well. She’s very stoic, trying to hide her emotions from those “lesser.”

History: Aeril was born in the city Firsthold of Alinor. The city was one that was constantly attacked by pirates, and so she learned how to fight and sail. When she was in her twenties, her mother was killed by the pirates, which does not help her view of the other races. (Neither does growing up in the most xenophobic elven city ever. Her mentor, a Neonate (mage-in-trainig) who had fled the Crystal Tower before it was destroyed by the Daedra during the oblivion crisis, taught her magic. (Her mentor was old, even for an elf, and died not too long ago.) Aeril decided her personal tactics against the pirates plaguing her home was to make them believe she was not a mage when they fought her, by dressing in leather armor and carrying an axe. That way, when she got into a tough spot or was captured, the pirates would do nothing to protect themselves against magic. She has employed these tactics for years with much success. Later in her life due to the name she had made on the home front, she was sent to Skyrim as a representative of the Aldmeri Dominion. This was the first time she encountered members of another race that weren't pirates. While there, she had a dream and the Aedra spoke to her, telling her to visit High Hrothgar.


Weapons/ Magics: (include the racial ability, found on the wiki page for each race) Highborn: Regenerate magicka faster for 60 seconds, once a day. Casts lots of fire and lightning spells, along with healing. Carries an axe for self-defense up close and to disguise her role as a mage.

Armor: Elven Leather

Other: (considerable other possessions) A lyre and she knows how to play it.

Race: Breton

Gender: Female

Name: Karin Bouchard

Age: 21

Appearance: 5'2, slender. She's very light on her feet and gracious, and almost appears to be floating when she walks. You can see the confidence in her eyes, and she's almost always smiling (especially when she's in a fight). She's like an open book, never bothering to hide any of her emotions, which makes her look a bit childish.

Skills: Alteration, Conjuration, Archery

Personality/Culture: Karin is very independent and used to taking care of herself, but that doesn't mean she isn't friendly. Because she has traveled so much, and met so many people, she has no prejudices against any race or religion. She is easygoing (if you don't mind her temper), outspoken, gets along with most people and works well in a team. She smiles and laughs a lot. She's quick and witty, but a bit too fond of pranks (having spent a few days with Sanguine worshipers).

She really has a fire in her eyes, always burning with curiosity, courage and confidence. Delving into an old scroll or a goblin infested cave, it's all the same to her. Some people would call her reckless, seeing all the stupid stuff that she has done in the past, but she wouldn't take something on if she didn't know she could handle it (or so she thinks). She's very intelligent, being a scholar and all that, but puts more trust in instincts than logic.

Her skills in conjuration and alteration is hard to match, but she is also a skilled archer, though she only uses the bow when she has to be sneaky. The combination of her Detect Life/Dead and her arrows can be quite lethal, and so can her Flame Thrall. In a battle she prefers to keep her distance, laughing like crazy while conjuring up creatures to fight for her.

History: Karin has been traveling around Tamriel her whole life. She was born in Anvil, Cyrodiil, as the daughter of a sailor and a traveling scholar. She was 5 when her father's ship disappeared in a storm and her mother decided to sell their house and join the College of Whispers. They only stayed there for about a year before Karin's mother decided that it was time to move again, this time to Jehenna, High Rock, where they opened a small Alchemy shop. During her five years in Jehenna Karin's mother taught her much about magic, especially conjuration. Her mother realized that she had talent, and sent her to a tutor in Blacklight, Morrowind. She spent another five years with that tutor, before deciding that she'd be able to learn more if she joined the College of Winterhold, so she did.

Weapons/Magics:
Racial abilities:
Dragonskin greater power (Absorb 50% of the magicka from hostile spells for 60 seconds, once per day)
Magic Resistance ability (Breton blood grants a 25% resistance to magic, constant)
Conjure Familiar

Spells:
Detect Life, Detect Dead, Waterbreathing, Transmute, Telekinesis, Magelight, Candlelight, Equilibrium, Ebonyflesh, Soul Trap, Flaming Familiar, Conjure Storm Atronach, Flame Thrall, Healing, Healing Hands, Fire Bolt, Fire Rune, Clairvoyance

Weapons:
Elven Bow, Elven Arrows, Steel Dagger (which she keeps hidden)

~ Race: Dark Elf

~ Gender: female

~ Name: Anary Nadarys

~ Age: 21 (or the equivalent in elf years, anyway)

~ Appearance: Her skin is gray, but even paler than that of most of her race. She has white hair, straight and falling to the half of her back. She is relatively tall, thin and seems surprisingly fragile.
Here's the picture as well.


~ Skills: Conjuration, Illusion, Alchemy

~ Personality/ Culture:
It is told, because of her appearance, that her mother has had something going on with a-- well, with someone who wasn't of their race. No one really dares to accuse her any further, but Anary can't just put it aside. She doubts everything she does, never truly sure of herself, though she doesn't really let it show. She doesn't smile much, tends to be sarcastic, holds grudges, and never gets into any kind of arguments unless she is sure she will win.

~ She is very smart, and has a touch of evil in her personality. Not that she exactly likes hurting and torturing innocent people, but when she has a reason to do it, she will. She is proud, holds to her honor, can act very cold and if she wants something, she usually doesn't need to do anything more than to ask nicely - or threat gently. Unlike her parents and older brother, who are or were warriors, Anary doesn't like getting in fights. Rarely ever can one see her fighting herself, for she usually uses her skills to get others do it for her.
She is very persuasive in the way she talks, and loves learning about new places, races and things. Especially magic, she loves magic and knows how to use it, most of all the kind that puts her in control of others.


~ History:
Anary was born in the gray quarter, but her family line came all the way from Morrowind, and her parents hold dearly to the tradition of their people. They never let her and her brother forget about all the things that happened in the past, and made sure they hold to their family and race honor. Anary, however, unlike her brother, didn't grow up to hate the other races for no reason - she doesn't love either of them, but can stand them, and will rather judge an individual than a whole kind.
She learned all she knows from her parents, and has just recently left her home to travel the world. She isn't exactly experienced when it comes to actual interaction with other races, and she never yet really felt what it's like to be surrounded by people who are different and generally dislike her.


~ Weapons/ Magics:
Racial abilities:
Resist Fire ability ( Dunmer blood gives her 50% resistance to fire, constant)
Ancestor's Wrath greater power ( For 60 seconds, opponents that get too close take 8 points per second of fire damage, once per day)

Spells:
Conjure Familiar, Summon Unbound Dremora (in theory. She saw it done once, and though it ended well, she isn't into trying unless she must), Conjure Flaming Familiar, Soul Trap, Summon Arniel's Shade, Command Daedra, Frost Thrall, Clairvoyance, Fear, Invisibility, Frenzy, Call to Army - and eager to learn more.

She doesn't carry any weapons, but she does have some important ingredients for alchemy on her all the time. Also her powers often take her a lot of energy, so she chooses wisely when to use them and whether to use them at all.

~ Armour: She doesn't wear any. She knows it isn't very smart, probably, but she is confident with her magic skills and all the rest.

~ Other: She wears a medallion with the portrays of her family inside, and a ring on her right thumb, that matches the one her brother has. She's also up for love, if there will be such concepts, and has no gender preferences.

Race: Orsimer / Orc

Gender: Male

Name: Moghakh, Wielder of Volendrung

Age: 36

Appearance:

Skills:
Two-handed - Skills almost perfected from wielding Volendrung;
Heavy Armour - Trained by his fellow tribesmen at a young age;
Master Smith - Trained by tribesmen but has also been recognized as being one of the greatest smiths in Tamriel but definitely the greatest Orc smith.

Personality / Culture:
Incredibly brutish - doesn't like negotiating with people and would much prefer to cave in their skulls.

Built up hate for bandits and thieves - there is no honour in what they do and they are untrustworthy (no exception for Sorek).

Strong worshiper of Malacath - Volendrung was a gift from Malacath so Moghakh feels he must repay Malacath for his gift.

Arrogant - Being recognized as the greatest of all known Orcish smiths, he is a bit stuck up his own backside.

Skeptic - Chooses friends carefully and cautiously. He must be able to trust them with his life

Loyal - The friends he does have he will protect until his dying breath.

History:
Orcs are known to be exceptional warriors, although their culture is sometimes thought of as overly bestial, brutish and is generally frowned upon by many. Moghakh is different, he may be a brute and lack any kind of grace but he is also recognized as being the greatest of all Orcish warriors and respected by all Orc tribes from across Tamriel due to him being awarded Volendrung, The Hammer of Might, by Malacath after he suffered but succeeded to remove a famine and drought that affected his tribe and many other neighboring tribes.

After this depressing period in his history, his tribe was prospering and hastily becoming the greatest of all known Orc strongholds at that time, they were gaining traders and became a luxury place for Tribal Orcs to live, but they did not become 'city Orcs' or become soft to the wild or war, instead the relationship between the tribe and Malacath grew and they became more heavily based on 'The Code of Malacath' which made them even stronger warriors and greater smiths.

Well, that was until a band of Moghakh's Orc hunters came back to the stronghold, not only with food, but with a weak, bleeding Redguard named Sorek, he begged for aid and although Orc Strongholds don't like strangers, used to living on their own like they do, Moghakh allowed Sorek into his fortress and ordered the tribe herbalist to fix him up. However, Moghakh was unwary at this point that the Nightingale order, were hunting him and were furious at their failure to kill Sorek once before, and decided to try again. They attacked the tribe, slaughtering every Orc man, woman and child in the middle of the night.

Sorek, still being healed in the chiefs hut, was explaining to Moghakh how he got into such a mess. After hearing the scream of one of the Orcs, Moghakh jumped to his feet, grabbing Volendrung with battle torn hands, and burst open the door of his dome-shaped cabin, Sorek followed still holding his wounds.

Most of his tribe were either dead and dumped onto the ground like a pig or having their necks slit by what was left of the Nightingale order until they suddenly found themselves surrounded. Moghakh, livid with anger and grief, went berserk swinging his great hammer side to side smashing the heads of any of the Nightingale order stupid enough to get in the way. During his rage, one of the Nightingales attempted to stab Moghakh in the back but before his blade could be embedded into his thick, iron and bear-skin armour, Sorek saved him by throwing his already bloodied sword into the neck of his former colleague and companion. Although Moghakh blames Sorek for the death of his family and tribes-kin, they stay loyal to each other, knowing they can trust one-another with their lives.

Weapons/ Magics:
Orc Rage: Frenzies - Hits everything around him with great force and scares most enemies (doesn't scare on beasts).
Expert at pretty much all forms of melee combat, very little practice with a bow.
Knows basic restoration and destruction spells but rarely uses them (heal; heal other; flames)

Armour:




Other:
Uses intimidation to get out of problems with town guards.
Due to him and Sorek being wanderers Moghakh has become an expert at making make-shift camps.

**Slightly edited - Spelling mistakes and added some 'other' traits**

Race: Bosmer (Wood Elf)
Gender: Male
Name: Aoniax
Age: Unknown

Appearance:
Skills: Archery, Sneak, and Two-Handed

Personality/Culture: Aoniax is sometimes hard to be around. He is irritable and surreptitious while also being impudent at times. He enjoys solitude and will often avoid others, usually hiding in thickly wooded areas up in the trees, in cliff nooks, or other places of seclusion. He is, however, a hard-working and brave individual who will vigorously protect those he cares about (should they become close enough to him to be considered so) and those who he has been sworn to defend in some manner.

History: Growing up, Aoniax has always had some fascination with the culture of other races. One would often find him reading books that pertained to such a subject and this fueled his invert personality that became more apparent as he grew older. Though he was taught to use a bow, becoming gracefully skilled as most of his race does, he formed a liking for the warhammer when he came across a book explaining the brute behavior common in Nordic culture and longed to use one. It was not until his disgust for his own kind began to form did he get the idea to leave Valenwood and live elsewhere where the rules he refused to abide to were nonexistent. Claiming his people hypocrites and rebelling against the Green Pact, Aoniax eventually left for Skyrim at the age of 19 where he became a lone assassin-for-hire to earn a few septims and live as comfortable as possible in the declining economy. He continued the profession for decades, earning a name for himself with some, and traveled often to keep his position a mystery until the event of the ages rose at its peak and called upon him….

Weapons/ Magics: Forsworn Bow, Dwarven Dagger, and a Steel Warhammer (for a last resort or when brute force is necessary; doesn’t always carry it on him). He doesn’t use magic except for the simple healing spell and the occasional call for assistance from animals in which his Bosmer background grants him (Command Animal).

Armour: (Looted/Stolen)

Other: He owns a bone pipe that he had since his years in Valenwood and occasionally uses it when he has a moment to relax. Though against the Green Pact, he still uses grubs instead of plants due to his familiarity and favor of the flavor.

I totally forgot! I'm going to add some more to his background later.



Name: Einar the Ardent

Race: Nord

Gender: Male

Age: 23

Appearance: Very tall, lean, muscular build. Pale, fair skin, wide ice-blue eyes, unkempt dirty-blond hair, and a short beard. Tall brow, sharp cheekbones, square jaw, narrow straight nose.

Skills: Block, Heavy Armor, One-Handed

Personality/Culture: Despite his strong physique, he has a reserved disposition, generally keeping to himself. His quietness can make him appear bitter or cold.

At heart, however, Einar is incredibly passionate and is deeply concerned with family, religion, and honor.

Einar's ancestry can be traced back to the Skaal in Solstheim. His mother, Varda, raised him as a Skaal, so he has rejected both the Aedra and Daedra as heathen gods and/or demons. Instead, he worships the Skaal's one god, the All-Maker.

History: Einar is the son of Varda, the grandson of Vilhelm, and the great-grandson of Nikulas, a Skaal native. He was born in Whiterun. When he came of age, he sought to return to the Skaal in Solstheim. However, his journey was exceedingly treacherous, and when he finally reached the Skaal, he had retracted a terrible fever and was nearly dead.

The Skaal took him in and nursed him back to health. They granted him the title 'Einar the Ardent' for displaying such devotion to his people.

Weapons/Magics: Battlecry, Nordic Sword/Greatsword, Shield

Armour: Personalized heavy armor. Aesthetically, it much like the Ancient Nord Armor and the Nordic Carved Armor, but it is contemporary like the Steel Plate Armor.

Other: General supplies—food, drink, potions, maps, clothes

Ki’Tzung

The chamber was bitterly cold; the weather in both Hammerfell and Elseweyr was much more pleasant than here in Skyrim, yet I possessed fur, so I knew I could cope better than the Elves. Needless to say, a bit of decoration couldn’t hurt, maybe a bit of gold or silver to brighten up the dank black and deep purple, but I highly doubted that the Greybeards knew anything about interior decorating- too old and most likely visually impaired. I hated old people: they took their time dying... but their coin was always welcome.

But here we all were, eight of the ten invited to this congregation, both the Imperial and Argonian absent from our conference. Having said that, I could have sworn that Ice Troll was eating something green earlier... I laughed aloud, attracted suspicious gazes from those around me, but I remained amused regardless. Unfortunately it was so that there was no representative of Cyrodiil; I would have relished the opportunity to scam a so called ‘trader’ from all his gold with a few subtle hints and twisted stories, but such a chance was not likely now.

Along the stretched rectangular table, stone freezing from the bitter air, sat all eight of us: the seat next to me absent, yet the Bosmer, Breton and Nord sat further down, while opposite of me was the brutish Orc, seated next to a Redguard in the infamous Nightingale attire, followed by the Altmer, another empty throne, and finally the Dunmer at the end, parallel the fair Nord.

We all turned as a tall, pale, bearded man, clothed in a charcoal-grey robe entered the room, yet only the young Breton stood in politeness to greet the Greybeard, the rest of us remain seated; I didn’t even want to be here, but divine intervention was not something one should ignore, especially when their nightmares threaten all they care about. The old Nord merely graced her with a humble bow, and she sat again.

“It is highly likely you are all wondering why you have been summoned here. It is no lie that we ourselves were not aware of this congregation until this morning when we too were called upon by the Divines.”

I looked across the table, the gruesome Orc frowning in confusion and impatience. I too was surprised to hear that the Divines themselves demanded our presence here, yet I also guessed that perhaps one of the Aedra may grace us with their personal appearance, but that may have been a little ambitious. There were a few mumbles amongst us, but I listened intently; anything that was important to those above must have enormous consequences.

“Please, I ask of you to be patient with us. But Akatosh, the father of our world, has informed us that he shall consult us all about his reasons for calling upon our services, but for his arrival we must carry out a lengthy ritual to strengthen his connection with Tamriel. I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course, but Ki’Tzung asks why you have not prepared prior to his arrival, you have had enough time, no?” I replied hastily.

“Because we needed something from you all. A personal possession must be sacrificed. Do not be afraid, it need not be valuable, it is simply something you have lived your life by, yet it must be material. If you could all conjure something from your person, we can start the necessary preparation.”

I thought deeply, and plunged my paw down into my pocket, grabbing the first thing I felt. Out I plucked a single coin, its shiny gold surface shining the light from the gentle fires lining the room, marvelling upon the true meaning of wealth. It was impossible for this sacrifice from me not to be money, so I placed the gold upon the table, feeling so distanced from it as the cold spread through its glory, freezing the light reflected from its glistening surface.
I stared at the Greybeard with curiosity, then gazed to see if the others had produced their own sacrifices.

Aeril

I shivered slightly in the cold room, but I was honored to be here. The home of some of the Psijics, or Greybeards, as the others called them. They had played an influential role on my homeland for years, and I respected their order greatly. Many Altmer were part of their order.

I was shocked that anyone would be late to a meeting with the Greybeards, but only eight of us, including myself, had honored the invitation to High Hrothgar. Or they were going to be late, which was just as bad.

A Greybeard entered, and I inclined my head slightly, a gesture of respect that most would not notice, but I knew he would. “It is highly likely you are all wondering why you have been summoned here. It is no lie that we ourselves were not aware of this congregation until this morning when we too were called upon by the Divines.” I held myself still, not letting a flicker of emotion cross my face, but inside I was reeling. The Greybeards hadn't known something?

He continued speaking, explaining that we had to conduct a ritual to summon Akatosh. Auri-El, as my people knew him.

The Khajitt said, “Of course, but Ki’Tzung asks why you have not prepared prior to his arrival, you have had enough time, no?”

The Greybeard didn't appear at all annoyed by the disrespect evident in the Khajitt's tone.“Because we needed something from you all. A personal possession must be sacrificed. Do not be afraid, it need not be valuable, it is simply something you have lived your life by, yet it must be material. If you could all conjure something from your person, we can start the necessary preparation.”

I would not dishonor Auri-El by placing some mere token as some of the others appear to be doing. Carefully, I unhook my necklace, legacy of my mother, from my neck and lay it on the table.

Einar

"Because we needed something from you all. A personal possession must be sacrificed. Do not be afraid, it need not be valuable, it is simply something you have lived your life by, yet it must be material. If you could all conjure something from your person, we can start the necessary preparation."

The Greybeard's words could not be mistaken.

A sacrifice to the their gods? The Divines?

What heresy.

I studied the faces of the others, all aglow by torches in the cavernous hall of High Hrothgar. Was I the only one of a different creed? A stone of unease, of humiliation settled in the wretched pit of my stomach. I felt suddenly out of place, despite the frigid air which should have been a comfort to me. I sat straight-backed in my chair, my eyes fixed to the table before me.

The blood slowly drained from my face.

The Greybeard spoke of Akatosh, occasionally called Alduin among the Nords.

I would not sacrifice any part of myself to their vain gods. The All-Maker was the purser of my heart, not the distant Aedra. Mother—Varda—had taught me to deny these strange creatures, that they only led to pride and destruction.

The queer Khajiit and the charming, olive-skinned High Elf had already brandished sacrifices.

I was still uncertain of what to do. It seemed that the dark shadows of High Hrothgar were beginning to creep around me. Why had I answered the call? Why had I come?

I sat idly and looked up at the Greybeard, entirely mortified. I had ventured across black seas and war-torn lands. Yet, I couldn't bring myself to make a small sacrifice to a heathen god?

I searched the Greybeard's face with my eyes, frantically gazed over his silvery sackcloth robes for a glimmer of inspiration, a trace of an answer. Where was my honor, my bravery? Where was my Skaal-blood? Where was my All-Maker?

"I am afraid I cannot produce a sacrifice for Akatosh." My low voice seemed to scatter noisily across the table like pebbles. I was surprised—my discomfort had come out as anger.

Aoniax

I sighed impatiently and scowled as my arms tightened their hold around my chest, the dank room with its musty smell and insufferable chill was not helping my already sour mood. Being around the many people I was all at one time made me itch and my fingers twitch towards the dagger at my waist, assuming an attack that any of the brutes or mages were no doubt willing to make. The Greybeards would not summon cowards or those with hesitant nature if whatever awaited our call required quick-wit and discernible bravery. That is what I assumed, at least. Weak souls seemed to me like a petty waste for men such as the Greybeards as well as any quest they had to give.

My two-toned eyes lifted from the knotted wood of the table and slowly scanned the other seven present in the room, trying with what knowledge I gained of people to estimate their worth to the noteworthy men of High Hrothgar. It was, however, a feeble act and the most I could acknowledge from the diverse group was the traces of confusion among them all. I could not be excluded, as the gnawing question of why I was chosen to appear out of all other Bosmer or travelers in Tamriel continued to eat me inside.

When the Greybeard spoke and explained that our summoning was yet to be fully revealed and to do so called upon a personal possession of us all, I did my best to mask the emotions that bubbled up. Confusion and anger were the most apparent, my teeth briefly flashing and my ears twitching to show my distaste for giving up something of value for a ritual. I had little left, even after the decades away from my people and home, and to throw it to the wind for reasoning did not fare well with my better judgment.

I was not the only one. The Nord across from me spoke with resent evident in his voice as he opposed the Greybeard. While two of us eight had already given up a possession, the Khajit and Altmer, so far it was the Nord and I who held caution and I continued to watch the group for similar or opposite reactions as my mind gave thought to the decision.

Karin Bouchard
I stood as the Graybeard entered and I was the only one who did so. I was honored to be here in their halls. I had taken the pilgrimage up to High Hrothgar before but I had never been invited inside. My fellow mages from the college had great respect for them, a respect that had rubbed of on me. I could not understand why no one else stood.

The Graybeard nodded to me, and I sat down again. I had a Nord on my right and a Bosmer on my left. Opposite of me was an empty seat, meant for either the Imperial or the Argonian that had failed to show. I was curious about the others. To be at a gathering like this, with so many different races in one place was rare. Sad as it was, most races tended to stick to themselves. This was an excellent opportunity to learn something new.

"It is highly likely you are all wondering why you have been summoned here. It is no lie that we ourselves were not aware of this congregation until this morning when we too were called upon by the Divines. Please, I ask of you to be patient with us. But Akatosh, the father of our world, has informed us that he shall consult us all about his reasons for calling upon our services, but for his arrival we must carry out a lengthy ritual to strengthen his connection with Tamriel. I’m sure you understand."

The whole thing about the divines was very interesting. I had always preferred the Daedra, since they gave direct results (not always good results though). Once I had actually talked to Sanguine. It had been one of the most interesting conversations I had ever had.

"Of course, but Ki’Tzung asks why you have not prepared prior to his arrival, you have had enough time, no?" I smiled at his way to talk. Typical Khajiit, talking about himself in third person with that soft drawl. I had heard Khajiits who spoke just like men, but I didn't find it nearly it as charming.

"Because we needed something from you all. A personal possession must be sacrificed. Do not be afraid, it need not be valuable, it is simply something you have lived your life by, yet it must be material. If you could all conjure something from your person, we can start the necessary preparation."

I thought for a while, and watched Ki'Tzung offer a coin and the Altmer a necklace. The Nord refused, to my great surprise, and the Bosmer looked surprised as well. Weren't they interested in what would happen? That was the problems with beliefs. They closed of your mind. I myself believed in and respected all higher creatures of all religions, and so far I had received direct proof that many of them did indeed exist. I thirsted for more knowledge about the Divines, and this seemed like the best way to quench that thirst.

From my satchel I pulled out a small book that I carried on me at all times. It was filled with my notes from my time with Sanguine's worshipers. I had been planning to write a proper book about the subject, and I would probably need these notes to do it. I could always hope that this next adventure would give me material for a better book. With a heavy sigh I placed the book together with the coin and the necklace. Hopefully the Divines wouldn't find it insulting that I offered a book about a Daedric Lord.

Sorek Kincaid

I was close to dozing off due to the long wait but when the greybeard entered, I shrugged off the growing weariness and forced myself to pay attention. We had been called to High Hrothgar for a reason. A reason that could not be ignored for whatever reason. A Breton had stood up for whatever reason and the Altmer lowered her head. Whether this was out of respect or otherwise, I couldn't say. I, for one, had abandoned my god and am now hunted by the very same worshippers of the god I had abandoned.

"A personal possession must be sacrificed. Do not be afraid, it need not be valuable, it is simply something you have lived your life by, yet it must be material," the greybeard said. "If you could all conjure something from your person, we can start the necessary preparation.” Being hunted was a dangerous life, and due to the life I currently had, it left me with very little possessions. The Khajit, Ki'Tzung, deposited a gold coin, the High Elf unhooked a necklace and the Breton offered some sort of book, covered with arcane symbols. Meanwhile the Nord and the Bosmer refused to offer something. Deities and religions meant nothing to me so I didn't see any harm in offering something that reminded me of my old life. I stood up and took off a ring with the Nightingale Orders emblem.

"Somethings are best left buried," I mumbled to myself and tossed it towards the greybeard.