The Year is 4e 8: Vvardenfell

And those Dunmeri that have not fled to the refuge of Solsthiem or Skyrim face utter annihilation at the hands of vengeful Argonian insurgents and an apocalyptic and inhospitable homeland. The major cities of the province are little more than scrapped shells ripe for the looting, and the great houses have been reduced to mere shadows of their former political power.

The great houses of Telvanni and Dres have been obliterated by the cunning and underhanded war tactics of the lizardmen, with only scant pockets of resistance littered around the ash deserts in ill-fit camps; waiting for the inevitable. Those loyal to House Redoran took pride in their honour and devotion to Dunmeri culture, and rather than continuing to live under what they believed to be a desecrated and blasphemous new regime; culminated in the ruins of Ald'Ruhn and undertook the largest ritual mass suicide the likes of which had never been seen before in an event infamously known as "The Red Poisoning". In response to this, House Hlaalu effectively cut ties with it's homeland and established an embassy in Cyrodiil serving as commercial advisors to the crumbling Empire.

Only the nationalistic and defiant House Indoril refused to submit to grim times. To them this was an opportunity to retake the land that they once called their own, having been severely weakened since the third era at the hands of King Hlaalu Helseth. They founded a new government: "The Golden Triad", compromised of three councilmen. Grandana Iilesi Indoril became head priest of a mostly defunct Tribunal religion. Vethis Dormas Indoril became head of Dunmeri military, and Arch-Duke Belamas Velethi Indoril, patriarch of the house itself, became head chancellor.

Under this regime martial law was declared despite Dunmer military being ill equipped and light on soldiers. Countless thousands have already perished in overzealously plotted military campaigns and it would seem truly that the once glorious age of Morrowind and it's people is in it's final chapter.

That was until they discovered Kivon.

They found it in the crater of Red Mountain: it's massive brass gates standing amidst piles of scattered black slag and molten lava; a faded yet nontheless awe-inspiring staircase leading down for what seemed like an eternity. They found a machine at the bottom, the likes of which had never been seen before. Turns out, it took them deeper underground...

And down there, beneath black ash wasteland and crimson red sky they found the largest Dwemer city in Tamriel. Undoubtedly the capital of the extinct dwemer, it now became clear to Belamas. This destruction was all for a reason, and the gods had shown him the way. From the ashes of the old he would utilize this city; harness it's scale, it's might, and it's power. It was the perfect fortification and an ideal strategic position from which he could rebuild the strength and spirit of the ashkin and retake his home. It was not just any grand archaeological discovery... it was divine intervention.

All military power was rerouted to Red Mountain. A new ghostfence was erected, a main encampment for the Dunmeri chancellor and his closest advisors was constructed along with several other military forts and small villages for loyal dark elf civilians. On each day the Golden Triad sent it's people through those gates, down those stairs, and into that machine. On each day more and more of the city was uncovered and explored. Libraries the size of entire cantons, towers thirty stories high laying thousands of feet under ground. It was Belamas's best kept secret. He managed to hide it from all but his own, waiting for his moment to spring forth and ink his name in the elder scrolls. For a few months, all seemed well.

But then the reports stopped coming out of Kivon. Belamas sent more soldiers, scholars, and priests down and they didn't come back. He sent Jalluu Beren, captain of the lords-guard down with orders to come back directly and brief him on what was no doubt a rebellion. He didn't come out either. A couple of nights later, the giant brass gates opened by themselves and the sound of piercing screams swept through the garrison. This supernatural phenomena continued each night, and led to many soldiers deserting their stations. Balamas himself found his health rapidly declining, and none of his apothecaries seemed to know what was happening.

With his dream suddenly turning into a nightmare and his soldiers losing their trust, the chancellor could see that his uprising was taking a turn for the worst. Caught between an advancing Argonian army and a massive city that seemingly ate entire regiments whole, there was only one option to really take...what with him being a proud Dunmer and determined to preserve his people and his culture.

And so on the 6th of Suns Height; 4e 8, Balamas Velethi Indoril took his fellow councilmen and four regiments of assorted troops through those giant brass gates, down those faded golden stairs, and boarded that massive dwemer train.

they had no idea what lay at the end of the tracks.

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Rp's yeyah

Aight so it seems my writers itch has been scratched for now. It is however late down here and I gotta smoke so I'll make this brief. If your interested in getting your survival on then post a CS here using the sheet. I do love me some classic pulp thriller fiction. Think of it as Dwemer Call of Cthulhu or Event Horizon except underground and without Lawrence Fishburne (although if you want to create a redguard named Lawrence Fishburne that would be awesome, as long as you can write him well enough to depict him as the badass he is). You'll start out on the train headed in and from there the fun starts.

Sheet:

rules are simple. Write well (no first person rp'ing plz), remain courteous to others, don't mess with stuff without sending me a PM, and it'll be a good ol' romp. That opening is probably a little sloppy atm but i'll trim it up later. Anyway! Discuss whether you think it's a good idea worth your time, get a sheet up here if your keen and I'll approve it (unless its [censored]), and if there is indeed interest and I get enough of you onboard, Ill get a IC thread up within the week

I'm serious about Lawrence Fishburne. What a stone cold thug. Apocalypse now? he was 14 years old and he was already more fly than martin sheen.