Though not of universal acclaim She adds dryly, none-too impressed In the north, that is. There are still some who fear - and are wont to do battle with - the drake left in Tamriel. And not just Dagonites. I believe they would find the idea of the rightful Dragon-King of Mundus rising up to battle off the Daedric usurper quite ridiculous. What's that word the Thalmor seems so fond of..ah, yes. Propaganda. They would deem that account of things propaganda.

"The drake broke what Alessia made?" the Nordic lass asked, frowning. "Funny; methought that was Dagon's doing, o'er many a year. The dark deal made with the traitor Tharn, and the damage done to the Empire during his 'reign'. The sacking of the Battlespire. The lessening of the Tribunal - though that black-handed Thief had an answer for that, too. All these be, methought, the wearing down of the protections we mortals enjoyed from Oblivion. That the old leaper likes to be a brute most times doesn't mean he can't make a plan. If anything, what sweet-voiced Martin and the drake did, took up the place of what blood-backed Alessa had wrought, that the Prince of Destruction took from us."

===

Loranna

As I said, I doubt it's that simple.

I think we need to know what a Dragonborn is before we get into this. Imperial religion says that Akatosh gave Alessia the Amulet, correct? But some of the very old, and the very good ones, claim it was Shezzr... Shezar? Shezarr, was it? I think this was mentioned earlier, but I'm not sure.

Let's say Shor is indeed the one who showed up at Alessia's death bed. Ysmir, no doubt, has a connection to Shor. And Ysmir is the title the Greybeards lable the Dragonborn with. If all Dragonborn are Ysmir and Ysmir is Shor, or at least related to him, perhaps this was another attempt for him to reform himself? Like at Red Mountan.

But I'm tired now, and don't feel like blabbling about this for much longer. But wow... does that make sense? There are a few other Nords in here, right?

I do wonder how long it will take me to change my mind on this.... *laughs*

(Drenim recalls the lass brought him mead and looks upon her kindly. HIs gaze is nothing short of hypnotic, though to his (well hidden) surprise there is no connection made.)

Child, that was the snake dancing in its coils. How can I explain, imagine a river damned by a mighty effort.
I do not know of the Triune, as they will not speak to me, but I know of Fyr and I know of Cyrod and Thalmor.
Know this, that Allesia-slave-risen made a pact between nations torn. Know that they decided they could outstage the Mundus and remake it in their image, and know they broke the dragon.
He-who-fills-the-cracks has told you it is where he found his mystery, when the snake danced unfurled in that moment that lasted an age.
They succeeded in a way, but dont you see, only so as the path was carved. Only succeeded in doom.

I would have another tankard please, if you would be so kind, bit of a nibble would be nice. cheese.

(Drenim appears to nod off a bit but something about him convinces you he is wide awake and faking it.)

Wait, are you talking about the Thalmor, those elves down in Summerset, or comparing them to someone in Skyrim? After my pointless ramble about Ysmir and Shor and Alessia- and that's ignoring being tired- I managed to jumble my mind up. Got to make sure not to do that again. No one has seen Ysmir in 600 years, aside from accounts of avatars. Who knows whether he really appeared as a dragon?

"Ah; that drake-breaking," the Nordic lass muttered, gliding with a swish of her ankle-length hair to the cleric of the Worm. "Forgive me; sometimes I get lost in poetry and forget what plain speech sounds like. And sometimes I just like to talk."

She flashed Drenim a brief, but sly grin, as if to share a private joke - or to tease the male for the failure of his gaze. But she passed him a tankard readily enough, and a small wedge of Skingrad cheese.

"The drake seems to break more oft than one would think," the lass mused softly as she returned to her self-assigned post. "Sometimes I find meself wondering how that must feel - to break like that. But then, breaking be one of the laws of the Arena, nay? And what comes of breaking ..."

For a moment, the Nordic lass grew quiet, lost in thought. Looking down at her free hand, she seemed to count on her fingers.

"...Ah, but we be here to speak of Martin, aye?" she suddenly asked, flashing a winsome smile; her free hand snapped shut with almost heaven-reaching violence.

===

Loranna

A special covenant, mixed in blood of those whom Akatosh deems worthy was created at the time of Alessia. The exact requirements of the covenant escape Taela as this Alessian religion is foreign to her. Perhaps your Akatosh was fulfilling part of this covenant which in turn needed the life of a man deemed by the dragon.

Greetings to the Telvanni. It's a pleasure and an honor to have you here.

Some scholars claim Skezzar, or Lorkhan gave Allesia the Amulet. The claim is based off obsure pieces of lore found in books I've never had the chance to read. To be honest, it wouldn't surprise me if it were true. Some religious stories of the Imperials might be propaganda but most of those date back to the Second Empire, I believe, and others twist historical events of that era. This Amulet might have entrapped souls of dragons. Given that's true, than Akatosh brought suffering upon some of his kin.
You've mentioned Ysmir. Yes, it is a title, as I was told, but the origins of this tile or name are unknown. Should a Dragonborn, any Dragonborn climb High Hrothgar and prove himself, the Graybeards might name him Ysmir. The dragon of myth the Nords call Ysmir could be Wulfharth, but that's a supposition.

(A middle aged Breton man dressed in steel plate and a cloak of black flowing from his shoulders walks in, eyeing the group around the room with obvious distaste for such conduct.)

"I am Tralen Emerich, Archbishop too Ebonarm and leader too all Battlelords. I expected the proceedings too wait for my arrival but obviously that has not happened, would someone fill me in on what has transpired thus far."

(With this said he stiffly sits down as far away from the other patrons as is possible for discussion.)

Weary of the potential offense he was causing, Qorowen had remained silent for a short period whilst observing the conversation flow. Ignoring Tralen, he began to speak once more.

Mistress of Kyne, in fact, all of you... You miss out on such important details!

Dagon is a sithical creature, Dagon is a son of Padomay, a brother of Lorkhan! The King of the Aldmer, the great Dragon himself intervened, as he is in an eternal battle! And your idolisation of this 'Martin'.... At least consider that he may not be this perfect Imperial hero you call him.

We already know. Haven't you heard the rumours of him being an ex-Sanguine cultist?

"A perfect Imperial hero?" the Nordic lass asked, laying her tray upon a table. "Gentlemer, tell us, were you present for the Second Battle of Bruma? For I was, and I can and will speak of the sort of hero Martin Septim showed himself that day."

"I remember the arrival of the soldiers," the barmaid began, her fingers idly drumming upon the wall by which she stood, a steady, martial rhythm. "From all parts of Cyrodiil they came, their blades already bloodied, having fought their way through the Daedric host in the wilds. More than soldiers; it seemed every adventuresome soul in all of Cyrodiil had found their way to Bruma as well, a motley lot of shining knights and swarthy knaves if ever I did see such. So many, were they, and yet counted against the endless hordes of Oblivion, so very, very few, and already wearied simply by reaching our northern home."

"I remember the Blades, with their curved swords and their flashing eyes," she continued, the drumming of her fingers picking up in pace. "One would think they were ready to take on the whole of Dagon's armies by themselves! I remember especially one, a Redguard was he, and ever stood he in the shadow of the man who wore the shining, golden mail. Our savior, our Emperor, last of the Septims ... and ever a man unused to the weight of a soldier's second skin, would you never find. That one's eyes were the eyes of a priest, a scholar, good friends, staring mournfully over the lines of soldiers called together in his name."

"I remember the words Martin spoke." The drumming stopped, as the barmaid idly reached for a tankard on her tray; her fingers accidentally tapped the glass of a goblet of wine, rendering a brief, crystaline note, before she steadied the goblet from spilling. "Soldiers of Cyrodiil, he called. The Empire would stand or fall by the fierceness of their blades, the fire in their blood. He bade us all remember what had befallen doomed Kvatch; by the tears that fell to the ground, I knew that we all remembered well. I saw Martin's eyes waver just a moment, that gentle soul himself remembering ... and sharing our pain, our loss. Standing there, in armor his forefather wore, looking ill at ease in the gilded steel."

"But he steeled himself, Martin did," the Nordic lass said, her tankard now in her hand. "No, he said to us all. We would stand and fight, for all of Cyrodiil. The blades in our hands would be the wall that turned aside the marble jaws of Oblivion. The blood in our hearts would be the fire that heralded the return of the sacred Dragonfires. To his champion, the Hero of Kvatch, would fall the task of stealing the Daedra's great stone, by which our ultimate victory would be assured, but to us fell the task of ensuring the Hero had a heartland to save!"

"And then ... Martin drew his sword." At this point the barmaid paused, to take a draught from her tankard. Her thirst slacked, she raised the tankard high. "Soldiers of Cyrodiil, he cried! Who fights with me!? And I saw that his grip upon the hilt was still unsure, but a roar tore through us like to shake the planets in the skies! But then -"

She brought the tankard down suddenly, slamming its base against the table; the drinks on her tray jumped, then fell, a cacophonous crash. "- then the gate opened. And we surged forth to meet Oblivion head on, the roar in our throats driving our legs forward with heedless courage. And at our forefront, the brooding Redguard matching him stride for stride, was the golden-gilt Martin, blood of the Septims. And that man, that priest who looked like he was lost in his own armor, did not stop swinging his sword until the Great Gate fell, even if his sword glanced off a Clanfear's bony plate or a Dremora's pounding bludgeon more often than it found its mark."

"A perfect hero? Hardly," the barmaid concluded after another draught. "But a hero who stood by us when his plan called for blood to be spilled. A hero willing to risk what he asked others to risk. Perhaps not the actions of a wise Emperor, but the actions of an Emperor I would have trusted with my life. Say what you will, all Tamriel is the poorer for sweet-voiced Martin's absence, but the man stood by our side."

Taking up her tray once more, the Nordic lass resumed her vigil, awaiting the next request for refreshment.

===

Loranna

Haha!, now that would have been a sight to see! I was no where near Bruma at the time, instead all the way up in Skyrim. Of course there where great battles against Dagon's armies up there, but nothing that is nearly as memorable as what happened down in Cyrodiil.

To add: I think I'll just watch, from now on, though. I don't even think I'm supposed to be here, because this mythic stuff isn't for me. I orginally came here to tell everyone that there is no point in discussing it, but now I'm interested. Strange how things work like that.

Olodiil purses his upper lip into the lower, quite impressed with the Barmaid's account.

This Martin was a warrior-priest, then? There are no greater kinds of men. In the war, I faced a Great Gate as well: his bravery is to be commended.

To the servant of Auri-el: you speak as if all padomaics are of the same mold and temperament. Dagon is no more allied with that sithisoidal mutant Lorkhan than our father-mother Boet-hi-ah is with Dagon.

The priestess frowns, then asks eagerly:

Seriously? It could have been...

I like what I've heard about the Battle of Bruma. Beatiful story you told us. This man Martin. He did brave things. I wouldn't have expected such from a commoner like him. Yes, he was the Emperor...He did the deeds of an Emperor, what he should have done. I assume there weren't many casualties among the citizens of Bruma, although that would be hard to believe, but I hope so. Still hope so, eh...

She stops, and looking away from everyone, she takes a deep breath, then goes on.

It's hard to forget the day a first Gate to Oblivion opened nearby Ald Sotha. Priests and guards started to argue over meaningless things, whether the Temple-serving Dremora down inside the Puzzle Canol would turn against us. The guards banished him, anyway, and drove out Daedra worshipppers in the depth of Vivec. It was only later that we did something about the gate. I recall that two Ordinators and an Imperial, possibly and Imperial, stepped inside the gate, then closed it. A friend and I used the Sigil Stone to enchant a cuirass which was later stolen. A shame. No one chatched the thief.

This one senses uncertainty in the air. It is...palpable. Apotheosis is by no means an easy subject to discuss, IF it is believed this Martin truly achieved this as some here are still unsure. Aka walks Nirn, but is it just him. What does this mean for faiths of a differing opinion? This one will tell you. Aka represents time...but he is by no means the only diety who manifests himself with such a moniker. Taela, and we who walk on sand bore witness to Alkosh's coming and defeat of Merunnz. He rode a massive sandstorm into the frey and as fast as he appeared, the forces of Merrunz vanquished. Gateways closed! And much moon sugar was consumed in celebration.

"Apologies for the absence. The well travelled mind does wander sometimes, often without permission or purpose. Though I see I may have missed some interesting dialectic, I don't know whether or not that is a real shame, considering. Though I am begining to think Master Fyr withheld his Pocket Guide to Imperial Mytholinquistics as a way to chide me somewhat."

The Telvanni sighs.

"Do allow me simply to survey this discourse for little while longer. I don't doubt that this council may go on for Seht's hours. No wizard did anything of note by rushing things." The Telvanni rubs his hands, and his gloves vanish, then pulls out a pipe and lights it with a click of his fingers. His ebony staff stands freely by his side.

He makes a sigh of particular contentment.

I wonder why there is so many Dunmer here. I have nothing against your kind or culture, but I find it strange that so many would appear here.

Anyway, have you heard some of the more absurd rumours around? "Martin was always a Dragon and just revealed his true form", "Martin wasn't channeling Akatosh but Alduin", "It was a mass hallucination and Martin just died in combat with Dagon"... Don't get me started on the Cult of the Saviour Martin. I believe he was a good man, but to claim he was Talos reborn and that he was so pure that he could perform godly miracles?

"My friend, I do believe many of my kin are here due to a convienient fact, that the magical bye-laws which govern travel in this fair realm do not, and never have had, any potency in Morrowind. Never do I remember a time when I couldn't teleport or fly, and the same applies for me wherever I go. The laws are empty, and the discerning wizard does not have to obey them if he doesn't want to."

"As to your point, muthsera, I too find the idea of Martin being anything more but a tool for the Dragon's appearance scurrilous. If the Triunes taught the Dunmer anything, is that the gods do not respond to anything but violence, and the strength to take what is wanted. See the example of Talos. There were Eight untill the Ninth forced his way in. Martin missed out on a great opportunity."

"To answer your question, y'Industriousness" Olodiil offers while adjusting his surplice "It was the...consensus of the Elder Council that in the interest of pantheosophical entelos, it would only do to expand the horizon of inquiry beyond the borders of Mother Cyrod. The Empire of course, is more than just Nibenay and Colovia. That the most sizeable delegation should be...of the Credo Velothi is more an indication, I should think, of Dunmer punctuality than the existance of any...ulterior machinations."

Afterwords he takes to busily shuffling the not-inconsiderable stack of silks and papers and parchments on his pulpit podium. There was very much that he should like to say on the current subject, but the sacred politics of the office of Arbiter made him think better of offering his mind.

*Ignoring his earlier claim that he would stop speaking*

The Dunmeri were always interested in such talk about how the world works and such. It makes many of them rather arrogant, too, especially the ones from the Temple.

But never mind that.

*loudly* Someone speak up! I come here to hear what some of you manage to conjure up in an attempt to understand how Martin defeated Dagon. Ehehe... so you can understand it, I mean. I, ahem, have no need to know this kind of "truth."

You wish to hear this one's two drakes about Martin's defeating of Dagon? This one sees it more of a mutual agreement to a term of contract so to speak. He is no more a puppet then a bouncer and manager who work together to rid the tavern of an unruly drunk.

Then who is the bartender? Lorkhan?

(Tralen finally speaks after a long silence)

"I wish too know what sentence should be passed on the mis-guided fools who followed that heretic Mankar Camoran, and how they would whish too achieve this place known as Paradise too them, which from the Champions account was no paradise at all."

"Surely they must have known from some account that Mankar was deceiving them, yet they still blindly followed him, should they be killed as traitors too the whole of Nirn or imprisoned for their stupidity?"