(appropriate changes made)

(OOC: Very minor nitpick: Loranna has not actually given her name yet on-camera, simply that she represents the Bishop of Barmaids. It doesn't really matter in the long run, since there are people present who know her and if she were asked off-camera she would have freely given her name.)

The Nordic lass glided through the hall, tending to peoples' wants in turn. "Ye could find a dozen faults with any people if ye try," she answered to Theya. "Just the same, there's history there, both between nations and between man and mer, one on one. Meself, I can say that I have known one or three perfectly wonderful Dunmer in me time in Morrowind, mer I'd proudly call me own blood, and any who laugh or call me a traitor to me own kind is welcome to follow me to the Arena after to hear me rebuttal. Or better yet, outside the City walls entire; I do enjoy the sights of the countryside."

Smiling winsomely, the barmaid added "Yet for all that I would need to take me shoes off to count the number of times I've felt like drowning the whole ashskinned lot in the Sea of Ghosts. And I'd still come up short of digits. I could say the same for most any people, though; ye learn a lot about folk when you're the one serving their drinks."

"As for why Akatosh acted? Martin was there. He had the Amulet of Kings. He knew how to use the Amulet. He had the Septim blood, the blood of dragons. And he chose to put all these things to use. Power, knowledge, opportunity, intent. And so Martin walked like Akatosh until Akatosh walked like him. Or so, that be how I pieced things together after; alas and woe but in the final moments, I was not at the Temple of the One. When the fateful moment came, I was dodging Daedra in the streets, and only saw the great clash from afar."

"Be Talos a god? I'll leave that one to the astrologers," the Nordic lass finished. "Methinks though, the long-limbed Archbishop has a few words to say about that; she shared many already on the very topic."

===

OOC: I am playing a Nordic woman who claims to represent the Bishop of Barmaids. I'm a bit over six feet tall, with long golden tresses reaching down to my ankles, worn free like a golden mantle, and my blue eyes are usually crinkled with mirth above my full, smiling lips. I'm dressed like a bar maid - albeit in old-fashioned Cyrodiilic style - and bear a large tray of drinks and finger foods, balanced casually on one hand.

Loranna

"Muthsera Allerleirauh, ALMSIVI taught us well. Gave us a truer knowledge of life than any credo otherwise could ever have. Taught us well that the world is not defined by doctrine and council, opened those avenues to the fuller understanding of the prism of suffering and possibility. Changed and castigated, by Daedric puerility, vindicated as much by righteous wrath as shameful deceit, the Dunmer chose their path, despite the world! How, through and by Aedric laxity and remiss! Ours is a true picture of mortal experience. Three Empires passed, and what has anyone learned? That events happen TO Man, no longer BY Man. What a state to which you have all fallen to, from such glorious station! Yet, We, in spite of the world, We changed. Ghartok Padhome Ae Altadoon Dunmeri. This has been true, even before it was first uttered. Talos, his empire made of flesh, temporary and forgetfull flesh, has made no such his impact on his people. His shadow is your God, but what a great shade it truely is!"

"See my words, not as insult, but as to a footnote to your history thus far. If truth is an insult, then change your truth, which is within your power. So, then, as to Martin, that brave man. Where is he now? The toenail of time?"

The sorceror, knowing the nature of his words, sits back and begins to smoke another pipe. His studied demeanour, though now slightly apprehensive, still retains the classic Telvanni balance of genuine interest and deliberate boorishness. He suspects, however, amongst the more discerning of the council, that several pieces of Bound protections, surreptious in summons, have now become part of his attire.

Kai looks into his drink, "I had just arrived in the Imperial City before the Dagon attacked. I was in the Legion at the time and we spent most of the Crisis pinned down near Whiterun..." he trailed off, before taking a large gulp of the mead." I only saw Martin and his Champion once, the great Hero of Kvatch!" Kai boomed. "It was when they ran into the Temple District. At least I think it was them, I was quite a distance away from 'em. Now since it was a battle my blood was boiling, so I don't remember much else until I was smacked ten feet away into a house by a enormous Daedroth." sighing, "I would have been killed by the thing, but the dragon distracted it... but still, besting Tsun is going to be a problem with this busted leg," Kai chuckles. "Healers couldn't fix it. Defeating Tsun will be a problem."

"But as for how Martin became the Dragon of Alessia, I have no idea. Still think trying to figure it out is a waste of time," Kai said as he finished his mead. "Hey Barmaid, another!" Kai shouts. "But I received an invitation to this little fiasco of a religious meeting, so I came. My advice continues to keep simply tell a good story about it, but I doubt any of you will have the tolerance for such things."

"Ae altadoon!" Sufjan spoke up suddenly in affirmation of the ancient Velothi creed, covering his heart with a gauntlet covered in Ehlnofex incantations written in Daedric. "well spoken, muthsera."

"I motion that the assembled magisters take time to look at the Nord's leg at the next recess. Surely there is something that can be done."

Theya quickly drains the bottle.

"Ah, lady, I understand you." she replies to the barmaid. "I'm still sober...still." she adds, smiling. "I haven't had a good drink for a long time. So long...It's good not to take things seriously from time to time. I miss my good days in Morrowind. The corner clubs. The mazte! Good times."

She keeps smiling, but it's hard to tell whether she's actually drunk or not.

"But...those days are gone. Things are different now."

She takes a deep breath.

"And you are right. Haven't times changed? There's no point to keep fighting. No point. Perhaps one day I'll visit Skyrim. The Nords won't give me as much trouble as the Cammona Tong pets. Uhmm, I don't think they will."

"I'll leave Talos alone. Talking about him would only spice things up. This is about Akatosh and Martin, anyway. So they walked like each other until...Interesting idea you bought up. The Dragon must have been beautiful, really beautiful. I envy neaither of you. I don't think Martin had much knowledge about what he was doing, and about the Amulet. That man was but a priest. Lord Hyamentar, the Tribunal taught me many things. Being a heretic is one of them. I'm not a heretic to the Tribunes, but I question the gods. These Imperial gods, and the Daedra, but who doesn't question those? "

(to the Nord whose leg is broken) "I happen to be a healer. May I check your leg? I might be able to do something about it... Or I could just cut it off." she says, smirking.

"Ow, me head; let's not give people openings to start cracking wise about lacking legs to stand on," the Nordic lass admonished Theya, fishing through her skirts for a few vials. "Ye learn to be prepared when ye serve in the taverns I have; I donate me supply of healing draughts for my countryman's leg, if they be of any help at all. 'Tis a terrible thing for a vessel to be broken when it can be mended."

"And I believe ye were challenged earlier by another to answer what following your Triune has truly wrought for your people, serjo," she added to Indoranys Hyamentar. "'Tis well that ye answer in such plain wise. I will let others argue whether ALMSIVI led ye to truth or lies, and instead say plainly what I have been hinting at. Tamriel be cruel to its heroes. And I say, when I look upon the statue of the dragon left behind, I see but one thing: that Tamriel has been cruelest, to the kindest hero of an Age."

"I remind ye all of Lady Allerleirauh's words," the Nordic lass said, gliding lightly from one to another in the serving of drinks. "'Finally, the magical beings of Mythic Aurbis told the ultimate story -- that of their own death. For some this was an artistic transfiguration into the concrete, non-magical substance of the world. In a reenactment of the creation of the earthbones, Martin made himself into a stone to seal up the door. The stone is symbol, as a statue, but also symbol, in that stone is not alive as mortal flesh is alive. '"

"The old stone be gone; in its place be a new one. The Dragonfires no longer burn; how can they, with no Amulet of Kings to light them? Yet, does Oblivion pour into the Mundus, as it did in those dark days?"

===


OOC: I am playing a Nordic woman who claims to represent the Bishop of Barmaids. I'm a bit over six feet tall, with long golden tresses reaching down to my ankles, worn free like a golden mantle, and my blue eyes are usually crinkled with mirth above my full, smiling lips. I'm dressed like a bar maid - albeit in old-fashioned Cyrodiilic style - and bear a large tray of drinks and finger foods, balanced casually on one hand.

Loranna

Any challenge to the Tribune is one I an prepared to answer. Where did the ALMSIVI lead us? Out of the ash! The exodus of Veloth was necessary to separate ourselves from the foolish Aldmer and Trinimac-criers, to leave that society of high culture was to become as the ashlanders still are: nomadic, primitive, barbaric. Boet-hi-ah father-mother protected us, and showed the way we might live in Houses, but the good Daedra were mere shades to Anticipate ALMSIVI's perfection. They brought us up, built their glorious cities, and showed the Hortator (hail incarnate!) how Resdaynia might be ruled. When the Sharmat wounded the Hortator, they took his stead, and led Velothi through a Golden Age. They walked among us, led us in battle, and drove out invaders. When the Daedra threatened, they banished them as well. They taught us to give to the poor, and acted as fair judges against crimes. The Sharmat, Dagoth Ur, was contained under the mountain for millennia by their efforts, until that Glorious Incarnate, the Nerevarine, struck back in vengeance. May their names be forever praised!

OOC; Apologies! Got confused with Allerleirauh and Loranna for a moment. Too much cider, mayhaps.

"May Allerleirauh confront the Dunmeri experience. She will find her presumptions and values on equal footing, and therefore, with nothing."

"...Ye did notice that me comment about answering the Lady Allerleirauh's earlier question, was but a minor note in me charge to consider her words about Martin, aye good serjos?" the Nordic lass asked, her face clouded with gloom. "I be a right fool at times, but I do remember but a moment ago asking if Oblivion be invading despite the lack of Dragonfires. Let us give that a bit of consideration, ere we argue over whose gods be the best in the land?"

===


OOC: I am playing a Nordic woman who claims to represent the Bishop of Barmaids. I'm a bit over six feet tall, with long golden tresses reaching down to my ankles, worn free like a golden mantle, and my blue eyes are usually crinkled with mirth above my full, smiling lips. I'm dressed like a bar maid - albeit in old-fashioned Cyrodiilic style - and bear a large tray of drinks and finger foods, balanced casually on one hand.

Loranna

(OOC: Julius is an Cyrodillic man, about 60 years old. He is bald. He is covered in scars from his adventuring days, and he wears a large and extravagant robe. He has a sceptre that he uses as a cane.)

Also note that the increase of corruption in Dark Elf society began around the time they stopped directly ruling, instead withdrawing into solitude. I don't think the Tribunal is more deserving of worship than the Divines, but I have to say that they were great leaders.

Your words ring of truth. The jaws are sealed, yet the fires burn no more. A covenant has been made, of this I am certain. The terms I cannot hope to guess at.

(XARLYS touches the ceremonial hilt at her side, smiling.)

(Now, LORANNA mentions the division between Mundus and Oblivion.)

XARLYS

My apologies. Suddenly speaking out well into our meeting. I'm Xarlys, Her Beauty's High Priestess. To the new faces here, I hope you forgive my silence. Everyone's thoughts and explanations have been so new and ... exciting. Putting everything down on paper helps clear my mind. Please pardon the mess.

(She absentmindedly pats the shabby pile of drinkstained notes before her. She uses her liqueur glass as a paperweight.)

Thinking of Martin reminds me so of old Emperor Uriel. How proud and sorrowful his ghost must be! To know his son finished in blood, in fire and stone. I can only wonder now; could this all have been avoided? Or ... was this always meant to happen?

I have not spoken with the moth monks in years; I've been content with oracular dyes and reading sword-wounds, but no. Not in all my ecstasies have I had an inkling of the ... Crisis.

"You are more insighful a specimen than you most obviously, and intentionally, let on, muthsera. The Theranas of Tower Branora would very much love you. Mistress ... Anyway, this can be interpreted in so many ways. Has anyone given thought to the Daedra, at all? Yes, think in that way. That despite the Dragonfires ages old "protection," where was the Daedr'as protection from Us? Many, many legions of wayward mortals have invaded Oblivion during the time since the so called "First", ridiculous specimens of Man and Mer, simulacra of impertinent logicians, falling flat on their face, faux maniacs, pathetic warriors, empty models of self-indulgence, self-styled guardians of life and love and, perhaps worst of all, shallow prophets, missionaries of doctrines with no centre or circumference. Mind you, my time away from this world has taught me a very valuable lesson; one actually very simple in acknowledgement, but deeply difficult to understand; Oblivion is just as real as this world."

"Gracious Enigma, Seht, sought treaty with Oblivion. SI went to them, in image and True Form, and treatied with the Persons of the great forces of that otherworld. Yet the self-styled Imperators, "Masters" of the world, the universal Cyrodiilic hegemon, never brought themselves to even acknowledge such respect."

What a delightful proposition! I'd hazard to go a little further though, my dear. The Princes Daedric are not only very real, and very close to us indeed, but they are all around us, even as we speak. This would may be moulded from aedric bonemeal but the divine Spheres of the Princes of Oblivion inhabit every corner of our realm. Who has not experienced deceit, destruction, power, darkness or even a hint of Sheo's madness? Did Martin really do anything when he shut the Jaws of Oblivion? For are the daedra not all around us, already here?

Yggrid rises, slowly, so as not to alarm the battalion of Chorrol's Finest that have amased within close proximity of her throne. "I will, Brothers and Sisters, Odd Metics, recite from The Apocalypse of St. Renaldus Caballarius, starting Canto III, Verse VI, Line XXI:

"...Then, after performing the pyrerites for Cuhlecain-Rex,
Talos Atm'ran saw to slaking the cries and drying the tears
of the true Yeomen, Oathmen, and Cataphractes-brothers
whom in dreadful wrong fear'd the for-promised dream
of Mother Cyrod Free'd dead\

So Talos roared in contre-diction of his red throat wound
and swore to raise White-Gold again above Barbary hordes,
o'er Princedoms Misrule'd, and in glory aloft of Mereth
Miasma, less his own heart should leap from his briast
to itself fight for Imperium\

As totem of the curse, to Aka he ransom'd blood and patr'nym
then clad himself in nibenym TIBER SEPTIM, of Ald Perrifial
langue <> and arm'd with Ruby-Cor
he spark'd the Dragonfires, Light of Man, and all The Worthies
in Heaven and on Nirn, bow'd down\"

*Julius sits and admires the poetry. While somewhat disliking Yggrid, he at least respects her recital.*

Kai smiles at the poem and lifts up his mug, despite it still being empty. Whispering, "Where is that barmaid." he looks to Theya. "Yes, that would be mighty kind of you. But not right now."

"A delightful recitation, indeed. Unfortunately, it speaks in a language not known to most of the world. This could have been the langauge of Empire... No, actually, this should have been the langauge of Empire..."

The Telvanni thinks for a moment, a deep grimace comes to his face, there is neither insight nor profundity in it.

"The canto speaks of my earlier point. Talos subjected not the mortal peoples, but the gods themselves. Heaven itself, bowed down!.. And had this knowlege been upheld, and known, and fully appropriated into True Myth, blasphemous and audacious as it is, yes, I know! Perhaps we wouldn't be here today, ruminating on the mystery that has consumed the man, Martin. If that knowledge had not been lost to the uncertainty of Mannish faith, Martin himself would be able speak of his own station. And all would know it."

"The Daedra's protection from us?" The Nordic lass covered her mouth to hide a grin at the Telvanni's words. "Methinks ye have answered your own question serjo. Why, surely even the Scamps could wreck utter havoc on the unruly hordes ye name! I do thank ye for your kind words though."

"But on a more serious note, methinks I've heard somewhere that the Princes of Oblivion ever covet lunar currency," the barmaid continued, idly brushing an errant golden tress out of her eyes. "How did that old book go again? Ah, right; 'It gives the Daedra Lords special pleasure to steal away from Shezarr and the Aedra the greatest and most ambitious mortals. 'Not only be ye fools to mutilate yourselves,' gloat the Daedra Lords, 'But ye cannot even keep the best pieces, which prefer the glory and power of the Daedra Lords to the feeble vulgarity of the mush-minded Aedra.'' Or something like that, at least. Seems to me then that the Princes would welcome mortals to enter their realms ... as trophies and playthings."

"But, we know for certain that Martin's act had an effect," she added to the Kynareth priestess. "Ere he summoned the Dragon, there were Gates to Oblivion all over Cyrodiil. Mehrunes Dagon heself was tromping through the Temple District, mind-shattering as ye like. After? The Gates did close, Dagon did disappear. Since the Amulet of Kings likewise disappeared, and since the Gates did not open right back up again, stands to reason that something occured - a new covenant forged 'twix Martin and Akatosh, or a new barrier erected, what have ye. I'd say let the Mage Guild look into it, but I try not to have truck with the guild, least in Cyrodiil. The members here be simply lousy tippers."

===


OOC: I am playing a Nordic woman who claims to represent the Bishop of Barmaids. I'm a bit over six feet tall, with long golden tresses reaching down to my ankles, worn free like a golden mantle, and my blue eyes are usually crinkled with mirth above my full, smiling lips. I'm dressed like a bar maid - albeit in old-fashioned Cyrodiilic style - and bear a large tray of drinks and finger foods, balanced casually on one hand.

Loranna

The Telvanni, ponders for a while, staring into a vague space, and twists the hairs on his chin suddenly, only now hearing the words he has put off wanting to hear for some while.

"Muthsera, what question at all was that? What have I answered?"

He chews the end of his pipe somewhat anxiously. He has obviously forgotten something of import, though tries to hide it.

(OOC: Drenim is an elderly, ancient Dunmer. He looks every bit the kindly grandfather, even though he surely must know that everyone who knows who he is knows thats a ruse. Old enough to have been born a Chimer and cunning enough to have survived most of that time among the followers of Mannimarco, not much else is known about Jalmar Drenim. Rumours call him a powerful sorcerer, a vampire, a lich or all three at once. The real reason for his long life is unknown. He has no particular fondness for Telvanni, who refuse to share their research into longevity and necromancy, but then again, the order of the Worm isn't particularly on good terms with most anyone.
The last half hour or so he appears to have dozed off, though few participants believe this to be more than a ruse, game or fancy of the old mer.)

I say..
(Says Drenim, appearing to wake up.)

I say, I have this idea.
Why do we not ask the Dragon himself what happened?
We are men, and women, hm, of considerable and diverse resource and influence and surely we can think of a way to talk to an aspect, even though it is not His auspicious day.
How about my learned collegues representing Akatosh or Thalmor?
Just a thought.

(With this Drenim inspects his flagon for ale, eats a bit of cheese and appears to drift away again.)

I doubt he knows any more than we do about what happened. To him, Akatosh suddenly appeared and destroyed his mortal form. By the time he re-emerged from the waters of Oblivion, he finds the barrier is back.

"Where was the Daedras' protection from Us, serjo," the Nordic lass answered, a grin flashing across her face.

At Drenim's suggestion, the barmaid's grin quickly melted, her brow furrowing worriedly. "I suppose someone was going to suggest it eventually," she muttered under her breath. "Divines forgive us all."

===


OOC: I am playing a Nordic woman who claims to represent the Bishop of Barmaids. I'm a bit over six feet tall, with long golden tresses reaching down to my ankles, worn free like a golden mantle, and my blue eyes are usually crinkled with mirth above my full, smiling lips. I'm dressed like a bar maid - albeit in old-fashioned Cyrodiilic style - and bear a large tray of drinks and finger foods, balanced casually on one hand.

Loranna

Taela raises a curious eyebrow at Drenim's proposition.

What an interesting, and if not suicidal request dear Drenim. We can't simply invite him back into the mortal sphere if the sacrafice of Martin is to be believed. That leaves us with visiting the Deadlands themselves.