He looked around the desolate landscape underneath the night sky. Why the Dunmer lived in such a place, he didn’t know. Ashlands indeed! Everywhere he looked there was ash, and where there wasn’t, looked like it should have some. Oh how he missed the Summerset Isles with its misty forests and lush greenery, a sharp contrast to the barren soil here. He grimaced and chided himself for spending so much time in the tomb, but it couldn’t have been helped. He was so close! He silently thanked whatever God had led him to that book; though he was certain he didn’t want to know which one did. Gripping his staff tight and tucking the book underneath his arm, he set out towards Maar Gan, once again glad he found this small town. Sure there was a Temple and a Redoran outpost, but the former was run by a fool of a Dunmer who only cared what happened in “his” town and the guards of the later were too busy keeping the wild animals at bay to pay much attention to those entering and leaving.
The Altmer steadily traveled across the wastes, careful to keep the twin moons from reflecting off of his golden skin. Though well trained to use the staff in his hand, he preferred to not tussle with the many creatures about who might mistake him for prey. As he walked, his thoughts drifted towards his mission. Soon he would raise his father and learn the truth! His stepfather killed his father to marry his mother, he just knew it! All he lacked was proof, but that would be soon in coming. But first he would need an experiment to ensure that his technique was right. After all, his previous attempts to raise the dead failed because he was missing an important ingredient. What was that Dunmer’s name? Rothan something? Not that it mattered, he wasn’t anybody important and it was unlikely his family would bother trying to raise him.
The moons had nearly reached their zenith as the Altmer saw the tower of Maar Gan over the mountains. He stopped and set his burden down before concentrating and weaving his hands in a complex pattern. A moment later his form disappeared from sight. Smiling to himself, the Altmer retrieved his book and staff and quietly continued on. He looked in disgust at the Dunmer Ashlanders settled around a campfire just outside the city. Guards, he thought to himself, useless beings. They claim to keep the peace, yet let these savages camp right outside their door. Still, they may prove useful…he would have to convince that idiot, Listien, to help, but he was sure the Breton would agree to his plan if properly asked. He was sure he could play on Listien’s hunger for power – after all, the fool thought he could summon the very Daedra and control them. Most conjurers spent years perfecting their craft, yet this Breton wanted it all right now. Well, the Altmer would give it to him right now, just not exactly how he expected…
He continued his musings as he came to the door to the hut he and Listien shared. He rapped on the door three times, paused, twice more, then three times again after another pause. He dispelled the magic shielding him from sight as he waited for the door to open. As the last of the spell wore off, the door creaked slowly open and a young, severe face peeked out into the moonlight. “You’re late!” the Breton scolded him.