imagine a scroll, suspended in a sleek case of magicka at the heart of the imperial city, a bastion of safety in a ruined world, its tower defiant
the sky ripped apart into shreds of blackness by millennia of battles with the gods
the city stone alive with geometric rivulets of magicka, channelled like electricity, haggard mages locked in battle with ancient relics to tame the energies to their needs
a dunmer sheathed in ethereal bonemold armor, runes rippling, a short blade of crystalised magicka in one hand, keeping watch at the ald-ruhn shield perimeter
hunters skimming the ruined wilds on sleek, hard-lined racers, magicka-plated crossbows on their forearms flinging jagged, barely controlled bolts of condensed fire at the daedra beneath them
legions of undead, their bones fused with daedric metals and weapons wreathed in dark energies
everywhere the echoes of the ancient civilisations, refined and enhanced but the spirit untouched
magicka has become their technology