Setting: Elden Root, Valenwood

Period: 30th of Sun's Height, 4E 201

'Twas to be the theft that would make The Forefathers, a group of Bosmer thieves in direct competition with the Thieves Guild, a name that would be echoed in the forests of Valenwood for centuries. On the 30th day of Sun's Height, a high-ranking member of The Forefathers by the name of Boris, made haste from the coastal city of Woodhearth to Elden Root on a matter of great importance. An Altmer scholar who appeared to have connections with the Thalmor, had hired The Forefathers to steal nothing less than the skull of a Dragon from a palace far to the north, in Skyrim.

"Sit," said the Alter scholar in an orderly manner. "We have much to discuss." Puzzled was the Wood Elf, Boris. That an Altmer who he had never heard of resided in one of the biggest manors in all Valenwood. 'Twas masked in a garden of endless trees that appeared to physically move whenever nature deemed it necessary. These trees emitted a dark haze that obscured the manor from the eyes of man and mer. If nothing more, for Boris, this was worth the trip alone.

"I'm impressed Gulduron," said Boris. "I've never even seen this corner of Elden Root!"

"Did I summon you here for your guilds services Bosmer, or did I have you arrive here so we could be pedantic?"

"Many apologies sire, I was merely in awe." Boris then pulled out his Guild seal and began to discuss buisness. "We want fifteen thousand gold pieces, half now and half upon completion of the theft." Fiddling with the braid in his beard, Gulduron quickly came to a conclusion. "We agreed on ten thousand gold Forefather, do not try my patience." There was enough magic in this place to obiliterate man or mer in the flick of a finger, thus Boris began to negotiate as he was instructed to by his guild.

"I can go down to twelve thousand, any less and it isn't worth the trouble of traversing a cold desolate wasteland."

"Splendid," Gulduron uttered to himself as he handed to Boris a single scroll. "Take this, this is all the help you're getting. This has the power to make an object as light as a feather and as small as a soul gem for five minutes. I suggest you use it wisely." Boris took the scroll into his hand and placed it into his satchel, giving to Gulduron a single nod. "I trust you can show yourself out?" said Gulduron in a final goodbye.

Setting: Whiterun Hold, Skyrim

Period: 14th of Last Seed, 4E 201

On a bright Valenwood morning, a group of eight Bosmer thieves; Colfinnor, brothers Olwynor and Boris, Fingaeron, Daedhrognir, Limdir, and Pellam, led by a mer named Fangon left for Whiterun to steal the Dragonskull of Numinex. Stopping first in Skingrad and then in Bruma, they arrived in Skyrim after a three day journey. Unforgiving was the cold of Skyrims southern tundra, it chilled the Bosmer to the bone. They wished to be back in Valenwood, but too handsome was the gold offered by the Altmer Gulduron.

And there was their destination, Dragonsreach.. A truly foreign sight to the Bosmer. "Okay boys. In and out understood? Any mistakes and it will be our heads on that High Elf's mantle" said Fangon to the group. Pellam panicked, and in a fit of anxiety urged Fangon to call off the heist. "Coward!" yelled Boris. "You knew what you were in for the minute you left Woodhearth." Pellam dropped his bow and ran for the nearby village of Riverwood. Boris unsheathed his bow and slayed Pellam with an arrow that pierced his neck, killing him instantly.

"Fantastic, that's one less bow in action. Anyone else want to make this even more complicated than it already is!?" yelled Fangon.

The elves stood in silence, fearful of what might happen if they spoke out. "You see that sire?" uttered Olwynor looking over the Tundra. Fangon smiled. "And just when I had given up on hope. You see that boys? Olwynor has just found us a secret entrance." And onward they went into the city of Whiterun with relative ease.

They found themselves in a secluded cave, the noise of the townsfolk told them that they were inside the city. Fangon instructed Boris to carve out a piece of rock, so they could use the gap as a peeping hole. "Looks deserted, something must be wrong" Boris despaired. Fangon instructed Olwynor to scout the town and plan out an entrance. "Already taken care of" said Olwynor with pride. "I tipped off an official in Riverwood, he said he would make things happen." "Well, that explains the lack of guards" Boris replied.

And there they stood in the Cloud District of Whiterun. "Colfinnor, Fingaeron, Daedhrognir, Limdir, into the dungeon, find an entrance. Boris, Olwynor, you're with me." Subtle were their footsteps, absent were their breathes as they entered Dragonsreach palace. But it was a trap..

The 'official' that Olwynor bribed was in fact an off-duty guard. Naturally he warned the Jarl that thieves from Valenwood were planning something in the city. The Dragonsreach dungeon was overwhelmed with Hold Guards, waiting.. The four elves were caught by suprise and killed on the spot. Fangon, oblivious, entered Dragonsreach through the front door with brothers Olwynor and Boris. Guards lined the walls of Dragonsreach with their weapons unsheathed. Fangon quickly slammed the front door. "It's a trap, run for your lives. I'll cover you!" The brothers did as they were told, and were out of the city in a flash. Fangon in an act of both bravery and loyalty attempted to hold off as many of the guards as he could before we was finally slain. By that time, the brothers had escaped.

Setting: Eastmarch, Skyrim

Period: 16th of Last Seed, 4E 201

They couldn't go back to Valenwood, for fierce was the wrath of the Thalmor. They had failed Gulduron, they had failed The Forefathers. They left for Morrowind, they would take on new identities and hide for as long as they could.

"Brother, how could you be so foolish!? I thought were far more astute than to tip off an off-duty Hold Guard!" snarled Boris.

"No time Boris, no time. We must make haste to Morrowind." And so they did, only to find the border overrun with more guards.

Boris dropped his bow, admitting defeat. Olwynor wasn't so quick to give up. "Brother, don't allow emotions to cloud you're judgement. Drop the bow" Boris implored. He couldn't bring himself to yield. "Sheath the bow elf, or face the Jarl's justice" demanded an impatient guard. Before he could blink, arrows injected every corner of his body, leaving Boris in deep despair. Boris was taken into captivity, and before he had time to grieve, he was sitting on a cart escorted by the Imperial Legion. Unaware of his destination, he drifted off into a deep sleep, maybe he would never wake up.. he could only wish. Rumour has it that this is very same cart inhabited by Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak of Windhelm. If this is true, then we all know what happens next..