Welcome to the sixth era in ES this shall first take place in Morrowind all are welcome so long as you can be active on here the plot is essentially (and up to speculation as we don't know yet) the imperials beat back the dominion much of tamriel was weakened from the war except Mournhold where the Dunmer grew in strength recovering from red mt. And are invading their neighbors the argonians and bosmer are their biggest threat so far but are losing the war due to superior Dunmer technology spells and new tactics. Their main allies are the orcs and surprisingly birds and red guards.

Rules:
1. No god mode and don't kill another persons character they've been working hard on it most likely without their permission first
2: You can't instantly get the best stuff in the game you need to warn it like a true elder scrolls game you can be lower middle or upper class but you can't have everything
3. People and the characters in here will treat you a clear tin way depending on your race as will you.
4. Back story's are fun but not mandatory
5. Have fun and anyone's free to join screenshots help but aren't mandatory

Vereth paced the halls of the palace his Family lived in house redoran, the master warriors of the dunmer people and make the backbone of their military. "My father has ruled Redoran long enough, he must be taken out of the way so I may ascend the throne!". He mutters to himself walking out on the balcony looks at the wastes of the Ashland plotting his next moves carefully.

Vella cursed under her breath as she leaned against the dust encrusted wall of the Rat in the Pot Inn, yanking her boot off roughly and dumping the sand and ash from inside onto the ground below. The hood of her cape did little to protect her from the raging winds though the scarf tied tightly around her lower face calmed them some. Her shimmering, almost glowing bright blue eyes peeked out from the cloth, squinting in the ash storm. From here she could still make out the sounds of the Silt Strider guide calling to people, gesturing them to take a trip. “And that is the last bloody time I do that,” the young Breton muttered to herself.

Ah, welcome to Ald'ruhn. It was a ashy little town about the size of your thumb plunkered down in the ass crack of the middle of no where. Aside from the Red Mountain that loomed to the northeast, there wasn’t a whole lot to comment on, nothing remarkable… well, aside what she came here for.

Moving into the tavern, Vella quickly scooted along to the side, locating the person she desired most. “Lirielle!” Thank the gods. “I have what you asked for.” Lirielle was a tool of the Thieves’ Guild, a guild that our dear Vella here was quite high in the ranks of. Lirelle soul a plethora of lock picks, clay, clothing, scrolls, potions… anything that could be used to help a thief become better at her job.

“Let’s see then,” replied the other bosmer, the woman’s eyes lighting up with surprise in the dim candle light. Customers bustled by behind Vella, no one noticing the exchange as she pulled the item from her pack at her hip.

“I don’t understand why you want this shoddy old thing,” the young woman sighed as she unfolded the tattered rag she had concealed it in. It was simply…. A ring. No inscription, no magical properties (that Vela knew of)… Just… a ring. “This is it right?”

Lirelle grasped the tiny piece of jewelry like it was worth more than her life’s savings. “Aye, this is it.”

The meeting-place was emptying as she led her prisoner towards the hierophant's yurt. You could tell from the wind that another storm was coming down from the crater, and those few that remained in the open air were wrestling with awnings and lanterns, or ushering their animals inside ahead of the wall of pumice. Above the rattling, she could hardly hear her prisoner's craven muttering. Perhaps it was for the better. She could never stand to hear the wittering of the condemned, even if they were not of her stock.

The hierophant's yurt was unusual in its regimented neatness. For many years, she was the public face of the tribe - old Shargon could not be bothered with such things - and put on a front of roofed civilisation to keep the colonist's pungent moralism at bay, and the swords that always followed it. Ishkibal could not fault her for sticking to their habits even in seasons such as this, when no travellers came down the foyada. An uncluttered house means an uncluttered mind, and that was a vital asset in their highest spiritual guide.

"I have brought another one," she declared, dropping to her knees. "Of the House Redoran." Her deel was an awkward thing, always bunching up on itself. The hierophant's was majestic by comparison, characterised with rich, luxurious browns and golds and creams, the fabrics imbibed with Daedric lettering. A sash across her briast, continued as a belt, bore the genealogy of all ashkhans from Samsu-Iluna to Shargon, even though she had been able to recite it from memory for two hundred years.

"We were right to trust you, Ishkibal," the hierophant said from her dais. She spoke in cosy, mothering tones not at all appropriate to the occasion but well-suited to the wombing lull of the magic that pulsed in her presence. "Bring him forward. We'll see what he can do for us."

Vereth stared into the wasteland, many called it ugly, trechuaous, even dangerous. But to him this is home, to him this so the most beautiful land he's ever laid eyes upon. He could hear the distant wails and moans of silt striders in the distance. Grinning lightly as a brilliant plan sparked inside his mind he knew the perfect way to take the throne, all it would take we're a few well placed moves like chess if you will. And so the young dunmer make slowly sulked to his room traveling to the west side of the room. Tracing his slender fingers along it he sees the minuscule crack that anyone would miss, except for the one who designed the room. He slowly pushed in sliding it to the right revealing a shrine of each Daedric Prince. Walking in he knelt at the shrine of Boethia, the prince of conspiracy and usurpers praying for her favor for the task he was about to embark upon would take more than calculated risk and skill it'd née the help of divine intervention.