Prologue

Ten long years after the Oblivion Crisis.

"Awaken, Korvan," a thick voice sternly said. "The Primate as called upon you. Don your robes." Suddenly the Dunmer awoke. His dark hair was a mop on his head. The voice extruded from a large nord in white robes. It was Theurgist Riverspirit, a large nord with long blond hair and blue eyes. Hastily the young priest put on his gray robes and grabbed his silver staff.

The priest was young, ambitious, and ready. For fifteen years, he'd served the Imperial Cult. At first an altar boy and now a full priest of disciple rank. He wore sandals, as much as they hurt, Korvan did not complain as he ran through the temple. He slowed down as he pushed the large wood and iron double doors. Priests of all ranks and robe colors stood there with their hoods up. Crusaders stood ready to strike any villains who should attack.

"You have arrived, my child," a soft voice said from the Altar of the Nine. The Primate was speaking. "The Oracle has told me of your fate, you have no place here in the Monastery, you can do much more good outside these ancient walls." The priest rose a brow in curiousity.

"The Oracle has told me of your fate, you will be a cleric," She sternly stated. "Fighting for justice just like Stendarr, conquering the wicked just like Talos, giving to the poor just like Zenithar, and performing tasks the Nine would." A warrior in shining steel armor walked into the room, in a sheathe was a shining silver morning star. The woman in the armor was of imperial blood and he was well-aged.

"I am Avita Vesnia, Knight of the Nine," her hoarse voice managed to say. "Cleric, prove your might by withstanding my attacks." The woman gripped her morning star and started to attack Korvan. He muttered healing spells and still felt the pain. After ten attacks, it stopped. The chapel went dark, pitch black. Then the lights came back on. The priests were dead, as was Avita. The Primate was gone as well. He gulped and stripped Avita of her armor, clothed her in white robes, and said some prayers. The Cleric walked out, ready to seek justice.

The Obsidian Tower, Black Marsh.

The Elderly Priest with the rank of Primate kneeled before a warrior clad in daedric armor. The illusion dissapeared and the woman transformed into a male breton dressed in an ebony suit of armor. "Master, have I done well," he asked, his voice was deep. The eyes of the breton were sky-blue and his skin was white, vampiric-white.

The top of the Obsidian Tower had the last functional Oblivion Gate on it, and in front of it staring into was a creature of myth. He took his helmet off to reveal rotted blue skin and sunken red eyes. "Yes, you've done well." The lich smiled and gripped his sword tightly, then let frowned. "J'skooma and Quick-Strike would be ashamed, but do I care what pathetic scum rotting think?"

"Milord, why spare the cleric?"

"Multiple reasons, mainly he is still susceptible to my power, secondly he is my grand son."

"I see, milord. Would you--" He was cut off by a skeletal messenger running up the spiral stair case. The messenger said monotonely, "The Cleric, is attacking Fort Blackbone, should I send men?"

The lich dissapeared, at Fort Blackbone, waiting...