Begin!
The Last Dragonborn slew Alduin. The Empire choked the Stormcloak Rebellion in its crib. The Dark Brotherhood assassinated Emperer Titus Mede II. The Aldmeri Dominion has completed its conquest of a fading Imperial Empire. It has been 450 years, and nothing has changed. Time has not stood still, but a gloom of listlessness born of apathy has fallen on the sons and daughters of Skyrim, on the children of the Niben. A cloud of gluttony and lethargy engulfed an ascendant Aldmeri Dominion, who in the wake of getting everything they wanted, find themselves disinterested in making much more than token efforts on the world stage, content instead to revel in their own largess. Some scholars have taken to calling this the unoficial 5th Era: The Era Most Mundane.
However, there are rumours of a resurging death-cult dedicated to the almost-god necromancer-king, The Black Worm. But there is confusion and disagreement about the rumours, for many say the cult is actually a dragon cult dedicated to reviving Alduin. Still, others say the cult is benevolent and intend on freeing Skyrim and the rest of Tamriel from under the boot of the Aldmeri. Some say it's all three, whilst others vehemently deny the possiblity of The Black Worm, Alduin, and 'benevolence' or 'freedom' being compatible concepts. The truth of these rumours, is known only to two. Siblings, even- though irreconcilably opposed.
***
Chest heaving, throat dry, leg muscles that had long since given up complaining;
'Left. Right. Left. Right. Almost there. Can smell the acrid stench of magicka in the air.' Running down the shadowy, richly appointed corridors, relief tinged with a healthy dose of fear flooded through her. She didn't dare acknowledge the spark of hope that hid behind the fear: ahead double doors were outlined with the bright light of Dagomir's insane ritual.
'Maintain stability. Twist left shoulder back, right shoulder down and forward. Accelerate. Brace.'
With a loud crash that'd make any Tongue proud, the Nord warrior knocked the doors open. Inside, was smooth stone inscribed with deep carvings of ancient Aldmeri and Dragon runes from floor to ceiling. Where the first few feet of the spire's roof would have been, was instead empty sky, allowing a quickly shrinking moonbeam to stream into the centre of the ritual chamber. She drew herself up, and rounded on the sorcerer at the centre of the quickly coalescing ritual. "Please Dagomir! Think of all of the innocent people who will die if you go down this path! Everyone we've ever known!"
Standing at the centre of the room, at the center of a summoning circle that was drinking in the quickly dissapearing moonlight coming through the open cieling, was Dagomir. "Hah! Look at you sister, look at your naked greed! It wasn't enough that father left you the land and title, no! You need to have it all so badly, you've even come to usurp the opportunity I paid for with blood and pain!"
Her knuckles were white on her sword-hilt, her teeth grit. "You won't get away with this Dagomir! You can't! I won't allow it!"
"Or what, you going to kill me? Well too late sister!" And so saying, Dagomir raised a soul gem the size of an orcs skull, all ringed in curled silver, over his head- the last of the moonlight was snuffed out with the silence and speed of knife in the night, replaced with an ink-black barely illuminated by the deep, vibrant purple light now shining through the open ceiling.
"By the power of Eight and One, Mannimarco hear my call! I offer you my form as vessel, so that we might Break the Dragon once more and give rise to the power of Eight and Two!"
And as the air in the chamber turned thick and viscous like honey, the warrior struck. Impossibly the warrior found her diagonal cut -which she had practiced almost as much as breathing- shifting off course against her will, missing Dagomir, striking the already blinding soul gem. A flash; searing pain; nothing.
The Arkayn Cycle is named such for Arkay, the God of Birth and Death. And if you had any framework from which to understand such a concept in your current state, you would know this liminal space as the thin boundary between one Arkayn Cycle and the next.
Choose your Race
[] Imperials
[] Nords
[] Bretons
[] Redguard
[] Altmer (High Elf)
[] Bosmer (Wood Elf)
[] Orsimer (Orc)
[] Dunmer (Dark Elf)
[] Moamer (Sea Elf)
[] Khajit
[] Argonian
[] Mix-race
Choose your Motherland
(Where you are from, where it will start. You may travel to any land, as the quest develops)
[] Cyrodil
[]Skyrim
[]Morrowind
[]Hammerfell
[]High Rock
[]Black Marsh
[]Valenwood
[]Elsweyr
[]Summerset Isles
*I'm still working out how the voting system works, for now just vote for your favourite from each catagory, we'll adjust as we go.
**This vote will be open till at least a few people have voted
