Right, hi-ya everybody. Okay, wait, that 'Dr. Nick' voice isn't what I'm going for. Anyways, this is my first attempt at a fan fic, so thoughts and critical evaluations are appreciated. For now, the prologue.

Prologue, Fifty Years Prior:
15 Frostfall, 4E 1, Dusk.
The shores of the Empire of the Ka Po’ Tun

The pressing masses of the cat-folk were driven back by yet another concussive blast of fire and thunder. In the shallows, a ship’s sails were being drawn up as the tide continued to come in, the clever design of the hull requiring only a few feet of water for the ocean going ship to move under the wind. On the shore, armored Dunmer, as well as a few men, were retreating to the ship under the cover of archery fire from their comrades, as well as the cover provided by two warriors holding back the press of those trying to kill their friends. One warrior was armored fully in Daedric armor, using the spikes on the armor’s knee, elbow, and shoulder joints, as well as the massive shield, to fend off those that got too close for the reach of his curved sword. Twice he had used the heavy brow of the Daedric helm to smash the unarmored head on an attacker.

Next to him stood the other warrior, wearing lighter glass armor and using the nimbleness it afforded to dart through attacks, relying the other’s heavy shield when necessary and using his own slightly curved blade to stab around his companion’s armored form. The lighter one moved from one side of the heavier one to the other and back, using his free hand cast the spells that kept the two of them alive, and the others with them free to make it to the boat. One of the attackers got too close, and the one in heavy armor delivered a crushing punch with the gauntlet Wraithguard, the spikes over the hand plate penetrating through armor and flesh. The reincarnated Nerevar, Trueflame in his right hand, turned to another, meeting the leaping assailant with a vicious curving upstroke of his pyromantically enhanced blade.

Next to the Nerevarine, the sole surviving member of the Almsivi Triune flicked Hopesfire and sliced a lethal wound into another attacking tiger. Vivec managed to turn to Nerevar, a look of obvious annoyance on his face. “Did you really have to make Tosh Raka feel so insulted? Your diplomacy skills leave something to be lacking. Not exactly the same as the last time we were working like this.”

The Nerevarine grunted. “Last time we worked like this I did rely on diplomacy, only to have four people betray me, one of whom killed me. You were there. Granted, Voryn Dagoth also betrayed you, but it doesn't change what had happened to me.” The Nerevarine continued his work, slicing and slashing with the circular strokes of the blade, allowing both the edge and the flames to drop the attackers that came at him. It was butchery, but they were still being pressed back, and for every step forward he took, he took two more backwards. The men and mer were getting onto the boat, but the two needed to buy more time. “Also, if I had gone with diplomacy those recent tries, you’d either have Keening sticking out of your side, or you’d be cut open by Hopesfire instead of holding it. Can’t argue with history.”

“No, you can’t,” agreed Vivec. A lightning spell arced from behind the two, downing more of the pressing tiger-horde. Vivec turned to see a Telvanni battlemage and relatively young councilor nod at him, before noticing that the last of their groups were boarding the boat, and that the tide was now taking the ship out. “Looks like the ship is leaving. Only two things left for us, Nerevar. Are you prepared?”

In response, the Nerevarine turned to Vivec, and tossed Trueflame over to the former god. Vivec transferred Hopesfire to his dark left hand, grabbing Trueflame in the golden right, and moved in front of Nerevar to meet the attackers. The Nerevarine turned, grabbed the mage in his free hand, and said, “Time for you to board your boat, Councilor Aryon. No bickering, we’ll deal with these n’wahs, you get the party back to Morrowind.” With two spinning steps and corprus-enhanced strength, Indoril Nerevar Incarnate threw the youngest ever Telvanni Archmagister over to the boat, the mage slowing his descent in the last few feet and prepping a wind spell to carry the ship off. As this was done, Vivec was occupied with using the blades to keep both he and Nerevar alive. The advantage of the blades was that, used together as they were, the magical flames forced the eye to track the movement of te blade both forwards and back, slowing down the opponent enough to strike without a parry. Now only Nerevar and Vivec stood against the onslaught, and as Vivec continued his twirling dance of flame and death, the Nerevarine pulled a gold-tinged hammer from its spot on his hip, and began smashing at the attackers, as well as the occasional earthwards strike to send shockwaves through the ground and unbalance the foe.

With the ship off, and the Ka Po’ Tun’s armada too far away to sufficiently deal with a fully armed vessel, Nerevar and Vivec began clearing space for the last part of their operation. For another hour they stood and fought, breaking the attempt to circle them that the tiger-horde had started in the brief moment of Aryon’s exit. When they had enough space, Nerevar reached to the underside of his pauldron, and withdrew a ring. “Vivec,” he yelled to his companion, “now!” He tossed the ring, and the former god turned twisted the blades in a circling motion around and beneath the falling ring, leaving the small circle suspended in a cradling spell. As soon as it was done, Nerevar struck it with Sunder, causing the ring to start expanding and slowly begin rotating.

“You know,” said Vivec, his back to the ring and another dead sliding off his blade, “I’m glad you kept the Mazed Band.” Though hidden behind the heavy mask of the helm, Nerevar grinned. The piling bodies slowed the onslaught, but beads of sweat were forming on both Dunmeri champions. “Your stamina potion is starting to wear off,” said Vivec.

“It’s been half a day of a fighting retreat. I’m surprised these are still working.” Nerevar smashed his shield into one attacker, and used a powerful backhand smash with Sunder to send another tiger-folk flying into his comrades. A shadow passed across the setting sun, forcing Nerevar to momentarily glance at the sky. “Alright, endgame time. Tosh Raka’s coming at us. We’ve got two minutes before he starts strafing us. Ready?”

“Of course,” said Vivec. “Though I’m still not sure about the necessity of this. Still, I suppose it’s better than nothing. It’s been an honor.” He looked up. “Huh, you weren’t lying about the odd scale coloring.”

After another minute, Vivec gave the cue, and the two each hooked a left arm around the rotating ring. Nerevar smashed the growing central spell nexus, shouting “Shal’Narak Sethalyas Addinural!” A brilliant white light enveloped the rotating ring, as well as both Nerevar and Vivec, and then erupted outwards in a storm of fire, lightning, and concussive force that enveloped the swarming attackers. In the sky, there was the brief outline of a dragon caught in the blast, as the darkening sky was briefly illuminated from the earth. Thus did Vivec, Almsivi Warrior-Poet, and Nerevar Incarnate, Savior of Morrowind, vanish from Mundus.

The Deck of the “Ocean’s Steed.”

Archmagister Aryon felt the sudden twist in the mana fields before seeing the light from Nerevar’s spell. They were far enough away that they were in little danger of dying from the spell, but he still reinforced the shielding spell to allow the blast wind to give the ship a boost of speed as it sailed out to the open ocean.

Behind him, the Nordic captain came up and tapped the Telvanni wizard’s shoulder to get his attention. When Aryon turned away from the spectacle on Akavir soil, the captain offered him a thick envelope. “Sir, I had orders from the Lords Vivec and Nerevar to give you this after we were away, should they not be aboard.”

Aryon took the letter, thanked the captain, and turned to the railing to read the message.

Aryon:

It seems so long ago, but it has not even been seven years since I came to you seeking your help for the title of Hortator, and offering you primacy amongst the Telvanni in exchange for your help. Now, however, I must bid you farewell.

Vivec and I discovered that Tosh Raka has been planning to build a fleet that would allow him to launch an invasion of Tamriel. I need not tell you how dangerous this is to our beloved Resdayn, both for the autonomy of our land that we have struggled for, and for the simple fact that any invasion to Tamriel from Akavir will necessitate a march through our eastern holdings. We cannot allow this to happen. However, Vivec and I will not be able to remain actively present. Our best chance at inflicting the most harm was on the shores of Akavir. I have included a sealed letter for King Helseth, in which I have also placed Azura’s Ring. To you, I leave Moon-and-Star, asking that you see that my signet ring reaches Sul Matuul at the Urshilaku camp. They already know what must be done from there. I ask you because you both understand the power of the magic, and your loyalty and friendship has been constant. I can entrust no other with this task.

I must ask that the last charge on the transportation spell that you and Demnevanni have maintained be used to send the letter for Helseth directly to Mournhold. You and I know Baladas will handle the affairs from there. Also, as you know, only the Bouyant Armigers that accompanied us, yourself, and Baladas know that Vivec traveled in secret with us to Akavir. We have agreed that this must remain secret. If asked, deny any knowledge or concern about Vivec's whereabouts. You were in Akavir, half a world away from Vvardenfell when Vivec's disappearance was noticed, and this should remain as your story. The Bouyant Armigers are loyal, and will remain silent, though you may need to wipe the memories of the ship's crew. I paid them handsomely for their services and their silence, so I leave this issue to your discretion.

I am sorry that we had to part this way. You have been a true friend and colleague during my time in Vvardenfell and Resdayn, and I am honored to have known you in my time. What Vivec and I do will delay Tosh Raka, but not stop him. Use the time to prepare. May the blessings of Azura, Boethiah, and Mephala be upon you.

-Therys Ollardys, Nerevarine Incarnate.

Aryon read through the letter again, and pocket the wrapped ring of Moon-and-Star. Holding the bare ring wouldn’t kill him, but the minute it slipped over his finger, he’d be dead. Nerevar had taken precautions. The letter addressed to him also went into a pocket in his robe, and out came a faintly glowing, pale pink soul gem. It had started a bright red, shining more than the fires of Red Mountain, but use had drained its energy. Now the last charge would be used. Holding the parcel for Helseth flat in his left hand, he pressed the gem to the heavy paper. In a flash of red light, the envelope disappeared, and Aryon found himself holding a soul gem as clear as a diamond. That went back into his robes. Bringing his right hand up; he ignited a small ball of fire, thumping his chest three times over. “Farewell, my friend.”

Mournhold, Palace of the King, Night.

A page announced that a messenger need to be seen, and Helseth waved the man in at once. “Well,” asked the Dunmer king, not even looking up from his desk covered in papers and lit in the night hours by numerous candles. “What happened?”

The visitor, a well-built Dunmer, bowed before speaking. “I received this from Demnevanni himself. Apparently Nerevar alone stayed behind on the Akavir shore as the others retreated by ship. Aryon made it out, apparently thrown onto the boat by Nerevar, which is how we got word so quickly. The Telvanni are at least pleased that the leader of their house didn’t die over there. Also, Aryon sent this to us, using the last charge in that transport spell he and Demnevanni had set up. Any further communications will have to be relayed to Aryon by Baladas through their link.” The visitor placed an envelope on Helseth’s desk.

“Thank you. You may leave.” After his guest had gone, Helseth opened the parcel, catching the ancient Ring of Azura as it fell out. He set it aside, reading the letter written in the Nerevarine’s own hand. He had no need of the ring itself, and following the request to hand it over to the Temple would serve him well enough, gaining both some small appreciation from the public, as well as showing indisputable proof that Indoril Nerevar was no longer to remain the guardian of Resdayn. Still, the contents bothered him. Nerevar had personally incurred the wrath of Tosh Raka, though based on the account had likely staved off any impending threat for an additional few decades. That gave Helseth the one thing he would need: time. Time that would be used to prepare for what would eventually come.

Interesting begining, it was a little fractured but equally that set up the backgronud and plot well and is fine in a prolouge. I'm interested to see how you develop this.

Good stuff.

Thank you. I found the fractured nature a bit unavoidable, but the rest is going to try to follow Third Person POV style (Think George R. R. Martin and ASoIaF).

Chapter 1

Year 52 of the Fourth Era

Therys Aryon

Therys stood on the shore of the island, facing an Argonian that stood in a slightly crouched position about six feet away, one foot almost touching the edge of the baywater that came up onto the island. Between the shore and the large mushroom tower that was the defining aspect of Telvanni architecture, a Dunmer woman in bonemold armor stood next to the banner post that marked the tower as ‘Tel Fyr.’ The Argonian, Vistha-Kai slowly brought his hands up into a low guard position, waiting for Therys to initiate.

“Remember,” said Alfe Fyr from her position near the two, “The key to winning any fight is the unanticipated movement at the unexpected time. Begin.” The Argonian and the Dunmer slowly approached each other, before the Argonian made the first move. A few quick blows and blocks and Therys suddenly found himself falling into the water. Vistha-Kai was holding back some, but it was still enough to beat Therys handily. The old Argonian must have been over 80, or so Therys figured, but then again, no Dunmer had ever bothered to learn the age limits of Argonians. Till Helseth’s surprise move for abolition just before the fall of Nerevar across the ocean in Akavir, Argonians were used as little more than slaves, servants, and occasional body guards. Vistha-Kai was such an example. For the moment, Therys put aside those thoughts as he pushed himself out of the water.

“That was pathetic,” said Alfe Fyr from above the two. “He had you beaten after the first five steps. Try again, and do better.” Therys tried again, and did a little better. This time, when the Argonian warrior pulled him from the waters, Alfe said “Well, this time it took him seven moves to have you beaten. I suppose some progress is to be expected after enough beatings.” Vistha-Kai smiled and let out the low rumbling laugh of the lizard-folk of the Black Marsh. “Come,” said Fyr’s daughter. “My father will probably wish to see you off before your departure.”

Divayth Fyr was sitting at a work table when Therys came to him. “How long did you last against Vistha-Kai?” asked the formidable wizard-lord.

“At best, he had me beaten in seven moves,” replied the young Dunmer.

“That’s still better than any of my daughters will admit to have accomplished at your age. What does your father have assigned for you that made you want to risk coming here?” Divayth turned from the desk to face Therys, swiveling in his very jealously protected rotating chair. Fyr had boasted that he protected two things: his patients, and his prized chair.

“Dram Bero’s son Grellis and I are going after a coven of vampires between Suran and Molag Mar. Near as we can figure, they managed to take hold of Telasaro. The Crown is sponsoring us. I need to visit Port Telvannis first to retrieve a few hunters, and then we’ll meet up by way of Tel Branora.”

Divayth Fyr leaned forwards. “When did Telvanni start killing off vampires? They do have their uses, you know. What if you have the needs of hiring one at a later date?”

“We started about ten years ago, after the infestation levels grew to be more than we found acceptable. Apparently, my namesake put quite a few colonies and covens to torch, but he missed a few, and the new breed doesn’t have the sense to stay away from populated towns. That type of stupidity is useless to a Telvanni.”

Fyr smiled, straightening in his chair. “Well, you seem to at least understand the Telvanni way of thinking. I suppose those damned Hlaalu are just interested in keeping their profitable trade-routes open. Still, your understanding of the situation seems sound. Here, I’ve made these myself, unfortunately not effective for my patients. That first Therys is still the only mer to have beaten Corprus without the Heartwight exposure. Shame we couldn’t recover his body.” Divayth took a satchel from near his chair, and stood to hand it to Therys Aryon.

Aryon took out a small vial, running a hand over the container. “Cure and disease resilience? These will no doubt be of value for us, but why don’t you need them?”

“They’re no use on Corprus patients. Though, I was able to distill some of the disease resilience effects and make a stable mixture that combines the curative properties. Take one at the first sign of a wound from the enemy, and it should last you long enough to see a competent healer. There should be enough in there for an entire party. If you do have need of them, I would be most grateful if you could tell me how well they perform. Also, if you could, would you be able to bring me some vampire ash? I want to test its properties in relation to corprus. Oh, and when you see him, give my regards to your father.”

“I shall,” said Therys, and with a turn of his wrist, and a flicking motion of three fingers, Therys Aryon vanished in a rather efficient display of teleportation magic. There was no flash of light, no crackle of energy being displaced, and no smoke or vapors left afterwards. One second he was standing before the armored wizard-lord of Tel Fyr, and in the next second, he was simply gone. He had known that he had to do it properly in front of Fyr, since Fyr had been the one to teach Therys the spell in the first place.

Therys materialized in the outskirts of Port Telvannis on a high point overlooking the town proper. He started walking down the path towards the center of the trading port where his companions would meet him. As he walked, he contemplated on the lessons imparted to him by the Argonian fighter. By the time he had made it to the pub where the last members of his party were drinking, he had had gone from reliving the training session to rechecking all the preparations for the upcoming task. When he entered, he found the group in a back corner sharing a bottle of Greef. He joined them, received a cup of the beverage, and felt as his coordination began to slip away with each sip of the drink. “Gentlemen," he said, holding up the cup in mock salute, "I come bearing gifts of a Telvanni wizard-lord.”

“Unless it’s a large box of nothing, I’ll pass, and if so, keep the box,” came the standard reply from one of the men. Gifts from Telvanni wizard-lords were less useful than a Blighted Nix-Hound chasing after you. A Nix-Hound could be killed with a big enough God’s Frost spell.

Therys placed the package of potion vials on the table. “Small sized, high potency disease counters from the good Lord of Tel Fyr.” A hand took one of the small vials from the case, and then the obligatory grunt of approval came. “Enough to keep us alive, at least after this ordeal. Good Mer, to success and to fortune, may Azura smile upon us!” Therys’s toast was met with clinking cups and the end of the beverage.

When the group had finished the bottle, they stood, dropped some coins on the table and headed out to the docks, only to encounter a gathering crowd and guards pushing their way through. “What’s going on?” asked some. Others called to be let through, for unknown reasons. Therys and his men pushed towards one of the guards, busy trying to keep the gathering throng from getting through.

“Sir,” said the young Dark Elf to the guard, “My friends and I must get through to our ship. May we pass?”

“Sorry,” said the voice from behind the insectoid helm, “but I can’t let that happen. Apparently some raiders are nearby, and a small fishing boat just came in, the two sailors glibbering madly about some dragon. Allow us to handle this, it’s official Telvanni business.”

“Of course,” said Therys. “Please feel free to explain to Archmagister Aryon why his men weren’t allowed passage to Tel Branora on House business.”

“Who do you think you are?” asked the guard, somewhat obnoxiously.

“Therys Aryon,” came the younger Aryon’s reply, tugging up his right sleeve to show the tattoo that his father had said was put on him shortly after birth. The crescent of the moon and the shape of the flaming star showed black against his dark grey skin. The guard moved his head slightly back in surprise, then stepped aside to let Therys and his men pass. “Thank you,” said Therys.

At the wharfs, two Dunmer sailors were huddled within blankets and sipping warmed Flin. Therys approached them, tapping a guard as he stepped towards them. “Guard, what have those mer been saying?”

“They’ve been going on about something involving ships and demons. I can’t make any sense of it. Feel free to speak with them.” Therys nodded, and crouched down slightly to bring his eyes on level with the two.

“Sirs, my name is Therys. What has happened?”

“Demons! Strange, Eastern ships. All our comrades were killed in lightning and fire.” A hand grabbed Therys with inhuman strength. “You must warn the fools!”

Therys nodded and then jerked his arm away. He would have to get them to the healers before trying again. He turned back to the guards. “What do we know happened?”

“By our counts, about ten ships were out hauling in slaughterfish when raiders set upon them. They were the only two to make it back, their boat was scorched, and they’re too shocked to be coherent.”

Therys nodded, and a thought came to him. Walking down the longest pier, he stood and cast a Nigh-Eye on himself to see into the coming darkness. He saw the coming sails and prows of strange ships, small but nimble in the ocean. The sails were marked with strange glyphs that he didn’t understand.

Behind him, at the center of town, a number of the mushroom buildings suddenly exploded as an intensely powerful stream of fire and lightning shot down from the sky. Therys briefly saw a winged lizard’s outline in the sky, before noticing that the stream of fire had stopped, and now came streaming down at the docks. Therys ran towards his men, the blast nearly taking out the dock beneath his feet and scorching his left arm. The flames were reduced by the Dunmer resilience, but the residual fire and the electrical energy did major damage, blistering and scorching it from his elbow down. Fighting back the pain, he made it to his men, and through up a lightning shield as another blast nearly killed them all. Unfortunately, the effort drained most of his mana, as well as his fatigue. “Grab a hold of me, all of you!” he shouted. When all had at least a hand on him or a fistful of robes grabbed in his hands, he summoned his last reserves and repeated the teleportation spell, this time Recalling to the family marker at Tel Vos.

Therys and his men appeared in the main courtyard, where Therys promptly fell to the gorund, the agony of the wound finally reaching him, dulled only by the exhaustion of the effort. One of the guards rushed up and helped Therys to his feet, throwing the good arm over his shoulders and then carrying the exhausted wizard up through the air to the chambers of Archmagister Aryon. When they were past the threshold, Therys was placed into a large chair, as another guard inside went to fetch the leader of the wizarding house. Aryon appeared in seconds, and flew to a desk, drawing out bottles of liquids before taking them to his son, and one by one pouring them down his son’s throat. The last was a salve that Aryon spread over his son’s burnt arm, motioning or bandages to be brought. “Therys,” said the wizard-lord, “Therys, stay with me. Tell me what happened.”

“Port Telvannis. Raider ships, attacked the fishing fleet, so I looked to see them. I saw a few, and then the town erupted. Fire, lightning, brilliant lights. I saw a flying lizard. Odd. Funny, too, kind of like the glyphs on the sails of the ships. Sailors said to warn others, never got the chance.” Therys blinked, the restorative draughts working to help him order his thoughts.

“The glyphs, describe them,” said the father, having received the bandages and now wrapping his son’s arm.

“Odd. I remember them, paper would work…” Therys nearly nodded off, but his father held his head up to keep him awake.

“Bring me paper and ink,” snapped the elder Aryon to his servants, and one brought the parchment and ink bottle. Aryon placed them in front of his son, who ignored the quill and simply dipped his finger in the ink, drawing the three glyphs in broad, thick strokes. The healer showed up at the door, and displaced Aryon as the wizard-lord grabbed the paper with dread recognition spreading across his face. “Grels, fetch the stones box.”

When the box arrived, Aryon opened it, grabbed up one of the humming stones, and pressed it to the mirror over the desk. The mirror fogged over, and then cleared away, revealing a room molded in some odd mix of tiles and woodworked architecture. A Breton servant came to stand before the mirror.

“Who calls upon my master, and what business can you have?” he asked in clipped tones.

“Tell Demnevanni that Aryon wishes to speak with him.”

“And why should I wake him?” asked the man.

“Because if you don’t, he will kill you when I tell him of this,” said Aryon. The Breton put on a look of affronted dignity, and marched off. In another moment, Baladas Demnevanni was rushing into the view of the mirror, out of breath and dressed only in nightly leg-wear. “Aryon, what has happened?” asked the other wizard, still somewhat sleepy from his waking.

“This.” Aryon held up the paper to show Demnevanni the glyphs Therys had drawn. “Therys just teleported into Tel Vos, badly burned with half a dozen Telvanni retainers. They were at Port Telvannis when it was hit by massive blasts of fire and lightning. To make matters worse, raiding ships bearing these sigils on their sails were seen not far from the town. We knew this day would come. Are our plans still in place?”

A look of serious worry swept across Demnevanni’s face. “Aye, they’re still in effect. The Grand Council meets tomorrow, thanks to the Dres, and I will be able to speak. I’ll go see Helseth now. How is your son?”

“He had the good sense to shield himself and come straight here. I’ve given him some of my best healing drafts, and my healer is tending to the arm. He’ll need rest, but I’ll need to teleport him to your household in a few hours.”

“Very well, I’ll have a healer on hand. Aryon, if this is real, and we survive it, I’m coming back to Vvardenfell.”

“Agreed,” said the Archmagister. The mirror clouded over again, reverting to its normal status. Aryon turned to his son, who was watching him with a look of subdued curiousity.

“What was that about?” asked Therys.

“Something started fifty years ago. Tosh Raka, dragon-emperor of the Ka Po’ Tun, has launched the second Akiviri invasion of Tamriel. Rest now, I’ll need to send you to Mournhold shortly, since you must address the Grand Council tomorrow. May Boethiah and Mephala be with us now.”