One of the many knights attending the sermon, clad in his gleaming silver plate and a violet cloak thrown over an armoured pauldron raised his fist in salute and began to stride towards the prophet. With a simple shouted affirmation, a path appeared in the crowd as they parted to allow him free movement, and without the slightest hesitation he marched through the press.

  To the official members of the church, they could only stare aghast at the sight of the Knight, as he was soon joined by several more who punched their fists or weapons into the sky and joined the crusade. It was not an official crusade, but like a rolling boulder down the side of a mountain now that it had gained momentum there was no stopping it.

  Viconia and I stood in silence, watching as the first knight made a show of kneeling to the Prophet, offering him his sword in his gauntleted hands as several others clambered up to join him. One after another, Knights, soldiers, mercenaries and other faithful rose to the challenge. Soldiers and citizens alike; a multitude of the faithful took up the cry of "I WILL!" and walked through the press as the rest of the crowd broke out in cheers and applause.

  With every individual who declared themselves part of the growing crusade, I began to feel dozens of expectant eyes falling on Viconia and myself. It began as one or two of those closest to us glanced in our direction to see whether we would be the next to step forward. As more and more assembled in front of the crowd, the looks we were receiving began to change from expectation to almost outright hostility. When the nearest knight in his poor quality armour hefted his broadsword in the air and pledged it to the Crusade, the look that he spared us did not go unnoticed. I caught snatches of shared whispers from onlookers wondering why heroes such as ourselves didn't pledge their services to the growing numbers of holy warriors, but neither Viconia or myself outwardly paid them any attention.

  As the last of the Knights, a handful of sell-swords, adventurers, mercenaries and even a few of the common folk joined the Crusade, the crowd's cheers rose in pitch until the ground shook with the noise. There was at least thirty men and women who had pledged themselves in service of the Divines, and the entire city was filled with the cries of adulation with their sworn oaths. In that moment and by doing something that appeared to be so simple an act, those few had forsaken their own lives in pursuit of something that was far greater than themselves.

  The Prophet silenced the crowd with a single wave of his hands, drawing attention to himself once more as he ritually blessed each and every one of the newly sworn crusaders. Even despite his whispered prayers of protection and guidance being far to muted for anyone to hear, the meaning and intent behind the words was plain to all. There were still disquieted glances to Viconia and myself for not pledging our own swords to the cause and we remained as still as statues, impassively watching the scene unfolding before us.

  With the Divines' blessings imparted upon the faithful the Prophet turned to the crowd once more, his words flowing as easily as before. He spoke of a journey of hardships that each of them would have to face. Only clad in the holy armour, and wielding the mace and sword of Pelinal Whitestrake could the new Divine Crusader hope to defeat this ancient and terrible evil. The freshly sworn crusaders would embark themselves upon a quest that was as spiritual as it was physical. They would take up the challenge that had been assailing holy orders of Knights for centuries and with their faith and the blessings of the Nine Divines, they would recover the armour and weapons of Pelinal Whitestrake. With the holy relics in the hands of the just once more, the reincarnation of Pelinal would be revealed to lead the righteous to victory.

  It was an incredible spectacle, but not one that fully gripped me as tightly as many within the crowd. The relics had been lost for centuries. Some for thousands of years. Such a quest was an impossibility and while it was impossible I understood what the true effects of his proclamation would have. With such a simple act; one that seemed to be giving the official priests witnessing it heart palpitations, the Prophet had managed to instil hope and dreams of glory for Cyrodiil. In such dark days where daedra were ravaging the land and the very temples and houses of worship were under direct attack, he had managed to ignite a spark that could burn away the darkness. The word of this crusade would soon spread throughout the Empire and there would be others who would journey to be a part of it. At the merest sight of one of these crusaders travelling abroad, the citizens of the Empire would feel safe and part of something much larger than themselves.

  The sermon finished shortly afterwards, with the Prophet granting the blessing of the Nine to all those present. Slowly the crowd began to shuffle and disperse back through the city. Most slowly moved back to their normal daily routines without the slightest hint of disturbance, but there were some who remained behind for a personal benediction or to place themselves close to the members of the newly formed crusade. From my limited knowledge I knew that no knightly order or the Church had declared a crusade for over a hundred years, and certainly not for as grand of a cause as retrieving the Relics of Pelinal Whitestrake. The fact that it had been called by a nobody, some random orator not directly affiliated with the Church didn't change the fact that it was now a legitimate crusade.

  Empires and kingdoms had been toppled by less.

  "We need to meet him." Viconia's voice was cold and dark and she was stating a simple fact. The way he had spoken a language that she had recognised had ensured that there would be no option but to follow, and her current mood wouldn't allow any alternative actions.

  Moving towards the platform I saw how most of the Crusaders had already left or were in the process of doing so. Their oaths had been made and many of the more experienced of the warriors had already gone to stock up on supplies or to prepare themselves for their quest. Many had travelled this far with nothing more than faith and the desire to do some good in the name of the Nine but now that they had a specific goal in mind they threw themselves into it with a worrying zeal. A few others, mostly the handful of adventurers and common folk who had been caught up in the heat of the moment milled around nervously, unsure of what they were meant to do or how to do it. Many of them would soon attach themselves to one or more of the travelling Knights as temporary squires or Men-at-Arms, but for the moment they had the look of startled deer etched into their features.

  Moving into the alleys behind the platform on the far side of the courtyard to the Cathedral, we followed the trail of faithful, pilgrims and the collection of priests and acolytes milling about like a flock of nervous geese. The Prophet had shaken up their routine and lives in a way that they had never had dreamed of and now that the crusade to recover the relics had been called they had no choice but to support it. It did not stop them from voicing their outrage and uncertainty directly to the man responsible for their sudden weight of responsibilities that had been abruptly dumped onto them. As we moved into one of the many public gardens within the city, we found the Prophet surrounded by a small group of senior priests and clergymen, their robes showing that they were some of the ranking bishops of the Nine within Cyrodiil.

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  "-don't care your reasons, you are not an ordained member of the church and have no authority or right to call upon the retrieval of the Relics of the Eight!"

  "Well, it certainly appears as though such esteemed individuals such as yourselves were not stepping up to the mark and shouldering the burden. What would you have done instead hmm? Sit around waiting for the end of the world or wait for the Eight and One themselves to appear before you to tell you to get up off your arses?"

  "How dare you! You are not so disconnected from the Church not to be excommunicated you bast-"

  One of the bishops caught our movement out of the corner of the eye as the small crowd lurking at the edge of the public garden parted for us. His first glance at us was short and quick but a tremor of recognition caused him to look back and watch as Viconia continued to stride in their direction with me following in her wake. Between the cold expression on her face and the coal black breastplates were wearing with their silver vine etching we were both intimidating even without the recognition that our armour and appearances afforded us.

  "We interrupting anything?" Viconia said, somehow conveying threat and the fact that she obviously didn't care whether she was anyway.

  The small group of priests shared a glance and one shook his head after a moment of considering whether it was worth crossing the dark elf burning holes into him with her gaze. "No. Not anymore at least."

  "Good. I have business with this man."

  Another glance was shared between the group and there was almost a mutual sigh from them. "Very well." The priest who had spoke to Viconia turned and pointed at the prophet with such aggressiveness that his orange tinged ropes snapped about his arms. "Don't think of going anywhere Saccicius. You are going to help us in cleaning up your mess."

  "If the Eight and One see fit." The Prophet replied, not quite hiding the smile from his face as the collection of priests and their acolytes shuffled their way out of the garden. As they receded from sight amongst the crowd he turned and gave a full smile to Viconia.

  "Oh my, Madame DeVir and Sir Desin... To what do I owe this honour?"

  Viconia stepped closer, her eyes never wavering from the Prophet's and the cold expression on her face deepening. "I have questions of you, questions that need answering."

  "Of course my child. I am but a humble prophet but I will answer whatever I can."

  Her eyes narrowed and the cold expression turned into a grimace. "Lu'oh xun ni epe va xanalress av va Ilythiiri?"

  The old man was taken aback, mouth opening and opening and closing several times and looking utterly confused as he returned he gaze. "Know of the... what? I don't fully understand what you are saying."

  "The Velmer." She snapped, her patience suddenly wearing thin. "How do you speak a language of the Drow?"

  "The Drow? Velmer?" I could almost hear the cogs in his mind turning as he looked between her frustration and appearance before his expression suddenly lightened. "Oh... Oh! I see. I have caused some confusion it seems."

  "Confusion over what?" Stepping closer, I found myself looking down on him as he was hunched over due to his age. Many years before he would have easily been a similar height to myself, but old age had added its weight until his eyes were in line with Viconia's chin.

  "Although I have heard of them, it is not the language of the Drow that I am able to speak, but Ayleidoon."

  "Ayleidoon... The Ayleids?"

  He nodded, the thin white head on his head bouncing slightly by the motion. "Indeed."

  "You can speak their language?" I asked incredulously. "It's supposed to be a dead language."

  "For the most part it is yes, but there are still ancient texts and writings that have survived since the first era. It is one of the languages that Cyrodiilic is derived from and as it shares its linguistic roots with Aldmeris, and in turn Ehlnofex. It can be recreated, if given enough time and effort in any case."

  Staring at the man standing before us, I could feel Viconia's roiling emotions from where she stood just a few short metres away. The implications were more staggering to her than myself that the Velmer may have ties with the Ayleids but I found myself more interested in the Prophet than ancient history. He was old, very old and reminded me of the Emperor before his death. They both were old for the standards of men and the Prophet had seen at least seventy winters if he was a day old. Like the Emperor, he seemed to be gifted with an indescribable energy, a youthfulness that the years could not dim or fade. It was this energy and strength of will that I felt and saw when he looked at me with a pair of eyes as cold and blue as a glacier on the Sea of Ghosts.

  The smile he gave was of a mouth filled with yellowed teeth but there was no hostility to it. Viconia seemed stunned and somehow disappointed and he proved himself to be a very good judge of character when he recognised it. "You seem troubled my dear."

  "It's just..." She paused for a second before physically shaking the thoughts from her mind. "Nevermind. It was just strange to hear words from my people in such a place."

  "Your people are not familiar to me, but unfortunately the Ayleids are. Hence I have found myself here, where the Divines and the souls of the slaughtered cry out for vengeance."

  "Umaril." My words were a hiss and he nodded solemnly.

  "The Unfeathered has returned and like the Prince of Destruction he too threatens the world in these dark days." He paused, wetting his lips with his tongue and gesturing for the both of us to follow, much to the disappointment of those awaiting benediction from him. "I saw you both in the crowd but I also noticed something else in particular."

  "How we didn't join the crusade?" I said, pre-empting his question as we moved deeper into the tiny garden where he made his home. It wasn't anything special, just a single tent's worth of canvass stretched between a pair of trees near the winding path in the greenery and a single travellers bag. Normally leaving such items alone would result in their theft but he had so little to his name that not even the lowliest beggar would have given it more than a glance.

  He simply nodded, looking between us and noting Viconia's expression as she gazed at me.

  "Many have pledged themselves to recover the Relics, but we have already pledged ourselves to another cause."

  For several moments the Prophet looked at me, blinking slowly as he thought over my words. I stood there, feeling the level of nervousness growing as I wondered whether my answer was truthful or whether he could see the seed of doubt planted within my mind.

  "What Legion?"

  The questions startled me, and I twitched as he grinned at my discomfort.

  "Uh, 14th Legion, 8th Casta."

  "Morrowind. That's a dangerous posting." He nodded once before kneeling down over his bag. "And your rank?"

  "Archer-Praefect."

  "Thought so. You don't look like a legionary but you certainly aren't a quill-pusher."

  "You were in the Legion." I replied, making it a statement rather than a question.

  "A long time ago, but yes." For a few moments he rummaged through his bag, shifting through the small amount of personal possessions before retrieving a book with dog-eared pages.

  Raising himself painfully to his feet with swollen, arthritic knees he sighed at the sound of his cracking joints. Carefully, he handed the book to Viconia, who took it from his slightly trembling hands.

  "What is this?" She simply asked.

  "The book that taught me all that I know about the ancient Ayleids, including the portion of their language that I can read and speak. It is of no further use to me, but I think it will be of benefit to you."

  Nodding, Viconia ran a gloved thumb over the pages and took note of the age and wear of an extremely well read book. Her uncertainty was still obvious but she still had the presence of mind to give the tiniest of smiles it polite thanks.

  "Would you mind my dear if an old legionary reminisces with your companion?" The question was put very politely and he had the air of a paternal grandfather about himself for just a few moments. She shrugged, flicking open the book to a random page and scrunching her face in concentration.