The Great War, The Mede Empire, The Aldmeri Dominion, and the White Gold Concordant Options

[Destri Melarg]

To the reader

The Elder Scrolls have called me back with a story that I feel needs to be told. This time we shift our attention to the Fourth Era, and the events leading to the signing of the White Gold Concordant. Those of you who have played Skyrim will find a number of familiar figures herein. Those of you who haven’t played the game will get the chance to meet characters in their youth, a full quarter century before you encounter them in your own Skyrim adventure. As always I have tried to remain faithful to the lore and, as always, I am open to hearing any interpretation of the lore that contradicts my own.

That said, I have once again allowed myself two liberties:

- Tamriel is a much larger place than the game world. A day’s journey in game takes a week (weather and terrain permitting) in the story.

- Cities are larger and far more populated than they are in the games.

Now. Onward.

FOREWORD

4E 171

The main force of the army of the Aldmeri Dominion, more than fifty thousand strong, camps outside the village of Rimmen in the northeast corner of Elsweyr while making preparations for their invasion of Cyrodiil.

Under the command of Lord General Naarifin, they are a veteran force of elves who have spent decades training for the coming war. All read, write, and speak a common language. They stand uniform in culture, customs, and faith. Belief in the chain of command is unquestioned, for they have never lost an engagement on the field. Discipline and valor have been tested and tempered reuniting a fractured Dominion, before the march through Elsweyr’s No-Quin-al desert hardened them even further. They do not chafe at the fact that their mission is to simply harass the Empire. Instead they have chosen to embrace the opportunity to test themselves against the fading power of the age.

To the west a second force of nearly thirty thousand lands at the harbor of Falinesti in Valenwood. While smaller than the main army, Lady General Arannelya’s force has the support of an armada numbering more than two hundred ships. All are committed to the conquest of southern Hammerfell. Like their brethren, these mer have never known defeat. They are well provisioned and well equipped and they are all zealots to the cause.

These arrivals take place beyond the knowledge of the Empire, which is little more than a shadow of its former self. Emperor Titus Mede II wears the name of his more famous, and most believe more capable, forebear. He is untested in the three years that he has sat upon the Ruby Throne. His inheritance consists of a treasury depleted due to the destruction of Morrowind and the secessions of Black Marsh, Elsweyr, and Valenwood. Imperial forces are scattered and in disarray, with entire armies deployed in Skyrim, High Rock, and Hammerfell. They are poorly equipped for the most part. Many soldiers have taken to providing their own weapons and armor, which are then painted to match the Imperial standard. Only a token force, led by the Fourth Legion under the provisional command of Legate Tullius, now guards the Imperial City.

The Blades no longer have the honor of protecting the Emperor. Their role has been increasingly marginalized since the Oblivion Crisis marked the end of the Septim Dynasty. They have retreated to strongholds scattered throughout Tamriel where they busy themselves filing intelligence reports on the Thalmor that are never read, even as they train for some further purpose only hinted at in their archives. Of late their intelligence sources within the Dominion have grown silent, prompting the Grandmaster to issue a mass recall of agents serving in enemy territory.

It is the thirteenth day of Frostfall.

PROLOGUE

In Bravil, at an inn called Silverhome-on-the-Water, two Altmer sat in quiet discussion. Gilgondorin faced the desk and the kitchen, presumably to be in a better position to berate the staff at the slightest provocation. Lathenil faced the front entrance, because that is what his particular brand of paranoia required.

“... the state of this place,” Gilgondorin was saying. “Here it is, nigh unto the tenth bell, and we’ve served exactly six plates. Six! It’s already Frostfall...”

“Maybe people are still at the guild for Witches Festival,” said Lathenil.

“... how am I supposed to keep the doors open through Evening Star if I have to pay to keep them open now?”

“I’ll order something to eat,” said Lathenil.

Gilgondorin stood and looked at the desk as if he could somehow will customers to it through sheer distemper. But Lathenil could see something behind the ill-humor... fear perhaps?

“I simply wasn’t hungry before.”

Gilgondorin gave him a sidelong glance before turning his attention back to the desk. “Your salad won’t warm the hearth through Saturalia. Besides, I never looked upon you as a customer...”

“That didn’t stop you from charging me.”

“Damn right it didn’t! Silverhome’s a business, eat for free at your own place.”

“And miss your engaging company?”

That one hit the mark. Gilgondorin smiled and returned to his seat. “Apologies, my friend. You see what this place is doing to me?”

“How long have you been here?”

Gilgondorin thought for a moment. “A few centuries, give or take. Why do you ask?”

“With respect,” said Lathenil, holding up his hands. “I humbly submit that sometimes it’s not just the place.”

The great bell sounded from the Temple of Mara, apprising all with ears the lateness of the hour. The tolling caused a lull in their conversation, which only accentuated the absence of patrons availing themselves of the pantry provisions. Gilgondorin nodded his resignation. The scowl left his face, replaced by the empty smile he reserved for his guests. Lathenil began to wonder if there was anything genuine about his friend.

“I’ve been monopolizing conversation,” said Gilgondorin. “Again, apologies. Please, tell me your news.”

Lathenil straightened and paused until after the tenth and final chime before he chose to speak. “Thank you. I would think that I could have gotten your attention earlier, inasmuch as my news could have a bearing on your financial woes.”

Now it was Gilgondorin’s turn to straighten. The smile turned authentic and broadened. “Do tell.”

“It seems a shame to subject a friend to such tirades when that friend’s next comment could hold the key to salvation.”

“It does, doesn’t it,” said Gilgondorin.

“It’s finished,” said Lathenil.

“What’s finished?” Lathenil’s silence made Gilgondorin pause. He bent his head to see if the answer was somehow printed on the table. Realization hit, and his head came up. “The book?”

Lathenil nodded.

“That’s incredible! Well done, my friend. Do you have a publisher lined up yet? I have a friend in the Imperial City...”

“I’ve made arrangements.”

“Oh.” Gilgondorin grew silent, then: “What was the title?”

Lathenil laughed. “I knew it.”

“Knew what?”

“You are not the actor you think you are. Just admit that you have no idea what I’m talking about.”

Gilgondorin shook his head. “You finished your book.”

“No,” said Lathenil. “I finished my series.”

“Oh,” said Gilgondorin. “I seem to be doing an inordinant amount of apologizing to you today, old friend. I truly am sorry, but you have no idea how many acquaintances of mine have a book under quill. I never see any of them.” He went back to staring at the desk. “However, I fail to see how your news is my salvation.”

“I was thinking of investing the proceeds. In an inn, perhaps.”

“Perhaps.”

Lathenil smiled. “I would be the most silent of partners, and my small percentage would barely be missed amidst all the new revenue.”

“Your percentage?” Gilgondorin’s gaze came off the desk.

“My small percentage. No more than fifteen percent.”

“Five.”

“For filling your purse? I’ll knock it down to ten to meet you halfway, but don’t mistake me for a fool, Gilgondorin.”

“I meant no offence, Lathenil. You propose to provide new revenue, which comes with many new problems and decisions which need to be made. While the weight and risk of these decisions are left with me, you propose to stand silently behind me with your hand in my purse. I cannot go above seven percent.”

Lathenil shook his head. “A hand in our purse, you mean. You’ve just spent the entire night lamenting the lack of paying customers. I propose to end that and you cannot help but try to cheat me? Eight percent will allow us to still call each other friend a year from now.”

“Fine, if your investment is ample I will go to eight percent. And I am the fool, signing over a percentage of my business for the non-existent royalties of a book... books, that I have yet to see. When can I read them? And what are they about? You didn’t do something on the dragon break, I hope.”

“I wrote of a wound that has festered for two hundred years,” said Lathenil.

Gilgondorin lowered his head. “Save the metaphors for the page. I always knew there would come a day when your obsession unmade you.”

“Pardon?”

Gilgondorin’s voice faded to a whisper, barely audible even with the absence of customers in Silverhome. “You wrote of the Thalmor!”

“I wrote the truth,” said Lathenil.

“Yes... about the Thalmor! You wish to print treason and then mass produce it... as a series! The Thalmor exert a long reach, and we have both known mer who were black-hooded for less... or have you forgotten Rynandor?”

“Have I forgotten? You have grown fat and prosperous as an innkeeper while there are those of us who must live in hiding! ‘Silence is acquiescence’... do you remember that, Gilgondorin? You were sitting right next to me when Rynandor said it! Look at how the Thalmor have grown because good mer like you feign indifference.”

“First of all,” said Gilgondorin, “I am not that good a mer. Secondly I had Silverhome before anyone knew who the Thalmor were, and I truly am indifferent to events taking place an ocean away when there are bills right in front of me. And third, Rynandor was a fool... now he is a dead fool. The existence of Thalmor supremacy is far more important than the factors which led to it. That is a lesson you should have learned during the Night of Green Fire. I would hate to lose a friend because he chooses to be the lone mouse in the field when the bats are hunting.”

“But the Isles...”

“Are gone!” Gilgondorin stood. “Have you seen the maps? It is Alinor now, and the Thalmor rule Alinor.”

“You would have me forget home!”

All pretense of quiet conversation had been lost. The two mer were now yelling at each other. Luckily, there were scant few witnesses to take notice.

Gilgondorin slammed the table. “I would have you remember that, at one time, honorable mer sat in quiet inns like this one and conspired to stop the advance of Tiber Septim’s Empire. Where are those mer now? History only remembers the winners. Victory makes their cause righteous. I would prefer that you not become another forgotten mer in an inn. Particularly not this one!”

“The coming war will find it’s way here whether we call for it or not,” said Lathenil. “Or is it your supposition that, after annexing both Valenwood and Elsweyr, the Dominion would not choose to flex into Cyrodiil and beyond?”

“In the event that such a thing comes to pass perhaps they will choose to rest themselves at Silverhome.” Gilgondorin returned to his seat.

“I am serious!”

“As am I. You are in the ‘running an inn’ business now... or you will be when this new revenue you speak of seals our deal. You are no longer in the ‘kick the Thalmor out of the isles’ business. Their gold is the same as the Imperial’s.”

“But...”

“Would you turn away a fat purse because its owner worships the daedra? What about the Bosmer? Those fetchers literally eat each other! In this business you will find yourself serving soldiers and priests at one table and thieves and assassins at another. We don’t play favorites, and we don’t dabble in politics.”

Now it was Lathenil’s turn to stand. “Lathenil of Sunhold does not dabble! I thought you were a mer of worth, Gilgondorin. The Thalmor represent the threat of our age. I will meet that threat standing, not bent in supplication for the sake of my purse.” He started toward the door. “Good morrow to you!”

Gilgondorin grabbed his arm. “Please, don’t leave!”

Lathenil hesitated.

“Perhaps I spoke too hastily,” said Gilgondorin, recovering himself. “I have not forgotten the Isles, and I do care about the threat the Thalmor pose. But I am just a poor innkeeper, and little match for the might of the enemy.”

Lathenil grabbed his friend’s arm. “We all have a part to play and weapons to bring to bear! If Silverhome be yours perhaps we could use the place to convene meetings of those with goals aligned to ours.”

“And become yet another footnote of forgotten history?” asked Gilgondorin.

“Or perhaps we’ll be the epicenter of the rebellion that ended the Thalmor,” offered Lathenil.

“I regret all the times I dismissed your passions, my friend. I truly want to read your books. Why don’t you bring the manuscripts here? I can keep them in the safe. We both know that the Thalmor have eyes everywhere. If your treatise is half as eloquent as your arguments to me, the Thalmor will certainly seek them out to stop their publication.”

“Such a thing is not without risk, Gilgondorin. How much will your resolve fail should the lash become involved?”

“For both of our sakes I hope we never find out. But, for the sake of our friendship, I would be willing to chance it.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I would never place a friend in that position. Besides, I’ve already made arrangements. The manuscripts are gone. They are now beyond my reach and beyond the Thalmor’s. Whatever their eventual fate, I rest easy knowing that the Thalmor will not stop them from being read. That is why I came in here tonight. It was my intention to spend a quiet evening with you before I rejoin the fray.”

“The fray?” asked Gilgondorin. “You mean resume the hiding! Or is it your intention to meet trained soldiers with naught but a quill in your hand? The Lathenil of my acquaintance is a patriot, not a fool”

“I am a patriot,” said Lathenil, “but I also ran when the daedra felled the Crystal Tower.”

“That was two hundred years ago,” said Gilgondorin.

“Yes, and the only constant has been shame. I would sooner die tomorrow than live another two hundred years knowing that I ran a second time when my country needed me to stand and fight.”

Lathenil began to walk toward the door.

“Wait,” said Gilgondorin. “We should at least have a farewell drink together.”

“We have,” said Lathenil. “Don’t worry, my friend. I told you that I would be a silent partner. Everything is already in hand. You will receive my investment in Silverhome once the books are published. Instructions on the disbursement of my percentage will be given at that time.”

The opening door allowed a gust of Frostfall to come unbidden into Silverhome-on-the-Water. Lathenil passed into the night and closed the door behind him. Silence descended, Gilgondorin could not will himself to move.

“Unfortunate.”

Gilgondorin began to shake. “I did as you asked! You heard him, he doesn’t have the manuscripts!”

A column of air behind the desk began to shimmer before slowly coalescing into the slender form of a Thalmor Inquisitor.

“He would hardly tell you otherwise.”

She was tall, even by Altmeri standards. Her platinum hair stood back from a point in the center of her forehead. Below that point emerald eyes narrowed at Gilgondorin.

“Please, Lady Elenwen! Lathenil trusts me! He would have brought the manuscripts to me if he had them!”

She regarded him down the length of her nose and over a perpetually upturned chin. “Lathenil has spent two hundred years in exile. Such a thing does not leave one predisposed to trust. Besides, he would hardly choose to place his confidence in one such as you.”

“No Milady.” Gligondorin bowed in his chair.

“I suppose it matters not,” she said, moving past him toward the door. She left the scent of dragon’s tongue in her wake. “We will simply ask him when we pick him up at the gate.”

“Yes Milady.” Gilgondorin kept his eyes low.

She opened the door and the wind snapped against her long leather coat. The sound was akin to bat wings, and Gilgondorin reflexively huddled into a tighter ball.

“Your resolve would not have lasted against the lash,” she said. “Still, I see no reason why this inn should not remain in business during the occupation... provided you continue to show the necessary appreciation.”

She may as well have been speaking Gilgondorin’s mother tongue. He was calculating even as he looked up. “How much appreciation is necessary?”

Her coat and hair continued to flap in the wind. The scent of dragon’s tongue was almost unbearable. “The Aldmeri Dominion would be willing to honor the deal you made with Lathenil. You will receive an eight percent share. That will allow us to still call each other friend a year from now.”

This post has been edited by Destri Melarg: Oct 3 2014, 10:16 PM

[Destri Melarg]

mALX - Oracle. Mother. Wife. Mentor. Friend. Writer. Scamp. Squirrel. You came back to us. I have missed you... so much. Words. Just... fail.

COL. - Thanks. it's good to be back. And I am back. For real this time! the nit has been fixed.

ghastley - I cheated a little bit with Lathenil. The lore doesn't specifically say when he died, so I was able to shoehorn him into the prologue of this story. I do see him as being in Sentinel for the Night of Green Fire, and for the reasons you stated… in a way. Remember that Lathenil sees himself as something of a mover and shaker. He couldn't have produced Rising Threat without an ascendant ego. An ego like that would have been wounded by the, well, inattention of the Empire to his warnings. But, on top of that, I think that there is a part of Lathenil that still believes that Ocato's assassination was actually meant for him… or it was meant as a message to him. Leaving at that point for the one place in Tamriel (Hammefell) where one could feel free to speak out against the Thalmor made sense.

Elenwen figures prominently in this story. I just love her character!

SubRosa

I have a couple observations, and they just that, observations and thoughts. It is of course your story, and the only right way to write it is how you think it should be written.

You know how much I love your observations, 'Rosa. I'm a better writer because of them. Please, by all means, let me have 'em!

One observation I have is related to the use of terms like Lady and Lord. The game throws them around for all the high ranking Thalmor I believe. But if I recall, didn't the Thalmor seize power after murdering all of the monarchs in Summerset Alinor? That suggests to me not simply a rebellion, where the title changes hands, but a revolution, where the old form of government is swept aside for something different, such as the French Revolution. Aristocratic titles would seem to be death sentence under such circumstances.

Granted, the French Revolution eventually turned on itself, and ended up with an Emperor ruling France. But it took decades of chaos and a military genius to pull that out of the mess Robespierre left behind. We have never seen any mention of a similar Napoleonic figure in Alinoric history. Which is not saying that one might not have existed of course.

I think the thing to ponder is just what is the political structure of the Thalmor? Bethesda cannot seem to grasp that any form of government other than a hereditary monarchy can exist. But that is not to say that you cannot do them better. A direct democracy such as that from Athens seems unlikely. Perhaps they are a republic? Ancient Rome provides one of our best examples of such, but it too was based upon an aristocratic society ruling over plebians, and only centuries of social struggle gained the plebs the power of the tribune. Sparta provides a really interesting example of a government spread out among many people. So many so that the government itself wound up capable of effecting very little change. Which was entirely the point of course.

Oh, don't get me started on what Bethesda can (or can't) seem to grasp! The French Revolution is an interesting comparison to make. My understanding is that it saw the rise of a new ruling elite, one that called itself 'citizen' rather than Lord or Lady. For the Thalmor's rise to power to be seen as a revolution, as you stated, then we must be able to encompass the Thalmor as an idea. Idea's are at the epicenter of any revolution. The Thalmor idea, at it's essence, is that the elven races are superior to the lesser races and that the Altmer are the elite amongst the elven races. Such an idea is opposed to democracy because it establishes its own hierarchy. Lady and Lord are appropriate for the Thalmor because the supplanting of the ruling class of Alinor was done simply to take its place.

Sparta is a good comparison to make. I find it difficult to believe that a child raised in the agoge would look upon a helot with anything but contempt. Such a child would be capable of understanding the need for the helots (someone has to wash the togas after all), but the suggestion that a helot could be the equal of a soldier would have been laughable… especially when that child was expected to kill a helot in order to graduate the agoge.

The Thalmor seem to be a very energetic organization, brash, making grandiose gestures, and taking tremendous gambles. It seems a little bit of chaos might be the right ingredient in such group. So that a daring person might rise high through its ranks. As opposed to the old aristocracies, where ones abilities meant nothing, and one's birth everything. If that is the case, one could see how the Thalmor would quickly gain popularity among the disaffected middle and lower class Altmer, continually living in the shadow of those born to nobility, not to mention other races. Perhaps they are a magocracy, where distinguishing oneself by magical power also conveyed position in the political party? Perhaps it is a Genicracy, where one has to distinguish themselves through invention and creation to rise in position?

So if that is the case, perhaps we might see Thalmoric titles like Citizen Elenwen, or Controller Naarfi, or Director Lumpy, Secretary Poo poo, Comrade Fiddlesticks, etc…

A meritocracy such as you describe is exactly how I see the Thalmor. The chaos that you speak of came through the advent of the Oblivion Crisis. The early Thalmor (a few of whom we will meet in this story) were the daring people who took advantage of the situation to maneuver themselves to power. However, they are still Altmer. They still see themselves as, fundamentally, a race born to rule. That makes any non-Altmer beneath them, and any Altmer that doesn't share their beliefs is not fit to call himself such. Their titles are Lord General Naarifin, Lady General Arranelya, Lord Curate So-and-So, and so on.

A separate observation I have is that you made a point of pointing out the elite nature of the Thalmor's army. But if we look at the very sparse lore the game provides, mainly Rising Threat and that one book by the Empire on the Great War, one thing that becomes very clear is that the Thalmor has never won a war through overt military power. The Red Mountain erupting was just a happy event for them, and their whispering in the ears of the Argonians what led the scaled ones to sack Morrowind afterward and break it out of the Empire. Likewise, it was a grand display of legerdemain, or an even grander bluff, that brought the Khajiit into the Dominion.

Finally, they did not so much invade Valenwood as they supported a Thalmor-friendly coup there. One night the country belonged to the Empire, and the next morning it belonged to Alinor. There was fighting there, but I believe it was Lathenil himself who noted that it was not a big army conducting a grand campaign. Rather a small force of elves moved from one scattered Imperial garrison to the next and defeated them in detail. My impression is that they were actually outnumbered by the Imperials overall, but since the Imperials were divided, they were able to concentrate upon one Imp group a time and bring superior power to bear at that particular point. Sort of like Jackson in the Valley. Now that does indeed bring real battlefield experience to some of the army, and instill a sense of elan within them. But 80,000 soldiers seems a bit high for the members of the Valenwood expedition.

I'm not sure I made a point of making them elite as much as I made a point of making them the same. They have spent decades training (mind you, training) for the war to come. They have never lost, so they feel themselves invincible. Even the ones who didn't actively participate in Valenwood take heart from the knowledge that those battles were won through Thalmor (and, by extension, Altmer) superiority. Your only understanding of them in this story beyond the forward comes from two thoroughly intimidated mer in Bravil. Remember, this was just the forward and the prologue. Many things will belie first impression in this story. What did Mike Tyson say? "Everyone has a plan until they're hit in the mouth." Be warned.

When you look at it, the Thalmor have never really been all that notable as a military force. Their victories have all been through diplomacy and subterfuge. The one and only time they gave that up in favor of direct force wound up being an absolute disaster for them, with their army being utterly annihilated. You might even have a Thalmor character (Elenwen perhaps?) warning the others that straying from a 200 year old pattern of success through deviousness is folly? If you really want to be a dastard, perhaps Elenwen and Naarifin are political enemies? She might whisper some state secrets into Titus Mede's ear at just the right point, to insure Naarfy's destruction? That would certainly reinforce the ruthlessness and deviousness of inter-Thalmor politics. Then after Mede destroyes Naarfi, she kidnaps the real Titus Mede and replaces him with a double under her control? That way she has destroyed the Thalmor's army, but replaced it with the Imperial Legion.

Another thing to consider as a writer, as that you have built up the Thalmor army to a very high pinnacle in the reader's mind, while at the same time presented the Imperials as a rather motley crew. Given how we know the war turned out, it might be more believable if you instead presented the Thalmor's military as pretty on the parade ground, but except for a small core of veterans, lacking in experience. Especially in commanders. These guys do lose in a most spectacular fashion after all. You might also point out that while the Empire's army might not be uniformly equipped or drilled, that man for man they are as tough as any elf. The Vikings were a motley collection as well. But they were very successful at fighting because they had a social system which emphasized it. They did it a lot. So they got good at it. The Nords at least seem the same, and there might still be some backbone left in some of the Cryodiilics as well.

I can't really say anything here without giving away details that I would just as soon hold onto right now. Suffice it to say that, just like in Interregnum, you have hit certain things on the head. I can't wait for you to read more!

Something else that struck me is that it seemed like there were no Khajiit in the Thalmor army? You said elves. But given that elves have what, one baby every few centuries, while cats have litters every year, wouldn't the vast majority of the army be Khajiit? Let's also not forget the Imga as well. Given their 'aping' of Altmer culture, certainly they would be in on the fighting as well? I could easily imagine an Altmer army being much like a Carthaginian one: almost all members of other cultures, such as Celts, Spainards, Africans, mixed Liby-Phoenicians, and so on, led by Carthaginian officers. A Thalmor army might be the same, with perhaps possessing a small elite core of elves like the Sacred Band of Thebes or Alexander's Companions. In this case maybe a cadre of Bosmer archers and Altmer spellcasters. While the heavy lifting is done by the other 'lesser' beings like Khajiit, Imga, and human mercenaries. (and I am sure there would be plenty of those, just as plenty of Greek mercenaries fought for Darius against Alexander, and plenty of Greeks fought for Xerxes when he invaded Greece).

Fifty thousand mer marched across the No-Quin-al. They form the main force of the army but that doesn't mean that they form the whole of the army. Stay tuned.

Of course we also have to remember that the Great War happens a little under 200 years since the Oblivion Crisis. That is a long time for humans, but not much in the lifepan of an Altmer. How often do they have babies? I imagine that they might have only one child every 200 years. Maybe one every hundred. Of course that is just imaginings. I do not believe I have ever seen anything definitive on the breeding quantities of elves. Just supposition based upon their long lifespans being balanced out by a low birth rate, which tends to be the case with RL lifeforms.

Where I am going with that is that if elves indeed breed slower than humans, then it has probably been only one, perhaps two generations since the Crystal-Like-Law was destroyed by the daedra. I believe the population of Summerset was decimated by the invading daedra. So it seems unlikely that they have had time to recover from their loss of population. That in turn would also suggest that other races in the Dominion might outnumber the elves, especially at the very bottom of the pyramid.

I thought about this too. I think I have found a particularly elegant solution to this conundrum. Wait and see...

nits:
Just admit that you have no idea what i’m talking about.”
Your sneaky Altmer i escaped capitalization here.

you propose to stand silently behind me with you{r} hand in my purse.
And an r escaped here.

Both escapees accounted for. Thanks for catching them.

SubRosa has some good points: the Thalmor's big successes were getting someone else to do their work for them. The Argonians invading Morrowind. The coup in Valenwood, and the assassination of the Mane destabilizing Elsweyr. They'll be trying to do the same later in Skyrim with a civil war they'd like to stay undecided.

Elenwen's just shown her preference for magic. It looks like Naarifin believes in brute force methods, moving large armies around. Maybe a inter-forces rivalry here?

Maybe. Who knows?