Glade shivered in the pre-dawn haze, despite the heavy velvet blanket she had draped over herself. The Elements of Harmony stood around her, as did the three princesses, resplendent in what could pass for formal regalia. Celestia seemed to be under the impression that the idea of the Pine Forest, and indeed Skyrim as a whole, being an untamed wilderness of harsh land and brutal people to be entire outrageous. Regardless of how formal she wanted to be, the Elements and Glade were sure to dress and pack appropriately.

Applejack was wearing fireproofed clothing, a black skin that entirely covered her body, leaving only her neck and head exposed; her hat was stowed in her bag to keep it from being damaged in the field. Rainbow Dash, fresh from her trip to Cloudsdale, was dressed in her padded, cold-weather flightsuit to maximize her aerodynamic properties and maneuverability in the event she had to get away from large, airborne predators. Rarity, in her supreme fashion sense, had created a few sets of camouflaged clothing, both for woodland and snowy environments; using Reman’s stories of Cyrodiil, she even managed to make temperate forest gear that passed his own inspection. Twilight was clad in layers of cloth meant to stop blades, and charms hung around her neck to help channel magicka for her to control; they were Renoir’s idea, a means to keep Mora from meddling with her. Fluttershy was nearly scandalous in what she wore, though it could easily be waved off as her needing something protective due to her poor flying skills; Renoir had refit an old set of his leathers and given them to her, and thought nothing of it when Celestia gave him a questioning look as she first saw the yellow mare in the dark hides.

“Pinkie, where did you get that?” Glade asked as she saw the bubbly pony wearing a nearly complete set of iron armor, shaped much like the simple plate found in Skyrim. The metal had a greenish patina that showed considerable age, but none of the other scars of time or previous battle to accurately date it.

“I don’t know!” she replied jubilantly, jingling her armor as she bounced in enthusiasm. For a moment, the two humans stopped what they were doing to look at her, before thinking better of it and returning their gaze to the portal.

“Hoc, quod perfecte elit,” Reman said in Cyrodiilic, his voice muffled by his bronze mask. He stood as a statue in his Dwemer-forged armor, immovable and indestructible; Glade knew he was a bit nervous beneath his metal skin, and tapped a reassuring hoof against his leg.

“Si sollicitus,” Renoir replied, turning his head a bit to look more alive than first appearances suggested. Fluttershy, in exchange for consuming his only alcohol, had purchased him a new mask the night before. It was in the shape of a wendigo skull, and his dark eye gazed from its sockets like an empty skull. The yellow mare’s reasoning was that he needed something to scare away anyone trying to harm him, but she also seemed to enjoy playing to his love of masks. Originally, the ceramic skull was meant to be a paperweight or an eccentric wall ornament; Fluttershy pulled off the lower jaw and gave the vampire its top half.

“Nam dum iterum ad officium de quo parum pegasus,” Reman grunted back, shifting on his feet. His voice was teasing, and though Glade did not understand most of what he said, she understood the word pegasus just fine. For a moment, she wondered who they meant, but realized there were only three pegasi they both knew. The vampire glared at him from behind his impassive mask, but his mouth remained fixed in a semi-serious frown.

“Nonne indicas princeps?” he asked, his voice hushed even though no one else nearby spoke the language. By now, the guards were looking at them in worry, unsure of their intentions. After a brief pause, the imperial shook his head.

“Non certe Donec ipsum,” he replied, in a tone that said he felt himself too good to stoop to whatever level Renoir had suggested immediately before. However, before they could continue on their unknowable sniping match, Bitter Springs, still clad in his armor, cleared his throat.

“Could you two please stop speaking in code?” he asked, looking at the two men who towered over him. Despite how personable they had been before, their masks made them seem entirely different, almost more alien than they truly were. “Some of the others are a bit unnerved by it.”

They complied with his request, in a matter of speaking. Both masked men now faced the stallion, as impassive as they had been before, but now utterly silent as they stared him down. For a brief moment, Springs considered recanting his statement, but he was a fully realized Lunar Guard, and a stalwart servant of Equestria; these men, no matter how powerful, would not intimidate him. Glade, upset her packmate would behave in such a way, gave him a very forceful nudge to the back of his knee, the only place he wasn’t armored.

“Would the two of you calm down?” Celestia question, rather annoyed with the entire display. She knew it was posturing, maybe even joking psychological warfare, but this was neither the time nor the place. “Honestly, it’s like you’re trying to ruin this mission.” She wasn’t truly upset with the humans; she understood they were nervous, as she was feeling the same thing, though taking it out on her subjects, especially the two junior officers she chose for this escort, was unacceptable.

“I just worry this may not end well,” the lycan said, entirely honest. When he woke that morning, his stomach churned with nausea he had not known in years. Divination was not his forte, but even he knew a few bad signs when he saw them; he growled as he realized his justification was not enough, and dropped his head a bit. His shoulders relaxed as he growled in defeat. “When do we step through?”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Senna Tullius, wife of Antonius Tullius, mother of Julius, Susanne, Reman, Uriel, and Arriana Tullius, was in pain. She was not injured or ill; the pain was merely a side-effect of her craft. Unlike her husband, she was of Nibenay blood, and raised in its basin to her fullest potential as surely as the West Weald’s grapevines. She writhed on the floor in agony as her sensing perceived things that were not there, not real in that moment. The braziers puffed smoke into the room as she fullest lost herself. As her mother had taught her, and her mother before her, and so on for longer than anyone knew, Senna, a fully realized seer of the Niben, dreamed while awake.

There was a pyramid of glass, owned by a powerful sorcerer-king whose crown was twisted together of metal threads that gleamed with their own light, but not above his own aura. He was haughty, arrogant, so sure of himself; but in Senna’s waking dream, she saw what he could not. Through the glass walls, she saw the sea, and the storm looming over the horizon, the storm the king chose not to see. Barbarians, both feral and orderly, were at the door, bearing hopes of vengeance for some past misdeed. The world changed, and suddenly turned red by the churning sea and the death it spat upon Nirn.

Cities of glass burned from within as the warriors charged the orderganized streets. Men, women, and even children fell to their swords and axes as they howled like beasts. At their front, leading the charge, was a wolf as black as a moonless midnight; a jewelled collar was fastened around its throat, clasped with a red diamond that shimmered in the firelight. It led the maelstrom of death and fire and destruction as the armies blazed along the land. A dragon soared overhead, crimson and wearing a cloak of velvet; it screamed as a bear charged along and denied the dragon its right to lead the wolf and its barbarians.

The sorcerer-king fell upon the squabbling titans, his sword and magic felling them in a single blow; the wolf howled like a wounded child and lunged for the sovereign. It dodged the blade, it avoided the smiting magics, and locked its teeth around the king’s throat as they hit the hard stone of the pyramid’s foundation. The dragon and bear rose again, and were renewed in their vigor to slay one another, unable to see the king was the one who harmed them. Senna cried out for them to see, but her words fell short as a deafening roar filled the air.

Two dragons circled overhead; one was blacker than the wolf, and the other was a shining gold. They were children of Akatosh, and beyond the veil of the sky, they battled for the world. It was dazzling, and even the shadows from the burning cities danced in time, fighting their own war in darkness as others fought in the light. The golden dragon fell to the ground, and the wolf was upon it, ignoring the king it could have had in favor of this target. But no, the wolf nudged the dragon up, and guarded it from the king’s men as they speared at the glorious beast.

The black dragon stared down at the wolf, and the wolf slinked into the golden dragon’s shadow. The red dragon and bear and king fought, but the king pushed them to the water of the red-dyed sea. Without the wolf and golden dragon, they could gain no ground.

With a snap, the vision ended. Senna lurched to her feet and stretched her aching muscles. She knew the signs, the black wolf and dragons; war and death were on the horizon. But, she did not know the sorcerer-king nor what he represented; the glass pyramids, too, were a mystery, as were the howling warriors and their thirst for murder. Part of her wanted to dive back into the waking dreams, but she knew well enough that she needed to tell her husband of them.

Knowing it would take a few days to reach Antonius by hawk, she grabbed a quill and a few sheets of paper.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Spring was claiming Skyrim, as Celestia noticed the blooming wildflowers. However, a thin powdering of snow covered their petals, the last signs of winter’s grip. Her breath fogged in the air, and steamed from everypony’s faces as they took positions that afforded them the most protection. “Welcome to Skyrim, princess,” Reman said as he stopped beside her. “We’ll have to travel through the rest of Falkreath Hold, the Rift to reach the road to Bruma. Then it’s a straight shot to the Imperial City.”

“Will this weather let up at all?” the princess asked, gesturing to the frost-laden plantlife around them. A few thin flakes still fell from a slightly overcast sky. The imperial shrugged and lifted his helmet, shaking his hair loose from the cloth that kept it tied back.

“The farther north you go has little bearing on weather; elevation is the real killer this time of year,” he answered, pointing to a far-off mountain. “Even on the warmest days, those peaks are capped with snow. We’ll have to cross two mountain ranges to reach Bruma, then begin the descent to the Heartlands.”

“He means we might get lucky with the weather, and we might not,” Renoir explained, his visible mouth grinning under the ceramic skull. He’d lived in High Rock for all of his life, but travelled enough in his unlife to know how to judge nature’s plans for the sky. By his measure, if they continued due east, they’d hit a mild storm, maybe snow or rain depending on how high up they were. The vampire turned his attention to the portal just as an ornate carriage was rolled through; it was Celestia’s personal transport, and to Renoir, it looked like she had painted a very large target on her back.

“Princess, we may have a problem here,” Glade said, looking the golden carriage up and down for a moment. While the armored vehicle was sturdy enough to withstand most blows, as it was, it would accomplish very little.

“And what is that, Glade?” Celestia asked, leaning over the pegasus. She couldn’t see what the lycan meant, looking at her carriage, but also didn’t know what would be a good idea and what wouldn't in this world. Was it too brightly colored, too tall, to different from others used in Skyrim and Cyrodiil?

“We don’t have anypony to pull it.”

Author's Notes:

Next, we begin the action!