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"Singer speaks the truth.. then.. it must be true.. all of it! we need to go help the orcsimer!" Tireace said when the others words cut into her thoughts. She then stood up and slipped on the mud

J'Dar giggled and put up a hand to Tireace, "We are all united now, with people J'Dar have never seen. He would like to greet you all."

"I for one still find it weird that he's basically saying our mothers cheated on our fathers with a Daedric prince..." Siaenach mumbled.

"Does that make us part Daedra? If yes, what does that mean? And even more importantly: What is the meaning of this? Why is it important? Do we belong to Oblivion?"

Sebastien had watched his companions discover their new gifts with silent amusement. He watched J'Dar help Tireace and couldn't help but feel respect for the Khajiit. He gave him a warm nod.

Then he turned toward Siaenach. "I agree with this one," he said. "What, exactly, does all of...this...mean? Surely we don't just charge into battle now, just having learned all of..." He trailed off, then shook his head. "We'll need to be ready."

"This one?" Siaenach rumbled. "Excuse me! I think I at least deserve a personal pronoun! I may look like a barbarian to you, puny breton, but I assure you, one cannot do anything these days in the art of tactics and the likes without having a minimum of cognitive abilities."

Sebastien sighed, a deep, loud breath through his nostrils. "Very well, madam," he said, sweeping a painfully exaggerated bow. "Let us be properly introduced, then. I am Sebastien Geontene II, of a place of no particular importance, I assure you." He straightened, fixing his grey eyes on the woman. "And you are?"

Siaenach made a wry smile, before muttering something that greatly resembled "snob" under her breath, and standing up again.

"I am Siaenach Whitebriar, of the true rulers of the Reach. Special Diplomatic Operative to the Forsworn, as most outsiders tend to call us. And even without Dagon, I have rather powerful family."

Tireace smiles gratefully at J'Dar "ah thank you kind khajiit, What is your name? mine is Tireace" She said twiddling her fingers silently thanking the gods for making him a gentleman.

Sebastien flashed Siaenach a tight-lipped smile. "Ah, I see that rich and powerful families are plentiful between us here among the chosen. How fortunate we must be."

"Power doesn't mean riches, old man. Power means you have the command to force people to do what you want them to."

The Breton's face cringed upon hearing the words "old man," and he shook his head, tightening his arms across his chest. "May the Divines teach you that the power to force decisions upon man and mer is not the power that you should seek, and will leave you for want when you finally become an old hag," he sternly said to Siaenach.

"I know this is a lot to take in at once," said Singer. "And I'm sorry, but I promise you all your questions will be answered once we get to my base camp." He assured and called to the Gods on behalf of Lilly and Beorn.

"Hail Lilly, daughter of Jyggalag. It appears your godly gift gives you not a power, but a weapon. I'd thank your father for such a powerful blade." A crystal blade materialized in Lilly's hand. She could feel the power pulsating from it.

"Hail Bjorn Ulfgard, son of Peryite. Your Godly gift seems to give you the ability to debilitate your foe with any known disease."

"What didn't you do up in High Rock until the Warp in the West? You warred constantly. But of course, being Breton, I really find it kind of plausbile that you wouldn't have any sympathy for people fighting for freedom from oppression. You and your kin refused the Orsimer a land of their own for millennia, razing their city and driving them away twice. The last time only 200 years ago. We have been fighting for nearly as long now, and we have been chasen out of our rightful place more times than we can count by now! I may not look at myself as breton, but breton is the closest to reachmen, so maybe I'd thought at least you'd unserstand our plight. But I guess one time oppressor, always oppressor."

Siaenach took a deep breath after the rant. "I just don't think the diplomatic channels will work any longer. Not with that skeever's hind Ulfric Stormcloak sitting in Skyrim growing fat!"

"Oh great... Foes will tremble knowing that I can inflict them with rockjoint! Yay!" Said Beorn sarcastically. "So, I take it that it would be mildly difficult to write a letter to my Darling Father asking if he can send some Scamps or something my way."

"Try and learn to appreciate what you already have." Singer suggested. "Anyways, who is ready to head to my camp and prepare to use your godly powers to deend the newly formed Orsinium?"

Meanwhile...

The Blind Warrior-Illusionist successfully smuggled Selara and Malatar out of the Thalmor building. Once they were out, the man turned them back to their original forms. "I know it must be hard, learning you're all that's left of the Ayleids. But if you don't mind, I'd like to take you to a friend of mine. He will know how to help you."

"No." Malatar responded. "I have no reason to trust you...nor does Selara. We should have never exposed ourselves to the Nedes."

"Where is your camp, Singer?" Irri asked.

"In Cyrodiil." The Nord answered. "We can ride there on horses. I have them stabled in the nearest city."

Meanwhile...

"The words of the young and ignorant." The blind man said. "If you leave with me right now, the Thalmor will hunt you down and kill you. I promise it."

"I am neither young or ignorant." Malatar snapped back. "It would be far more ignorant to blindly follow a complete stranger in order to meet his associates."

"Don't worry, you wouldn't be going blindly. I would." He said dryly. "If you won't go with me, then I must ask. Where do you plan to go?"

"Cyrodiil?" Irri repeated. "Well... Which city are the horses stabled at? I don't want to waste any more time."