Ulfric Stormcloak

Ulfric Stormcloak sits around a large circular table with his advisors, each currently discussing the terrible omens of the Blood Moon. As regular wary and superstitious Nords, each had their own ideas as to why so many ominous things had been happening at late.

Ulfric disregarded most of their haphazard opinions, despite the fact he had little to no idea about the situation himself. Most of the people present were letting their emotions and preconceived notions get the better of them, some even believing that the Dunmer presence in Windhelm was the reason for all their troubles... Despite the fact that the Moon Sickness and Blood Moon affected all locations equally.

Fortunately, there were some people he could rely on for sensible opinions. "Galmar," he starts, causing his other advisors to go silent as he speaks, "Ominous tidings side, how goes our attempts at garnering Tahlin's assistance?"

Ulfric's housecarl gives a noncommittal shrug, "No response as of yet. His last response stated that he wished to be uninvolved in this war, but hopefully he should change his mind now that he has... 'People' to look after."

Ulfric lets out a sigh, "Your reluctance to even consider them worthy of respect might be one of the many reasons for his wish to stay out of the war." he turns his attention to the others at the table, "While I understand your reticence towards the elves, these 'Eredar' hold no relation to them."

"Forgive me, Jarl, but for all we know they could be biding their time for another invasion! Our ancestors may have fought off the Rapist and the Destroyer, but Skyrim is in no state to respond to anything on that level! Besides, if their blood is blue then I doubt there's any hope for a true friendship between us Nord's and them." a man with a grey beard states, completely dismissive of any type of alliance between the strange, magically attuned Eredar.

"And that's where you're wrong, Hhalt, my spies painted a pretty clear picture of them. One that isn't so far from our own traditions. While most use magic, it seems that it's mainly the women who utilise it, leaving the men to better themselves partially as any Nord would. They also hold honour in high regard, Jarl Korir despite his shambles of a territory wishes for Stormcloak rule, so if he isn't able to find fault then the Eredar are likely who they purport themselves to be." Ulfric explains. "Having them on our side could make up our severe lack of magical support... Like it or not, magic is and will always be a factor to address."

Most of the men at the table grumble in reluctance at Ulfric's words, despite the fact that they all knew it to be true. While warriors of old might be able to match legendary mages, that time was far behind them. Unless you were like Ulfric and utilised the Thu'um, most mages could beat elite Stormcloak soldiers with little issue.

"Be that as it may, I doubt these, 'Eredar', will be willing to fight a war after supposedly escaping one that doomed most of their people." another man grumbles.

Galmar drinks from his ale, "It's always fightin' with you lot. Can't think outta the box. Those mages don't need to fight to be useful... Unless you think having each of our men using enchanted armour and weaponry would be useless?" he says, shutting the others up as they think it over.

Ulfric would have honestly loved to have the resident Dunmer help in the war effort, especially with their magical know-how, unfortunately, his people's disregard of all those who didn't share their blood was a detriment, despite it building closer bonds between other Nords via their joined hatred of the 'others'

He knew well enough just how powerful magic could be during the Great War, he'd only survived it because of his skills with the Thu'um. If Skyrim had any hope in opposing the Thalmor then they needed to integrate magic into their traditions. He hoped that the Eredar and their similarities with his people would assist that.

While Ulfric was deep in thought, he's addressed by his Court Wizard, Wuunferth the Unliving, who'd received the name first because of how many experiments exploded in his face, and second because he'd managed to live so long despite it all. "My Jarl! My attempts at scrying have gleaned something! Two servants of the Daedra Lords are fighting not far from the city, and one of them seems to have been responsible for all the ruined caravans, this 'Black Bandit'."

Galmar sniffs humorously at the name, "Heh, 'Black Bandit', sounds like something a Redguard prostitute would call herself."

Ulfric shakes his head, "Enough of that, Galmar." he says before looking to Wuunferth, "Can you tell who they belong to?"

The mage nods, "Easily. Their artifacts are far too eyecatching for me not to... One bearing a Black Book of Hermaeus Mora, and the other wearing the Ebony Mail of Boethiah."

"So the Book-Worm and the Brutal She-Male," Galmar utters incredulously, "Better leave them to kill each other so we can clean up what's left. Getting between them now is a disaster waitin' to happen."

Wuunferth nods, "My idea precisely General, but you must begin mobilising now if you'll have any chance of catching them. I know not what the victor will do, whether they'll escape or continue harassing the roads."

Ulfric stands from his chair, "Galmar, get the men in order. Bring the same number as when last we faced one of those damned Black Books. Wuunferth, would you accompany us? I fear my lack of knowledge in areas of magic may harm us."

The elderly mage nods, "At once, Jarl. Allow me to gather my things."

"Meet us at the stables, we ride as soon as possible!" he says as he leaves, Galmar and a few others following along, their Nord blood boiling for a fight.