TAMRIEL

The year is 4E 202. The civil war has ended in blood and fire, and Skyrim stands victorious under the blue bear banner of the Stormcloaks. The Legions of the Empire have crumbled; their garrisons scattered, their proud red banners torn down. In their place rise the cries of Nord pride, carried across snowcapped peaks and through bustling mead halls. Families gather in taverns, hearts swelling with relief as they raise their cups to High King Ulfric Stormcloak, now in his mid-40s, the man whose Thu’um toppled an Empire’s hold on the north. By his side, as always, stands Galmar Stone-Fist, grizzled and unyielding at nearly 60 winters. He is the warhammer of Ulfric’s cause, the voice of pragmatism and fury both. Together they carved a legend, yet now face the cost of independence: the treaties of the Empire are no longer binding, and Skyrim stands alone. The Thalmor circle like wolves, their ships gliding along distant shores, waiting for weakness. To the south, Hammerfell sharpens its blades, while to the east, Morrowind watches with wary eyes. Even within Skyrim, jarls question if Ulfric’s word can bind them tighter than old wounds can tear them apart. Yet despite the threats, pride surges across the land. Nords lift their heads higher, their sense of identity rekindled. Mead halls ring with song, with tales of rebellion and sacrifice told anew. Children grow up hearing the names of martyrs, while parents dare to believe their homeland has truly been reborn. Skyrim stands free—but on a knife’s edge. What comes next may forge Tamriel’s destiny, or plunge it into unending turmoil.