A man with caramel skin and dark brown hair stands tall in the streets of the Palace District. He bears the armor of the Imperial Legion.
"Legate Artemus, we are just about ready to depart," one of the soldiers calls to him.
"Very well," he responds in earnest. Artemus packs the last of his belongings into the carriage, raises his left hand to his mouth, and wails. "Soare, we must leave at once!"
A young boy, no older than 13, runs out of the house with hair brighter than the sun and fiery red eyes. He wears the finest Colovian fur jacket with a red long-sleeved shirt underneath, leather pants, and a pair of Colovian fur boots. Around his waist is a red sash. He approaches Artemus with the biggest frown on his face. "Why do we have to leave?" he says.
"I have my orders, son."
"But Pa, I don't want to go! My friends are here!"
"You must understand, my child. Ulfric Stormcloak has started a civil war in Skyrim, and the Emperor has ordered me to join the fight."
"Well, you are the best swordsman in all the legion. Of course, that old man would need your help."
"Ha Ha Ha, I knew you would see reason. You are my child, after all."
"So what about me; where will I go?"
"You may have a good sword arm, but I don't want you anywhere near the fighting. We are going to stop in Bruma. My old pal Adius Vilius will look after you until I come back."
"I'm going to see Uncle Adius? It's been so long!"
"That it has. Into the carriage now."
Artemus wraps his arms around Soare and lifts him onto the wooden carriage. Soare then takes a seat, and Artemus follows suit after climbing onto the carriage. Artemus tells the Imperial soldiers that the caravan is clear to move out, and with a heavy sigh, Soare says goodbye to the city that has been his home for the past 13 years.