((Hello. This is a bit of writing I've done for my first storyline in ESO called Lost Son. My character's family is connected to a cult that has plans to bring the spirit of their ancestor back to Tamriel, which would have dire consequences for many. My guild's had some fun with DM'd events as the storyline's unfolded. There may be inroads to get involved yourself if you were interested. Send me a PM if that's the case. Enjoy.))
The midday weather in Daggerfall was mild. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, much to the delight of the various traders looking to peddle wares at the market. Business seemed steady all around. Coin was flowing over the sale of food, beverage, weapons and armor. But an older man stood watch over the proceedings, clearing his throat to start up another round of attention seeking.
"People of Daggerfall! People of Daggerfall! I urge and implore you to listen! I have a warning that concerns you all!"
The town crier, an older Breton man with graying shoulder-length hair, a matching beard, and fading looks shouted at the top of his lungs near the market in the city's center. His voice was worn, tired from yelling and demanding the attention of passersby. In a time where so many kept to themselves and looked out only for their own, it was an uncommon sight to see a man practically pleading for someone to hear someone beg to be heard.
"News spreads throughout Glenumbra of men, women, and children vanishing from their homes or off the streets. Those with an affinity for magicka appear to be chosen specifically. You are encouraged to look after your loved ones and to stay away from dark alleys alone at night. My youngest son is counted amongst the vanished. Please.. Please protect yourselves!"
"Alright, buddy," a plated man from the Daggerfall Watch gruffed as he grabbed the scraggly crier by his thin arm. "We got your message. If you want to report anything, I suggest you go to one of our offices and be official about it. These people just want to buy their goods and be on their way."
"But I did do that!" the crier said in protest as he was dragged off. "But you all do nothing! Someone has to tell these people. Warn them."
The pair went back and forth as the Guard hauled the crier off. A young Breton, handsome and charismatic with dark hair squeezed the hand of a young woman. Tresses of vibrant red slid over a slim shoulder as she smiled up to him, blue eyes gleaming.
"Are you worried about me, Michael?" she asked, jest in her soft soprano.
"About one of the Mages' guilds brightest talents and my wife of three weeks? Absolutely."
"That man sounded crazy, love. For all he knows, his son just ran off to get away from him."
"Maybe so, but I don't want to take any chances. Promise me you'll be careful when you're heading to the Guild hall for the next while, okay? Please."
Melinda's smile started to fade as she saw the sincerity in her husband's face. She gave a dutiful nod, eyes on his while she brought a hand up to kiss the back of Michael's hand.
"I promise, my love."