The magnificent sprawl of the stronghold of Indoranyon was aglow in the light of the setting sun. Commander Jasrat watched it slowly disappear into the horizon as he led the caravan southwestward. It was a strange practice for him to lead a night operation, but scarcely more bizarre than anything else he was facing. He was only seventy years of age, far from old for a Bosmer, and yet he felt like he belonged to another era. “This is no longer your realm,” he bellowed. “Don't you know it's been ruled by the Temple that these are House lands now?” “Ashlander, how close are we?” he shouted.