Felix Caelus

Felix nods at Jim's guess, looking surprised for a minute. Jim has a way of noticing and remembering things the conjurer didn't think he'd pick up on. He takes another few seconds deciding on where to start because, to an Imperial, 'what the Thalmor did' is an impossibly vast catalog of offenses.

"They invaded," he says quietly. "This was all a few years before I was born, of course. They swept up from the south and took or besieged almost every town in Cyrodiil. The Emperor was forced to abandon the Imperial City itself." There's a pang in his voice at that - he wasn't born here, wasn't born at all when it happened, and yet an echo of the pain and shock has been inculcated in him with every tale he's heard of the event.

"The Eighth Legion stayed behind," he adds a little more softly. "To defend the city and cover the Emperor's retreat. They died fighting to the last man." He looks up at the towering wall beyond the parkland, pristine as moonstone beneath the moons and dotted with distant torches. "My aunt Arvenna died on one of these walls." He sips the cup of hot wine in his hand. "The Thalmor sacked the city and slaughtered most of the people. They occupied it for a year before the Emperor was able to gather enough legions to retake the city and drive them out of Cyrodiil. After that, they agreed to a peace treaty. One that outlawed the worship of the Empire's patron god."

Felix doesn't easily incline toward anger. Jim knows this by now. But he also knows enough to recognize the coiled, venomous thing beneath the Imperial's deliberately cool and calm voice. Felix despises these people in a way he does no-one else. Perhaps even more than he realizes consciously. He can't hide it here, speaking of these things. Not from Jim.