Today is the beginning of the new you.

One month ago you made yourself a promise: you were going to turn your life around. You were going to get a real job, stay out of jail, and not get into any more trouble with cults. Nobody thought you could do it; they said your questionable reputation, lack of any useful skills, and flagrant alcoholism would always hold you down.

But you had a plan.

You were going to start over, far from home. You pawned off your belongings, withdrew the rest of your inheritance, and narrowly managed to buy your way onto a merchant ship bound for Cyrodiil.

And now you have arrived, alone and penniless in a foreign country. Rounding up to the nearest week, you’ve been sober for an entire seven days. This is your chance to be whatever you want to be. Whoever you want to be.

You think you’ll start with a new name. Something less ethnic, maybe suitably Imperial, to fit in in your new home.

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