It is gone. Naught but memories and the embers of Empire remain.

At last! [He drinks the vial's contents.] Yes, I feel it now. Marbled white in the jungled heart, the haze of his blood in earth and water, muddy susurrations of the Niben! Oh, Talos! Yet here I am in this miserable city of frozen shirkers. Damn this lot, and damn the Dunmer! They may hear his words but they will not see his vision. Bah! Take this. It is from the days of my service, when the earth of Cyrodiil drank deep the blood of Tiber's foes. Better times.

Then I shall rip it from your broken fingers!

Give it to me!

Give it to me!

Then why do you plague me? Leave, and do not return until you have what I seek.

Yet you do not have it! You come to me with lies? Do you know how much I have given for Tiber's glory? Can you imagine the broken bodies I have trodden upon in his name? Begone, and do not return until you have the incarnadine.

Do you have it? I await divine succor, %PCRace.

I trust this matter has been settled.

Omtaba! Unlock the door for our visitor! All right, you may take the incarnadine and ONLY the incarnadine.

Very well, I suppose you've convinced me. We do not truly need the incarnadine for anything. And a Red Dome Templar lost in visions is probably less harmful than a Red Dome Templar plotting to upset the social order. Very well, here's how we shall do this.

Hm. Considering your service to the Legion, I suppose I must at least consider your request. We do not truly need the incarnadine for anything. And a Red Dome Templar lost in visions is probably less harmful than a Red Dome Templar plotting to upset the social order. Very well, here's how we shall do this.

That's hardly a reason to give it out. The Red Dome Templars are fanatics, pure and simple. Tiber Septim's dream was one of peace forged through strength. Theirs is one of everlasting bloodshed. The only way I'll let a templar have incarnadine is if a high officer of the Legion orders me. Or the emperor himself. Or the duchess, of course.

Certainly not! Incarnadine is for very specific uses. Don't bother me with this again.

Do you have any more business here, or are you just casing the joint?

Why in the world do you want incarnadine?

Why in the world do you want incarnadine?

Incarnadine? I wouldn't know much about that. You should ask Eseld Veranon, in the treasury.

Honor, to the Legion, is a pension and a plot of dirt. Tiber's blood no longer engorges the Ruby Ranks. Which is why I am sent here, beyond sight of the White-Gold. Here I will be buried in dust and ash, my cracked lips bathed in wine but never quenched. Leave me.

Honor, to the Legion, is a pension and a plot of dirt. Tiber's blood no longer engorges the Ruby Ranks. Which is why I am sent here, beyond sight of the White-Gold. Here I will be buried in snow and ash, my cracked lips bathed in wine but never quenched. Leave me.

You would? You honor me, %PCRank. The soldiers at Ember Keep are a sorry lot. They serve for coin or for law, not for the Emperor. They may heed you for your rank in the Legions. Otherwise, do what you will. Return the incarnadine for me so that I may know my master, and you shall be rewarded.

You would? You honor me, good %PCRace. The soldiers at Ember Keep are a sorry lot. They serve for coin or for law, not for the Emperor. They may heed you if you are of the Legion. Otherwise, do what you will. Return the incarnadine for me so that I may know my master, and you shall be rewarded.

They call it a drink. A wine, even. Yet it is more. I am a Red Dome Templar, one sworn to the living will of the First Septim. Yet I am spent, relegated to this far corner of the Empire. The visions of incarnadine once burned within my eyes, but the memory now fades from my tongue and my sight. I know they keep a bottle of it in Ember Keep, here in Firewatch. So much have I given for Tiber Septim's dream. With but one sip I would again know vindication in both body and mind.

They call it a drink. A wine, even. Yet it is more. I am a Red Dome Templar, one sworn to the living will of the First Septim. Yet I am spent, relegated to this far corner of the Empire. The visions of incarnadine once burned within my eyes, but the memory now fades from my tongue and my sight. I know they keep a bottle of it in Ember Keep. So much have I given for Tiber Septim's dream. With but one sip I would again know vindication in both body and mind.

Alas, it is forgotten. We drown in bureaucrats and petty kings, the brass-clad glory of Tiber Septim mere inches away yet ever unreachable. Incarnadine is his blood, citizen, flowing from his thundering heart through arteries that span the centuries so that our debased generation can still taste his power.