The Echo cave, so named after the ‘echoes of the living’ that roam freely through it’s icy caverns and sunken ruins, has been the haunt of the undead for as long as any can remember. So what would possess a group of adventures to camp outside and attempt to explore these notorious caves in such times of turbulence and strife, when in all the years of peace the Legions themselves never deemed to clear them? The answer is always the same; fortune, fame, or power.

So what about me you may ask. Well I guess could easily claim some noble purpose. To cull the undead perhaps, making the roads safer for travellers and merchants to pass. To banish the unnatural from our land under the pretence of Arkay’s banner. Or simply just to test my skill and mettle against ones whose quietus is liberated from moral consequence.

The simple truth is however, that my time in the Heartlands is drawing to an end and I am simply in need of coin. Hardly a virtuous or worthy cause I realise, but it is the privilege of only the Eight Divines to want for nothing, and of the undead to want for little more then echoes.

S.K

Almost everyone who grew up in Cyrodiil knows the tragic tale of The Underpall Cave in the North of the Great Forest. How some 70 years ago miners had uncovered the buried fortifications of a subterranean keep, only for their tunnels to collapse down upon them, thus ending any attempts to excavate the lost Underpall Keep.

Now as I approach the caves for the first time I discover outside it’s entrance an encampment of tents and cages seemingly occupied by vampires. Shockingly there is no attempt to disguise their true nature, or hide their evil intentions within the confines of the cave. This coven seems content to conduct their insidious enterprise fearlessly and brazenly out in the open. Does the Diamond heart of Tamriel now beat so weakly that the undead have lost their fear of the sun?

It was in the Ayleid ruins of Lipsand Tarn to the west that I first encountered the Bloodborn coven. I learnt there how two ambitious vampires, a bother and sister, travelled all the way from Stormhaven to Cyrodiil and began using locals from villages, towns and priories to build themselves an army of bloodfiends with which to conquer Northern Cyrodiil. The brother I beheaded in depths of Lipsand, and now finally I have found the sister, seemingly unaware of her siblings fate.

I discover a letter deep within the caverns from Gaston to Raelynne. In it he infers that it was in fact their ‘Master’s command’ for them to part and raise two armies simultaneously to sweep through the region. I have unfortunately managed to find no further reference to this mysterious ‘Master’ which is worrysome. For even if I strike down both siblings their plot still has breath; how long before this Master raises the Ashham siblings once again? Indeed, how many times have they already been struck down? We can only hope that other adventures will follow in our wake and keep putting the siblings down until this master is finally unmasked, and this Bloodborn plot may perhaps be ended for good.

S.K

The Cloud Ruler Temple, located high in the Jerall Mountains northwest of Bruma, is more fortress then sanctuary. It was said to have been built at the very founding of the Second Empire by Reman Cyrodiil’s Akaviri Dragonguard. The temple is now all but inaccessible as at the height of the Planemeld a Dark Anchor was opened above it and the entire temple was lifted from the ground in an attempt to drag it into Coldharbour. Before the daedra were able to fully abduct it however the Planemeld threat was ended. Yet the Dark Anchor has somehow persisted above the temple beyond the destruction of the Planar Vortex, whilst dremoran warriors and daedric harvesters continue to guard the approach and surrounding area.

Despite their prominent role in Reman’s creation of the Second Empire, the original Akaviri Dragonguard were eventually disbanded after the assassination of Reman III. Their traditions and influence on Tamriel however have persisted to this very day, with the Fighter’s Guild formation some 250 years ago, and my own chosen martial art, that of the Dragon Knight, both a living legacy of the Akaviri.

The only modern day Dragonguards I have met have been Sai Sahan, a title given to him by the deceived emperor Varen Aquilarios, a man whose selfish desire to be named dragonborn led to the fall of the Second Empire, and almost of Nirn itself. The other being the most noble Drake of Blades, the protector of the Dragonfires. She who was touched by Akatosh, and blessed with a sense of honour that surpasses any I have met; save perhaps for the Last King of the Ayleids, Laloriaran Dynar.

S.K

From inside the Manor House the wounded Grigerda directs the resistance against the cultist and dremoran occupation of Bruma. Every warrior wishes to lead on the battlefield, to motivate others that follow by their example of commitment and dedication, but alas for Grigerda this is not to be her fate. Sending others into the streets to fight may go against her every sentiment, but Bruma needs her not to lead, but to point the way.

The truth is however that all our acts of resistance in Bruma may not be enough to save this town from the cruel clutches of Coldharbour. With the Shadowed Path cultists roaming the streets, dremora appearing from portals all-over, and the Black Dagger bandits waiting in their holes to strike like a pack of starving skeevers, Bruma’s doom seems to be inevitable.

But what separates men and mer from daedra is that we are unable to sit back and passively accept fate. We are stubborn and fight to our last breath, because unlike the daedra our last breath is our final breath. And besides, how do you really know if it is inevitable, if you do not resist the apparent inevitable. Maybe every time we stand and strike out against our oppressors we are just tossing another stone into the sea, creating but the smallest ripple of hope. Yet maybe with enough ripples we may eventually build a tide that will wash clean the streets of Bruma. Maybe.

S.K

In the occupied town of Bruma the Nord militia gallantly hold back the cultists and Dremora from the chapel doors whilst the healer Hjorik and his assistants treat the wounded and dying. One need only look about this chapel to realise that survivors of wars aren’t the strongest, nor the smartest; they are simply the luckiest.

Unfortunately Hjorik is fast running out of supplies and will gratefully accept any assistance from passing mercenaries and banners of any colour. He asks that you search the town for lost survivors, fresh water from the well, and discarded clothing with which to fashion bandages. He requests that you recharge his restoration scrolls at an ancient stone circle, gather mushrooms with healing properties from the bandit occupied Capstone Cave, and close a Dremora portal before the monsters can gather in number. Alas that it all feels like bandaging the wounds of a dying man.

Perhaps it is true that you can only see Aetherius when the sky is darkest however, for there seems no shortage of volunteers arriving to offer their aid to the survivors of Bruma. When our story is done the things we do for ourselves will rot with our carcases; it the things we do for others that paints our souls.

S.K