A man should wake every morning and believe in his heart that he will live forever, even though deep down he knows he is doomed.
I awaken in a homely room, and for the briefest of moments consider that it all may have just been a bad dream; but then the Prophet appears back in incorporeal form and reality bites. It seems I was fished from the sea by a local boat and have been unconscious for some time. The Prophet believes that Lyris may yet live and is searching for a way to save her. He owes her that much I guess, but I wouldn’t hold much hope on the clemency of Molag Bal.
As for myself, my first priority is to find exactly where I am; wherever it is it certainly isn’t Cyrodiil. Not that I am in a rush to return there, any fool can see that as long as those Daedra worshipers hold sway, the empire will fall, and I’ll be damned if I return to being a tool for their endeavours.
The Prophet suggests I find a cause and battle evil wherever it appears… if he thinks I am going to turn into some sort of Good Samaritan spreading hope and rainbows wherever I tread, then he may well be as mad as Cadwell. However, I’ll need to eat, and for that I’ll need coin. They must have some honest work here for a man who knows how to swing a sword.