I have stayed in Daggerfall far too long awaiting instructions from the old man. I hear rumours of werewolves, necromancers and bandits from many of the rural refugee pouring into the city seeking sanctuary behind her high walls. Whilst the Fighters Guild reports that the Daedric dark anchors are becoming more numerous by the day.
The agents of Molag Bal are abroad and laying siege to our provinces; it is time to step forth into the night.
My heart is strong, my spirit is stone, and my sword is sharp. I believe it is within the fate and destiny of the individual that the battle between good and evil will eventually be won or lost. Whilst I can do little ‘gainst fate, I hold my destiny in my own hands. May the darkest place in Oblivion be reserved for those who keep their blades sheaved during this time of strife.
A man lays claim to his inheritance, only to find his birth-right cursed by the maleficent actions of his dead relatives.
Initially it all seemed straightforward; surely a man cannot be held responsible for the crimes of his parents. And yet the more I learned of this sorry tale, the more I began to ask myself, who am I to deny an innocent victim her vengeance?
Bandits ransack the remnants of an old abandoned fort on the very doorstep of Daggerfall. Surprisingly well equipped and well organized, the Red Rooks have been proving more than a match for the local Daggerfall guard of late. Perhaps King Casimir should not build his walls so high, lest he miss the rats gnawing away at his city’s foundations.
As I watch the legendary arch-mage and mad dedric god stage a show of bluster and bravado, I look about myself and realize that I am their only audience. How ironic. I wonder how their egos cope if I were to tell them just how unimpressed I am by their act, and how little their vanity show means to a man without a soul. Perhaps one day I shall tell them, but not now.
Let them have their stage, and let them think that their performance matters. I will watch their play, and I will play their prop, till the time comes when I have learnt all that the mages guild has to teach me. Hopefully by then, I shall have discovered whether this is a farce, melodrama, or tragedy.
The arch-mage recounts a tale of a sanctuary lost to a mad God, and soon I find myself agreeing to step through a portal back to Oblivion… my second home it would seem.
They say that those who seek power through knowledge must keep ajar the door that leads into madness. When one steps through that door however, they will no doubt end up here, the Shivering Isles, realm of Sheogorath, the Daedric prince of all that is lunatic.
So far the only difference I’ve noticed between here and Tamriel is that the madness afflicting Tamriel appears at least to have some reason.