425. Reachmen at the gates


To the northeast of Evermore, a tribe of Reachmen have overrun the Northglen farmstead and are almost at the very gates of the city. For now Captain Eugien Gaercroft and his guard are valiantly holding the Northern road against them.

They came under the cover of darkness catching the guards unprepared. One would have expected at least one or two of the civilians to have survived the attack and fled to the city, but none came. Scouts were sent into the night including the Captain’s own daughter to rescue any survivors and discover what foul acts the Reachmen were performing in the fields, but by morning they have not returned either.

Without relief I fear how much longer the guard can stand against the the squall of the Reach and an ever increasing army of Bloodthorn zombies gathering in such numbers that I’ve not seen since the blight at Eagle’s Brook.


424. The black crows of Evermore





Upon the bulwarks of Evermore,
on the banks of the Bjoulsae;
where Pelin’s noble sacrifice,
is remembered to this day.
The dark clouds are now gathering,
like a black flag cross the moons;
and all I hear are riddles from
the black crows cawing doom.

The Queen mourns in her chapel,
black spirited from cap-a-pe;
whilst her people pray through the night,
for the dawning of the day.
And the blind faith of a handmaiden,
leads us towards the deepening gloom;
and all I hear are riddles from
the black crows cawing doom.

The Enemy of my adversary,
and a truce that tastes most foul;
yet peck and claw of murdering crows,
lays bare the spies of Cyrodiil.
A queen roused now to vengeance,
a city rallies to her bloody plume;
yet still all I hear are riddles from
the black crows cawing doom.






423. Our conscience is the armour of our souls


The Daedric Princes think themselves as Gods to mortals. To some of them we are little more then amusements, to others we are but subjects and vassals to exploit. Some treat us like pets, others like farm animals. Some of them want to control us, whilst others destroy. But the one thing we are to all of them, is a frustration.

We are a friction of animal instinct and conscience. Our instincts they seek to exploit, arouse, influence and manipulate, but our conscience they cannot. They are certain it should be a weakness, so they seek to test it, to breach it, to undermine it at every opportunity. But what they fail to understand is that it is tested everyday by ourselves. There is no witness so honest, no accuser so candid, and no judge so harsh as our own conscience.


Sheogorath will return to the Shivering Isles, no doubt he will delight in the games he played, in tormenting Shalidor, in corrupting Valaste, and in manipulating me. Yet in a quiet moment of reflection one thing will vex him… I did not hesitate.


422. The maddening circle


After thousands of years the majestic isle of Eyevea is finally returned to its home in the Abecean Sea.

The ancient Arch-Mage Shalidor greets us upon our arrival, but he is not here alone. The island has returned from Oblivion occupied by a host of Sheogorath’s insidious daedra, and Shalidor is keen to evict these most unwelcome guests from his sanctuary.

Also returning from the daedric realm are the huge mushroom trees native to the Shivering Isles, which now predominate Eyevea’s gardens and surrounding hillsides. Most of the island’s architecture however has remained surprisingly unchanged during its decampment from Nirn; the soaring spires and graceful arches of the halls, bridges and outbuildings reflecting perfectly the Altmeri heritage of their Summerset neighbours.

One last uninvited, if not wholly unexpected guest however, is Sheogorath himself. The Mad God could never let his game end without making the final play. And so to complete this maddening circle he offers one last obliquitous bargain.


421. The endgame?


At the Mages Guildhall in Evermore, the Master of Incunabula Valaste has finally managed to decipher Sheogorath’s final tome, but it appears to have taken a serious toll upon her wits. Shalidor meanwhile triumphantly prepares to perform the rite that will finally return the isle of Eyevea back to the Mundus.


One thing I have learnt from these games with Sheogorath however that Shalidor seemingly hasn’t, despite all his years, is that when you are playing by a deadric prince’s rules, the point of the game is not to win, but to survive.


Something tells me that we are about to discover that this particular Mad God’s game has a tail as barbed as a Craglorn Scorpions.