462. Pride before the fall


At the Fallen Grotto in western Bangkorai, The Glenmoril Wyrd’s temple has been lost to the Reachmen, and with it the favour of their Daedric Lord Hircine. The Wyress Nyronie surrendered her still beating heart in a self-forgetting act, and now it is my turn. Though not my life, I am sacrificing my pride as I dance around this grotto to the Huntsman’s flute.

People talk of pride like it is a bad thing, but ever since my soul was stolen it is all I have had to grasp onto. It is my only reason for waking, the impetus for every step I take, and the motive for every battle I fight. It is also the one thing I have in common with this Daedric Prince.

Through his statue Hircine’s pompous baritone demands that I chase this, and hunt that. I grow weary of playing the puppet to the conceit of these Daedric Lords. This Hircine is proving about as onerous as the mad God Sheogorath, only without the smile.

My one solace in this vexing hunt is that I shall eventually get to face the insidious Reachman Brinarch one on one. To achieve him I must rip the Briar Heart from his chest and return it to the Huntsman’s statue… Again with the hearts, what is this obsession?


I had never considered it before, but perhaps it is that these Princes of Oblivion lack a heart, metaphysically speaking. Mayhap for all their divinity, power, and immortality, they are jealous of our mortal hearts, for without fear of death they cannot feel as mortals do.

They may display affection as an Argonian would to a pet guar, but they have never felt love, or felt loved. They are prone to displays of irritation and anger with mortals, but they know not passion. And of course they know not heart-ache either, nor sorrow, anguish or dismay. Our mortal hearts punish us equally for living too bold, and not boldly enough; and in the end we make measure of our lives by the wounds of our hearts.

Oh, see how swiftly doth my mortal heart turn mine anger to pity for this Daedric Lord. What say your pride to that Huntsman?



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