From the sludgy pit to the claw-like craggy pinnacle, I battle though the hateful Ogrim, Watchers and Dremora of the Tower of Lies, and make good my escape to the nearby Hollow City. With me I bring a handful of Fighter’s Guild members, who themselves bring with them hope. For though we are still too few, it is not how many, but who. For both the Fighters and Mages guilds are represented on this most dismal realm by the many races of Tamriel. And it is in their diversity, both in contrast and harmony, that our best hope rests.
For our hope is the hymn sung by Tamriels heart. It is in the first buds of spring on a Wrothgar bluff, and in a cradle shaped bough of Hist deep in the marsh. It is in the rain clouds brewing on the horizon of Hammerfell, and in a verdant meadows beyond the mountains of ash. It is in the Elf maidens aria sung in an Alinor court, and in the sweet morning dew beneath the shade of Grahtwood. It is in the many hued rainbow after a Glenumbra storm, and in the campfires of Colovia burning dusk to dawn. It is in the purr upon your pillow under an Elsweyr tent, and in Kynareth lights dancing across a Skyrim night.