There is no other way now but forward. Molag Bal’s vampires and daedra will be regrouping behind us, and it cannot be long before the vile prince sends reinforcements. So on, on, in the hope that we may achieve together what the great mage alone could not.
Fortunately we make some unlikely allies in the tunnels surrounding the Great Shackle. Sage Tirora and Treva are two Nords from the Rift who were victims of Reachmen and cultists. Together with the improbable knight Sir Cadwell, this most motley crew now stand the very doors of the Moorings of the Great Shackle.
An arrogant mage, two deceased Nords, a befuddled knight, and a soulless legionnaire, surely such a curious band as we cannot hope to bring down the Lord of Brutality’s most prized contrivance; yet here we stand together, perhaps Tamriel’s best, last chance. Maybe it is the fewer the better, for if we had arrived at the Black Forge with an army, we would no doubt have been met by an army in kind. Maybe we are exactly the few that are needed.
Some might call it destiny, others fate, others still serendipity. I would have happily gone along with any of those explanations for our unlikely circumstance… until Cadwell showed up. Now I strongly suspect providence. A Divine hand of one who would take much pleasure from the sabotaging of Molag Bal’s greatest machination. Even if we are somehow to survive this day, I do not believe we will ever know the why.