The Duke of Blades believes she has discovered the tenor of Molag Bal’s plot in the Imperial City. The Daedric Prince has been searching for the mysterious Dragonfire Cathedral in order to destroy the Sublime Brazier, an esoteric relic whose destruction will somehow ensure that the Dragonfires can never again be relit, meaning the people of Tamriel will forever more live under threat of daedric invasion.

For our efforts across the districts of the City we have learnt not only of the plot, but also the location of the Cathedral itself, and stolen the key to unlock its doors. Father Egnatius has almost finished deciphering the ancient scroll, he just needs a little more time. That suits us well as Captain Caudex is gathering his soldiers, and the Drake has heard the Rat has left her an urgent letter out in the sewer tunnels. Retrieving the letter gives me the opportunity to scout the sewer network that runs beneath the city, and see what there is to see. And what a menagerie it proves to be.

Not only did I find the expected, blood-sucking hoarvers, rats, skeevers and spiders, but also plenty of Daedra both bestial and Xivkyn. I did not expect to find a whole vampire clan however, nor a company of Alessian ghosts re-enacting their final moments over and over. All these perils and yet the foolish banner adventurers still brave the tunnels to traverse the capitol underground. I witnessed numerous groups of adventures from all alliances travelling in both stealth and open defiance to reach their objectives.

The archaeologists dig their Aleid and Dwemer delves, Nord and Dunmer tombs, Argonian and Khajiiti temples, but for what? Coins, broken armour, and fragments of pottery. It is in the dregs and dross of a city where an archaeologist discovers how a life was truly once lived. The trivial odds and ends that were once discarded by their owners as rubbish, is now as valuable to the scholar as gold and gems. Indeed it seems that the larger the pile of junk you leave behind, the larger your legacy. And what bigger piles of scrap and jumble are there to be found then in the sewers of a great city. I wonder in a few thousand years what the archaeologists of tomorrow will unearth of what we did here today.

S.K

The priests and clergy of the Temple District are being rounded up and tortured by Molag Bal’s minions, presumably for information leading to the Dragonfire Cathedral and the mysterious relic they seek. Perhaps stirred by the recent loss of Captain Regilus, the Drake herself has come to the district to search personally for one of those captured, a priest named Father Egnatius. If I recall that was the same priest who gave Captain Caudex of the Immortal Eight the scroll in the Nobles district.

Egnatius is not amongst the priests we are able to rescue from the outer shrines, but one of them informs us he saw him being dragged into the Temple of the One by the Daedra. The Drake believes this as good as a death sentence for the priest, so the two of us have little choose but to launch a most foolhardy rescue attempt. Egnatius may be the only one capable of deciphering the ancient scroll’s arcane symbols and references. And whilst it goes unsaid, if we cannot rescue him then we must at the very least insure that any secrets he did know do not leave that defiled temple.

S.K

Few people live day to day without some sense of a continuing story, a pathway to either Aetherius or Oblivion. Nowhere in Tamriel was that more evident then in the Temple District of the Imperial City, said to be the home of a thousand cults. The only real difference between a cult and a religion is political advocacy, and whilst the Temple of the One may for now still be dedicated to Akatosh, the longer this Daedric occupation lasts, the greater the prospect that it becomes rededicated to Molag Bal; and the Worm Cult may become not only a religion, but the only religion.

Sister J’Reeza has watched on helplessly as the Daedra have desecrated temples, smashed relics, and imprisoned clergy. She now has a plan however to stop the monsters from destroying more religious artefacts, yet rather ironically it requires the use of old pagan magics The Khajiit priestess wants me to kill Grievous Twilights that roam the streets and cut off their claws. After anointing them with ritual wine and then burning them in a sanctified brazier, I am to sprinkle their ashes over casks of consecrated oils which should be enough to save them from the impious claws of the Daedra.

When I think of witchcraft, my first thoughts turn either to the foul hags of the Reach, or the somewhat fairer, yet not no less ill-disposed Wyrd Covens of High Rock. There is something to be admired about a people who when most in need wait not upon a miracle from the Divines, but instead provide themselves with miracles of their own making.

S.K