My journey back to my homeland is a spiritless one, for my only available passage back into Cyrodiil turned out to be through the gates belonging to the Daggerfall Covenant. Their Northern and Southern Highrock Gates are a misnomer of course, for the lands of Hammerfell lie between these gates and High Rock proper. It is a slight King Fahara’jad is prepared to overlook it seems; though I guess if you are wiling to let the murder of your second-daughter pass without repercussion, then what’s a misnomer or two between Kings.

These border keeps offer all the amenities of a small town; stables, crafting stations, merchants, guilds, and even inns. Whilst I do appreciate the Covenant’s welcome, I reject their solicitations for my sword arm in their Banners War. I feel under no obligation, as with the service I have already given to Emeric and his Covenant I have more then earn’t this little hospitality.

At least the Covenant leadership seems to have learnt from the foolish actions of their High King in Bangkorai, where Emeric irrationally lead the charge against Septima Tharn’s retreating legion, and became lost to Tamriel for a time. So it is from the relative tranquillity of these border keeps that the Breton leader of the Covenant forces in Cyrodiil, Grand Warlord Dortene, plots and schemes from a very safe distance.

Meanwhile the conflict spins ever on and on in an unending pirouette. It is a tactical war fought with little or no strategy. The great keeps and forts of the Empire are sieged and traded, the esoteric Elder scrolls have become corrupted into little more than weapons, and all sides make insouciant use of the Mad God’s toys.

Once refreshed I head south through the great gates of Alma Ruma into the Heartlands to offer what help I may to the people who bravely still call Cyrodill home.

S.K