We rush back to Wayrest only to find King Emeric has indeed fallen into Quagmire, Vaermina’s insidious realm of eternal nightmares.

It is said that our nightmares are the shadows of our very souls.  Indeed, Emeric’s nightmares seem to consist of his deepest fears realized.  He has lost Stormhaven to the Supernal Dreamers, everyone he held close has betrayed him, and his own perceived weaknesses stand naked and exposed for all to see.

This Quagmire is a realm of blur, murk, shadow and screams.  When we awaken we oft forget the particulars of our nightmares, not because we can’t remember the details, but because, like paintings or music, a nightmare is a language all on its own, and we cannot express it in words.  So instead we suppress it to the deepest depths of our core, in the vain hope it might become lost or forgot.  But in reality, we carry them around inside us our whole lives.

Sometimes however our nightmares escape and become reality, and the monsters that dwell in them become real also.  The only way to defeat them is with a bigger, badder monster…

And that’s why I’m here.

S.K

At the fallen statue of the Weeping Giant, the Supernal Dreamers attempts to open portals to Oblivion are defeated, yet not before at least one Daedra made it through.

I find Vaermina’s Weaver hiding at the waterfall; it is a beast of such terrifying appearance that it can only be a conjuration of nightmares.  Its upper physique takes the form of a female elf, whilst its lower body has the all the anatomy of a giant spider.  It stands perhaps two hands taller than a Nord warrior, but as it recognizes my approach it rears up upon its hind legs to stands at least four hands taller.  Between its razor-sharp claws, and the lightning bolts it readily fires from its Elven appendages, I am uncertain whether it is best to stand close and at range, but when its spiderlings begin to cast their sticky webs at my feet, my decision is made for me.

As the beast closes in I keep my shield held strong and block its powerful flurry of claw strikes.  Frustrated it begins to cast its storm magics once more, but as I feel the air around me begin to crackle and charge, I strike out hard with my shield at the beasts face, leaving it sunned and staggered, defenceless against the sharp of my blade.

S.K

The Weeping Giant’s cold stone eyes could do no more then watch as Vaermina’s Supernal cultists murdered the Spirit Wardens at their Shrine, before desecrating it, and stealing their most cherished relics.  I have been sent to deal with these fanatics, and cleanse the Shrine, in hope of winning the favour of Azura that she might in turn help us to save the King, who has reportedly fallen to the unnatural stupor of Vaemina’s sleepless dream.

From the very first moment I set foot in Stormhaven and found that ambushed caravan on the border road, I can’t help feel that I have been maneuvered around like a wooden piece in a court game between two Daedric lords, using Stormhaven as their game board, and King Emeric as the prize.

I shall continue to play my part to the end, but I suspect it matters little who wins.  This Azura may appear sincere, but these Daedric parasites will do nothing for a mortal which does not benefit them more.  Whenever a Daedric prince wins, mortals are always the losers.

S.K

The once abandoned Bearclaw mine is far eastern Stormhaven has been appropriated by a gang of bandits who appear to be forcing locals to dig the mine for them.

Much of the wealth of the Bretons is dug from the mines of High Rock, as well as farmed from its fertile lands, and fished from the rich waters of the Iliac Bay.  The value of mines is often dependent upon the scarcity of what they produce, so the more mines there are, and the more they produce, the less their worth; which is why High Rock is littered with abandoned mining ventures.  

With the three Banners war seemingly no closer to resolution, and the Lion’s Guard stretched beyond its limits across the province, small gangs are able to capitalize by exploiting the weak and vulnerable.

It is time to shutdown this operation for good, and return these caves to the bears. 

S.K

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The suspicions over the Orc general’s state of mind prove warranted as he has fallen to the sleepless dream of Vaermina.  Once more I am to Quagmire.

As I follow Godrun’s memories through Vaemina’s mirrored portals I watch as his treachery is fed by injustice and the fickle mortal mind is marked ‘gainst friend and ally.

I know this is but a dream, and yet I can clearly see spectres lurking in every shadow under the crimson sky.  I hear the spectre’s wails carried upon the astral winds that howl through the jagged rocks and broken ruins.  I feel the familiar weight of my shield and hilt of my sword which I grip ever tighter as the spectres close in around me.  And I can taste mine own blood as a spectres icy talon cracks into my jaw, and as I gasp for breath I taste the acidic air deep in my throat.  But I know this is but a dream… because I can smell nothing.

Finally I find Godrun’s true self and come face to face with the insidious Omen of Betrayal.  A monster, a horror, as artful and devious as it is brute.  Yet the Omen of Betrayal has itself been betrayed, by every Watcher that his Daedric masters have sent against me.  In Quagmire, in Coldharbor, in the Daedric anchors that has defiled Tamrielic lands, I have faced you a hundred times and I now know your every trick at every turn.  I know never to look an Omen in the eye.

S.K