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The Ironhand ogres have long been considered a dangerous threat in Stormhaven but usually only to those travellers foolish enough to trek too close to the Wrothgar mountains.  Recently however, encouraged perhaps by the uprising of the Supernal Dreamers, and a spate of successful raids enjoyed by their goblin cousins, the tribe has grown far bolder, even venturing an attack upon Wayrest itself.

Such was the perceived threat of the ogre attack, and so stretched were the Breton forces that King Emeric had to call in a favour from on old ally in Wrothgar.  It was the Orc General Godrun and his Murtag Clan who came to Wayrest’s rescue, driving back the Ironhand to Shinji’s Scarp.

In their wake however, the ogres left a trail of devastation through the farmlands of Gavaudon.  One such farm, the Dro-Dara Plantation suffered heavily, the ogre horde ate almost their entire livestock, and destroyed their crops.  But worse was soon to follow for the plantation when the scavengers moved in.

An opportunistic bandit gang plundered and pillaged what little the ogres had left whilst taking the owners hostage and killing the remaining workers. Crocodiles have swam through the broken levees and now occupy the flooded fields, whilst giant spiders and hungry bears encroach ever closer from the hills, drawn by the smell of fresh blood and carcass.

I can attempt to free the hostages but there is little more that can be done for these unfortunate farmsteads until the Lion Guard arrives.

S.K

To the East of Wayrest a desolate farm moulders, a remnant perhaps of Ranser’s wrath some 16 years earlier.  Long thought deserted, yet I encounter a lone Supernal Summoner attempting to establish a portal to Oblivion.  Such a gateway would enable the Daedric horde to sow havoc and devastation upon the farmlands on central Stormhaven.

I am not the only adventurer to happen upon the farm that late afternoon, and as I charge to prevent the miscreant from finishing his ritual, I am joined by a young sorceress, and a Temple Knight.  The cultist is swiftly cut down, but we are too late to prevent a giant Daedroth from breaking through, accompanied by a pack of flame chucking scamps.

Working together however, my sharp sword and the Knight’s Aedric Spear keep the monsters engaged whilst the Sorceress lights them up from behind with a spectacular bombardment of Crystal shard and lightning bolt. With concerted effort we manage to slay the Daedric insurgents, but I wonder, had fate, luck, or providence not brought us together at that very moment, would any of us have been able to fight back the Daedric incursion on our own.

Unity, that is where mortal’s great strength lies, and nothing, not love, solidarity, regard, or respect can unite man or mer as fixedly as defiance against a common enemy.  Ultimately it may not be a Breton King, an Elven Queen, or a drunken barbarian who will unite Tamriel under a single banner, but it may just be our common hatred for the tyrant of Oblivion.

This one small skirmish, unseen and unnoticed, a battle that may have saved a hundred lives, a year’s harvest, and by extension, an entire war, will never be recounted by tavern bard, or chronicled in the annals of High Rock, because except for myself, the Sorceress Zérnichter and the Templar Knight Skyrén, there was nobody there to witness it.

S.K

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Dug deep into the foothills of the Wrothgar Mountains in Northern Stormhaven, the drear vaults of Norvulk now crawl with Dremora.  They dig, delve, and rummage through the Ayleid built catacombs, zealously searching for fragments of lost knowledge or obscured antiquity that might accord any advantage to their Daedric masters nefarious plans.

Be particularly wary of the Daedric leader Nariam, who wields jagged blade in his right hand, whilst conducting tempestuous spell from his left.

S.K

In a small house within the town of Wind Keep, the Wild Elf Breloth closed her eyes on Tamriel for the final time leaving behind her Breton husband Michel Helomaine, who had never considered that his long-lived wife might pass before him.  Dedicated to the love of Breloth and Michel…

‘We aren’t young saplings anymore belovéd’,
the final words you whispered me.
But your beauty never aged belovéd,
like a bouquet in eternal bloom.
Your flawless face, your perfect grace, 
your smile that was my sun.
Take this kiss goodnight belovéd,
your moonlit voyage has begun.

How could you depart before I belovéd,
sorrow veils my heart in gloom.
We’d planned to share each day belovéd,
from morn’s haze till twilight’s brume.
You were the centre of my Mundus,
and you put your faith in me.
And until my final breath belovéd,
I’ll prove your faith was true.

I chose you every day belovéd,
and every day you chose me.
Our love was love for love belovéd,
though our families could never see.
No more will you feel the rain or cold,
but I’ll still shelter you.
And I’ll still hold your hand belovéd, 
whilst my heart is forever held by you.’

S.K

What we see in the mirror is often only what others would have us perceive, a distortion of our reflection, painted by suggestions, dressed by insinuations.   Perhaps to discern a true reflection of ourselves we need to stare into the looking glass with our eyes closed.

Villainous plot uncovered and mirror’s spell broken, yet Vaermina’s cultists still would not give up their victim easily, and we engaged in a most bloody battle amongst the gravestones of Wind Keep’s cemetery.

The night survived, I take my leave of the Countess’s hospitality, but before I go she asks for my opinion of her many suitors.  I tell her to get a pet dog instead… because when a dog looks into a mirror, all it sees is a dog.

S.K