It turns out that this fearsome woman is not only leading the uprising, but she is also the ‘Lyris’ the apparition told me to find.  There is something of the Nord about her… and of the giant too judging by her formidable stature.  And the way she wields that giant axe, from her stance, to her grip, to her balance in swing, this woman has been schooled well.

She refers to my phantom cell visitor as ‘The Prophet’, and appears to hold him in high regard.  I am to help this half-giant set him free.  It seems I am to play the tool for this “Prophet”… Whatever, just as long as it gets me out of this desolate pit.

Oh, and she also tells me I’m dead… I think I already knew. The emptiness in my ragged, dry, hollow, barren torso… I already knew I am empty.

It seems that I was sacrificed by a Elf named Mannimarco and his Worm Cult to the Daedric prince, Molag Bal.  Well then, perhaps my carcass is not so empty after all; because I can feel vengeance stirring deep inside my abyss, and it comes duel-armed with fury and wrath.

S.K

Back home, I wouldn’t usually put much faith in the word of a reptile, but if you’re going to trust anyone during a prison break, it may as well be the one who unlocks your door.  Besides, this sickly looking Argonian has led me straight thus far.  I guess whether Human, Argonian, or Elf… we are all just wretches in Coldharbour.

S.K

My parents taught me that courage and conviction are a man’s most potent weapons… but I’ll take a sword and shield over sentiments any day.

… A Legionnaire’s ode

If fates be bitter, and today I fall,

then let it be with sword arm drawn.

Let my heart hold sure and strong,

let my spirit gladden soldier’s song.

And let them sing of my last stand,

that I fell, with sword in hand.

S.K

Back at our old barracks, there was a motto nailed above the door which read… “When death follows close behind, it is only by defying it that the brave escapes.”  With a sword in my hand, armour on my back, and comrades at either side, that made for a fine motto indeed. 

But here, now, empty handed, armoured in rags, and with only dread and panic for company, when death follows close behind… I flee.

S.K

How quickly one abandons hope when ones only prospect of freedom is solely dependent upon a door that has to be opened from the outside… but then at some point during the chaos of the uprising, someone liberates my hope.

I take one look at the bleak horror without, and for the briefest of moments, consider closing the cell door again.  Who would build such a place as this?

S.K