Molag Bal… Tormentor, Corrupter, Harvester of Souls and Lord of Brutality.

The daedric prince looks down upon me with such intense hatred, I want to look away, but can’t. They say that one’s eyes are windows to our thoughts, anecdotes for our mind, interpreters for our soul. In his eyes I see all his cruelty, his brutality, his malice, his scorn and contempt. I see the enslavement of all Nirn, and the end of the mortal age.

But I see also him blink… and it is enough.

S.K

I feel as if I have been recast, wrought and hammered into a weapon of singular purpose. Long have we hacked away at the branches of evil, now with the power of the Amulet of Kings coursing through my body, it is time to strike at it’s very root.

The dread horns bellow once more, the air about roils with hatred, and a horde of daedra swarm upon me.

Molag Bal can but watch as one by one his most trusted guard falls meekly to my blade. Unencumbered by pity, compassion or remorse, it is a most savage slaughter.

S.K

Alas that the time has come for me to make the grievous choice. How does one weigh the life of one companion ‘gainst another? I thought I was ready, I thought I knew, but… but this isn’t a choice  between good or bad, it is all wrong choices and not one right. I can but choose which wrong choice feels the least wrong.

And as I watch the repercussion of my choice in fretful anguish, my heart beating in my chest like wooden thunder, a voice whispers to my stained conscience… ‘You must rescue me.  And I, in turn, must rescue you.’

S.K

The Vestibule of Heart’s Grief, Molag Bal’s palatial fortress; there are few places in all the realms of Oblivion more feared. It is in this stately antechamber where the Lord of Brutality reaps cruel vengeance upon those who have displeased him the most. Some consider it wisdom that the enemy of your enemy is your friend, of that I am not so sure.

Conscience does however make it difficult for me to abandon his prisoners to an eternity of daedric penance. Even in weighting their collective atrocities against the peoples of Tamriel, I find myself questioning my own path, and whether it is only by fortune, fate or providence that I am not chained next to them. Is that empty alcove there not reserved for me?

We all make wrong choices; do wrong things, things that have bad consequences. Does mean we are all evil, that there is no way back, that we cannot be trusted again thereafter? By abandoning these transgressors for their mistakes am I not abandoning us all?

And yet Mannimarco…

Only the naive forgive and forget; only the foolish neither forgive nor forget; and considered wise are those who can forgive but do not forget; for so brief is life there is not time enough to hold grudges. And yet here lieth Mannimarco, the King of Worms whom I can never forgive, but I shall forget.

S.K

Despite our destruction of the Planemeld, Molag Bal’s threat to Tamriel is not yet finished; not whilst he still holds thousands upon thousands of mortal souls captive, ready to fuel some future malevolence. With the Amulet of Kings in hand we five companions step out from judicious shadow to confront the Lord of Brutality.

Whilst my soul may be captive, my heart beats freely still. And though now we fly into the maw of the beast, we do so without angst of death, for we are stoically resolved that the price of freedom may be our lives.

S.K