Automations still roam the mighty settlements of the Dwarves, but not just through the subterranean caverns and corridors, but also freely traversing through the pipes, walls, ceilings and floors. Dwarven centurions, spheres, and spiders work in harmony together with shared purpose to keep their city breathing, existing only to maintain their home and each other, and to keep uninvited guests like me out. Their solidarity would be the envy of every civic leader in Tamriel.

As I search deeper still, each machine seems to pause and consider before they inevitably attack, and I begin to wander if I might be the first being of flesh and blood these creatures of metal have seen in a millennia, but then I find the body of an Altmer, and quickly learn of his extraordinary search for a maidens soul that was never laid to rest…

S.K

The Dwarven city of Klathzgar, thought forever lost to the sands and forgot by all but the most sedulous of scholars. Yet the desert sands move much like the fates of men and mer, ever shifting and their drifts often guided solely by the the winds from Aetherius. And what was once thought lost is perhaps by providence found again. But unlike the lost cities of other civilizations that died hundreds of years gone by, Klathzgar breaths still.

As I enter the huge stone doorway my every sense tells me this subterranean compound is very much still alive. The clink and clank of metal upon metal, the grind of chain, the hiss of steam, and the roar of flame. As I wander the corridors of rock and iron, I feel the city’s heart beat vibrating beneath my feet, the air smells and tastes of earthy oils, and all the while I feel my every step is being watched by the many eyes of Klathzgar built into the walls, furnaces, pipes, and large machines of forgotten purpose.

But soon too I become aware of other things moving autonomously from the great Dwemer machines, and for a short time they seem content to watch me also…

S.K

Wherefore the darkness, and yet wherefore the sun;

When I fall will I sleep, When I sleep will I dream?

Of battles I fought in life, of deeds I have done;

Is it better a soldiers death, or to die an old man?

These desolate wastelands, are the last lands he’ll see;

Wardush’s final wish, is for honour reprieved.

The bloody helm of an enemy, to rouse his company;

‘I smell the Ashen Forge’, were the last words he breathed.

Mazrahil the Sly Scarab, has but one final fling;

Before sands swallow his legacy, and bury his name.

For all but the few of us, no songs are there sung;

For old soldiers die lonely, heroes of none.

The Old Tower’s shadow, veils o’er their fates;

Tis scorn of providence, mocks their shared doom. 

Nowt awaits but nightfall, their adventures done;

What use now honour, to the dead and forgotten?

Wherefore the darkness, and yet wherefore the sun;

When I fall will I sleep, when I sleep will I dream?

Of battles I fought in life, of deeds I have done?

Is it better a soldiers death, or to die an old man?

S.K

From the southern gates of the Bangkorai Garrison, High King Emeric looks out across the Fallen Wastes. Still the lust of battle bestirs his blood and he is eager to push forward into the desert to find Septima Tharn and liberate the rest of Southern Bangkorai from her Seventh Legion’s choking grasp. Emeric’s forces however need time to regroup, so I am sent to scout the road ahead to Hallin’s Stand.

It is not long before I see the first devastating consequences of the Seventh Legion’s occupation. The Damar Farmstead has been burnt almost to the ground and nowt but daedra now roam the fields about.

Scorched Lands; a military tactic all the Legions know, but rarely talk about.

In the event of retreat we were taught to destroy anything that might be of use to the enemy. To burn the fields, supplies, and bridges. To tear down the buildings and scatter their stones so not even rubble remained. It is a shameful policy, but seen as a necessary one.

Emeric must muster quickly, lest all that will be left for him to liberate will be sand and corpses.

S.K