An oasis in a desert can prove to be a lifesaver for the travellers, migrants and pilgrims of the arid wastes of Hammerfell, but they can also be very dangerous places for the unwary, with all manner of creatures making a home in the gardens of the desert. Luckily for those needing to stop at the Ogre’s Bluff oasis you won’t find any actual ogres… that’s probably because they were all eaten by the giant snakes!

S.K

In the Hollow Wastes of the Alik’r Desert, whist the Withered Hand attempts to raise an undead army to purge the desert of the living, and the dark anchors of Coldharbour continue to rain Daedric monsters down upon the sands, the patrons of the Duneripper Downs lizard-racing track appear to show blinkered concern for anything but the next race.

Perhaps in these times of chaos and turmoil, when the next day is as uncertain as a Baandari surety, gambling is as much an act of faith for the gambler, as praying is for the priest.

S.K

In a lonely cave set under the mountains skirt just outside Bergama, the ancient hag Viyaneh sits alone in the shade awaiting the departure of the sun. Like the desert fox, she emerges from her burrow at dusk to prey upon Bergama’s eastern roads.

An ornery smile plays over her dry, skinless lips as she watches my approach, using her gnarled, skull-crested staff she rises gingerly to her feet as I dismount a short distance away. There is no need for words, no challenge, no threat, no curse, for she knows why I am here; indeed, it is almost as if she has been expecting me.

Yet if she had, surely she would have chosen not to face me alone. The hags of the desert though are a little like alley cats, whilst they like to know where each other are, they don’t much care for one another’s company.

S.K

The wedding in Bergama of the Crown bride Tiela, to the Forebear groom Casnar, is much more then just a ballad of a young couples love. It is also the coupling of two prominent families on opposite sides of an ideological divide. Whether this union proves to be an anthem in Redguard history, or but a passing moment like a single grain of sand in an hourglass, cannot yet be foretold.

But if the Elder Scrolls teach us anything it is that every moment before and after this one, depends upon this one. For we mortals live our lives moment to moment, with each grain of sand that falls being affected by  every word we sing, and every note we play, so that the melody of history is never quite the same again.

S.K

Beneath the hustle and bustle of the Bergama bazaar where market vendors and their patrons haggle exuberantly over aromatic spice and exotic fruit. Beneath the Bergama family homes, where both Crown and Forebear partitioned by ideology, eat of the same food, drink the same drink, play the same games, and sleep in identical beds. Beneath the Bergama Fighter’s Guild, where warriors both young and old sharpen skill and blade in anticipation of bragging their valour at the next anchor to fall upon the near-by Myrkwasa dolmen. Beneath the mages studying in their tower, trying to make sense of a senseless land where they are mistrusted as equally by ally and enemy alike. Beneath the Stone Oasis Inn where the Redguard Bard Mahasti sings like a mermaid of the desert sands, her silken voice rolling across the golden dunes in somniferous waves. Beneath Bergama’s extravagantly decorated hall of judgement, where the magistrate and her bailiffs strive to hold the city together against malevolent influence, both within and without the city walls.

The Breton’s have a saying that goes, ‘A city is not judged by the height of it’s minarets and spires, but by the depths of its sewers.’

Beneath her streets, Bergama hides a most dreadful secret.

S.K