The Hall of Judment, though far more palatial in style then administrative, is where Bergama’s Magistrate Sulma holds office.  Traditionally Crown dominated, the recent inflow of Forebears into Bergama has created tension within its walls. Yet there have been Forebear families here for generations living peaceably alongside their Crown brethren. It is only when the balance of power and influence begins to shift one way or another, as when the Forebear King installed a Forebear magistrate, that unease and disquietude unchecked swiftly turns to narrow-mindedness and bigotry.

Residents have began mysteriously disappearing from the streets and people are looking at each other under suspicious brows. Magistrate Sulma claims the rumours of the disappearances have been exaggerated, but Justice Istah is much less the politician and discreetly asks for my help in his investigation as in the current climate, both Crown and Forebear would rather point their fingers in judgment, then extend their hands in aid.

S.K

The desert city of Bergama is the second largest settlement in all the Alik’r. Founded deep in the barren wastes some two thousand years ago, it stands as an island in the midst of an arid ocean. Parched yellow waves wear and gnaw at her once proud, ornate walls that were built high to repel tusked natives. Now however, the city’s residents complain they are no longer big enough to keep out the encroaching sands; nor the ever encroaching influence of the outside world.

For hundreds of years the Crown traditionalists of the Hollow Wastes have held hard to their Yokudan heritage and religion, whilst the more liberal-minded Forebears of the coastal cities long ago began to abandon worship of the old gods in favour of the more cosmopolitan pantheons. Their city laws are now set by a Forebear Magistrate, and they can do little but stand by and watch as the Forebear King takes their youth away from them to fight for foreign soil under the blue banners of a Breton.

It is little wonder then that the Crowns of Bergama mistrust the shadow of every stranger that enters her arched gateways; and yet there’s the rub, for Bergama is a city built upon trade and barter. Its stalls offer ware and goods from across Hammerfell and beyond. The famed Bergama Bazaar spans almost the entire city, gate to gate, selling everything from colourful textiles to dull-plated armour, scavenged relics to fresh painted canvas, bland flavoured dried meats to spice, incense and balm. Indeed, it is said that even amidst the fiercest Alik’r sandstorm, a man of Bergama can always find his way home by the smell of the spice market.

The city itself, once grand and ornate, retains a grim beauty; It is not just in the people of Bergama that the heritage of the Yokuda lives on. The Stone Oasis Inn is perhaps the largest building in the city, offering much needed shelter and refreshment to the many travellers that consider her a valuable desert harbour. The august golden-domed Hall of Judgement holds the most prominent location, and the Fighters Guildhall can be found at the very heart of the city. The Mages Guild Tower however stands apart, perhaps reflecting the opinion still shared by many Crown and Forebear alike, that the practice of magic is as unnatural as it is untrustworthy.

But Bergama is not be just the sum of its buildings, it is the history and legacy of a long lost land; but also it is an hourglass running out of sand, its future as fickle and uncertain as its people. For just as a life lived in the desert colours a man’s cheeks, stiffens his jawline, and sets lines in his face with every laugh and frown; so the sands of time have taken their toil upon Bergama; its once colourful canopys fade in the desert sun, its wooden structures dry and grow brittle, and its stone walls crack and crumble.

There is always hope however, for whilst the people of Bergama live in fear of words and ideas carried in to their homes upon the relentless desert winds, it is only ever in the songs of mediocre bards that people are wholly divided, having nothing in common and nothing to share with one another. Once a year the people of Bergama, both Crown and Forebear, welcomes all of Tamriel though her gates to celebrate with them the New Life Festival, and take part in the challenge of the signal fire sprint in honour of the Bergama heroine, Zoreh the Tenacious.

S.K

Just below the west cliff of the imposing Tu’whacca’s Throne temple, I spy a solitary figure guarding what looks to be a Daedric summoning circle. So intent was the crouched figure upon her duty that she failed to notice my approach. As I rode closer I soon recognized the unmistakable golden armour of one of Sheogorath’s Golden Saints.

If ever there was a misnomer, it is in the name ‘Saint’, for there is nothing in the nature of these creatures of virtue or benevolence. Even for Daedra they are infamous for their cruelty to all those they consider inferior, including other Daedra. Their pride and arrogance is perhaps matched only by the martial Dremora of the Deadlands.

I have little idea what mischief the Mad God has planed so deep in the desert, but after the way he has toyed with me in my dealings with the Mages Guild, little would give me more pleasure then to gain a whit of payback and spoil whatever game he plays.

Too late I learn however that this is no ordinary guard, but turns out to be a General of sorts, and you don’t get to be a Daedric General without bloody deed and viscous achievement on the battlefield; and more often than not, the brutal supplantation of the titles previous owner.

She proves to be a most formidable opponent, but then, so do I.

S.K

Come closer, closer, come closer to me, and let me look upon him so bold, who breaks my seal and dare set foot in my sallow-stone sanctuary.  Do you Know me not, know not my name, know not me by my legacy?  Know not how my father 20 years to this day, raised the Yokudan dead from the Iliac Bay.

Curse upon the Ash’abah, Tu’whacca’s thrice-doomed fools, who dared resist noble Suturah’s scheme, to drown these sands in Redguard blood to be brought upon them by ancestors’ beloved.  For what is their life but a worthless stroll along an endless road of fear and toil.  For all it bears them is closer to me, the necromancer, exposer of the Far Shores fallacy.

To me, to me, oh so bold man, to me thy fate has steered thee straight.  No god can save thee from my hand, thy spirit is now mine to freely take.  But wait, hold, one moment still, I sense… no, it cannot be.  An empty shell, an unfilled husk, I sense there is no soul in thee.

So this is what they send against my contrive, a soul-shriven freak, Coldharbour flotsam.  A creature as piteous as my risen helotry, what joy, what thrill, oh what irony!  Come, come my brother, come my new friend, for thee shall serve as general to my risen army.  And together we’ll stride the roads of death and fill thy void with the hunger of the undead.

Is it not now our fate to tread this road together, across broiling desert into shadowed lands? For the waters of thy life flows too fleet, too fast, between the shores of too few years.  But I am the power behind thy fears, beyond the darkness of thy empty tears.

Come witness my work, meet the priest of Tu’whacca, see how I turn their blood to embalming cruor.  Come watch how I work the Ansei’s relics, to raise an army to flood this cursed desert. Observe the flickering of their hearts candle, burning ever more dim into frail shadow.  Listen as I chant in lissome undertone, stirring necrotic pools of quietus song.

Come look between the vaporous mists, into those vainglorious realms of death.  For together we could summon those creatures unboned, to serve under our duress.  See the star that sheds its dust upon the even skies, let it guide thee into bold service else unto a timid death.  Come closer, closer, come closer to me.

S.K

Throne Keeper Farvad has asked that I aid him in taking back Tu’whacca’s Throne from the Withered Hand cultists.  To achieve this, we must relight the sacred braziers around the site to trigger the temples defences; he claims this will unleash the ‘Breath of Tu’whacca’ to cleanse the temple and return the dead to the sands.  The Withered Hand however won’t give up the vast necropolis without a fight and direct their undead thralls to stop us.

The temple sits high atop a plateau overlooking the only road linking Sentinel in the west, to Bergama and the rest of the Alik’r to the east.  If their necromancers succeed in their nefarious undertaking to raise an army from the temples abundant burial grounds, then the Withered Hand could soon lay mortifying siege upon both cities.

S.K