The temple of the Hall of Heroes is the final resting place of many fabled Redguard gallants of yesteryear, and now it is to be the graveyard of the Seventh Legion’s ambitious Hammerfell incursion; or so it is expected. Indeed, so confident that this is indeed the Magus-General Septima Tharn’s last stand, that High King Emeric himself has rushed here to lead the final charge to drive the Imperials from the Bangkorai sands. No doubt he has one eye on the history books, but alas like all vain men he may have suffered a moment of unreasonable confidence.

The scouts warn us that the Seventh Legion have been here for several weeks and are now well dug in, and some have even reported they may have spotted daedra within the temple itself. Why here? Why at this ancient crypt? Why does this feels so much like a trap?

Throughout Her northern campaign Septima Tharn has proved herself a masterful and cunning tactician. Capturing the indomitable Bangkorai Garrison, and almost sweeping the entire region with but a single legion. We may have the numbers and the fresher troop, but we cannot underestimate Tharn’s artifice, for whilst a dagger might not be as large and destructive as a greatsword, in the hands of a skilled nightblade its edge cuts thrice as deep.

There was a saying back in the Imperial city, ‘The only thing sharper then an assassins blade is a Tharn’s tongue’.

One moment we stand ready to storm the temple, the next by Septima Tharn’s foul magics, the King’s entire retinue lays dead about and Emeric himself is made prisoner. And yet, whether for arrogance, sheer temerity, or a brilliant gambit I cannot yet see, she left one standing… me.

On such moments of unreasonable confidence do entire kingdoms stand or fall.

S.K

I come across a small ransacked campsite in the middle of nowhere. The locals call this area Ash’abahs’ Oasis, despite the fact that there is no water in sight, and the bodies I find scattered about do not look to me like those of Redguards. Perhaps the misnomer is deliberate, for it is a scornful name for such a barren waste, and the Ash’abah are still held in unjust disdain throughout Hammerfell.

The orgres that ransacked this camp are still here plundering through what is left of the tents. As tall as they are broad, their muscles bulge under their thick blue leathery skin. They lumber ungainly, hunched at the shoulders, which leads many people to mistakenly mark them as being slow. But I have seen an ogre run as fast as a guar when in pursuit, and climb a mountain as nimbly as a goat when pursued.

The closer you get to an orge the more noisome becomes the reek of rancid meat, yet despite this stomach-churning stench, they seem to rely most heavily upon their sense of smell. Indeed, as I approach the ogre it sniffs the air and slowly turns to peer at me from under its protuberant brow, and bellows a challenge full of spite, malice, and putrid fetor.

S.K

One of the largest and most feracious mines in all of Hammerfell, the yield of Onsi’s Breath is said to have kept the Redguard of Bangkorai armed and armoured for generations. Named after the Yokudan warrior god who was said to have taught the Ra Gada how to turn their knives into swords, rather curiously it was up until recently run by a Nord.

Now however it is under the control of soldiers from the Seventh Legion. Without the numbers or knowledge to work the mine themselves, the Imperials have began press-ganging unfortunate locals and wayfarers on the southern roads, and forcing the aforementioned foreman to keep the mine running for them.

Liberating the mine would certainly further blunt Septima Tharn’s Bangkorai ambitions, but perhaps more importantly, it would also ensure that in our final push against the Seventh Legion we aren’t caught in the barbed maw of a duneripper between two camps of Imperials at Onsi’s Breath and the Hall of Heroes.

S.K

They say invention is the art of creating order out of chaos, I am pretty certain however that if Razak’s final invention is discovered to have worked, then it can only mean more chaos for Tamriel. The risks of liberating their constructs from the boundaries of their own cities was obviously recognized by the Dwemer themselves, for the final piece, or at least the means to forge it, was hidden so deep within a locked and heavily guarded vault.

I do wish Neramo were here, he at least would make an argument as to a positive application for Razak’s invention, because even in a land whose culture has been so sculptured by magic, our progressive development is vitally dependent upon our physical invention and creativity.

However, whatever Razak’s original intent, since escaping Coldharbour I have witnessed necromancers corrupting the bodies of saints, Hagraven’s corrupting flowers, and daedic cultists corrupting the very dreams of men and mer. And I remember that at Carzog’s Demise on the Isle of Betnikh, there were some too who made the argument that the Aylied Relic could be employed for good.

So when asked if Razak’s invention worked I shall inevitably answer alas… and hope that nobody notices the small inconspicuous metallic creature that has been following me ever since I left the delve known as Razak’s Wheel.

S.K

As I enter a large chamber deep in the heart of the Razak’s Wheel delve, I am almost overwhelmed by the sickly stench of decaying flesh. I discover the festering body of a flesh atronach laying prone upon a raised platform, surrounded by a guard of dwemer constructs.

As I tried to work out whether the constructs were protecting the atronach from something, or something from the atronach, the machines began to attack. I had the rather macabre notion that perhaps the atronach was in-fact the machines attempts to create mortal life, in much the same way that mortals had once created them. But that unsavoury thought was soon enough dispelled when, as the last of the guardians fell to my blade, an Imperial necromancer appeared out of nowhere and quickly began to awaken her creation by her insidious dark arts.

It is most likely that the constructs had come across the necromancer and her abomination before she had the chance to finish its creation, and so she had retreated to the shadows to await an allies aid. Unfortunately that ally turned out to be me.

One final thought crossed my mind before my battle with the necromancer and her monster was done. Whilst traversing these ruins I saw no evidence that any other explorers had made it this deep into Razak’s Wheel besides myself and members of the Seventh Legion. That could only mean that this atronach was created from the body parts of her own comrades.

The flesh atronach may be a repugnant creature, but the necromancer that created it is without question the true monster.

S.K