If we are to put a final nail in the coffin of Molag Bal’s Planemeld then it must be hammered from the inside out; we must enter into the Planar Vortex itself.

Stepping through the portal we enter into a world between two realms, that hovers betwixt night and morn upon the edge of the horizon. In this addled realm forlorn hope weighs most heavily upon our weary spirits, for we know that even if we are to achieve this most improbable undertaking we are sure to lose our freedom here, for there is no place to escape to. And if you do not believe the sun will rise, it is hard to stand and greet the coming night. And that is not even the rub of it, for Molag Bal itself has come to crush the last best hope of mortal Nirn.

Nirn, that world of so many banners, many more then just the three that dance the wheel of Cyrodill. It is a world of disparate peoples, that even when faced with horrors invading from Oblivion choose to fight each other rather then stand together as one country against the outer darkness. If it were that the stars should appear but one night every hundred years, mortals would be justified in cowering. Yet the stars do appear every night, just as the Dark Anchors fall upon our homes every day, and the daedric princes have plotted our demise ever since mortals took their very first breaths.

So like our ancestors before, and our kin yet to come, we here shall stand in resolute defiance. For hope is the mortals chief strength, it is in every breath we take, and it lights up the entire Mundas and for that the daedra hate us. Every mortal knows hope, because every mortal knows that after winter comes the spring, after night comes the dawn, and after every storm, there comes clear, fresh skies.

The stars do appear every night, and the sun does rise every morn. Hope is the trait that makes heroes of ordinary people. And the measure of a hero is to stand and say no to the tyrants and accept with calmness the consequences of our resistance. Because it is far better for us to die today on our feet than to live the rest of our lives on our knees.

S.K

With the outer portals of the Endless Stair secured, we now make our push into the Labyrinth complex without fear of becoming cut-off. The first chambers we discover however stop us dead in our tracks.

We enter the most enormous library I have ever seen. Hugh walls and columns bricked with thousands upon thousands of books from ceiling to… seemingly bottomless floor. It is enough to turn even Hermaeus Mora green, it certainly made my mage companions giddy with greed. Libraries are said to be the energy that fuels imagination, indeed, one can sit in a library and be almost anywhere in Nirn in but the turn of a page. I dread to think however what nether realm of Oblivion one might end up in whilst reading these dark tomes.

Beyond the library, supposedly a place of enlightenment, we enter chambers utterly devoid of illumination. What little magical light the mages can conjure barely disturbs the blackness. In fact, it only serves to rouse and agitate the strange featureless statues that inhabit this perpetual darkness. As ever it is Gabrielle who proves to be a ray of sunlight, leading us to the very portal of the Planar Vortex, guarded by that most mighty of daedric titans, Telkor the Unforgiving.

And one more surprise awaits us, a familiar face appears who had always seemed to be more then her semblance, turns out to be so much more then any of us could have imagined. Who can we really trust in this abominable realm, a truthful enemy or a deceitful friend?

S.K

Our forces gather at the gateway to the Endless Stair, Molag Bals most northern citadel, where we hope to find the Planar Vortex and put an end to his wicked Planemeld once and for all. The plan is for a small vanguard to push ahead into a daedric fortress full of Coldharbour’s most terrible and deadly denizens, and prepare the way for our main forces. I’m pretty sure I would have maybe considered volunteering perhaps… had I not already have been picked.

One choice I do get to make however is for who is to accompany me on this mortiferous assignment. My obvious choice for a companion would of course be the arch-mage Vanus Galerian, but alas he is fully occupied with co-ordinating the main force. So I asked the ever reliable Gabrielle Benele to support me, for ever since we first met in Glenumbra she has never let me down, but she believes it best I have a fighter at my side if I am to succeed. Perhaps she is right, and the best fighter I know is Darien Gautier.

With what we have been through together on our journey I consider Darien a friend and would trust him to stand resolute at my side in the darkest night. But to be honest of late his talk of dreams and premonitions concerns me. Perhaps it is well that I shall be able to keep a close eye on him, for my experience in Stormhaven with Vaermina’s plague of dreams taught me that you should never ignore your dreams when they involve Oblivion.

So together a formal Imperial legionnaire and a former captain of the Camlorn Guard, who might one day have crossed blades on the fields of Cyrodiil had not the thieving elf’s insidious worm cult picked me off the street and stolen my soul, push forward, side by side, comrade by comrade, into Brutality’s citadel and most likely death. Fate it seems can be one sardonic bitch.

S.K

Casting a baleful shadow down across the Reaver Citadel is the grim Pyramid, the seat of power of Valkynaz Seris, the leader of the Deathbringers kyn. It is here that the Dremora Lyranth, her every word dripping with malice, finally reveals her cause… Vengeance.

It seems the price for her opening the way for us to the Planar Vortex is that I am to be her vessel for vengeance against the Valkynaz. It is not that this scheming Dremora is not capable herself of banishing her enemy, it is that such is the Dremoran fixation with status that if she were to do so with her own hands then she would lose both standing and honour. Besides, how much sweater the taste of her vengeance when Seris’s blood is splashed across his own halls by a mere mortal. They say when vengeance sings, it sings loudest in a female’s voice.

One wonders however if eternal banishment might have been preferable for this vengeful Dremora if Molag Bal were ever to discover that it was blood willingly offered by Lyranth that opened the doors to his last garrison? I imagine the vengeance of a daedric lord to be a most dreadful din.

S.K

Now that the warriors of the Fighters Guild have successfully infiltrated the keep through the tunnels beneath the guildhall, it is time to implement the second stage of King Dynar’s plan. We must push our way into the upper Citadel to open the portals for Galerion and his mages to join the fray.

The Mages guildhall is however heavily guarded by both Dremora and ancient spell wards. Thankfully with the support of the fighter’s blades and arrows we can now engage the Dremora head on.

I know who I am and what I am capable of. I am a soldier, a warrior, someone who faces his fears in the light, not shirks from them in the shadows. Yet like every soldier I foster no fondness for conflict, it is as I am,  but a hammer with which to build peace.

S.K