South of the town of Bruma I discover the remains of a stone building in the centre of which stands a statue of a warrior with it’s head and sword arm removed. Whose monument this once was is now lost. What columns and arches that once decorated this area are now but piles of stone, what epitaphs etched now but dust and sand; the sum of this hero’s deeds, are now forever lost upon the winds. Such is the way for all heroes and martyrs, for a time they seemed invincible, their statues and monuments stand for an age or more. But in the end, they always fall.

As soldiers we are cultivated to carry the scars of war on our bodies with pride. Because though we live with the anger of those times when we were unsuccessful, grief of when we were too slow to help comrades, and guilt for when we were too rash. The pride in our own courage, and the joy in our victories helps to free us from those regrets. But what of the common man and woman who cannot wield a blade or cast a spell to paint over their anger, grief, and guilt. They carry their own scars of war deep inside of them. For those who survive such terrible times will oft live with the regret that they did not die, freeing them from the memories that kill them everyday. Nobody survives war, in the end, they always fall.

There is little more I can do here for the people of Cyrodiil. Though I have travelled the entire region and aided those that I can, I am but a single scale on the back of this perpetual Ouroboros. So what now? Do I return to my small home in Daggerfall and let the memories of my regrets kill me everyday? Or do I continue to search for ways to paint over my anger, grief, and guilt? As I sit here in rumination I notice a pamphlet lying beneath the beheaded statue to the unremembered hero. ‘Return to Orsinium’ is a passionate plea urging the Orsimer to return home and help reforge their great city. I recall back in Daggerfall there used to be an Orc recruiting adventures. She was a very persistent lady, chased me down the street yelling at me on more then one occasion. It has been a while since I last saw her, perhaps she has moved on, or perhaps just chased the wrong person. I’d like a chance to see those great stone walls of Orsinium before… well, in the end, they always fall.

S.K

The Echo cave, so named after the ‘echoes of the living’ that roam freely through it’s icy caverns and sunken ruins, has been the haunt of the undead for as long as any can remember. So what would possess a group of adventures to camp outside and attempt to explore these notorious caves in such times of turbulence and strife, when in all the years of peace the Legions themselves never deemed to clear them? The answer is always the same; fortune, fame, or power.

So what about me you may ask. Well I guess could easily claim some noble purpose. To cull the undead perhaps, making the roads safer for travellers and merchants to pass. To banish the unnatural from our land under the pretence of Arkay’s banner. Or simply just to test my skill and mettle against ones whose quietus is liberated from moral consequence.

The simple truth is however, that my time in the Heartlands is drawing to an end and I am simply in need of coin. Hardly a virtuous or worthy cause I realise, but it is the privilege of only the Eight Divines to want for nothing, and of the undead to want for little more then echoes.

S.K

Almost everyone who grew up in Cyrodiil knows the tragic tale of The Underpall Cave in the North of the Great Forest. How some 70 years ago miners had uncovered the buried fortifications of a subterranean keep, only for their tunnels to collapse down upon them, thus ending any attempts to excavate the lost Underpall Keep.

Now as I approach the caves for the first time I discover outside it’s entrance an encampment of tents and cages seemingly occupied by vampires. Shockingly there is no attempt to disguise their true nature, or hide their evil intentions within the confines of the cave. This coven seems content to conduct their insidious enterprise fearlessly and brazenly out in the open. Does the Diamond heart of Tamriel now beat so weakly that the undead have lost their fear of the sun?

It was in the Ayleid ruins of Lipsand Tarn to the west that I first encountered the Bloodborn coven. I learnt there how two ambitious vampires, a bother and sister, travelled all the way from Stormhaven to Cyrodiil and began using locals from villages, towns and priories to build themselves an army of bloodfiends with which to conquer Northern Cyrodiil. The brother I beheaded in depths of Lipsand, and now finally I have found the sister, seemingly unaware of her siblings fate.

I discover a letter deep within the caverns from Gaston to Raelynne. In it he infers that it was in fact their ‘Master’s command’ for them to part and raise two armies simultaneously to sweep through the region. I have unfortunately managed to find no further reference to this mysterious ‘Master’ which is worrysome. For even if I strike down both siblings their plot still has breath; how long before this Master raises the Ashham siblings once again? Indeed, how many times have they already been struck down? We can only hope that other adventures will follow in our wake and keep putting the siblings down until this master is finally unmasked, and this Bloodborn plot may perhaps be ended for good.

S.K

The Cloud Ruler Temple, located high in the Jerall Mountains northwest of Bruma, is more fortress then sanctuary. It was said to have been built at the very founding of the Second Empire by Reman Cyrodiil’s Akaviri Dragonguard. The temple is now all but inaccessible as at the height of the Planemeld a Dark Anchor was opened above it and the entire temple was lifted from the ground in an attempt to drag it into Coldharbour. Before the daedra were able to fully abduct it however the Planemeld threat was ended. Yet the Dark Anchor has somehow persisted above the temple beyond the destruction of the Planar Vortex, whilst dremoran warriors and daedric harvesters continue to guard the approach and surrounding area.

Despite their prominent role in Reman’s creation of the Second Empire, the original Akaviri Dragonguard were eventually disbanded after the assassination of Reman III. Their traditions and influence on Tamriel however have persisted to this very day, with the Fighter’s Guild formation some 250 years ago, and my own chosen martial art, that of the Dragon Knight, both a living legacy of the Akaviri.

The only modern day Dragonguards I have met have been Sai Sahan, a title given to him by the deceived emperor Varen Aquilarios, a man whose selfish desire to be named dragonborn led to the fall of the Second Empire, and almost of Nirn itself. The other being the most noble Drake of Blades, the protector of the Dragonfires. She who was touched by Akatosh, and blessed with a sense of honour that surpasses any I have met; save perhaps for the Last King of the Ayleids, Laloriaran Dynar.

S.K