The town leaders of Vlastarus have requested that I kill a giant bear that they accuse of harassing travellers and townsfolk wandering in the lands to the north. To be honest I am loath to kill such a noble creature as a bear without good reason, even for a handful of gold coin. Especially as it is probably only defending its territory from the encroachment of the townsfolk; for all I know it could have cubs nearby. Besides, I remember as a child my grandfather, who was considered a most skilled hunter, boasting before heading out on a trip that he would bring us home fresh meat for a month and a nice new rug. My father brought him home on a stretcher, battered and missing an arm, but all wrapped up in a fresh bear skin. That day I learnt that some victories are just not worth the price you pay for them.

I have met many people who claim we share a natural affinity with bears. Like us they are opportunistic and resourceful. They dig their dens in hillsides or shelter in caves, hollow logs and dense vegetation. They are hunters capable of bringing down much larger prey, but they are also foragers, pillaging crops, picking fruit and berries, digging up anthills. And they are capable of unexpected feats of dexterity for their size, from climbing trees to reach beehives, to catching elusive fish in rapid waters. There are many who see them as spiritual creatures, envisioning them as some kind of protective nature spirits. Indeed it cannot be a coincidence that many of the worshippers of Y’ffre who have returned from the wilderness in these dark days have chosen the bear as their companion. And I have witnessed first hand the fearful sight of the warriors of Wrothgar riding into battle atop their armoured war bears.

Whilst I sat under a tree contemplating greed over conscience, the giant bear the locals nicknamed “Gaping Maw” attacked, thus settling my mercenaries dilemma for me. 

Oh well, bears will be bears.

S.K

In more peaceful times, mercenaries like myself are looked upon with disdain by the citizens of Tamriel. We are seen as little more then agitators, nuisances, looters and thieves. Lawless rascals with short tempers and long swords, who choose fighting as a substitution for an honest days work. But life is a fight, and now in these rugged times of tumult and turmoil, they turn to us ‘agitators’, to defend them with necessary malice from the true miscreants.

Miscreants like the Gray Viper bandits who have taken up residence nearby in the both the broken Vlastarus Towers and the Ayleid ruins of Nornalhorst, as they prey upon the refugees fleeing the war with what little they can carry on their backs. Or the band of violent poachers who have been belligerently overfishing the nearby Silverscale Pond.

These bandits and poachers are little more then bullies taking advantage of those who are not fighters. But they also the reason why rascals like me, who may not be accepted, may not be wanted, and may never be welcomed… will always be needed.

S.K

Vlastarus has always been a migrant town. Its relatively close proximity to Cyrodiil’s south-western Border Keeps means it is often the first haven for travellers from the south; especially as the safest route into the Heartlands from the Valenwood is now across the savannah of Northern Elsweyr. Nowadays however the refugees come to Vlastarus from all over war-torn Cyrodiil, yet despite the ongoing conflict the town appears to be flourishing. That’s often the thing about migrant towns, the people tend to be more appreciative of their opportunities, and value a little more dearly what they earn.

Despite the towns location however, there is no direct road or path connecting Vlastarus to the Gates of Altadoon, so it has become a constant target for the Covenant, resulting in the flags flying above the town regularly changing colour. It matters little to the people of Vlastarus however what colours fly above their town, for despite the constant presence of banner soldiers they still suffer attacks by goblins, bandits, undead and wildlife. The banner soldiers of whatever creed seem to care nothing for the people of Vlastarus, only for their sullied flags and callous banners.

Thus the towns leaders, a Khajiit named Jurana and the Elf Nelerien, welcome enthusiastically the aid of any mercenary adventurer looking to earn a little coin or battle experience, regardless of their race or allegiance.

S.K

In happier, more peaceful times it was said that the Colovian forest could offer a person of faith all the sanctuary they need, but it seems now neither piety or priory is enough to offer the faithful protection against the damnable deeds of cowards.

Defenceless against corrupted heart and afflicted disposition, the Gottlesfont Priory will soon be forced to close its doors. Only a few faithful now remain to tell of that harrowing night when soldiers smashed down their doors, killing the abbot and the few priests who dared resist, and pillaging all they deemed of value. Even amongst the heretic Dark Elves or the tree worshipping lizards, there exists a shared morality that during times of war you never deliberately target the innocent.

And yet there are people who will try to tell you that most of the evil in this world is done in the name of faith, or by people with good intentions. The worst evil is, and always has been done by those too craven to avoid doing what they know to be wrong, or too afraid to do what they know to be right.

When the flame of Gottlesfont is extinguished and the doors are eventually closed, it will be a stain upon every banner of Tamriel.

S.K

I spotted their makeshift shelters first, grimy animal skins stretched taut over wood and bone, with large rocks placed as ballast, the traditional shelters of the Ogre. Growing up in rural Cyrodiil we were taught from a very young age to recognise such structures and give them the widest possible berth. For like the wild bears they share their hunting grounds with, whilst they will shy from human contact, they are easily startled and are ferocious when they feel threatened. If left alone however they generally stay clear of human or mer settlements, unless it is to pinch the odd vulnerable livestock.

No matter how primitive they may seem to us, these humble shelters, along with their crude goblin-like tributes to Malacath, are to be found throughout the out-lands of Tamriel, proof perhaps that these brutish, uncivilised creatures have a shared culture, making them more then just animals. Usually they live in small communities, but perhaps it is that they are gathering together at the Serpent Hollow Cave, along with the bear matriarch and her sloth of bears, for mutual preservation against such large numbers of soldiers roaming this war ravaged land.

However, I remember the threat the Ironhands Ogres posed in Stormhaven when from the Wrothgar mountains they gathered in large number to raid Gavauden. That was perhaps the first time in generations humans had witnessed the threat of an aggression of Ogres with a common, and shared purpose. Indeed, if not for the aid of the Murtag Orc Clan and their General, the dream tormented Godrum, the whole of eastern Stormhaven may have come to resemble Aphren’s Hold.

I do wonder if once upon a time we may have been closer to ogres, perhaps in the Merethic age when out of common need we may have co-existed side by side, as they sometimes do now with the goblin tribes. As we grew more civilised however, they seemed to us to be more wild. Such a close relationship with the wild bears suggests that they are now closer to beasts then either men or mer, and perhaps it is inevitable even that one day they will be but beasts and disappear into the wilderness forever; their makeshift shelters becoming little more then Antiquarian oddities.

S.K