I arrive at the outskirts of Northpoint, for generations the principle city of ambitious House Dorell.  Now however the Baron and his troop have been supplanted from their own home by the insidious forces of the Montclairs.

I must find Skordo the Knife amongst the outlaying farmsteads which have also become overrun.  The brash Orc, the Countess Tamrith, and the former captain of Camlorn, Darien Gautier, have been tasked with finding a way into the locked city.

S.K

The Dremora still control the Sigil stone attuned to the portal beneath the Edrald Estate in Rivenspire.  Before we return to High Rock this relic must be destroyed lest the demons of the Deadlands return for their revenge, only next time as legion.  But to get to the stone, I must first overcome the Dremoran Lord Velark.

For the Dremora, the bestowal of honorific titles such as Lord is not an hereditary tradition as in Breton society, nor a reward for wealth and enterprise like the Redguards, or by the nepotism that High Elf society often stands accused, but it is earned by bloody deed and viscous achievement on and off the battlefield; and more often than not, over the brutal supplantation of the titles previous occupant.

S.K

The Daedric portal beneath the Edrald estate led to the Deadlands; the scorched and searing realm of Oblivion ruled over by Mehrunes Dagon, the Daedric Prince of Destruction.  Somewhere amongst these charred ruins the Edrald family are held captive.

The air is thick with soot and ash, broiling rivers of lava girdle the volcanic isles upon which wild Daedra roam free.  Yet even they steer clear of the blackened monoliths and towers that are home to the dread ebony and crimson warriors of Clan Dagon.

The martial Dremora are ferociously loyal to their Daedric lord, war-born and bred, armoured in pride and arrogance, the Dremoran warrior, as with all the varmint of Oblivion, have one major advantage over all their would-be quarry; they have no fear of death. 

All but I.  For what does quietus hold for a man with no soul, save an end to this torturous emptiness that abrades my every breath.

The portal now attuned becomes an open doorway to another world.

The trouble with portals, especially a Daedric portal, is that one never truly knows where it will lead.  Sure for the trained eye there may be sigils, or runes that could be read, but wouldn’t it just be the Dremora thing to do to put up a sign saying ‘Through here for free tea and Colovian crumpets’… only for the portal to lead directly to a Deadland’s alter, a Coldharbour prison cell, or an Eastmarch tavern hosting a Nordic wedding feast.

I stand before the swirling gateway trying to espy some hint of what lays beyond; It is like watching fire reflected in marble.  As I stare entranced by the flurry, the world about turns a molten gold hew, and the air tastes crisp as if charged, tingling my skin from pate to toe. 

Unknowingly I step through, adrift between two worlds, briefly I hover like a star upon the horizon’s verge, and then suddenly I arrive… But where?

Please Divines, let it not be Eastmarch.

S.K

It is all quiet at the Edrald estate in the town of Fell’s Run; unnaturally so.  In the main house there are signs of violence and struggle, yet no sign of the Edrald family or their retainers.  In an Undercroft beneath the estate we discover a dormant Daedric portal.

An open tome nearby suggests that once attuned, the portal will lead directly to the Deadlands, the realm of Oblivion ruled over by Mehrunes Dagon, the God of Destruction.

S.K