I knew I was too late even before I reached her chamber… the heavy silence was enough to tell me so.

Silence is never truly silent; it is but a noiseless echo of what was before.  Like the silence that follows a storm, or the silence as dusk descends upon a forest.  The silence of the empty tavern as the innkeeper bolts shut the door at night, or the silence of the child taking in the vastness of the ocean for the very first time.  Then there is the silence deep inside each of us, that dread that accompanies our fears, doubts, and regrets.

None of these however echo quite so loudly as the silence of grief.  It is a silence full of sadness, of anger, and of a deafening melancholy that dulls our every sensibility.  That is the noisiest silence of them all, and through every hall and chamber of the Alcaire castle, the echoes of grief are a cacophony.

Sir Hughes has fled to Firebrand, I shall follow, and the wrath and ire of both Alcaire and the Alik’r shall ride with me.

S.K

Perhaps it is that I am too much a cynic.  Or perhaps that I am a foreign man, surrounded by a foreign people, in a foreign land.  Or perhaps it is that when I sleep at night, I dream of my former friends and comrades falling to the Oblivion onslaught on the streets of the Imperial city, only for them to rise again and draw their swords against us.

Whatever the reason, I am not in the least surprised to discover that the threat to the Duchess’s life comes not from without, but from within her own court.  You see, you cannot protect yourself from those who are closest to you, from the ones seemingly without motivation, or with motivation beyond your comprehending.

Trust is ever our enemy’s greatest tool, because betrayal can only happen if we trust.

S.K

Standing before the thrones of the Duke and Duchess of Alcaire is Sir Hughes, the present leader of the famed order of the Knights of the Flame.  Even growing up in Cyrodiil we heard the story of how 40 years prior, the then titled Alcaire Knights had held back a seemingly unstoppable invasion force from the Reach, by setting aflame the crops and fields surrounding the Alcaire keep.  I can still recall the bard’s enthusiastic chorus,

“They beat their swords upon their shields,
as the Reachman burnt upon the fields,
and that night they swore an oath as one, 
that the Knights of the Flame would never yield.”

The ballad went on to tell of how in honour of their success, the Alcaire Knights were renamed the Knights of the Flame and given Firebrand Keep as their garrison.  As a child who dreamt of honour, valour, and gallantry, I will profess to feeling more than a little childlike excitement at meeting the banneret heir of bold Sir Byric.  If I had suffered the misfortune of being born Breton, I am almost certain my sole boyhood ambition would have been to join the ranks of the Knights of the Flame.

Every Knight however is aware that one can’t live off the fame of their forebears, but rather one must forge their own renown through act and deed. This may explain a little of why at the gates of Alcaire, Dame Falhut sticks so vehemently to strict rule and duty, even at the expense of common sense, in refusing entry or audience to the Redguard envoy.

S.K

To Elphinia Light-Tounged every day is a new story.  From the glorious sun rising each morning to alight a world of endless possibilities, to the black pin-pricked night sky whose darkness is but a canvas for her imagination.  Whilst most think that stories are shaped by those who live them; she believes it is the other way around.

For Elphinia history is a song that must be sung lest it be forgot; although she does not sing of how it happened, but of how it was remembered.

S.K

Alcaire Castle, a Breton stronghold of Northern Stormhaven, ruled over by the Kings own brother, Duke Nathaniel.  I arrive late in the evening to find the fortress under siege by a paranoia which threatens to undermine the entire accord of the Daggerfall Covenant.

An envoy from King Fahara’jhad, accompanied by a full Redguard regiment, sits impatiently outside the castle walls, whilst the Breton Knights of the Flame bristle nervously within.  The envoy carries a message solely for the ears of the Duke, but a recent attempt upon the life of his young wife Lakana, a daughter of the Redguard King, has cast an umbra over this land, causing even the most sincere and earnest of intentions to be regarded with suspicion and distrust.

It is said in Cyrodiil, perhaps unkindly, that no Breton ever married for love. To the outsider there seems such a tradition of Breton royalty and nobility marrying for political, economic, or diplomatic reasons, that the idea of marriage as an honest bond between two people who are in love, seems almost an outlandish concept in High Rock.

S.K