The Weeping Giant’s cold stone eyes could do no more then watch as Vaermina’s Supernal cultists murdered the Spirit Wardens at their Shrine, before desecrating it, and stealing their most cherished relics. I have been sent to deal with these fanatics, and cleanse the Shrine, in hope of winning the favour of Azura that she might in turn help us to save the King, who has reportedly fallen to the unnatural stupor of Vaemina’s sleepless dream.
From the very first moment I set foot in Stormhaven and found that ambushed caravan on the border road, I can’t help feel that I have been maneuvered around like a wooden piece in a court game between two Daedric lords, using Stormhaven as their game board, and King Emeric as the prize.
I shall continue to play my part to the end, but I suspect it matters little who wins. This Azura may appear sincere, but these Daedric parasites will do nothing for a mortal which does not benefit them more. Whenever a Daedric prince wins, mortals are always the losers.
The once abandoned Bearclaw mine is far eastern Stormhaven has been appropriated by a gang of bandits who appear to be forcing locals to dig the mine for them.
Much of the wealth of the Bretons is dug from the mines of High Rock, as well as farmed from its fertile lands, and fished from the rich waters of the Iliac Bay. The value of mines is often dependent upon the scarcity of what they produce, so the more mines there are, and the more they produce, the less their worth; which is why High Rock is littered with abandoned mining ventures.
With the three Banners war seemingly no closer to resolution, and the Lion’s Guard stretched beyond its limits across the province, small gangs are able to capitalize by exploiting the weak and vulnerable.
It is time to shutdown this operation for good, and return these caves to the bears.
The suspicions over the Orc general’s state of mind prove warranted as he has fallen to the sleepless dream of Vaermina. Once more I am to Quagmire.
As I follow Godrun’s memories through Vaemina’s mirrored portals I watch as his treachery is fed by injustice and the fickle mortal mind is marked ‘gainst friend and ally.
I know this is but a dream, and yet I can clearly see spectres lurking in every shadow under the crimson sky. I hear the spectre’s wails carried upon the astral winds that howl through the jagged rocks and broken ruins. I feel the familiar weight of my shield and hilt of my sword which I grip ever tighter as the spectres close in around me. And I can taste mine own blood as a spectres icy talon cracks into my jaw, and as I gasp for breath I taste the acidic air deep in my throat. But I know this is but a dream… because I can smell nothing.
Finally I find Godrun’s true self and come face to face with the insidious Omen of Betrayal. A monster, a horror, as artful and devious as it is brute. Yet the Omen of Betrayal has itself been betrayed, by every Watcher that his Daedric masters have sent against me. In Quagmire, in Coldharbor, in the Daedric anchors that has defiled Tamrielic lands, I have faced you a hundred times and I now know your every trick at every turn. I know never to look an Omen in the eye.
Elanecarne, the mystical Altmer, sits indolently atop a wall in Shinji’s Scarp staring off into the distance, seemingly oblivious to the furore and bedlam raging all about. She notices neither my approach, nor my faltering salutation which swift becomes lost to her faraway eyes.
I have neither the eloquence of a bard, nor the hand of an artist, thus I cannot hope to convey a portion of the beauty reflected in the Altmer’s eyes. Endless horizons, rainbows of colours I had never before seen, a world blossoming so recklessly that I wanted to look away, or never look away, I could not decide. For a brief moment of eternity, I and the whole of Tamriel were adrift within her faraway eyes.
But then she blinked, and that moment was forever gone… if it were ever anything more than my imagination.
The Ironhand ogres have made their final stand in Stormhaven at Shinji’s Scarp, halting their pursuers by raining stone and rock down from the towers and cliffs of the fortified escarpment.
The Orc general Godrun claims not to have the soldiers to spare to break the stalemate, and indeed, when I walk his camp I meet more recruits from the fighter’s guild and the Lion guard, then Orcs from his Murtag Clan. Even Gloria Fausta and the idiot Gautier are here; traveling together now it seems…
Despite fighting at King Emeric’s side during Ranser’s war and the subsequent repatriation of Orsinium back to the Orsimer, Godrun fails to mask his resentment at High Rock for the cities razing. If he truly is another victim of Vaermina’s insidious Omen, then it may not be too long before the general’s inner acrimony is manipulated into a rash act of treachery
But we will have to worry about the whereabouts of the rest of his Clan later, for now I must lead the charge up the escarpment and close the caverns once and for all through which the ogres are gaining access to Sormhaven from the mountainous Wrothgar.