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It turns out I’m in the Breton City of Daggerfall.  The prophet seems to think there is a reason why I am here, but I think less so. I guess when people have called you prophet for so long that you’ve forgotten your own name, you start to see providence behind every rain cloud.

There was a Redguard woman waiting for me when first I ventured outside the door.  Attractive, but not the sort you might take home to meet your mother; but then, I’m not the sort of man she might take home to meet her father either.  She tells me that I have a Captain Kaleen to thank for fishing me from the waters of Iliac Bay, and that I should go meet with their boatswain; although she went out of her way to show indifference as to whether I do, or do not.

I spent a morning looking around the city.  The populous is more cosmopolitan then I would have imagined, with plenty of Redguard and Orc savages living alongside the native Bretons.  There are a few other races too, lots of mercenaries and adventures seeking gainful employment.

The city seems peaceful though, and remarkable untouched by the ravages that besets the world outside its high walls.  But when you look just a little deeper, there seems to be an undercurrent of unease surrounding the citizenry.  There is an edge to every greeting, every smile takes a little too much effort and is held just a little too long.  This is a city that seems desperate to ignore the unstable world without. Its as if they can all feel the earth moving underfoot, yet nobody wants to be the first to draw attention to it.

S.K

A man should wake every morning and believe in his heart that he will live forever, even though deep down he knows he is doomed.  

I awaken in a homely room, and for the briefest of moments consider that it all may have just been a bad dream; but then the Prophet appears back in incorporeal form and reality bites.  It seems I was fished from the sea by a local boat and have been unconscious for some time.  The Prophet believes that Lyris may yet live and is searching for a way to save her.  He owes her that much I guess, but I wouldn’t hold much hope on the clemency of Molag Bal. 

As for myself, my first priority is to find exactly where I am; wherever it is it certainly isn’t Cyrodiil.  Not that I am in a rush to return there, any fool can see that as long as those Daedra worshipers hold sway, the empire will fall, and I’ll be damned if I return to being a tool for their endeavours.

The Prophet suggests I find a cause and battle evil wherever it appears… if he thinks I am going to turn into some sort of Good Samaritan spreading hope and rainbows wherever I tread, then he may well be as mad as Cadwell.  However, I’ll need to eat, and for that I’ll need coin. They must have some honest work here for a man who knows how to swing a sword.

S.K