#tamrieldrifter

The scars of war

South of the town of Bruma I discover the remains of a stone building in the centre of which stands a statue of a warrior with it’s head and sword arm removed. Whose monument this once was is now lost. What columns and arches that once decorated this area are now but piles of stone, what epitaphs etched now but dust and sand; the sum of this hero’s deeds, are now forever lost upon the winds. Such is the way for all heroes and martyrs, for a time they seemed invincible, their statues and monuments stand for an age or more. But in the end, they always fall.

As soldiers we are cultivated to carry the scars of war on our bodies with pride. Because though we live with the anger of those times when we were unsuccessful, grief of when we were too slow to help comrades, and guilt for when we were too rash. The pride in our own courage, and the joy in our victories helps to free us from those regrets. But what of the common man and woman who cannot wield a blade or cast a spell to paint over their anger, grief, and guilt. They carry their own scars of war deep inside of them. For those who survive such terrible times will oft live with the regret that they did not die, freeing them from the memories that kill them everyday. Nobody survives war, in the end, they always fall.

There is little more I can do here for the people of Cyrodiil. Though I have travelled the entire region and aided those that I can, I am but a single scale on the back of this perpetual Ouroboros. So what now? Do I return to my small home in Daggerfall and let the memories of my regrets kill me everyday? Or do I continue to search for ways to paint over my anger, grief, and guilt? As I sit here in rumination I notice a pamphlet lying beneath the beheaded statue to the unremembered hero. ‘Return to Orsinium’ is a passionate plea urging the Orsimer to return home and help reforge their great city. I recall back in Daggerfall there used to be an Orc recruiting adventures. She was a very persistent lady, chased me down the street yelling at me on more then one occasion. It has been a while since I last saw her, perhaps she has moved on, or perhaps just chased the wrong person. I’d like a chance to see those great stone walls of Orsinium before… well, in the end, they always fall.

The Akaviri legacy

The Cloud Ruler Temple, located high in the Jerall Mountains northwest of Bruma, is more fortress then sanctuary. It was said to have been built at the very founding of the Second Empire by Reman Cyrodiil's Akaviri Dragonguard. The temple is now all but inaccessible as at the height of the Planemeld a Dark Anchor was opened above it and the entire temple was lifted from the ground in an attempt to drag it into Coldharbour. Before the daedra were able to fully abduct it however the Planemeld threat was ended. Yet the Dark Anchor has somehow persisted above the temple beyond the destruction of the Planar Vortex, whilst dremoran warriors and daedric harvesters continue to guard the approach and surrounding area.

Despite their prominent role in Reman’s creation of the Second Empire, the original Akaviri Dragonguard were eventually disbanded after the assassination of Reman III. Their traditions and influence on Tamriel however have persisted to this very day, with the Fighter's Guild formation some 250 years ago, and my own chosen martial art, that of the Dragon Knight, both a living legacy of the Akaviri.

The only modern day Dragonguards I have met have been Sai Sahan, a title given to him by the deceived emperor Varen Aquilarios, a man whose selfish desire to be named dragonborn led to the fall of the Second Empire, and almost of Nirn itself. The other being the most noble Drake of Blades, the protector of the Dragonfires. She who was touched by Akatosh, and blessed with a sense of honour that surpasses any I have met; save perhaps for the Last King of the Ayleids, Laloriaran Dynar.

Whilst last in Orsinium the Forge-Mother Alga informed me that her son, King Kurog, had already left for Frostbreak Fortress to deal with the Reachman Warlord Ice-Heart. They believe this Ice-Heart to be the last remaining leader of the Winterborn in Wrothgar, whom dominated these mountainous lands under the Longhouse Emperor’s reign. His defeat they hope will bring the Reachmen's legacy in Wrothgar to an end, and will perhaps also be a catalyst for the last of the recalcitrant Orc tribes to bend their knee to the throne of Orsinium.

The siege upon Frostbreak Fortress however seems to have stalled upon the old Breton ramparts. For weeks the Orc’s have laid siege but are no closer to a breakthrough now than when they began. The ancient walls hold firm against the Orc’s siege weapons, whilst harpy’s spy from their eyries atop the towers ready to pick off any soldiers that approach, and tales are whispered around camp fires of mighty Reach warriors whose hearts are grown from poisoned seeds. And on top of that, with the stolen supplies the Reachmen are perhaps in a far better position to see out the harsh winter than their Orsimer besiegers.

Kurog though has an inbred thirst for battle, he is set upon leading from the front in the hope that his gallantry will unite the clans behind. I find myself wondering if Kurog were to lead the Covenant upon the crimson fields of the Heartlands would this accursed Banners war be any closer to the cusp? One might ask however who would be so foolish to follow a king into battle who cannot even unite his own people? Well, as I charge after Kurog up the hill towards the fortress, I guess that fool is me.

Necessary malice

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.

Cheydinhal

The walled city of Cheydinhal in eastern Cyrodiil is one of the few cities left in the province still under the control of the Imperial Legion. The good news is the presence of an Imperial garrison seems to have ensured that the people do not suffer attacks from bandits, goblins, or wayward Banners as other settlements in the area have. The bad news however is that the garrison’s leaders have acted overly oppressive towards the people of the city, even going so far as to try and force all able-bodied residence to draft into their ranks.

Unsurprisingly the people have revolted against this tyranny, forming their own militia, and I arrive to find the city is split in two by the river that runs through its heart; with the west side under rebel control, and the east controlled by the Legion. Despite this civil war within their walls, many of its people have chosen not to flee, staying in their homes and putting their faith in the leaders of the revolt. In reality they probably wouldn’t find anywhere safer outside the city’s high walls anyhow. At least the troubles within the walls seem to be keeping the troubles outside, out.

I remember visiting Cheydinhal as I was growing up, the first landmark one would look for on the approach to the city was the top of the spire of the Great Chapel of Arkay. I recall it being a lively, prosperous city; a bustling stop-over for merchants and adventurers upon the blue road to Morrowind. It is also the ancestral home of House Tharn, though despite Meridia suggesting he would return to Cyrodiil after the Planemeld, I don’t expect to find Abnur hiding out in the bosom of his loving family.

The Immortal Eight

For almost two months Captain Anatolius Caudex and his small band of legionnaires have managed to hold their makeshift garrison in the forum of the Nobles district against the Daedric horde. But now only eight of them remain and the combined forces of Molag Bal’s minions and the traitors of Legion Zero are preparing for perhaps their biggest assault on the Improvised Garrison yet.

The legionaries brief me on what I did not know about that night of the Ruby Betrayal. It appears the loyalist legionaries in the Arboretum, Temple and Nobles districts lasted longer then the rest of us against our treacherous brethren. Indeed, for a time they believed they might win, but the daedra quickly turned the tide and the Arboretum and Temple units became overrun. Only Captain Caudex’s unit withstood the onslaught. Their scout suggested however that there might be more to their resilience then meets the eye, yet his comrades are unwilling to confide more in me. I cannot blame them of course, for it is difficult to trust anyone once you have been betrayed by your own brothers and sisters. Perhaps that is why this dutiful band is more like a family then a company.

Zelanus Equitius scouts the district for supplies and recruits to ease his comrades fight. Zelanus knows his talents, and makes the most of them to serve his company, even if that means not fighting at their side. He believes that the god’s will sell them all they need for the price of his honest labour.

Devout Arrianus Capius prays on his knees for Arkay to end his waking nightmare with a soldiers death, yet he seems certain his prayers will go unanswered. Despite this he pledges to never give up his fight to protect the mortal world from this immortal invasion… until his last breath.

The youthful Dulcilla Iullus attempts to keep the flagging spirits of her comrades raised and brightens their remaining time with music and smiles. The quality of the human spirit is to be able to face our certain doom with optimism. Yet when the night is darkest this Blessed Lady takes it one step further, reaching down and lifting up the people around her.

The studious Justianas Gratus believes that even in the absence of hope, it is still a virtue to study and learn. He endures this chaos by knowing more today than he knew yesterday. Knowledge however can only furnish the mind, it cannot impart wisdom, and Justianas has learnt you can only survive in battle by listening to the wisdom that your blood whispers to you.

Kyleus Herminia is annoyed when I disturb her writing. Bitterly she complains that the Eight ignore their prayers and that all is surely lost. They say that bitterness is to be avoided as it feeds upon its host, but it also fuels anger and resentment, and the truth of it is that some people need that fire to survive; It burns away their fear. And for this elemental mage, it is her enemy's who must fear the fury of her storm.

Maxima Petellia thinks of her comrades as her children to be tended, fussed over and mothered. She cooks their meals and heals their wounds. Compassion is her way of fighting back against the horrors of the outer darkness. For these soldiers her acts of kindness are as powerful as a sword or staff raised in anger.

Statius Vettiena is sharpening his sword, when not swinging it at his enemies, he is always sharpening his sword. His tongue is as sharp as his blade, as he vociferously proclaims righteous indignation. For him it is simple, he survives solely to bring Stendarr's justice to those who betrayed them. The longer he lives, the more justice he can deliver.

Finally Captain Caudex, the leader of this band who stand alone in defiance of the will of a Deadric prince. He personifies the Imperial qualities of endurance and dutiful service. As a leader he keeps his fears to himself, but shares his courage with his comrades. And he embodies the motto that it doesn’t matter how many times you get knocked down, all that matters is that you get back up.

Rahni'Za 3 - The trial of air

The Trial of air is a test of faith, but faith in what, the illusion magics of the either dead or corrupted masters of this school? Alas I cannot cross the air between rooftops and rocks without faith that the hidden path revealed by the sands is substantial. The reason the crow can fly is not simply because it has faith, but because it has wings, which I do not.

They say that the pessimist knows too much, whilst an optimist too little. As I know so little of how illusion magic works I guess I have little choice in this predicament but optimism. The optimist would keep their head pointed towards the stars, and their feet moving forward, so I look up and step out in blind faith; it is only now I remember that the sky over Craglorn is empty.

Faith in madness

The ruthless warlord Tarish-Zi has risen with his savage army of Anka-Ra to conquer these lands at the behest of the Celestial Warrior. It is now only a matter of time before this seemingly unstoppable host turns east towards the city of Belgarth.

When a land suffers under the influence of such great fear its people cannot be trusted to act or think sanely. Thus I would have scorned at the tavern rumours of a naked man appearing in the Dragonstar arena claiming to be our only hope to defeat the risen Ra Gada, had it not been for the adumbrate words given by Hermaeus Mora at the Seeker’s Archive - ‘There is a man who can help you defeat the Anka-Ra. His name is Titus Valerius, but he is not of this time.

This man now held prisoner at the Bangkorai Gate speaks so franticly that it is little wonder the guards believe him mad. Yet perhaps in such desperate times we should not be so eager to impeach another man’s sanity. For whilst we may all share this same world, within it each of us lives a unique reality; our own private perception different from those experienced by all others. One person’s reality is so different from another's that sometimes they can't explain it to us, and we think them mad. What if I was to tell this man I was once soul-shriven but made whole again by overcoming the daedric Prince of Brutality in an affair of honour; would he not think me mad also?

So I shall take a chance on this mad man, and follow him through a cave he called the Buried Sands, where he believes we will find something vital to defeating the Anka-Ra. And perhaps in doing so prove the philosophers’ claim, that in life true freedom can only be found in madness and dreams.