The occupations of Bruma
Bruma is a city under occupation. When the Planemeld first struck, Bruma was attacked by both Dremora and Shadowed Path cultists. A Dark Anchor was swiftly built and opened above the city in an attempt to stream Daedric reinforcements into the north of Cyrodiil. It is even believed by some that they planed to draw the city itself into Coldharbour. But surely that would have been a strategic mistake, for when you have an agent in play on the Tribute board, why remove it on your own turn?
Yet in some peoples eyes Bruma has always been occupied territory, a Nordic city within the Heartland borders. But it’s not just a Nibenese city become occupied by Nord migration or conquest. It’s architecture is Nord, it’s leaders are Nord, it’s militia is Nord, and it’s icons are Nord. And it is an occupation that seems to have been acceptable to both Imperial politicians and people alike, for who else would want to live in the cold, inhospitable climes of the Jerall Mountains, but Nords.
It is clear however that the Dremora and cultists believed that the Nord city would get little support from the rest of the region, and it turns out they were right. The few survivors who have barricaded themselves within the chapel and manor house sent out pleas to the alliances for aid, but none came. Now they must rely upon wandering mercenaries and small bands of Alliance soldiers for aid, and this has meant that they now suffer another occupation, by the Banners themselves who fight blade and spell over a flagpole.
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Twilight in Toadstool Hollow
Whilst training to become a legionnaire our barracks was visited by a priest of Arkay. He spoke to us long and piously about the difference between light and darkness, good and evil. His message was that it isn't just enough to take a stand against the darkness, we have stand apart from it too.
Toadstool Hollow seems a strange name for such a cold and icy cave, but then this is a strange and unaccountable place. For hidden beneath the frozen caverns infested by spiders and bats, there lies a long forgotten crypt. It’s residents, whether by necromantic means or in reaction to the anguish and turmoil in the lands above, have risen from their tombs and walk once more. I would be content to let them roam their catacombs until their bones crumble to dust, only recently some have begun to find their way above ground.
But I was also to discover a journal whilst in the crypts that suggested that some foolish residents of the near-by occupied town of Bruma, seek to reanimate more of these long-dead soldiers to rise again in defence of their land. Some might consider the undead to be but neutral tools, marionettes obeying their puppeteers strings. But it is the act of raising a corpse, be they soulless skeletons, or soulful spirits, that is at the very least, morally questionable.
No matter the adversity we face, the Priest of Arkay taught that we cannot make the mistake of fighting evil with evil. But then ask yourself, is it better to die virtuously, or to survive immorally? The lonely priests who gives up all for their calling hold their piety aloft like a torch. But for the everyday man and woman with family and friends, questions of morality can only ever be answered in twilight.
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What lies beneath
Northern Cyrodiil is littered with ancient Ayleid ruins that were built into the foothills of it’s mountain ranges. Most are now blocked and inaccessible to the modern explorer, and some believe this is for the good; that the evils waged by the heartland elves is a history best buried. Others of course, like the scholars and archaeologists attempting to break into these lost settlements, disagree, arguing that only by looking at what lies beneath our feet, can we learn not to repeat.
So what can we learn from the perceived evils of the Ayleids? Their eventually downfall seems to have began with the rise in the influence of the Daedric cults, especially amongst their kings and aristocrats. Indeed, their domination and enslavement of the Nedic people for generations was enabled by their deals with the Princes, with entire armies of Daedra helping them to conquer and subjugate other cultures.
But it also led to a fierce civil war between the Aedra and Daedra-worshipping Ayleids of Cyrodiil, and even wars amongst themselves; it was in the company of Sees-All-Colors that I witnessed first-hand the conflict between the city states of Abagarlas and Delodiil. And eventually when the Nedic peoples rose up during the Alessian Slave Rebellion, many rebel Aedra-worshipping Mer joined forces with Alessia to help her take the White-Gold Tower, thus founding the Alessian Empire, and the resulting Ayleid diaspora.
How familiar this history to the downfall of our own Imperial Empire, which arguably began when Emperor Leovic legalized Daedra worship. Perhaps the Longhouse Emperors should have been looking more closely at what lay beneath their feet.
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Perceptions of Pelinal
In the foothills of the Jerall Mountains, west of Kingscrest Keep, three ghostly figures can be found guarding the sealed entrance to the Ayleid ruins of Sedor. These ruins play an important part in human history, for it was here during the Alessian Slave Rebellion that the wandering King, Pelinal Whitestrake, won back the freedom of the ‘Thousand-Strong of Sedor’, a human tribe enslaved and held captive by the ancient Mer who inhabited here.
To humans, especially Cyrods, Whitestrake is a hero and a saint, a Divine Crusader who helped free Cyrodiil from Mer oppression. To the Ayleid’s he was a villain, a bloodthirsty warlord whose sole aspiration was the annihilation of their culture. I wonder how modern Mer view Whitestrake now? I am certain none would call him a hero, but could they acknowledge his achievements in context of Tamriel’s history? Probably not, for our histories are forever dyed by the colour of our suffering.
It is a lie that history is always written by the victors. When two cultures clash both sides record the event from their own biased perspectives. Whether they be the winners, losers, or onlookers, we all see the same acts from different angles. Our libraries are filled with our perception of history, whist libraries in foreign lands are filled with their own, often conflicting with our version of the same events.
The wise will say that we must learn from history so as to not repeat it, but we can never learn from a history that teaches us that we are forever the oppressed and never the oppressor. Every single group of people in Tamriel have been both the oppressor and the oppressed at some point in time. Every single nation and religion has persecuted other people for being different or not accepting their god, and yet we look back in our own history books and record only where we have been challenged, hurt, betrayed, and beaten. And It goes on still, because the only history we have not learnt from is that of our enemies.
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To light a candle?
Is it It better to live with fear, hope and wonder, or to know what is to come? For most people the unseen future is a frightening prospect, like walking into the darkest of nights without a torch. Yet surely stepping into the light can be just as daunting as the dark. For if we knew all the consequences of our own actions would we still have the courage to fulfil our destiny?
The Temple of the Ancestor Moths in the White Fall Valley of north-eastern Cyrodiil, is home to the Cult of the Ancestor Moth, a priesthood dedicated to the practice of divining the Elder Scrolls. The Scrolls are said to archive all of Tamriel's history and future simultaneously. The process however extracts a heavy price upon the augurs, rendering them blind of both sight and clarity; they do say that to light a candle is to cast a shadow. Our eyes however can only see what our minds can comprehend, so surely these augurs are but slaves to their perceptions, their minds denying knowledge in order to rationalize their faith and bias. They also tell us the information they reveal is never absolute, and that our destiny is our own to craft; only once a foretold event is carried out does it become fixed. So I have to ask, what is the point to their practice?
Many of these Elder Scrolls were stored within the Imperial Library at the White-Gold Tower, but when the Dark anchors fell upon the city and the capital was lost, the Cult moved them, hiding many around the grounds of the Temple of the Ancestor Moths. Eventually however Banner’s soldiers discovered the scrolls and stole them, building their own temples across Cyrodiil to house them close to the battlefield, thus bestowing the Scrolls' supposed blessings upon their troops. Any experienced General will tell you that it is not numbers or strength that bring the victories in war, it is having stronger morale then your adversaries.
Moth Priest Crassius Viria who leads what is left of the Cult of the Ancestor Moth has sent emissaries to reason with the alliance leaders, although none have yet returned. Ironically if the Scrolls were to be returned then perhaps the augurs might divine the path of this seemingly endless war. Such potential knowledge is perhaps more powerful than any sword or spell. But then what would sap an army’s morale more, fear of the darkness, or fear of the light?
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The King of White Fall Mountain
I arrive at the foothills of the White Fall Mountain, the quickest way across it seems is a trail that leads all the way up to the summit. Unbeknownst to me the peak is the home of the giant Malvor, the king of the mountain; well in his mind anyway. I guess they do say that a Kingdom is not a place but a state of mind. As I reach the summit and survey the lands from his mountain home I can see why he might feel like a king.
Giants are not often seen in Cyrodiil nowadays, thy tend to stick to inhospitable mountains and the Northern wilderness. In Skyrim and Orsinium giants are said to be a common sight, often more nomadic and travelling in groups with herds of mammoths between seasonal camps across the lands. Giants in Cyrodiil however tend to be much more solitary, only gathering occasionally at ceremonial sites to trade and mate, usually away from the prying eyes of man or mer.
The common perception is that they are harmless if left alone, but when disturbed become very territorial and aggressive to perceived intruders, be they man or beast. They seem more tolerant of Nords however, perhaps because of familiarity, or maybe that some Nords consider them but distant cousins. Certainly some Nord maids I have met have shared their grey skin and hairy feet. They seem particularly hostile to elves though. That may be because elvish alchemists in particular prize their toes as an ingredient for their potions, apparently having a positive affect upon ones good health, stamina, and oral hygiene.
Malvor clearly was not expecting any visitors today as he seemed most put out by my presence, greeting me with a swing of his massive club. As I entered the Ayleid entrance which led into a tunnel down though and eventually out of the mountain, I contemplated his demise. A solitary king is never safe, for whether in the own mind or worn atop the head, it takes but a sceptered blade to sever crown from pate.
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Guile and knavery
The Quickwater Cave within the Cheydinhal Foothills is now but another camp for the bandit gand known as the Black Daggers, who are well known throughout the Heartlands having plagued the northern Colovian countryside for many, many years. Recently however, perhaps due to the fracturing of the Legions, or simply guile and knavery amidst the chaos of war, they have managed to expand their operations throughout Cyrodiil. The focus of this particular group seems to be the town of Cheydinhal. Perhaps the town’s Imperial garrison and armed militia might sombre their ambition, if only they could just stop fighting each other.
The cave itself seems much like any other, a dark and shadowy place that’s oddly warm when it's cold out and cold when it's warm. A place where you can find or lose yourself depending on your heart. And a place that can be filled with monsters, and yet is far more horrible to man when it is full of emptiness and nothingness. But this particular cave does have one unique feature. To reach its deepest caverns one must be willing to get a little wet, by diving through a whirlpool.
I have speculated before that the Black Daggers might have a nefarious contact or two rousing their efforts to undermine this province, and the presence of a rather large Daedroth within the deepest caverns certainly suggests that the bandits are either working for, or with, a Daedic prince. Alas for the Black Daggers, for even the most bladdered Nord scholar will teach that the only safe alliance is when each party is equally afraid of the other. Pity the skeever that befriends the hungry wolf to raid the sheep’s pen.
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The Faceless
To the south of Cheydenhal lies Vahtacen, an Ayleid ruin reputedly swarming with skeletons and wraiths, the risen husks of its former inhabitants. These undead monsters have of late been seen wandering out of their ruins as far as the lake, searching for fishermen, travellers, or lost Bannermen to drag back into the depths of the catacombs to place upon the alter of their master, a powerful lich known only as The Faceless.
In everyday life most people seem content to be faceless in a sea of faceless people. In the Legions we were taught the philosophy of being faceless soldiers for the greater good of the empire. And the undead skeletons and wraiths that haunt these ruins are nowt but faceless creatures who fight with neither enmity nor anger, and without conscience. What really is the difference between any of us?
It was only when I regained my soul in The Colored Rooms that I realized that the reason I was faceless was because I had no hope. You see hope, like beauty is all around us but you have to learn to recognize it. Once you began to recognize hope, you began to find purpose and meaning, even when others argue that none exists. And hope breeds courage, the courage to challenge the beliefs and assumptions of yourself and others, and the courage to face the world with yours eyes and heart wide open. Only then can you start carving order out of the chaos and make your mark, becoming a face that people remember.
I’d love to say that I entered these ruins on some noble cause, searching for an ancient lost wisdom perhaps, or on a quest to find some relic to help the people of Cheydenhal survive this endless war, or even just to overcome the undead menace within. But no, this is purely a treasure hunt, a selfish enterprise in search for any ancient relics I can find to fulfil the greed of Vyctoria Girien, and thus fill my pockets with gold. My face is that of a mercenary, not a saint.
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The Barren Cave
Whilst returning to Cheydinhal, I hear a shriek from a secluded cave beneath a waterfall. Not the call of a bird or beast, but an unnatural howl, both sorrowful and anguished. Warily I enter the black cavern and in the distance spy a pair of crimson eyes piercing through the darkness at me. For a brief moment they shine like rubies in moonlit pools before vanishing as quickly as they appeared. Whisperings and faint wails lure me ever deeper into the caverns, till finally I discover the figure of a man hunched over another.
Closer still, and I discern the famished stare of one accursed by their own slavery to life’s warm-blood; a vampire. It’s blazing eyes and scarlet lips glimmer in the torch light, in stark contrast to its ghoulishly pale cheeks. It’s unhallowed claws tearing at the bloody shrouds of a still breathing priest of Arkay. The vampire is cursed to only ever know peace when the blood of another fills its heart. And contrary to the fanciful bard songs, vampires don’t tend to nibble upon the necks of their victims, they tear and render the flesh, suckling the blood and gore from each chunk.
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Burning ambitions
Atop a hill to the Southwest of Cheydinhal once sat the Juncus estate, now it is but the carcass of a family home, burnt to the ground by flame atronachs. I am told it is the Shadowed Path cult who are responsible for this atrocity, laying their Daedric stones about the estate to summon deadly atronachs with which to waylay travellers and even soldiers foolish enough to traverse the Nibenay Basin alone.
This is the farthest east I have seen the Shadowed Path Cult operating. To the West they attempted to raise a Lich in Lindai, and to the south they searched caves, mines and delves for a mystery artefact they believed would will help them in conquering the Capitol and all of Cyrodiil for their brutal patron. What they lack in talent, they make up for in ambition and numbers. For they have managed to overrun sites all over Southern Cyrodiil, and now there may well be more Shadowed Path Cultists operating in Cyrodiil then there are legionnaires.
They have proven a well organized group capable of focusing many hands upon on a single purpose, but their activities here seem somewhat vagrant from their labours to the west and south. What is the purpose of their wicked endeavours here at the burned estate? Could it be just to establish a foothold in the region, or do they have larger ambitions yet to come? Perhaps the summoning and gathering of an atronach army much like that of the Celestial Serpent?
Only one thing is clear, the leaders of Cheydenhal will need to pay many more adventures to climb this hill in the future to smash their daedric stones, else the verdant green Nibenay Basin may be turned into the grey wastes of Eastern Craglorn.
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Never crave the rose
Perhaps because of the garrison, and certainly because of the armed militia, the people of Cheydinhal have suffered less from attacks by bandits, cultists and the roaming dead then other towns. They have not been wholly unaffected though. Many of the once affluent estates that lie outside of the city’s high walls have been overrun or destroyed since the Banner’s first invaded the Heartlands.
When the first troubles erupted in Cheydinhal between the garrison and it’s citizens, a bandit gang calling themselves the Thorns took advantage and descended upon the city from a local estate they had overrun. Amidst the desperation and chaos of the people the bandits pillaged most of their valuables before retreating back to Thorn Lodge. It is unclear whether the bandits took their name from the estate, or the estate was renamed by the bandits, but I guess that matters little. What does matter however is that the people need their valuables back, so that they may trade them for desperately needed supplies.
I pray the people of Cheydinhal do indeed make use of the valuables I return to them. Too many people in troubled times hoard away their gold and valuables, whilst their neighbours are forced to beg for food and dry cloths. There was a time when our neighbours were as close as our kin, a time when neighbour helped neighbour, sharing what little we had out of necessity, as well as decency. Hoarded food is not all that rots.
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Cleft loyalties
The legionnaires at Cheydinhal will not speak with me, treating me as the outsider I am, and a potential threat; I cannot blame them. In these troubling times for the scattered Legions I too find it difficult to tell friend from foe, ally from enemy. I guess the paranoia of the garrison’s leaders is what has kept them alive whilst most others have fallen. The leaders of the rebellion on the west side of the river however are far more accommodating to a fellow Cyrodil, and upon inspecting my weapons and armour, are eager to enlist my aid. Alas that many of their requests require direct confrontation with the legionnaires across the river, asking that I attack their archers and lieutenants, and even poison their food supply.
Not for the first time I am forced to ask myself where my loyalties lie? In Hammerfell when faced with Septima Tharn’s Seventh Legion, it was their disloyalty to the people of Tamriel that forced me to take up arms against them. And again within the Imperial City itself, out of greed, fear or simply despair, the members of Legion Zero turned traitors for Molag Bal and the Worm Cult. Whilst riding through the Heartlands I have tried to avoid many of the small camps of Legionaries dotted about for lack of trust to whom they now serve. And now, here in Cheydinhal I find a garrison still loyal to the Empire, yet disloyal to their own people, forcing me to ask once more, am I loyal to my country, my former comrades, or to my people?
The strength of an army lies in the soldiers loyalties to each other, whilst the strength of the soldier lies in his loyalties to his own principles of faithfulness and sincerity. Despite my empathy for the plight of the people of Cheydinhal, I cannot, and will not raise arms against another legionnaire if they seek not conflict with me first. I cannot shake the sentiment that ‘there by the grace of the Divines go I’. For were it not for the carnivorous dagger of the worm king that forever changed my destiny, I may well have found myself walking in their boots right now.
Even so, I agree to aid the people of Cheydinhal where my honour allows. Fate though can be a spiteful prince, and inevitably I cannot avoid all contact with the Legionaries. For example, as they no longer have access to the city's Chapel of Arkay, I am asked by Sylvian Herius to deliver written petitions from his militia to a shine outside the city’s walls to boost their morale. As I reach the relic I am ambushed by two Imperial soldiers. Thus I have been deemed a traitor; this does not mean I will act as one.
I can only hope that in time the Garrison and the rebels will come to realize that they are all in the same boat upon a stormy sea, and they owe their loyalties to each other.
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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.
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