Oblivion wanderer

There is little to report to you, my diary, today, as I finally decided to buckle down and practice my healing spells. 

The day started out interesting, as I set forth on the long road from Skingrad to Anvil. I was soon set upon by a gang of bandits and later a bear, but with my new fireball spell I was able to dispose of them. I soon fell in with an Imperial Legionnaire who was also proceeding in the direction of Anvil, so I had her protection for many miles. 

The road takes a wide bend, however, to go past Kvatch. As I wished to get to Anvil as quickly as possible, I decided to strike off cross-country and cut off that bend entirely*. The Legionnaire advised me to stay on the road, but my experience in traveling from Leyawiin to Skingrad suggested the overland travel is less dangerous than the Legion believes.  And so it proved; my journey to Anvil was quite uneventful.

In Anvil, I went immediately to the Mages Guild and settled in for a long session of practice. The only event of interest all afternoon is that another Mage came in to practice as well. We talked a bit, and she cheerfully invited me to join the Fighters Guild, of which she was already a member, as well as the Mages Guild. I had not been aware that one could be a member of both, so I thanked her and planned to visit the Fighters Guild on the morrow. And then we went back to our respective practice routines. 

It is now late and I am unutterably bored. I seek my rest, and will try to finish this round of practice tomorrow. 

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* Actually, Azura had to get off the road at this point, because if she followed the road past Kvatch, she would encounter a refugee from Kvatch and would therefore know that Kvatch was destroyed. It would not be satisfying role-playing if she knew this but then went off and spent another week or two wandering around the hinterlands, and then came back and found Savlian and his crew still guarding the barricade without assistance from anyone.     

(Or rather, the very early hours of Hearth Fire 1)

I am one step closer to becoming a full member of the Mage’s Guild, and I sleep this night in the West Weald Inn in Skingrad. 

I spent the morning in Leyawiin practicing, but practicing is boring, as I have mentioned before, so I ventured out to the wilds around the city. I found a cave nearby and cautiously entered. It proved to be infested with being of Oblivion which, until this morning, I had known of only through lurid tales: skamps and clannfears. They seemed smaller and weaker than I had been led to expect; perhaps dwelling in the dark, dank, chilly cave had stunted them somehow.  Deep inside the cave was a shrine to someone; I did not recognize the statue. I decided that intruding in a shrine might not be wise, so I departed.  

Indeed, I thought that the swamps were rather dangerous and it was boring to wait around Leyawiin and practice my spell casting (I have mentioned before my lamentable lack of patience), so I decided to go to Skingrad, that being the Guildhall that concentrates on spells of Destruction, in which I was fairly skilled. 

Though I have been warned on several occasions to stay on the road rather than risk the hazards of the wilds, I was mindful of the fact that both the imps near Bravil and the exceptionally tough ogre were on the road. It seemed reasonable to at least risk the wilds to see if they were truly as hazardous as rumor had it. 

In fact, the journey to Skingrad through the wilds proved less dangerous than the journey on the road from Bravil to Leyawiin, especially after I fell in with a couple of Imperial Foresters. Intent on their own business, they had no interest in conversation with me, but they allowed me to stay with them as they strode sturdily through the woods. A few imps and some wolves tried their luck against the Foresters, but a few silver arrows and (I venture to add) a few fireballs from me took care of the threats. The Foresters left me with a jaunty wave when we crossed the road to Skingrad, they going on to the North and I to the West. 

In Skingrad the Guildhall master, Adrienne Berene, kindly but firmly advised me that I was insufficiently skilled in destructive spells to qualify at that Hall, and suggested that I wander around a bit near Skingrad and see what dangerous wildlife I might remove for the benefit of the citizens, and for the sake of some practice.  I did so, wandering North almost halfway to Chorrol, and did indeed deal with a pack of wolves and a couple more of the ubiquitous imps. Feeling that I had done my civic duty and also improved my skills, I returned to Skingrad and proved it to Adrienne. 

Of course, I had only demonstrated my ability to perform, not the sort of dedication to the Guild that would justify a recommendation. For that, Adrienne requested that I go check on a fellow Guildmember, Erthor, who had been asked to take his work elsewhere and had done so, but had not been seen since.  In aid of this, Adrienne taught me a rather nice fireball spell. 

Erthor had been last seen making for Bleak Flat Caves, so I headed there first. This proved to be the same cave where I had made a stand against a pack of wolves, though of course I did not know its name at the time.  Previously I had barely entered the cave; this time I explored it thoroughly, making good use of the fireball spell, as I found it to be infested with half a dozen or so zombies. Erthor was cowering in the deepest recesses of the cave, and denied all knowledge of the origin of the zombies. He did not strike me as a likely necromancer, so I accepted his word and we made our way swiftly and safely back to the Guildhall.

After this long day, I am bringing this journal to date and will sleep late tomorrow.   

The afternoon was long and strenuous, with two bouts of terror, which I suppose one must expect in these dark days. 

I determined to travel to Leyawiin, for I will need a recommendation from that city but did not know even the rudiments of the School of Mysticism, their area of mastery. As I departed the (less than) fair city of Bravil, the city guards asked where I was going and, on learning, suggested worriedly that the road was not safe; indeed they knew it to be infested with imps quite nearby.  As they were city guards and not Imperial Legion, they were under orders not to venture far from the gates and so had not dealt with the imps themselves. 

Still, there was little I could do but press on if I wish ever to become a full-fledged Mage.  I thanked them for their advice and proceeded with caution. This proved fortunate, as there were indeed imps on the road but I was able to retreat behind some rocks and exchange spells with them until a couple of lucky shots brought them down. 

As I was not far from the city gates, I returned to advise them that the imp peril was, at least for the moment, ended. They thanked me most sincerely, then, learning that I am an alchemist, the watch sergeant took me aside and quietly pointed out a vegetable patch, explaining, “we’ve been instructed to eat our green leafies so we’ll be healthy and strong but … well … we’d almost rather eat those imps you took down than look at another tomato. Why don’t you just harvest that stuff — all of that stuff — and we’ll just look the other way?”

What alchemist could refuse a plea like that?  But unfortunately this particular alchemist had left all of her gear in Weye.  So, another long run to Weye and back again, but within hours I was in the vegetable patch, out of sight of the powers that be, happily harvesting everything within reach and converting it to potions. 

That chore done, and the potions in my backpack clicking merrily as I jogged, I started down the long road to Leyawiin.

The journey was largely uneventful until I heard an odd grumbly-growly noise behind me. I risked a look back and found an ogre in hot pursuit!  I ran for my life, but he was running too and he was fast!  He stayed behind me for the better part of an hour, with me throwing fireballs at him whenever I got far enough ahead to risk stopping and casting a spell. I tried leading him through a herd of wild boar that had chosen to cross the road. That did slow him down, but once he had dispatched them, he was after me again.  In the end I simply broke him down with spell after spell. They breed their ogres tough in Blackwood. 

After that experience, it was a great relief to reach the walls of Leyawiin and the sanctuary of the Mages Guild.  There is some kind of problem with the head of the Guild, though no one seemed to want to talk about it and I was too tired to investigate. There was no way I could get a recommendation anyway. Rather than try to find a free bed (no one being hospitable enough to point me to the guest quarters), I went to the nearby tavern for the night. 

The room here is very clean, and the innkeeper has warned me in no uncertain terms to keep it that way. So I shall finish this entry and put my writing things away very carefully so as not to get ink on the bedclothes!

This morning I went to Fort Grief and discovered that Kurdan was a murderer and a procurer for murderers as well as a loanshark, but now he and his customers are dead and Aleron and I are alive, though it was a very near thing for Aleron. 

But to tell my tale in order … Kurdan instructed me to take a rowboat out to a small island where stand the ruins of Fort Grief. When I arrived, I found Aleron, but before we could flee to safety together, the fort’s portcullis slammed shut and we were trapped. Aleron told me that Kurdan had bragged to him that no one had ever escaped from Fort Grief, for it was a hunting ground for those who liked to hear the screams of the helpless. Not for them to hunt down the vampires, ogres, and other foul things that haunt this land — no, they want to hunt and kill innocents like Aleron. 

Aleron was safe where he was, for the moment, but there was no food or water in the ruined fort, and he told me that Kurdan had gloated to him that eventually, in desperation, he would enter the hunting ground of his own will. His only hope was to try his hand against the hunters who waited below, with the promise that, if he could defeat them and take their keys, he could open the gate and go free.  He had not tried yet, and in the end he never did. But that comes later in my tale. 

I vowed these cowardly “hunters” would find me no easy prey, and I set out into the darkness of the fort.  I was soon set upon by a hunter, who was most surprised and displeased to find himself facing a Mage, even one incompletely trained. With his last breath, he groaned something about wanting a refund.

The second hunter was far more deadly, but I had noted and avoided traps on my way in, so I was able to lead him into one. So blinded by bloodlust was he that he failed to note where he put his feet. A fitting end for him: impaled by a dozen stakes at the bottom of a pit. 

The third hunter was more deadly still, but I was able to retreat to a ledge where even a tall Orc with a long sword could not reach, and I pelted him with fireballs while he raged impotently at me. 

Having dispatched the three hunters and taken their keys, I expected to simply unlock the gate and leave with Aleron. But such was not to be; I could not raise the portcullis. Leaving the gate controls behind, I went to confer with Aleron.

But Aleron was not alone; Kurdan had arrived to watch the end of the fight. Before I could reach them, Kurdan viciously struck him down. I leapt to the attack, which I quickly regretted as Kurdan was a far more capable fighter than I, and my small cantrips did not act fast enough or do enough damage to kill him before he could kill me. My only hope was to flee back into the hunting ground with him in hot pursuit, sprinting through the tunnels that I had so painstakingly examined on the way in. At the last moment I leapt over the pit, that which had claimed the second hunter … and Kurdan missed a step. He too fell into the pit and was killed. 

I recovered the key from his body, and this one proved to be the right one. I opened the gate and collected all the gear I could find — no sense leaving it for scavengers when I am in want!  And finally I collected Aleron’s body for a mournful return to his grieving widow. 

With a heavy heart I rowed back to Bravil, then carried the unfortunate Aleron to his home and laid him carefully on his bed. As I sadly explained the circumstances of his death to his weeping wife, he groaned!  He had been badly injured and knocked unconscious and, poor healer that I am, I had merely mistaken him for dead.

His wife hastily thanked me and rewarded me with a valuable book, then hustled me out so that she could attend the wounded man. She assured me that she had some small healing skills, and believed firmly that she would have him back on his feet (much chastened) in a matter of days. 

So the morning ended well, with Kurdan and his hunters dead and Aleron and me alive.

    
This morning I presented myself to Falcar, seeking his recommendation. He required that I first pass a simple test, casting a very elementary spell to alter the fabric of reality just a bit, a task at which I succeeded thanks to my diligent practice of yesterday. He then assigned me the task of retrieving a ring from the well, adding that a prior applicant, Vidkun, had failed to do so. I quickly found out why — the ring was monstrously heavy, as Falcar undoubtedly knew since it was his ring, and Vidkun had drowned trying to retrieve it.

I returned to the Guildhall dripping and furious, meaning to charge Falcar with murder and attempted murder, but found that he had quarrelled with his second, Deetsan, and departed. While searching in vain for the promised recommendation, I found that he had left behind two black soul gems. Hardly wishing to touch the accursed things, I took them to Deetsan, with the result that Falcar is branded a necromancer (besides a murderer) and cast forth from the Guild, while I have my recommendation from Deetsan. 

There seeming to be no reason to remain in Cheydinhal, I consulted the Mages Guild policies and my own skills, and concluded that the only city where I might hope to gain a recommendation was Bravil. I therefore began the long run back to the Imperial City and Weye, and onward to Bravil. 

In Weye, I stopped long enough to arrange with the innkeeper that I might leave my gear there rather than haul it about or leave it where others might pick it up,  and then proceeded.

My journey was largely uneventful, though I stopped for a bite to eat at the Faregyl Inn and met a Khajiit named S’jirra whose potatoes had been stolen. As part of my campaign to befriend the people of my new homeland, I agreed to find them. 

This was not difficult; the thief had left a track quite obvious even to my eyes. I pursued him at top speed, though I rather regretted that when I discovered that I had been tracking an ogre. Fortunately my spells were powerful enough to eventually bring him down — and I was fleet enough of foot to stay out of his reach while my spells took their toll. 

I then proceeded to the Mages Guild of Bravil, hoping to advance myself there also. The head of the Guildhall, Kud-Ei, offered me the opportunity to prove my skills by casting a simple illusion, which I did successfully. She then asked me to assist with a personal matter for one of my guildmates: a Dunmer named Varon Vamori appeared to have stolen Ardaline’s Mage’s Staff from her, and Kud-Ei wanted me to recover it.

With a little magical encouragement, Vamori admitted to stealing the Staff but claimed to have acted out of unrequited love. I find that difficult to believe, as I would expect a disappointed lover to either keep the Staff in remembrance of its owner, or to throw it down a well or the like in frustration. Instead, Vamori did what any thief would do: he sold it. He indicated that it was in the Imperial City, so I had to sprint back to the City the way I had come. 

Vamori’s “friend” was as mercenary as he was, and I had to pay 200 septims to recover the Staff. Ah, well, membership in the Guild is worth more than that to me, so I paid it and raced back to Bravil.  Returning the staff to Kud-Ei gained me my second recommendation.

Kud-Ei was most distraught about something else, besides Ardaline’s plight, and when I asked her about her troubles, she told me about her friend Henantier. He has developed a “Dreamworld Amulet” which he hoped to use to control his dreams so that he could train himself in some of the magical arts. Unfortunately, something went wrong and he became trapped in his dreams. Kud-Ei was unable to draw him out because he perceived her as part of the dream, so she hoped that a complete stranger, like myself, would have better luck.

I donned the Amulet and lay down to sleep, immediately finding myself in Henantier’s dream, stripped of all the useful gear that I normally carry. His dream-self was completely confused and unable to carry out the tasks that he seemed to have set for himself. I carried them out instead.

One task was to swim a long distance underwater; I had no difficulty with this task. Another was to work my way through a number of traps. This was more difficult, but in general I could take my time and study each step before I moved, so I was able to get through unscathed. The third task was use a map to work my way through several mazes where the flagstones were trapped. It was obvious that stepping on the wrong flagstone would be disastrous, but with the aid of the map I had no difficulty.

Finally, the fourth task was to fight in a kind of dreamy Arena against two minotaurs. Fortunately, I have a great deal of practice at running away from enemies or finding some high point from which I could attack them but they could not attack me, which is what I did here. I had found a staff that cast lightning bolts, so from my high ground I simply fired down at them while they bellowed and stamped, until they were both dead.

When I completed the fourth task, Henantier finally came to himself and was able to return us both to the reality of Bravil. He and Kud-Ei were most appreciative of his rescue, so I have gained some credit with the Bravil Mages Guildhall. Kud-Ei rewarded me with a clothes-drying spell, which will be most useful here in Bravil, as it began to rain while I was in the dreamworld and has been raining ever since.

I stood out on a porch and watched the rain for a long time, hoping for a break so I might at least start for Leyawiin in dry weather. While I waited, I was approached by a woman named Ursanne Loche, whose husband Aleron has gone missing. She begged me to try to find him by talking to an usurer named Kurdan, staying at the Lonely Suitor Inn.

I promised to help and sought out Kurdan, who is as pleasant and helpful as one might expect a loanshark to be. Between insults, he agreed to reveal Aleron’s whereabouts if I retrieve a family heirloom, an axe, for him. I have agreed to do so, and will set forth to Fort Grief, where it lies, on the morrow.    

The Imperial City being too expensive for my purse, and I having no particular reason to go to any other city, I decided to go to Cheydinhal, for no reason other than that it is the closest city to Morrowind.  The road took me far out of my way through the town of Weye to the west, but I thought it best to stay on the road where I could expect the protection of the Legion.  The journey was mostly unremarkable, until I reached the village of Aleswell, where I observed a most remarkable thing: a hoe operating itself.

Well, it was not really operating itself, but the villager who was using it was invisible. Indeed, everyone in the village was invisible, victims of a stray spell. At their request, I visited the offending mage, Ancotar. He was not precisely regretful about his error, but after I politely (and sincerely!) listened to his description of his studies, he presented me with a scroll to read, which returned all of the villagers to visibility. Unfortunately it also affected me, causing me to stumble and overlook things. I betook myself to the nearest way shrine, and was relieved of this effect. 

I was pursued by a bear and later some bandits, but the Legion helpfully disposed of them.  The trip was otherwise uneventful.

In Cheydinhal, I first checked with the Mages’ Guild, as I desire to become a member. The Guild leader, Falcar, rudely and condescendingly accepted my petition, but informed me that the Mages Guild requires me to obtain a recommendation from the Head of each Guildhall, and further that no recommendation would be forthcoming unless I first proved my expertise in spell casting. He added with a sneer that my demonstrated abilities were utterly inadequate. 

I was regretfully forced to agree. I scraped together enough gold to purchase a spell of protection, which I resolved to practice all day long, that I might wipe that sneer from his face. 

Practicing is boring, however, so I did spend some time wandering around. I learned that a famous painter, Rythe Lythandas, had disappeared.  His wife approached me and begged me to help him.  In examining his study for clues, I touched his most recent, unfinished, painting and was, to my astonishment, drawn into it.

I found Rythe trapped in this painted world and menaced by painted trolls. It seems that he possesses a magical Brush capable of painting with such realism that it creates actual worlds!  But the Brush had been stolen by a thief who had fled into this painting, pursued by Rythe, and had painted the trolls for his own defense. But the trolls had killed him and were now roaming freely through the painted world, making it impossible for Rythe to recover the Brush and escape.

Naturally, I volunteered to destroy the trolls and recover the Brush (there was no other way to escape), and after a harrowing hunt, I succeeded in that task. I returned the Brush to Rytte and we escaped.

The day was far from over, and practicing was still boring. I decided to look around east of Cheydinhal. I was promptly attacked by goblins. Following their back trail, I located their den under some ruins.  The goblins within were not too powerful for me — many, in fact, simply fled without striking a blow. In searching the bodies of those foolish enough to fight, I came across a couple of keys. 

Creeping deep into the den, I came across a prisoner in a cell, which one key was able to open  The other probably opened a nearby gate, but I did not try it. There was something behind that gate ranting and howling, and goblins do not rant and howl, they merely squall. Neither I nor the prisoner had any urge to stop and find out what was making the noise. He lit out immediately for Weye, while I went to an inn to finish the day by practicing.

I take a moment to pen these few words, and then to bed. On the morrow, I vow to prove myself to the arrogant Falcar.        

I write these words by lantern-light in a ship which has been converted to a floating inn called “the Bloated Float”. It has been a long, strange evening since I left the sewers. 

My first goal was to return to the Market District and sell the gear I had collected, though I was a bit leery of the place: what if they remembered my arrest?   I sold off the gear without any problems, though I’m quite sure the merchants cheated me. Ah, well, a young dunmer gets used to that, and at least they did not call the Watch to seize me as an escaped prisoner. I then wandered about a bit, collecting mushrooms and things for my alchemy.  I was somewhat weary from my adventures, and decided to take a room and rest. As the Bloated Float was the least expensive inn in the area, I chose to stay here for the night.   

That innocent decision almost proved my undoing. While I slept, robbers seized the ship, made prisoners of the crew, and put out to sea. As the only somewhat trained fighter on the ship, it fell to me to fight and kill all four robbers. I received a reward of 75 septims, which was little enough, and their gear which I will repair and sell tomorrow, once I have bought some more repair hammers, as I have broken the few that I had. 

I returned to my room and am making these notes to you, my diary, before retiring for a long, long sleep. 

I begin this diary as a chronicle of my life in Cyrodiil. I came to the Imperial City just days ago, having paid all of my savings to a mage to teleport me here, rather than risk the dangerous roads from Morrowind.

Morrowind. Though I was born there, I never felt at home, for I was a destitute orphan who would have lived (and likely died) on the streets, but for a kindly old mage who took me in as a servant. He fed and clothed and housed me, and the work which he required was not too great for my poor strength. He even taught me a few simple spells. I might have become his apprentice; indeed, I think that was his plan. But he is dead, victim of a murderous necromancer, and I was left to destroy his mortal remains. With nothing to hold me in Morrowind I came, as mentioned, to the Imperial City.

I had hardly set foot in the City — had but taken a sip from the public well in the Market District — when I was seized by the Watch and accused of theft. What I was thought to have stolen, and from whom, I do not know. I was cast into the Imperial Prison to await trial, but the very next morning — this morning in fact — occurred the most extraordinary event.

Another prisoner was taunting me, as he had been all night long, when we heard the tramp of booted feet. But it was not the guards coming to take me to my unknown fate; it was several Blades, and with them the Emperor himself! It seems almost a dream now, that the Emperor spoke to me and indeed interceded for me with his Blades. And this, though his sons had been struck down and he himself was fleeing for his life. A great and good man, the heart of Cyrodiil made flesh. And we are bereft.

But this is my story, and I will leave the tales of the powerful to the powerful. The Emperor and his Blades departed through a secret door, and I followed. The door closed and sealed itself behind me, so I could not return even when, later, I regretted the impulse to follow the Emperor. That makes me an escaped prisoner, though I suppose no one will be very concerned about a mere accused thief, when the Emperor and his heirs are dead.

We were attacked almost immediately by strange wizards who appeared from nowhere. Unarmed and all but blind in the darkness, I could hardly even see the battle. When the fight was over, the leader of the Blades lay dead. The others hustled the Emperor onward, through a magical door that was barred to me. It seemed I was trapped and could do no more than guard the Emperor’s backtrail with my paltry cantrips, if more wizards should appear and try to follow him through the magical door.

But the sounds of combat had alerted the giant rats living in nearby tunnels. They pushed through a weakened section of the wall and came in. I would have thought they would go for the prey lying dead before them, but instead they came after me. Perhaps they just saw me first or they thought me a rival for their meat. Or perhaps they just prefer their prey still kicking. In any event, I struck them both dead with my magic. Through the wall, I found a discarded crate containing — wonder of wonders — some torches. So provided, I had the happy thought to return and seach the bodies. I scooped up what equipment I could, including a nice katana. I was most grateful for the katana! Poor as my swordsmanship is, with a sword like that, even I could defeat a few rats, however big.

And I did defeat rats — rats and more rats, and even a zombie, which was quite rat-chewed, but still active — as I worked my way through the tunnels. There was some rusty, discarded equipment which I collected along the way. If I can’t use it myself, I can sell it to gain a stake for my new life. It’s bulky and heavy, though. After a while, it was all I could do to drag the stuff along, and I was forced to discard much more as I went. But I’m getting ahead of my story.

Past the rat caves, I found a wooden door. I thought it might lead to freedom, or at least to other people, but instead it led to goblin caves. I have often heard that goblins raise giant rats for food, so perhaps I had been stumbling all unaware through their larder.

Of course, I could not go back, so on I went, fighting my way through the goblins and picking up a bit more gear as I went. One particular treasure is a mortar and pestle. One of my ambitions is to become a master alchemist, and acquiring this is my first, tiny, step in that direction. Another treasure is the goblin shaman’s staff. I have not decided whether to use it myself, or sell it.

Beyond the goblin caves, I found an opening which they had knocked through the wall, and beyond it I heard voices. At last! I thought. People and safety, and no more stumbling in the dark! But no, it seems that while I had been making my way through the tunnels, the Emperor and his Blades had been making their way through the secret passages beneath the Imperial Prison. There had been more battles, and perhaps the Emperor, a frail old man for all his greatness, had required rest. In any case, I had caught up with them.

The Blades thought me a spy and wished to deal with me as such, but the Emperor again stayed their hands. He said that he had dreamed of me — me, a poor Dunmer orphan, alone and friendless — and that I have some great part to play. For all my deep respect for the Emperor, I find that difficult to accept. Dreams do not all come from those who mean us well, and even Emperors may be deceived.

We fled onwards, now with me as an accepted part of the party. We were attacked again and again — the journey seemed to go on endlessly, taking on the character of a nightmare. At length, however, we came to the gate which the Blades had sought … and found it barred against us. It was clear that the Blades had been anticipated every step of the way.

And so we turned at bay, a dead end behind us and the anticipated final attack before us. The Blades rushed to the fore of the battle, but in this dire circumstance, they trusted even me. Still I hear the words ringing in my ears: “Wait here with the Emperor! Guard him with your life!”

The Emperor knew his doom, and no longer sought to flee. But even with death before him, he thought only of his people. He gave me his Amulet of Kings, which could not have been taken from his unwilling hands, alive or dead, and charged me to take it to a man named Jauffre, to pass to his last son.

I should have guarded him with my life. But to my eternal shame I did not fall in his defence. I was just steps away, examining the walls in hopes of finding another secret door, or even a weak section that we could break through, when an attacker came through a secret door that we had missed. He must have been watching through a peephole, or perhaps scrying, for he came through directly behind the Emperor and struck him down before I could even raise my sword.

And so that great one fell.

The sole surviving Blade, Baurus, found me standing over the dead Emperor. Another might have struck me down at once, but not he. I held the Amulet, and that proved me a loyal servant of the Emperor. Baurus sent me on, through the secret door revealed by the attacker, and so into the sewers for which the doomed travellers had been making.

My shock at the death of the Emperor before my eyes was (and is) so great that I can scarce recall that last leg of the journey. Rats and goblins — I struck them down with the rusty sword which I carry. Not the beautiful, supple katana, as Baurus kept that; fittingly, for I failed in the one duty given to me by the Blades.

And now I sit before the sewer grate. Behind me is the stinking darkness of the sewer, before me the bright sunlight of the new day in Cyrodiil. I hesitate to go out. By now the murder of the Imperial family must be known, and the plotters may have made further moves. What chaos awaits beyond this grate?

Then too, I must decide what to do. The cities are said to be safe, but beyond their walls lurk monsters, bandits, even necromancers such as struck down my master. I cannot venture far from the Imperial City until I have greatly improved my skills. The unknown “last son” must wait … and perhaps better so. If no one knows of him, the plotters will not seek him out.

It might be best if I wait a while and give the Imperials and the Blades a chance to find the plotters before I seek out the Heir.

In the meantime, though, I have delayed long enough by writing this chronicle. I must take my first steps beyond this grate and into my new life.

After leaving for months I’ve decided to start over. I do this regularly, which is why I never finish the game. So, we shall start again with Azura’s departure from the sewers.

Yay!

It’s taken me hours, because all the tutorials assume you’re starting at a level way higher than I am, but I have created a couple of objects in Nifskope. They are constructed by sticking together existing meshes and textures — I didn’t even try to create new meshes — but they have collision! (Meaning that things don’t fall through them, which is what happened when I first created them.)

My objects are a filled bookshelf, and a table with all the novice alchemy gear:

The fire is added separately, as it is animated and I have not yet figured out how to add animation to a mesh.