Category Archives: Story Time

Warning: potential DLC quest (Knights of the Nine) spoilers ahead!

From Garn’s recollections:

Waking the Dead

Wading into the murky waters of Niben Bay I could see what seemed to be the vaguely stony shapes of man-made structures. There was only one way to be sure I was at the right place so I dove into the water and began to swim deeper. Sure enough, it seemed to be a ruin just as I had seen in my vision the night before. I swam to the surface for a fresh breath of air and then dove down to what appeared to be the submerged entrance of the ruin’s inner chambers. After breaching the doorway and swimming another 15 feet or so I climbed out into a dry section of the temple ruins. I explored the musty passages until reaching a lower level, which seemed to be much more intact, and soon I stumbled across the dust coated skeleton of a long dead adventurer. Searching his body I found several interesting items including an odd signet ring and an old, barely held together journal. I decided then that this would be a good to rest and catch my breath.

“On second thought, maybe I *won’t* join the Knights of the Nine.”

The journal was written by a knight named Sir Amiel and detailed how he once belonged to an order called the Knights of the Nine who were devoted to recovering and safeguarding the various relics of the Pelinal Whitestrake, referred to by Sir Amiel as the Crusader’s Relics. He mentioned that the order had possession of several of these holy relics before it eventually disbanded due to strife within its ranks. The relics scattered to the individual knights who had originally recovered them. He also mentioned that in his old age, still dedicated to the cause of the Knights of the Nine, he had journeyed there, to the Shrine of the Crusader, in an attempt to recover the Helm of the Crusader. Perhaps most intriguingly of all, he wrote that the ring could be used to unlock a hidden underground chamber in the order’s old priory that housed their last remaining relic, the Cuirass of the Crusader. It occurred to me immediately that if I could find this priory and it had somehow escaped being raised by bandits by then my quest for Whitestrake’s relics would be well on its way. I first had the matter of the Helm to attend to.

“One down…”

As I ventured further and further into the ruins of the shrine it became apparent that, as with many ancient ruins, this one was haunted by undead. I fought my way through the various passages and chambers until I finally breached a small side passage that lead to the shrine itself: the Helm of the Crusader was still there, intact and unguarded. I carefully took up the relic and hastily made my way out of the ruins and back to my horse. It was time to find this ruined priory of Sir Amiel’s!

“Finding the Priory. It’s a bit of a fixer-upper.”

After some time spent researching this Knights of the Nine order at the Arcane University’s library I soon had a foggy idea of where the Priory of the Nine was located, a spot I had stumbled upon early in my post-prison adventures in fact, and set off for the forests of the West Weald. It took quite a few days of searching but eventually I discovered a small compound nestled against a hill in a particularly secluded part of the forest. The priory compound consisted of a chapel, a large house, and a few miscellaneous out buildings including a stable. Exploring the vaguely familiar abandoned main house I found it to be as relatively intact as I recalled. While I had no doubt that it had been looted clean long ago I saw no sign that the basement area had ever been discovered never mind actually breached. Using the ring in the spot mentioned in Sir Amiel’s journal caused plumes of dust to shoot into the air as a complex mechanism lowered a section of the floor into stairs leading down to a basement door. The basement itself was standard fair for a house like this though there was a heavy door on one of the walls. Using the ring to activate the unlocking mechanism revealed another large room that no longer appeared to be under the main house of the priory at all. I was fascinated. I cautiously explored a bit of this room, which appeared to be a crypt, until I spotted an armor stand that held what was doubtlessly the holy relic itself.

“Hitting ghosts with a sword is actually harder than you might think.”

I approached the relic to examine it but was startled to have the spirit of a knight materialize before me to block my path. As it paused to regard me several more such spirits surrounded me to form a circle. The lead apparition then announced that even in death the original Knights of the Nine would protect the last of their sacred artifacts and that each would face me in honorable combat. Now, I had vanquished many spirits before, and a great many warriors, but the ghosts of some of that era’s greatest knights? I truly did not know what to expect of this. I drew my Daedric longsword and lifted my shield for battle. One at a time he called them up to face me. Sir Henrik, Sir Caius, Sir Torolf, and so on. While each of the spirits fought well, some better than others, none of them could best me in martial combat. At last it was the lead knight’s turn and though our duel lasted a longer time it too bowed before me in defeat. I had bested the challenge and the Cuirass of the Crusader was mine.

“Yes, I *am* Pelinal Whitestrake reborn. You’re welcome.”

I carefully gathered the relic and began to put it into one of my bags while keeping a careful eye on the ghostly knights behind me, yet they did not leave. Much to my surprise, in fact, they re-took their places and stood at attention. The lead spirit then turned to congratulate me on my victory and to announce that they were at my service on my search for the remaining relics. I don’t know if they simply assumed that my purpose was just or if they somehow knew of and trusted something deeper inside of me, but they were seemingly at my disposal, with the spirits soon each providing me with priceless information about where the other relics had been lost and how I might recover them. With two of the artifacts at hand and a what seemed like most of the information I’d need to find the rest, this quest had turned from one I accepted with curiosity and skepticism to one that not only I wanted to finish, but it seemed like I might finish quite easily.

Warning: potential DLC quest (Knights of the Nine) spoilers ahead!

From Garn’s recollections:

The Pilgrimage

For a time I focused on my duties as the new Arch-Mage of the Mages Guild. Despite not having much in the way of any real interest in the position and being all too wary of the growing renown that would be involved in fully assuming it, there was much to be done. The Council of Mages needed to be reformed, chiefly. Without a solid council in place it would be impossible for me to govern on my own. At least with the council back to normal the guild would distract themselves and the focus could be directed off of me and onto other matters. Besides that, I spent a great deal of this time taking advantage of the great library at the Arcane University. My studies became more consuming than since early on after escaping from the prison so many months before, both in hopes of regaining some additional morsels of understanding of my past and for an invigorated love of academia. Growing too aware of my increasingly sedentary nature I decided to pack up my traveling kit and set out on the road, if only for a short time.

This was no grand adventure. While there were, of course, encounters with the random beasts and creatures along the way and a notable increase in bandit activity in some areas, I had actually assigned myself the rather mundane but necessary task of journeying from city to city visiting Fighters Guild guildhalls and senior members. In particular I was long overdue to meet with Modryn Oreyn in Chorrol, who had more or less been running the guild as my proxy since I first became the Guildmaster. It was on this journey that I stumbled into an unusual, even palpable tension over a recent event in Anvil. A terrible event.

“Looks like someone’s got a case of the Sundays!”

Everyone in the streets had been gossiping about the horrific attack in the Chapel of Dibella is in Anvil’s Chapelgate district. Given my station as both Arch-Mage of the Mage’s Guild and Guildmaster of the Fighter’s Guild the City Watch let me have access to the scene. In the chapel I found everything overturned and bloody corpses of both priests and worshipers alike strewn about. Most curiously there were runes written in blood around the altar. I recognized the runic writing as Old Ayleid but couldn’t read it for myself. Although I explored the rest of the chapel there were few other clues to suggest what had happened there. The guards around the chapel wouldn’t share any information about who they had suspected of committing this desecration or why and I sensed no real hints that they might be purposely withholding more from me. Also not withholding was a strange, raggedy man I found preaching outside of the chapel steps as I left.

“Fuck! Doesn’t anyone evil STAY dead in The Elder Scrolls?!”

At first glance the preacher seemed to be your run of the mill deranged homeless man but as I watched it seemed that he was gathering an audience. He was ranting passionately about something named Umaril coming back to seek vengeance on the Nine Divines and Cyrodiil needing a new champion. I had heard the name Umaril before but couldn’t quite place it so, on a whim, I decided to speak to this street preacher one on one after he stopped for a break and the crowd dispersed. The man was a little more coherent when not ranting and told me the tale of Umaril the Blasphemer, an ancient Alyeid king who, backed by the Daedra, ruled over the lands with a terrible power and cruelty. Eventually a powerful, zealous warrior and holy champion of the Divines, Pelinal Whitestrake, rose up to challenge his reign and slew him in an epic battle on top of what is now the White Gold Tower in the center of the Imperial City. This preacher claims that Umaril, actually made immortal by his pact with the Daedra, was now back from the Outer Realms of Oblivion and a new champion would need to rise up to defeat Umaril in the name of the Nine.

It was an interesting conversation, no doubt, and after hearing his story I recalled reading of Pelinal Whitestrake in the past. While at a tavern later that day the subject of the preacher, who most seem to dub more cordially “the Prophet” came up amongst my fellow patrons and it seemed, interestingly, many seem to hold in high regard. After finishing my meal I returned to the Prophet to learn more. First he spoke about the grand quest of recovering Whitestake’s lost relics. He then told me that if I was interested in learning more about following in Whitestrake’s footsteps and becoming the champion I should first go on a pilgrimage to pray at the wayshrines of the Nine Divines spread across Cyrodiil. While I’ve learned a lot much more about the divine Aedra and indeed their Daedric counterparts since becoming a free man I’ve yet to commit to worshiping any sort of gods or practicing any particular faith. My own work on Daedric conjuration puts me at some odds with worshipers of the Nine though, like most conjurers, I do not worship the Daedric princes. Indeed, I must have been an odd site clad in my Daedric armor and weaponry. The Prophet seemed unphased.

“A rare tranquil moment…”

I couldn’t shake it. The feeling that this was a quest I must take up. Was this something from my past rising up to the surface or just some sense of duty that has appeared along with my growing responsibility for the people of Cyrodiil? I did not know. I slept on it that night and in the morning I immediately set out for the nearest wayshrine I knew of. A shrine dedicated to Mother Mara, just north of the city. I continued onward, zigzagging across much of Western Cyrodiil for days, visiting shrines all around Anvil, Kvatch, Skingrad, and Bravil. Many of these wayshrines I had recalled coming across before whilst producing my maps though sometimes I ended up asking locals for directions. Often times this wasn’t too difficult as wayshrine pilgrimages sometimes brought other travelers out to these often secluded sites as well. At one such occasion I even encountered a fellow warrior, Sir Roderic, seeking to become a crusader of The Nine. He spoke of the prophet’s wisdom and asked me to travel with him and his squire but as we were heading separate directions I declined.

“Damn Pagans must be living on No-Doz!”

While my voyage was mostly uneventful, some of these shrines were so secluded encounters with roaming monsters were to be expected. I suppose the devote might look upon these dangers as trials of faith but for me they were of little consequence. Indeed my mood grew more and more bleak as I progressed on my quest. At first I took in the beautiful scenery in these secluded areas of the realm but in time the blue skies turned to darkness and rain and the friendly pilgrims were replaced by vicious, brutal minotaurs and gargoyles lurking in the shadows of the forests. Despite this I was oddly possessed with completing my pilgrimage. I couldn’t stop until all 9 of the Divines had been honored. After the last shrine had finally been reached I rode south to Skingrad and setup in an Inn for the night, feeling empty and questioning the wisdom of ever deciding to take up the quest.

“I am SO high.”

That night I had the oddest of dreams. I was floating high above the White Gold Tower and the visage of none other than Pelinal Whitestrake himself approached me. He spoke as a spirit, with only vague recollections of his former life and vaguer of events that had come after. He guessed the gods had arranged for us to meet because of Umaril’s return. He spoke about the quest to seek out his relics, though had little to say, he did offer that his relics could possibly be at the site of a shrine erected to him shortly after his death on its very site. His description of the site, though somewhat ambiguous, sounded like it would be relatively easy to locate if it was still accessible. Likely a ruin now, and likely lost to time under the waters of Niben Bay, but there was a chance.

I woke from my restless slumber unsure of whether it was truly a dream or perhaps a true vision. Had the spirit of Whitestrake reached out to me? I didn’t know but I was sure I could find out. I quickly gathered myself and rode with great haste to the shores south of the capital.

I bet you guys thought I gave up on old Garn didn’t I? Well, to the two people who were asking… nope! We are definitely, finally nearing the end of his adventure though.

Warning: potential side quest (Mages Guild) spoilers ahead!

From Garn’s recollections:

Blackened Soul Broken

When I arrived at the Arcane University I immediately made my way to the Council Chambers to present Arch-Mage Traven with the Necromancer’s Amulet. The Arch-Mage was much less interested in the return of the artifact than he was the news of Caranya’s deception, hardly able to believe that one of his closest and most trusted advisors had betrayed him so. He then declare that I was to be his only advisor and that no one else on the Council or in the Guild could be trusted with his plans until the necromancer threat had been stamped out. With that he had my next task for me. I was to meet up with a small contingent of Imperial Battlemages to sack the ruins of Silorn, wherein the Worm cult was producing large numbers of Black Soul Gems. Most significant, they were apparently working on a special Colossal Black Soul Gem for Mannimarco himself to use as a powerful weapon. Traven was vague about his intentions but it seemed that he wanted the Colossal Black Soul Gem himself.

At Silorn I found Thalfin, Merete, and Iver hiding in wait behind some of the outer walls of the site. When I introduced myself they explained that, unaware of reinforcements arriving, they had already tried storming the stronghold but the door was magically sealed. In the ensuing chaos they lost a man and were forced to retreat. Their new plan was to wait for the necromancers to leave the sanctuary of their liar again and strike then, hopefully by surprise. Just then, both Thalfin and I heard the familiar sounds of stone sliding against stone and everyone rushed to take up better positions around the entrance.

“Necromancers vs. Battlemages”

Worm cultists came marching into the ruined courtyard in two columns, totally unaware of us, their lanterns casting a glowy bloom against the hazy gray of the stormy day as they swung. When the group passed the first of our hiding positions the attack was on. Minions were summoned, lightning, fire, and ice spells shot out in every direction, and the sounds of shield, axe, and mace ringing together joined the shouts and screams to make a chorus of battle. The plan was a success – we slew them all without taking any casualties of our own. All but one – the one who appeared to be their ring leader, walking at the center rear of the group when they first emerged, had ran back below the moment we sprung on them. While the Battlemages cleared the field and gathered themselves I continued into the now unprotected inner structure of the ruins of Silorn.

“Planning my attack…”

The inside of the ruin resembled most of the other necromancer lairs I have encountered up to that point. Macabre decorations accompanied by the odd makeshift study or alchemists’ lab, but otherwise nothing but a dusty abandoned dungeon filled with undead. These undead though, were commanded by the living, unlike most of the other places I had plundered as an adventurer. I’m not sure whether that made it better or worse. Regardless, I slew many a necromancer of varying skill, shuffling zombie, undead warrior, powerful lich, and spectres bound by the foul cultists to do their bidding. Many of these battles were quite difficult and I found my trek deeper into Silorn in search of the Colossal Black Soul Gem growing a challenge with every new room. Finally I reached one of the last accessible rooms in the ruin and found my target. The elf who ran was not just any necromancer – it was none other than Falcar, from Cheydinhal! Likely knowing he was cornered Falcar wasted no time pressing the attack. After a short but fierce battle I stood over Falcar’s corpse, Colossal Black Soul Gem in hand.

“Traven seems quite happy with his plan, all things considered…”

I parted ways with the Battlemages, who were sweeping through the inner ruins much further behind me, and immediately set back to see the Arch-Mage. Traven didn’t seem at all surprised to see me back with the gem and immediately took it from me and held it in both hands. His mood was grim as he told me that I would deliver the gem to the King of Worms myself but not before it had been infused with an extremely powerful enchantment that would keep me from being turned into one of his thralls, giving me the chance to strike him down. His orders were simple enough. He then proceeded to tell me that I was to be Arch-Mage of the Mages Guild after he was gone. Before I could put two and two together Traven’s body lay dead on the floor, crackling with arcane energy. He had infused his own soul into the Colossal Black Soul Gem. No, I didn’t see that turn of events coming at all but Traven had left me with no real option but to finish carrying out his plan, both to honor his sacrifice and to put an end to Mannimarco and his cult. I took some time to gather my head and then set forth for Echo Cave to the far north of the Imperial City to see my task through.

“Echo… Echo… Echo…”

The entrance of Echo Cave was guarded by a powerful necromancer who challenged me as a I approached, claiming that he was the only one who held the key and he would not part with it while a living breath still rolled through his body. Naturally, I obliged. The King of Worms picked a worthy wizard to guard his lair, as he was quite skilled with all schools of magic, not just conjuration. He used illusions to hide himself while peppering me with fireballs and curses, yet to hide from me without running is just prolonging your enviable defeat, and soon I was walking through the great rock labyrinth of the cavern, torch in hand, seeking my audience with this false king.

“Who needs captions?”

Echo Cave was without a doubt the headquarters of the Order of the Black Worm – it was positively teaming with Necromancers, some guarding, others researching, and still others going about their Order’s more menial duties. Each one, though, fed their blood to the thirsty edge of my Daedric longsword. Thankfully Mannimarco’s cultists didn’t appear to be expecting attack as guards were never placed in sufficient number as to be a real threat to me. Some of the higher ranked necromancers were skilled sorcerers, many probably defecting from the upper ranks of the Mages Guild long before I ever sought to join it, but one on one, or even one on two, I could manage them well enough. Finally I reached the last area of the cavern, a large chamber with a sizable underground stream running through it. The King of Worms sat on his throne on the other side of the stream, no doubt very much expecting my arrival.

“So, we meet at last!”

I cautiously stepped across the narrow stone ledge leading to the throne. I thought for a moment that I might have actually caught him by surprise but all at once he stood, raised his hands, and I was trapped. Not only by his magic, but giant bony spikes rose from the ground like the grasping fingers of great giants and turned that side of the stream into a island. Paralyzed, my blade dropped from my hands, my back straightened, and my chin rose to bring my gaze directly into his eyes. Mannimarco expressed disappointment in not being able to meet Arch-Mage Traven himself and proceeded to mock him, the Mages Guild as whole, and me of course. He told me of his plans to enthrall me regardless. The joke was on him, of course, as he was about to meet Traven in a very unexpected way.

“The King of Worms strikes a pose.”

Mannimarco cast a quick spell no doubt meant to turn me but nothing happened. Confused, he attempted it again but this time his words of power were met with the response of a powerful blast knocking him off of his feet. I was released from his paralyzing spell and immediately reached for my sword. In a blink of the eye the King of Worms had regained his feet and started summoning. Liches appeared, at first two, and then three. I had no choice. I would need to kill him right then before he summoned a whole undead host to overwhelm me.

I concentrated long enough to summon a Daedric warrior from Oblivion to help distract some of the liches and focus on gaining ground on Mannimacro himself. I successfully landed a few blows as he tried to back up and weaken me with further curses. Another blow and he stumbled backwards, clearly injured. He composed himself and prepared a powerful fireblast to send my way but my reaction was quick and I sent it bouncing off of my enchanted shield, landing in the surrounding waters and producing a huge wall of rising steam. For but a moment this caught his eye, just long enough for me to land a forceful swipe of my sword cleanly into the sinewy meat of his neck. The liches suddenly vanished leaving my Daedric minion swiping at thin air, searching for his foes, and the bony barricades crumbled into dust and vanished before me.

Mannimarco was dead. The King of Worms was dead! The cost was terrible but the Mages Guild would rebuild, and few would ever know how close it had come to total annihilation.

Once again Oscuro’s Oblivion Overhaul conspired to fuck me, despite being level 40 and have pretty decent gear. Practically all of the enemies in these two dungeons had been replaced with much more difficult ones. Spectral warriors and spectral wolves were everywhere and a large portion of the necromancers were replaced with the much more difficult Keepers of the Dead. Ugh! Tedious.