tamrieldrifter

[tamrieldrifter]

The Frozen Fleet - part 2

There is a darkness within every mortal, both you and me, all of us with a heart that beats, a soul that hopes, and a mind that dreams. Most of us keep that darkness bound and buried deep within, with chains wrought of conscience, empathy, and shared morality. But all it takes to break one or more of those chains is a perception of injustice, misunderstanding, or fear. And in that unleashed darkness do the deceitful flames of bigotry burn brightest, and in flares of umbrage we begin to justify that which we once held unjustifiable. Treachery and violence however are spears pointed at both ends, and wounds us just as deeply as those who were once our friends.

S.K

[tamrieldrifter]

The Frozen Fleet

A Breton fleet has run aground on the ice sheets of Eastern Wrothgar after being blown off course by a blizzard whist attempting to round the Icy Shores. A small band of survivors from the three ships have set up camp to the southwest of Fharun Stronghold after their shipwrecked fleet was quickly overrun by scavenging Riekrs. The ships passengers were on a diplomatic mission between High Rock and Wrothgar, the Daggerfall Ambassador Lady Sovelle and her entourage on-route to negotiate a potential trade agreement with new Orsinium.

The camp survivors speak highly of the now missing ambassador, telling of how she stayed behind to help survivors escape from one of the sinking ships. Of her husband Ethian however, whose father owns the fleet, their opinions were saltier then the ocean waters. Whilst the fleet’s captain, Henrisa, seems almost uncaring about the fate of the Ambassador. I’m no navel expert but I am sure the traditional maritime practice is for a captain to be the last person to leave a sinking ship?

Whilst investigating the shattered wreck of the Pride of Northpoint, I was to discover an old ally trapped beneath a pile of crates. That most noble of Orcs, Skordo the Knife, is physically in bad shape; but in an even worse mood. He claims Ethian and a mage named Coris walked away from the wreck, leaving him there to die. Every tragedy has at least one of three causes, bad luck, bad decisions, or bad intentions. Scordo firmly firmly believes that the later is to blame for the grounding of the fleet, claiming that not everyone agrees with the peace between Bretons and Orcs, on both sides. He also claims to have overheard Captain Henrisa telling the ambassador just what she thought about the Orsimer. A letter I discover seemingly from Lord Ethian's father to Captain Henrisa appears to support his accusations.

Lord Ethian may not have been fully privy to the perniciousness of this conspiracy, but still the treachery of a friend or family cuts far deeper than that of a foe.

S.K

[tamrieldrifter]

The simple things

What is a man’s worth, his past achievements? his present labours? or his ambitions? For most people as soon as they attain one ambition they see another one glittering higher still, but what if your past achievements were so extraordinary that they cannot be outshone? Is then every future ambition dulled by the shadow of your past achievement?

Near the entrance to a small cave I encounter the Dark Elf, Raynor Vanos. He explains proudly that as experts on Dwarven artifacts, he and his sister Kireth were invited by the King himself to survey the Dwarven ruins of Wrothgar. They had arrived at what he believes to be the ruins of Zthenganaz when his adventuresome sister Kireth had either slipped, fell, or jumped into the cave; he seems uncertain as to which. At the sight of the ice wraiths and dwarven automatons roaming the buried ruins, the more bookish Raynor was understandably reluctant to follow.

I was to find Kireth exploring much deeper inside the ruins, she asks that I might steal a Dwemer power core currently being guarded by a particularly large Dwarven centurion she calls ‘the Ztheng Guardian’. Apparently her brother can make use of the power core to create one of his ‘devices’ with which he hopes to impress his scholarly colleagues at either the Mages Guild or Shad Astula, or perhaps both.

I remember Raynor and Kireth were both members of the Coldharbour invasion force. The Mages guild had apparently sought them out for their aid, specifically for their dungeon-delving expertise. They were also members of the Army of Meridia, helping to guard our rear during our final assault upon the Planar Vortex, ensuring we were not flanked by the daedra. Kireth explains that after all the excitement of Coldharbour, they thought coming back to the mundane ruins of Nirn would be boring. But not only did they find their deeds opened up new opportunities for them, “it also gave us an appreciation for the simple things." She said.

By contrast, after returning from Coldharbour to my modest home in Daggerfall, I was to find no comfort, and no appreciation in ‘the simple things’. Indeed, as the restlessness of my returned soul grew day by day, I felt an abrading need to go somewhere, see something, find something. It turned out all that would fill the empty hole left by an extraordinary ambition fulfilled, was a voracious appetite for more, no matter how dulled and tawdry they seemed. As to my worth? Well we shall see, but an Orc king’s ransom doesn't sound too unreasonable for either my achievements, labours, or ambitions.

S.K

[tamrieldrifter]

What's past is prologue

Whilst searching through the Bonerock Caverns I was to discover a lone Khajiit apparently looking for his lost cat; surprisingly it turns out that he was also a member of the Orc hunting party for whom I was searching. The young Zhasim was apparently raised by the Orc tribe after being found forsaken in caverns as a cub. As we talk I begin to suspect that perhaps it was neither a lost cat nor the viscous Riekrs that led him here, but serendipity. For we were soon to discover that these were in fact the very caverns in which he was found abandoned.

My first thought was to send the Khajiit back to the safety of the camp, but sometimes even the most stoic of us reluctantly cede to empathy, for at some point in our lives we all suffer from a conflict of identity or loyalty. For me it was in the wake of the great anchor falling upon the City Isle that I, like many Legionnaires, was forced to choose between my vows to the Ruby Throne and my loyalty to the people of the Heartlands. Whilst others I have travelled with include Bretons who, whilst living in Rivenspire, were forced by Rancer to choose between King or kin. Redguard’s whose familys must choose between Crown or Forebear, Elves of Summerset who chose between nationalism or Alliance. The point is whether human or mer at some point in our lives we all make a choice of who we are.

I recall an old tale from Skyrim of a Nord hunting party who came across an Elven toddler who had lost his parents. After some discussion, they decided to take the toddler into their village and raise him as they would one of their own. Being raised as a Nord naturally the Elf grew up mistrusting others of his own natural race. But of course he always knew he was different from the family and people that raised him and eventually, once he’d grown to maturity, he set out into he world beyond the village to discover his identity for himself. He was soon to meet with other elves and when he told them of his strange upbringing, they informed him that his parents had been killed in a Nord attack that had wiped out his entire village. Feeling angry and betrayed he was persuaded to join up with an Elven guerrilla group who used his unique knowledge of the Nord territory to raid, pillage, and raze to the ground every rural Nordic town along the coast, including the one that raised him, killing everyone there. It was only later he was to discover that he had been lied to, and that in fact his parents had been killed during a Maormer raid.

I don’t know whether this tale is true or but propaganda or bard’s baroque, but there is a Bosmer saying which goes, ‘people without the knowledge of their past are like trees without roots.’ Whatever we discover together in these caverns it will be for Zhasim, and Zhasim alone to discover, and decide, who he really is.

S.K

[tamrieldrifter]

A hunter's first lesson

A band of novice hunters from a local Orc clan who wanted to prove their worth by gathering meats, and furs for their tribe before the onset of winter, have been ambushed in hills by a tribe of small Ice Goblins known as Riekr. The little goblins whom inhabit the near-by Bonerock Cavern, are thought to be particularly gifted spellcasters, and share their caverns with a group of frightfully large Orges. The young hunt leader Orgotha requests that I rescue her captured comrades and kill the Riekr chief, claiming his tribes totem so that they might save face with their clan elders.

Unlike scholarly students who are taught lessons and then given a test; hunters like Orgotha are given tests that teach them the lessons. The youthful hunters feel that the cards just turned against them today. But much like the novice player at a Tribute table, we oft learn more from being wrong then being right, and nothing from being lucky.

S.K

[tamrieldrifter]

The cruel plains of Wrothgar

I head north-east through the rugged tundra plains towards my next destination, the Morkul Stronghold. The leathery wilderness of central Wrothgar is littered with crumbling bridges, gates and towers built in the distant past to defend settlements that have long since been forgotten. Whilst traversing along its broken roads I pass bandit camps, wandering ogres, packs of durzogs, and even the occasional lone giant. This is a picturesque land full of ugly creatures, inhospitable and cruel not just to travellers, but even for the Orc tribes that call these tundra plains their home.

One creature I was to encounter however that is as striking beautiful as the glacial foothills that conjure them, was the Ice Wraith. For travellers from the temperate south, these nature spirits are but creatures born of storybooks, bard's fancies or scholar's pretensions. Too often do they only discover that these mythical creatures are in-fact real at the moment they are frozen by the piercing bite of the Wraith’s icy maws. For these serpentine creatures are nigh on invisible against the snow and ice to the eyes of the unwary, and even the most experienced of Orsimer hunters have a ugly scar and tale to match, which they are usually happy to share with southern visitors for the price of a mug of Grog or a Twice-Spiked Ale.

S.K

[tamrieldrifter]

Tolerable evil

Heading down into depths of Graystone Quarry I see no signs of the fog, except perhaps the steam from strange brass pipes that adorn the cavern walls. I do however hear a monotonous chorus of hissing steam, clicking gears, and scuttling metallic limbs. And then in the gloom I began to spot them lit up by the occasional furnace blast. Spiders, Spheres, Sentries, and Centurions, Dwemer automations of every variety. Of course, if one delves deep enough in the mountains of High Rock it is almost inevitable you will eventually uncover a lost Dwemer settlement.

It is of little surprise that the straightforward rural Orsimer hide behind wild conjecture and superstition, few are so brave that they are unaffected by the unexpected. Still, even now knowing what lies ahead in the gloom does little to douse my own smouldering fears.

Eventually as I delve deeper into the caverns I find the high elf allegedly responsible for the miner’s woes… Neramo. I had last met him at the mages guild in Sentinel where he was researching lost Dwemer settlements, I guess he found what he was searching for. I am a little disappointed not to find the enigmatic Vimy with him. He admits his offer of help came only because he believed that the lost Dwemer settlement of Mzindyne lay beneath the quarry.

The elf informs me there is a construct control centre nearby which may enable him to take command of the constructs. He babbles something about a giant Orb, kinetic resonators, lenses and rings. To be honest I don’t understand any of it, but when he tells me I need to start hitting things until they go ping, we are suddenly on the same page.

With Mzindyne's defences under his control Neramo offers the constructs to the Tumnosh Clan to help meet Orsinium’s demand. Forge-Wife Kharza is understandably unforgiving and is obstinate that it would be dishonourable if the stone were extracted by any other way but how Malacath expected, ‘With Orc sweat and Orc muscle!’

Kharza would have the machines destroyed or banished to Orsinium, which is essentially the same thing as Dwemer automations mostly cease to function away from their home. Yet I need to restore the Graystone Quarry to full working order before Chief Ramash will agree to attend Kurog’s Great Moot. Sometimes to survive in this world one must suffer necessary evils, even if it is just until ones need subsides, or overtime the evil becomes somewhat tolerable… or even palatable.

S.K

[tamrieldrifter]

The ambition of Elves

The principle source of stone during the rebuilding of Orsinium has come from Clan Tumnosh’s Graystone Quarry located to the south-west of the capitol. The quarry however has reportedly fallen well behind in their expected shipments of late. Indeed, by the time I arrive there is no work in the quarry going on at all.

According to Forge-wife Kharza their problems started when demand from Orsinium began to outweigh their production and they hired a High Elf who claimed he could improve their yield. Not long after the elf entered a mine-shaft a fog was said to have rolled out into the quarry, screams of the miners were heard and many never reappeared through the mists. Chief Ramash himself went down into the quarry to look for his workers but he came back alone, covered in blood. Now the rest of the clan refuse to go anywhere near the quarry.

Mining is amongst the most dangerous of all occupations, and miners have developed a stoic bravery that would put many warriors to shame. I myself have pierced the callous heart of Coldharbour, and endured the lunacy of the Shivering Isles, yet the idea of entering that dark mine shaft gives me pause. There are three things in that mine-shaft that all wise men fear, silence, darkness and the unknown; yet when else can a man truly prove his courage, then when he is afraid.

When the first earthquakes of the Soulburst shook the heartlands to its core, ripping the town of Chorrol in two; nobody at that time knew the cause. But I recall a blind old woman who would often beg for food outside our barracks who claimed it was but nature fighting back in her revenge ‘gainst the thousands of years that men and mer had tilled the land, mined the mountains, fished the seas, hunted the beasts and cut down the forests. For the record, no-one believed her, for she also claimed to have lost her sight reading a scroll. And I don’t believe that nature is taking her revenge here in this quarry either. I do believe however, just as that accursed elf Mannimarco was to blame for the Soulburst, whomever this blasted elf is, is to blame for this tragedy.

The longer I live the more convinced I am that it will not be the cruelty of daedra that will eventually end us all, it will be the ambition of Elves.

S.K

[tamrieldrifter]

The first victim

In the aftermath of the the Malacath fanatics attack on the Temple of Ire, King Kurog has summoned me back to Scarp Keep. As I enter two huge wooden doors of his throne room, I see his figure slumped in contemplative silence upon his throne at the opposite end of the cavernous hall. They tell me that the throne room can fit a hundred Orsimer heroes at feast, but now it is empty. Is this why the Orsinium King relies upon outsiders to champion his cause. Is there not an Orc in Wrothgar he can trust beyond his wives and mother?

As I approach his dais the only sound in the throne room are those of my heavy footsteps echoing like a heartbeat around the stone walls. As I stand under the piercing and cold eyes of the King, flanked by his minatory shield wives, he finally speaks, growling about Chief Bazrag’s supposed guilt in the attack upon the Temple. Despite his accusations I sense there is a grudging respect for Bazrag, I do wonder whether the King truly believes he was behind the attack. Rulers who wish to unleash war upon, or unite a country, have oft been known to procure or invent a first victim.

He proposes a Great Moot to rally the tribes to his cause. He wants me to perform favours in his name for those rural clans who were not convinced or were perhaps indifferent to the news of his ‘first victim’. Is it not typical of the Orsimer to send a soldier as a diplomat? Am I to offer my open hand to shake whilst my other remains balled in a fist?

S.K

[tamrieldrifter]

To dethrone a Deity?

The Temple of Ire in Orsimium has been attacked by fanatics claiming to be devotees of Malacath. They have barricaded the outer doors and taken the priests inside hostage. Unable to get past the front doors Eveli Sharp-Arrow aids me in finding a another entrance. It is curious how this little Bosmer is turning up wherever there is trouble; first at the ambushed caravan, then at Frostbreak Fortress, and now here. I’m not insinuating anything… it is just curious.

It appears the dedication of the Orsinium Temple to Trinimac is in opposition to the more traditional "Pariah Folk" who still venerate Malacath as their primary god. It matters not to me who the King sitting upon the throne bends his knees to. Let him believe that either Malacath beget from Trinimac, or that they are sperate deities, both can be true and neither for all I know. What matters is to prevent a brutal civil war from soaking the soils of Wrofhgar with Orismer blood.

Once inside I am forced to sneak like a Khajiit around the temple in fear of any raising the alarm which could lead to the slaughter of the hostages. Inside the rectory however I must find the remaining priests as soon as possible and thus slay any fanatic that gets in my way. My only concern is to rescue the High Priestess Solgra, she of the most illimitable eyes that captured me so. As I charge through the rectory I swear an oath to both Malacath and Trinimac, that if any have laid their filthy hands upon the High Priestess, I shall not sleep again until I have wrought such vengeance against them that would cause a daedric prince to shield their eyes and blush.

S.K

[tamrieldrifter]

A friendless reign

The King of Orsinium is constantly surrounded by his forge-mother and wives. Whilst never far from his throne can be found his priests, nobles, guild masters, and soldiers… yet his reign is somehow friendless. For a friend might remind his King that when he begins to see his subjects as shadows, treason in every dissent, and greets division with tyranny, then he is in danger of becoming a traitor to his own throne.

S.K

[tamrieldrifter]

Of fire and ice

It is not strange how some civilians who are neither stirred by blood-lust nor greed are drawn back to battlefields again and again by the threads of fate? Often to perform most meaningful deeds making them heroes in their own right, but never sung of in taverns or remembered in the spinners' yarns. The truth is that of the four of us that broke into Frostbreak Fortress, only King Kurog will be remembered.

We found the Alchemist, the only survivor of his squad, cowering behind a rock near the entrance. I remember Alinon from Camlorn, a friend of Darien’s who brewed a cure for Lycanthropy that helped us to liberate the city. When we discover a sapling growing out of a corpse the alchemist assures us he can brew a solution to destroy the tree upon which he believes the Reachmen’s briarhearts are being grown.

As the tree burns the Winterborn arrive in number but fall as quickly as they come. It is time to deal with Ice-heart himself. Kurog is obsessed with claiming his barbaric blade as a prize, believing the trophy will convince the clan chiefs to finally accept him as the rightful king of all the Orsimer. But back in the siege camp I spoke briefly to the other tribe leaders who told me that it is new ideas that frighten the fiercely traditional tribes; ‘And Kurog is full of new ideas’ they said. By new ideas I presume they mean a new city, new alliances… and a new God.

No tribe, army, or kingdom can stand long against new ideas, they wash over a land like a tsunami and those that set their sails against these tides of change risk being swept away. But is it not also those who weigh their anchors with their faith and principles who keep a nation's customs and traditions alive for future generations?

S.K

[tamrieldrifter]

Moon-sugared irony

The Orc’s had a fairly sound plan to break the Winterborn defence of the Frostbreak Fortress. They sent a squad of their best archers up to the outside of the ruins to signal the catapults where to strike against the harpy aeries atop the fortress towers. This would in turn allow another squad to sneak into the fortress proper and put an end to the briarheart threat. Alas that the archers all seem to have disappeared without trace, and nobody now knows what fate befell their other squad.

A good General however knows that a sound plan alone is never enough, one must be prepared to improvise should that plan go awry. Kurag has decided he himself wants to go looking for the archers and in me he has found a kindred fool. Thus I find myself battling harpies and the Winterborn as I chase the Orsimer King up the side of the fort. We find the vanguard holed up in a tower, of their archers but one remains; the flighty Wood-Elf from the caravan, Eveli Sharp-Arrow. All this means is that we have but one chance to get this right.

Is it not moon-sugared irony that the future of this new Orsinium which by mulish treaty no foreign soldier may approach, rests now upon a Bosmeri arrow.

S.K

[tamrieldrifter]

The fool who follows him

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.

S.K

[tamrieldrifter]

A whistle is just a whistle.

I have been tasked by a wandering Dark Elf to retrieve a ‘magical whistle’ from a series of caves hidden in the foothills to the southwest of Orsinium. The whistle belongs to a reclusive Nord animal trainer who uses it to train her packs of durzogs, although the locals complain of her reptilian beasts running wild across the foothills.

These caves are also home to an Orismer Wise-Woman Ushuta. The blind old Orc is oblivious to the durzogs that roam the caves, let alone the giant spiders and trolls. She spends her time fishing at her secluded camp at the bottom of a waterfall, whilst spouting meaningless philosophical musings that one might expect to hear from a Baandari fairground 'soothsayer'.

Nikolvara herself has renamed these caves as her kennels, and is about as welcoming towards visitors as the dogs she seems to share such a unnatural affinity with. It quickly becomes clear that she is in no mood to negotiate the trade of her ‘magical whistle’, even though she admits herself that it is really just a sentimental trifle.

People are too eager to attach magical or mystical properties to things they don’t understand, just as we are to eager to find profound meanings in the words of any self proclaimed Wise-Woman. The truth is when one plus one equals three it is not a miracle, it is just a miscalculation, an illusion, or a lie. Mostly a whistle is just a whistle, and a batty old hag is just that.

S.K

[tamrieldrifter]

The Orsimer's eyes

One might think it would be easy to hide within a growing city, to get lost amongst the constant stream of visitors and migrants. But the bigger the city the more eyes are open to spy you, and the more loose tongues are willing to betray you. There is little honor amongst thieves, and less still amongst drunks and skooma fiends. It does not take long to track the Vulture down between the taverns and bathhouses.

Gulug the Vulture helped steal food from the rural tribes to buy medicine for the city’s poor. He boasts fortune, proclaims benevolence, and finally brags self-righteousness. I, like Gulug, am neither a good nor a bad man, but unlike Gulug, I am an honourable one, in that I wilt stand and look my consequences in their accusing eyes.

On the steps of Scarp Keep I am greeted by the radiant High Priestess Solgra. A little while ago I bemoaned rather cruelly that no Breton or Redguard would take an Orsimer to their bedchamber to secure the Covenant. How ignorant I am, how blinded by bigotry. For though Solgra may stand taller then I, her shoulders may be broader, her skin tougher, her tusks... inconvenient. It is into her illimitable eyes that I have fallen.

Windows to one’s soul they say, nay, they are windows to one’s everything. One’s feelings, be-it happiness or grief, and one’s health, both physical and cerebral. One’s wisdom, bravery and pride, or lack thereof of one or all. One’s intentions, one’s aspirations, and one’s dreams and nightmares. And of course the very beat of one’s heart and hue of one’s soul. But it was in my reflection within them that I was to discover their beauty. For when I looked into Solgra’s eyes, I felt a peace and serenity within my own heart I had not felt since my soul was so cruelly rent from my body by the bodkin of that insidious Worm King.

Oh wretch that I am, that my heart were not so burdened that I might have the courage to look deeper into her eyes. Perhaps I am not so honourable after all, for why does peace and serenity make me feel such abrading guilt... and yet the Vulture felt none?

S.K

[tamrieldrifter]

The new walls of Orsinium

It is oft said of the Orcs that they cannot pass by a pile of stones without either building a wall, or chucking them at something. The Orsimer seem to share an innate instinct to either build or destroy; sometimes they will build something with the sole intent just to destroy it… usually with a rock.

The stone city of Orsimium towers up from a rugged, inhospitable terrain; it’s very walls are wrought from the mountains that surround it. The silhouettes of it’s soaring towers and turrets pierce the sky, casting dramatic and intimidating shadows across all of the landscape. It’s sturdy foundations right up to it’s monumental ramparts upon which stand catapult and ballista, are built to endure weather, spell, missile and ram. Walking through the winding streets within these seemingly insurmountable bulwarks one is struck by the skill and pragmatic beauty of their architecture. The facades of even the most sturdy, functional dwellings and public structures are decorated with elaborately carved doorways and stone work. The wooden scaffolding all about also tells of a city yet half complete, the finished construction will no doubt be a stunning testament to the strength, will, and skill of its Orsimer builders… if ever it is allowed to stand.

Since the Orsimer first escaped the binds of the Camoran Dynasty and laid claim to their harsh Northern realm, great Orsinium, the seat of all Wrothgar, has been sacked and rebuilt more times then Queen Ayrenn’s virtues When the walls finally fell for good, and the Orsimer tribes were scattered, the idea of Orsinium, a monument to the strength and potential of the Orsimer, endured in their hearts. So when Ranser attacked Wayrest in 2E 566 and Emeric came crown-in-hand to Wrothgar, he promised the return Orsinium to the Orcs in exchange for their aid. Kurog gro-Bagrakh answered his call.

Kurog however surprised everyone when he chose to abandoned the ruins of Old Orsinium and rebuild the city in eastern Wrothgar, near the mountainous border with Skyrim. Not every tribe was to follow him however, for although Kurog forbade any army from High Rock or Hammerfell from entering Wrothgar in his terms, many saw this new Covenant as just consenting to Breton hegemony, and his new city not a symbol of Orsimer potential and freedom, but a betrayal of Wrothgar’s founding tribes.

No other city embodies, and yet divides a people more. Because for most of us our memories are like stones that only time erodes, but not for the Orsimer. For the stones of Wrothgar remember every day of the 30 years siege of Orsinium like it were yesterday. They recall the name of their fallen gates of the old city, Smelter, Hammer, Temper, as clearly as they remember the names of their warrior heroes, or the regions founding clans. This is why for an Orc there is little more frightening and unnerving then to watch a stone wall crumble. And why Wrothgar remains, many tribes, one nation… protected, and yet divided, by the new walls of Orsinium.

S.K