Thorian, a humble farm boy from Rorikstead, always believed his life would follow a simple path. But everything changes when he uncovers hints about his father, Alistair, a powerful battlemage from High Rock who vanished mysteriously years ago. Driv...
Markarth was said to be a marvel of Dwarven engineering-a city of grand machines and unrivaled innovation. For Thorian, though, it was his first real city, and he took in the scents of sweets and fresh produce from the market stalls, enjoying the welcoming atmosphere. He wandered through the streets, catching pieces of conversation until he overheard guards discussing a Forsworn attack. With a sigh, he turned and headed toward Understone Keep, the Jarl's stronghold.
As he entered the keep, Thorian was awestruck by the Dwarven constructs displayed like trophies. He'd always thought of them as myths, but here they were, tangible and gleaming. Following the corridor to the left, he found Calcelmo-the elderly Altmer court wizard and curator of Markarth's Dwarven museum-and his nephew Aicantar. "For an old man, he's surprisingly active," Thorian thought as he approached.
Calcelmo greeted him, his eyes lighting up as he realized who Thorian was. "You're Alistair's son. Remarkable. Your father inspired my studies in the Falmer language-he was a true scholar, despite his unique abilities."
They spoke for over an hour, discussing Alistair's legacy and the artifacts he'd left behind. Finally, Calcelmo presented Thorian with a ring. "This fortified your father's restoration abilities," Calcelmo explained. "It's a family heirloom he wished to pass down."
Thorian examined the ring, feeling its weight in his hand. "How did you end up with this? I never knew he was so well-known."
Calcelmo chuckled. "It's not coincidence, Thorian. These things... it's as if he left them for you, a reminder that he's still a part of you."
Thorian slipped the ring on-it fit perfectly. He smiled, then asked, "Was there anything else he left behind? Anything that might explain his disappearance?"
With a nod, Calcelmo sifted through a collection of scrolls and books until he found a single, thin sheet of parchment. "This is the last message your father sent me," he said, handing it over.
Thorian read the note:
"I hope this reaches you, Calcelmo. I am in Solitude, where I've found a passage to the Shivering Isles. I feel the magic pulling me closer. I've unlocked a path and glimpsed Sheogorath's realm. Strange people here, clad in black and gold armor, allowed me this chance to send a letter. If you need me... I will be there."
Thorian's heart raced. Here was the lead he had been searching for. His father had ventured into the Shivering Isles, Sheogorath's domain.
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"There's a catch," Calcelmo added, his tone somber. "The Shivering Isles... it's a realm beyond mortal understanding, Sheogorath's land of madness. Without his direct invitation, entry is nearly impossible. But if he's been visiting you in your dreams, perhaps he's already drawn you in..."
"But what if I can't get back?" Thorian asked. Calcelmo hesitated, then warned, "Sheogorath may welcome you, but he's likely to use you. Your magical gifts would be valuable to him."
