Finally, the child slumbered and the Dovahkiin steeled himself for battle. The land was sick and the return of the first Dragonborn was at hand. A great evil set to return and subject the entire isle of Solstheim. The hero had made great sacrifices to enter the realm known as Apocrypha, the dark land of Hermaeus Mora. He readied his dragonbone mace, crafted in the fires of the Skyforge and enchanted with soul gems. His armor had been reinforced with void salts and pure ebony; his magic perfected in the halls of the College of Winterhold and the vile bandit camps of all Skyrim. As the final chapter of the Black Book was read, a voice called out from the abyss – but lo, it was not Miraak, the blasphemer, it was much more powerful. Was it Hermaeus Mora, daedric prince of forbidden knowledge and fate?
“Can you help me hold this board so I can reinforce this stool? I need to put the dowel rod in also.” Curses! It was the Queen of the Amazon Prime tribe. She demanded her shrine be finished and none could resist. Suddenly our hero was transported across time and space to the plane of Earth, where the glory of battle was forgotten and the toils of home improvement ruled the day. These are dark days, truly. The hero put down his weapons and grabbed a level. Perhaps the denizens of Skaal and Raven Rock can hold on to fight another day.