2920 , Vol . 21 Content . 2920 , The Last Year of the First Era By Carlovac Townway 9 Hearth Fire , 2920 Phrygias , High Rock The strange trees on all sides resembled knobby piles crowned with great bursts of reds , yellows , and oranges , like insect mounds caught fire . The Wrothgarian Mountains were fading into the misty afternoon . Turala marveled at the sight , so alien , so different from Morrowind , as she plodded the horse forward into an open pasture . Behind her , head nodding against his chest , Cassyr slept , cradling Bosriel . For a moment , Turala considered jumping the low painted fence that crossed the field , but she thought better of it . Let Cassyr sleep for a few more hours before giving him the reins . As the horse passed into the field , Turala saw the small green house on the next hill , half - hidden in forest . So picturesque was the image , she felt herself lull into a pleasant half - sleeping state . A blast of a horn brought her back to reality with a shudder . Cassyr opened his eyes . " Where are we ? " he hissed . " I don ' t know , " Turala stammered , wide - eyed . " What is that sound ? " " Orcs , " he whispered . " A hunting party . Head for the thicket quickly . " Turala trotted the horse into the small collection of trees . Cassyr handed her the child and dismounted . He began pulling their bags off next , throwing them into the bushes . A sound started then , a distant rumbling of footfall , growing louder and closer . Turala climbed off carefully and helped Cassyr unburden the horse . All the while , Bosriel watched open - eyed . Turala sometimes worried that her baby never cried . Now she was grateful for it . With the last of the luggage off , Cassyr slapped the horse ' s rear , sending it galloping into the field . Taking Turala ' s hand , he hunkered down in the bushes . " With luck , " he murmured . " They ' ll think she ' s wild or belongs to the farm and won ' t go looking for the rider . " As he spoke , a horde of Orcs surged into the field , blasting their horns . Turala had seen Orcs before , but never in such abundance , never with such bestial confidence . Roaring with delight at the horse and its confused state , they hastened past the timber where Cassyr , Turala , and Bosriel hid . The wildflowers flew into the air at their stampede , powdering the air with seeds . Turala tried to hold back a sneeze , and thought she succeeded . One of the Orcs heard something though , and brought another with him to investigate . Cassyr quietly unsheathed his sword , mustering all the confidence he could . His skills , such as they were , were in spying , not combat , but he vowed to protect Turala and her babe for as long as he could . Perhaps he would slay these two , he reasoned , but not before they cried out and brought the rest of the horde . Suddenly , something invisible swept through the bushes like a wind . The Orcs flew backwards , falling dead on their backs . Turala turned and saw a wrinkled crone with bright red hair emerge from a nearby bush . " I thought you were going to bring them right to me , " she whispered , smiling . " Best come with me . " The three followed the old woman through a deep crevasse of bramble bushes that ran through the field toward the house on the hill . As they emerged on the other side , the woman turned to look at the Orcs feasting on the remains of the horse , a blood - soaked orgy to the beat of multiple horns . " That horse yours ? " she asked . When Cassyr nodded , she laughed loudly . " That ' s rich meat , that is . Those monsters ' ll have bellyaches and flatulence in the morning . Serves ' em right . " " Shouldn ' t we keep moving ? " whispered Turala , unnerved by the woman ' s laughter . " They won ' t come up here , " she grinned , looking at Bosriel who smiled back . " They ' re too afraid of us . " Turala turned to Cassyr , who shook his head . " Witches . Am I correct in assuming that this is Old Barbyn ' s Farm , the home of the Skeffington Coven ? " " You are , pet , " the old woman giggled girlishly , pleased to be so infamous . " I am Mynista Skeffington . " " What did you do to those Orcs ? " asked Turala . " Back there in the thicket ? " " Spirit fist right side the head , " Mynista said , continuing the climb up the hill . Ahead of them was the farmhouse grounds , a well , a chicken coop , a pond , women of all ages doing chores , the laughter of children at play . The old woman turned and saw that Turala did not understand . " Don ' t you have witches where you come from , child ? " " None that I know of , " she said . " There are all sorts of wielders of magic in Tamriel , " she explained . " The Psijics study magic like it ' s their painful duty . The battlemages in the army on the other end of the scale hurl spells like arrows . We witches commune and conjure and celebrate . To fell those Orcs , I merely whispered to the spirits of the air , Amaro , Pina , Tallatha , the fingers of Kynareth , and the breath of the world , with whom I have an intimate acquaintance , to smack those bastards dead . You see , conjuration is not about might , or solving riddles , or agonizing over musty old scrolls . It ' s about fostering relations . Being friendly , you might say . " " Well , we certainly appreciate you being friendly with us , " said Cassyr . " As well you might , " coughed Mynista . " Your kind destroyed the Orc homeland two thousand years ago . Before that , they never came all the way up here and bothered us . Now let ' s get you cleaned up and fed . " With that , Mynista led them into the farm , and Turala met the family of the Skeffington Coven .