Anchor Management Issues |03| The Elder Scrolls: Battlespire [GOG]
2So there I was, doubling back from a maze of enormous sandstone blocks that kept chipping off into the lava pool below. What is the deal with these demonic spawn and lava? What sort of vacation is this if you bring your entire vibe along with you? Why not spice it up with a little WATER now and then??? But that's besides the point...
Deeper into the 'Spire I pressed, into halls thick with heat and treachery. That's where I found it... the skeleton of a massive dragon, presumably long dead, splayed across the scorched stone like a monument to the fall of glory. Beside it, the remains of a mage, his carcass charred and broken. His journal lay untouched, ink barely dried with the hope of escape. Said he had an escape plan, but he was relying on an old friend. That friend being the dragon, now naught but a skeleton. The Daedra had slain it, of course. Because why not murder something so grand and beautiful?
That’s when I met Clarentavious Valicious, the most excitable coward in all the realms. A mage so consumed by fear and self-pity that he asked me to destroy the five anchors of the Battlespire. Collapse the whole thing into the Void, just to save his quivering hide. I didn’t bother dignifying it. Reconnected the anchors myself, watched their blue light hum back to life. The old fool hardly even noticed.
But he did notice my need for an amulet. Claimed a Dremora Lord named Methats would be able to skin him alive, access his mind and fill it with vile mental torments. I almost wished the damned demon had already done it, if only to silence that shrill, warbling voice. So I did what any proper swordsman would: I made Methats a memory. Banished him from the realm with steel and spite.
Did that satisfy Clarentavious? No, of course not. He demanded proof. He saw me coated in dark, stinking blood. Shreds of Daedric flesh still hanging from my crossguard. The glint of bloodlust still burning in my eyes. And he asks me for proof! So back down I went, through scorched halls and Daedric viscera, to pry a bloody pauldron off Methats' still-smoking corpse. Then, and only then, did the mage at last cough up that damned amulet.
With it, I scavenged the level for levers, gears, and ancient cogs. All just to repair some forgotten mechanism guarding the teleportation room. I made quick work of several demon-spawn, and tracked down the necessary components. After installing them in the proper order, the controls clicked to life, groaning as ancient steel woke from slumber. The door opened slowly. The chamber beyond was immense. A dragon-shaped obelisk hung above a lake of lava, bathed in the sickly light of arcane forces.
One step through that portal, and I was deeper still into the bowels of the 'Spire.
That’s where I curled up, just at the edge of the transport circle, armor clanking as I rested my head. I needed silence. Stillness. Anything to shake the echo of that mage’s whining from between my ears.
But that… that’s a story for another time.
Now—how about a drink for your narrator?
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
Welcome to The Elder Scrolls: Battlespire—a game so cursed, even the Nine Divines pretend it never happened.
Gone are the bustling cities, the open fields, the illusion of freedom. What remains is a floating death trap built for battle-mages and converted into a Daedric frat house. The developers took the engine from Daggerfall, stripped out the towns, and said, “What if pain… but vertical?”
Here, your inventory is a spreadsheet, your enemies are philosophical kink demons, and your only friend is the quicksave button. This isn’t an RPG—it’s a slow-motion plane crash with dialogue trees. Want shops? Too bad. Want rest? Hope you find a soul anchor. Want to understand what’s happening? Hold my tankard, I'm laughing too hard...
Each level is a Kafkaesque fever dream, stitched together by lore so deep and deranged it makes Morrowind look like Skyrim for Dummies. And just when you start to think, “Hey, I’m getting the hang of this,” a seducer offers you riddles, a flesh atronach eats your legs, and you fall into space.
We’re not playing Battlespire to win. We’re playing it to bear witness. To stare into the mind of Mehrunes Dagon and mutter, “...You okay, buddy?” Grab your spellbook, steel your soul, and embrace the suffering. The doom of Battlespire has come.
Nostalgia is a hell of a drug. Let’s overdose.
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
🧠 #ThinkFastDieFaster
🌀 #BattlespireBound
🧌 #DaedraHRNightmare
⚔️ #CombatCursed
🔒 #PuzzlePurgatory
📉 #ImmersionBreaksBack
🎭 #VoiceActingVortex
🌫️ #LoreInLavaForm
🩸 #BloodForSkillPoints
🏚️ #OneDungeonToRuleThemAll
🧙 #ScrollsBeforeStability
🖱️ #ClickToPerish
🪞 #SigilKeepSyndromephoen
🫠 #GeometryHatesYou
🔗 #UnstablePortalsClub
🔥 #SpellcraftOrDieTrying
📜 #CanonicallyQuestionable
🍷 #DunmerDoomposting
🐐 #GoatsOfOblivion