Learn about the puzzling and preposterous soul shriven known as Sir Cadwell, the gallant knight and “righter of wrongs,” returning to Tamriel for The Elder Scrolls Online: Elsweyr!
Sir Cadwell of Codswallop
Razala met the most unusual person while fishing in her favorite spot near Riverhold today. He was a tall, lanky, somewhat gaunt man, dressed in a most outlandish manner. You see, he wore a cook pot upon his head as though it were a helmet! This one approached him cautiously, but he appeared lost in thought, captivated by the flowing river. When he finally noticed me, he said, “Oh, hello. I was just contemplating all the fish in your river. They’re alive, you know. Most disconcerting!” That’s when he introduced himself as “Sir Cadwell of Codswallop, gallant knight, righter of wrongs, and defender of the defenseless!”
Razala examined this Cadwell more closely, noticing his archaic attire interspersed with kitchen implements and utensils that seemed to serve as armor of a sort. His whole appearance was off kilter and out of place. Including the small bantam guar that never left his side. He referred to it as Honor, his faithful steed. This one could not imagine the tiny creature carrying this peculiar fellow anywhere, let alone into battle. Cadwell was thin, but not that thin!
Razala assumed that this was an elaborate hoax or a trap of some kind set up by the Euraxians when Cadwell started to sing the strangest song. “Coldharbour, Coldharbour, how I miss your desolate shores. Coldharbour, my arbour, I dance amid your molds and spores!” It went on for a number of verses, exalting the virtues of the Daedric realm of despair. This one asked him if he were insane and his answer was quite unsettling. “No, not to my knowledge. Last time I checked, I was right here. Can’t you see me? Did I disappear again? That happens from time to time. What was the question again?”
Razala had had enough of obfuscation and the changing of subjects by this point in our conversation. This one demanded to know who Cadwell was and what business he had in Northern Elsweyr. He, in turn, wanted to know how I could stand “living among all these lush grasslands and vibrant colors. I find it quite off-putting, but to each his own, I suppose.” The man made this one want to drive her own claws into her forehead to make him stop! Razala restrained this impulse, however.
And then, like the sun emerging from behind a thick cloud, the infuriating Cadwell finally began to make sense. Mostly. He told Razala the following story:
“I was a gallant knight, a hero of old and a champion of chivalry … or, at least I remember being something or another along those lines. It was a very long time ago. For the last few aeons or so, I’ve been a Soul Shriven in Coldharbour. Actually, I’m probably the oldest Soul Shriven in Coldharbour. I’m certainly the most sane. The rest of the poor wretches, they do look up to me. A sort of role model, you understand.”
This one had no idea what Cadwell was talking about. What was a Soul Shriven? This one had no clue. So Razala got more insistent with her questions. “Tell Razala what a monster from Coldharbour wants in our land,” this one demanded. “Don’t we have enough problems, what with the Euraxians and now the Dragons?”
“Can anyone truly have enough problems?” Cadwell asked innocently. “I have no idea what a Euraxian might be. And as for Dragons … no, no, I’ve got nothing. Haven’t seen one of those lovely creatures in, well, a Dragon’s age. Used to be a lot more of them flying overhead, as I recall. Good times.”
The pot-wearing fool was about to depart, just like that, when Razala unleashed her most penetrating growl. You know the one, brother. You’ve been on the receiving end more than once since Mother brought you home from the healer’s pavilion. Cadwell stopped, turned, and gave me an expression that said, “Was there something else?” This one almost screamed in frustration! “What. Is. Your. Purpose. Here?” Razala made sure to say each word slowly and with the appropriate amount of menace. So as to make this Soul Shriven fool understand Razala was serious, yes?
“My purpose?” Cadwell asked with a series of confused blinks. “Hadn’t we already talked about that? Or was that the next time we met? Portal travel can be very disorienting. Oh very well, let me explain.”
Then Razala waited as Cadwell adjusted the pot upon his head, brushed off his tunic, and stamped the mud from his boots. He began to speak. Then stopped. Reconsidered. Then started again. “What was the question?”
Razala blinked at Cadwell incredulously.
“Oh, I remember!” Cadwell exclaimed. “My purpose. It isn’t anything nefarious, I assure you. You see, I had a dream. A vision. A dream-vision. Perhaps a vision-dream. It led me to this land of sand and sun and cat people. I adore you cat people, by the way! I have come in search of …. Well, I’m not quite sure. But I’ll definitely know it when I see it!”
With that, Cadwell waved his hand and a portal opened right in front of him. An actual hole in the air! His bantam guar, Honor, charged into the glowing portal. Then Cadwell followed, joyfully yelling, “Tally-ho!” With that, the portal winked out of existence and they were both gone, as if they had never been there.
No, brother, Razala wasn’t drinking plum brandy or sweet wine. Not any more than usual, anyway. If you notice a tall, thin man wearing a cooking pot on his head, do not approach him. Do not talk to him. And by the Moons above, do not let him talk to you! Razala thinks his particular brand of insanity might be catching, yes?