Greetings ye forum

Foresooth, one might believe the elusive realms of Oblivion are the many hells of Nirn.
Assuredly, places of such ignoble affront are the worst venture? From fiery pits of merciless slaughter, to darkened rooms of unhallowed nightmares to the horrid reflections that mock Tamriel, coated in excrement.

How wrong you would be believing such folly. The truest hell is on Nirn itself, in Cyrodiil and the various battlegrounds where dreams come to die.

Coated in eternal layers of ice, shrouded in daggers, storms and arrows that pin and snare all who enter to the ground. Littered with the rotting corpses of those whose feet failed them and who died in the howling winds and relentless ice storms, never to escape death's grasp at the hands of their cruel tormentors. A place of ruin and torture, the barest movement reduced to an agonising crawl, prelude only to all their final destinations, a frost-covered grave.

Where once proud armies marched vigorously, now crawl the despondent masses of snared, rooted and doomed souls.

But hope is not lost, nay. For the tides of winter might yet be turned. The divines above perhaps see not the ruinous aftermath of their works. Were they to see the inflictions they have caused the children of Nirn, perhaps they might take pity and set us free.
Labour then! Decry your woes and scream at the heavens in ravenous fury. "We want to MOVE again! We want to RUN again! Set us free!"

Give us back our movement in PvP, bless us with mobility and return the sun to the ever-cursed realms of PvP lest we toil forevermore in the pit of damnation PvP - and especially BG's - has become.

Winter is here, now gather; and let us pray for spring.