The Unusual History of the Amulet of Kings in Oblivion Remastered

Sure thing, let me give it a whirl:

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So, the Amulet of Kings, huh? This thing’s been around forever, if you believe the stuff written in crumbling scrolls. Lorkhan, some big shot way back when, supposedly bled it into existence. Yeah, weird, right? But it basically started off as a drop of divine blood, magical enough to shake up Tamriel more than once.

Anyway, long story short (or not), the Amulet played a big part in creating empires—three of ’em! Each one thought they were the bee’s knees because they had this shiny bauble. It’s kind of ironic, though, considering the whole legend might be wrong. Some folks reckon it’s a piece of Lorkhan, not a gift from Akatosh like we were told. Confused? Yeah, me too, sometimes.

And then there was this game—Oblivion Remastered. You needed the Amulet to beat the Daedra. But boy, it’s done a lot more than that. Emperors thought it gave them divine right, as only those with Dragonborn blood could wear it. Sounds like a fancy club you’ll never get an invite to.

Imagine this: Martin Septim used its power in Oblivion’s main story. Like, literally tapped into it. But hey, now it’s probably gone forever. Poof! What a wild ride, a thousand years of this thing flipping through history like a soap opera. If you’re hoping for a linear story, sorry, you’re outta luck.

In the dawn of time (or something), the gods created the world. But oops, they realized they’d given up too much power. They blamed Lorkhan—typical scapegoat move, huh? Trinimac ripped out his heart, and Auriel shot it. Talk about family drama. But a little bit of his blood? That ended up crystallizing into the Amulet.

The First Era? Oh boy. Humans were kind of in a rough spot until Alessia entered stage left, praying like her life depended on it (spoiler: it did). The gods must’ve been listening because suddenly, demigods were popping up to help. Pelinal Whitestrake and Morihaus—sounds like a buddy cop duo, right? They kicked some serious Ayleid butt, and voila! A new empire was born.

Later, there was this thief god who lifted the Amulet just for kicks. Imagine his bragging rights, though. But when Alessia passed on, the empire—well, let’s just say things got chaotic. Wars splintered what she left behind, and the Amulet went missing. Again. Some bad luck charm, huh?

Fast forward a few hundred years, and it finds itself with King Hrol. After some supernatural shenanigans, a baby named Reman (plus said Amulet straight in his forehead) showed up. Seriously, a kid with a gem in his head? You’d think more people would’ve freaked out. But whatever, he became a big deal, started another empire, and then, poof! Lost again. Cyclical, isn’t it?

Then Tiber Septim came along. Sancre Tor and all that mystic dust. He found the Amulet, and bam! Emperor coat fit him just right. The Septim line started, and the Amulet became the bling of choice for rulers after. Until it fell into the wrong hands—hello, Mankar Camoran, and messy demonic invasions. Thank the gods (or whoever) for the Hero of Kvatch, right?

Oh, speaking of, is the Amulet from Lorkhan, not Akatosh? Controversial stuff! Lorkhan, the trickster god, wasn’t the elves’ favorite for sure. Pelinal’s appearance adds fuel to this theory. But despite all this intrigue, one day, the Amulet vanished, and the world kept spinning.

So, what are we left with? The Empire’s different now. No more Dragonborn legitimacy. And whether it was Lorkhan or Akatosh, the Amulet will be remembered—a symbol of good old days when heroes were heroes, and the gods maybe watched or maybe didn’t. Who even knows anymore?

It’s all just one twisted tale, an epic mishmash of myth and legend. And yeah, it’s pretty wild.

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There it is, messy and real.