A Breton treasure hunter is seeking hirelings to delve the depths of the Tomb of the lost Kings in search for a historically important artefact. The Lady Clarisse Laurent makes claim that she is a famed archaeologist. Mayhap it is my Cyrodillic heritage, or perhaps just the soldier in me, but I have little regard for Breton history, and care less still for Breton nobility.
This Breton noble however is paying gold coin. Surely it would be considered amiss of me not to at least attempt to aid this wealthy damsel in need; especially as I was planning on ‘salvaging’ what I could from this place anyhow.
Faolchu the returned, an undead beast of true pellucid evil, raised by Angof the Gravesinger to wreak havoc on all Glenumbra.
Its skin, split, frayed and patched with mottled fur, hangs loose about its macabre carcass; nauseating, yet utterly compelling. Its opaque eyes, shrivelled by centuries of bitterness and hate, lit now only by the madness and bloodlust within. Its moonlight fangs, as strong and sharp as a wolf in prime, undulled by two lifetimes of unrelenting champ and slaughter.
Solely responsible for a thousand brutal deaths, and culpable for hundreds more cursed by that most foul disease, Sanies Lupinus. It is a monster reborn of pure malevolence, unencumbered by compassion or remorse, suffused with a singular elemental purpose, the genocide of Glenumbra.
Faolchu the undead is all of these things.
Yet to this soulless soldier… it is but a dog.
With the civilians safe it is finally time to take the fight to Faolchu and his werewolf legion. The Gautier plan is for me to lead a townsperson to light signal fires in the city towers, whilst Darien will open the gates for his father’s forces.
Brash, cocksure and superficial he may be, but so far this Captain of Camlorn has proved to be an honourable man in both word and deed. Still, I can’t help feeling as a captain he should be setting a better example and get his bloody hair cut, this is the military, and we aren’t grubby Nords.
I find the survivors holed up in the church; Gaultier jr is not only amongst them, but is fulfilling his duty as a Captain of Camlorn by taking responsibility for the safety of the citizens, whilst his friend Alinon claims he may be able to manufacture a cure for the werewolf affliction.
It has always surprised me that even those of little or no faith will still seek shelter from upheaval and crisis in temples and churches. It is perhaps ironic therefore that this Captain believes the only sanctuary left in Camlorn is to be found at the inn.
Camlorn has been left devastated by this most wretched occupation. The werewolves have laid waste to much of the city in their remorseless search for survivors, and it was no surprise to discover Angulf’s Bloodthorn cultists adding their flames to the incongruous destruction.
But as ever there is hope, and hope is ever worth fighting for. General Gaultier believes survivors of the Camlorn guard are still operating within the city walls, his son amongst them.