To gain a foothold in Camlorn itself, the Lions guard plan to secure the city’s main courtyard, but first we need seize control of the inner gate or risk being overrun by the legion of werewolves within.  I fought my way into the vital Northwest gate tower only to be confronted by the frightful sight of a huge grey werewolf feeding upon the corpses of it’s victims.

S.K

I finally arrive at the outskirts of Camlorn in the early hours of the morning.  The Lions guard offensive has faltered.  Faolchu’s beasts have managed to drive the guard from their own siege camp, thus splitting the Covenant forces in two.  I, along with a female Orc by the name of Shaza gra-Dasik, have been charged with leading the attempt to retake the camp.

I have battled all manner of mer, beast, and daedra since first taking up the sword, yet none that I fought can match the brutal savagery of the werewolf.  They fight wild and uninhibited, displaying a voracious lust for blood and violence that neither knows nor cares who or what its next victim is.

Yet this Orc female fights with such a cerebral ferocity that even the savage monsters we face seem unnerved by her.  She is measured yet unmerciful, deliberate yet rampant.  She embraces rage and lets fly restraint, yet maintains reason throughout.

After losing another argument to my mother, my father once jested that neither Nirn nor Oblivion could produce a creature as cold-blooded as an angry woman… he should count himself lucky he never married an Orc.

S.K

Eagles Brook is a town overrun by zombies and Bloodthorn vines, and from what I could gather from tavern gossip and fireside hearsay, the same fate has befallen much of Northern Glenumbra.  The ambitions of the Reachman Angof and his necromancers seem at times to have little reason beyond malevolence.  In general I still hold to the principle that anything coming back from the dead is bad… well, almost anything.

When I first laid eyes on a zombie I am sure I wanted to laugh as it shambled loose footed and unsteady like an Argonian who’d lost it’s tail.  As it neared and I noted its ashen-mottled skin and mouth hanging open in a sempiternal yet silent scream, that initial reaction was overtaken by a fascination which oft accompanies the macabre.  Finally I felt only a numbing horror as I recognised in the grotesque teetering ever closer, the resemblance of my betrothed.

The first thing I learnt about zombies that day is that the only way to be sure to slay one, is to keep hitting it until it stops moving.

S.K

I return to Daggerfall feeling the need to spend a little time back amongst the living, and perhaps to find quiet respite from the unremittent presentiment that everything is trying to kill me.  Yet barely do I make it through the city gates before the Prophet’s ethereal form beckons’ me once more back to the Harbourage.

Villainous agents of the worm cult are operating under the very streets of Daggerfall.  Corruption unseen and unheard is at work, the reanimated dead, necromancy, and dark ritual pollute this city’s subterrane, and it reeks of the sickly stench of Mannimarco.

S.K

The future of the town of Westtry lies in my hands.  I may choose to reclaim it for the living, so that future generations might settle here once more in relative safety, but by doing so I would condemn those who have already passed.  Or I may free those condemned, and thus abandon this town evermore to the wraiths and ghosts that roam it untethered.  

In life the choices we have are rarely between right and wrong, mostly they are between consequences, and we choose which consequence feels least wrong to us.  In truth, when faced with two equally unpalatable choices, most will choose to leave that decision to others… this I cannot do.  

If the fate of Westtry has taught me one thing, it is that the peoples of Nirn are in need of a bitter and fixed reminder of the consequences of putting their faith in the Princes of Oblivion.  Of how these Daedric Lords mock mortal misery, of how our suffering and turmoil is but burlesque for their entertainment.

Let Westtry then be forever more a deathly monument, let it become a proverb, a moral we need teach our children, and our children need teach theirs… lest we forget, lest we become complacent, lest we ever trust again.

S.K