The greatest danger to a soldier is not the blade of an enemy, but his own complacency. I have fought and overcome every foe I’ve faced since returning from Coldharbour. From Dremora warriors, to Necromancers, from Daedra to Werewolf, from men, to mer, to beasts; yet a single, solitary man, Sternis Gelves, the leader of the Red Rook Bandits, almost… almost achieved me.
Today I learnt that the man who first conquers himself, may yet live to fight a hundred battles more.
With the Lion Guard still tied up dealing with the undead scourge to the south, and Stormhaven reportedly suffering from its own internal troubles, the border town of Crosswych was vulnerable and has fallen under the control of the Red Rooks.
Sometimes people need a hero to charge into the fray with steel, spell and bravado to save them from their oppressors. But other times they need someone to show them how to save themselves. The common person can become the hero, the thing that holds them back is fear, not of their enemy, but of standing alone. One thing that my time in Glenumbra has taught me is that when you make a stand, others will stand beside you.
The Wyrd sisters, Gloria Fausta, Shaza gra-Dasik, Darien Gaultier, and Gabrielle Benele, these are the people who stood up so I never stood alone, often against seemingly overwhelming odds. These are the heroes of Glenumbra, and Crosswych needs one more.
Whilst scouting the Northern reaches of Glenumbra for the final dregs of the Bloodthorn cult, I discover a crumbling tower concealing the entrance to a large underground fort. Long abandoned by the Lion Guard, the ever opportunistic Red Rook bandits have moved in and made themselves surreptitiously at home.
In the dark, dank passages I meet a fellow adventurer, a spell-weaver, who displayed a breath-taking mastery of the elements. Together we made a matchless medley of steel and sorcery, that blew through the corridors of Cryptwatch like a Pyandonean tempest.
The last remnants of the Bloodthorn cult make their final stand in the Burial Mounds of Northern Glenumbra. They seek to work their malevolent spells and nefarious rites on the stolen regalia of some of High Rocks greatest heroes, in an attempt to subjugate their inert spirits to fight their vile cause. Restoring the ensigns to the crypts will prevent such foul indenture and restore a deserved peace to those great, brave men and women who gave so much in life to duty and honour.
In the deepest depths of the Cath Bedraud cemetery there lays a vast alcove, overgrown with root and vines that sway to an unfelt breeze. The walls crawl with insect and creeper, whilst the once solid floor is now but a quagmire of rotting fungi and festering dreg. The air is made heavy by stench and foul moisture, and the once grand mausoleum crumbles to ruination in the debilitating climate.
The ganglion standing at the centre of the chamber is Angof the Gravesinger, leader of the Bloodthorn cult, necromancer, tyrant, and chief tormentor of all Glenumbra; yet ultimately, just another of Molag Bal’s puppets.
Armed with naught but bare bodkin, which itself is but a tool for his ritual thaumaturgy, the Reachman seems to draw energy from the pollution about him in anticipation for the confrontation soon to come. His skin is mottled green just like the vines which grow appendage like from his back; so corrupted is he from within by his own fetid magic, that he barely resembles a man anymore. Yet still, an aura of great power and threat weighs heavily upon all who dare approach him.
But approach, confront and overcome him we must… for pestilence must be stopped, justice must be wrought, and vengeance must be sated.