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Using the same pirate’s trick that the Sea Drakes used back on Stros M’Kai, the slavers have taken control of the lighthouse.   In the black of night, ships sail too close to land and beach upon the shallows, allowing the Dark Elves to storm the stricken vessels and capture any surviving crew.

Now that the village is free from Dremora influence, it would prove prudent to await the response of the local militia.  But I cannot… I will not stand idle whilst an innocent’s freedom is denied by threat of violence.  For every fetter around their feet, is a shackle around my conscience.

S.K

Dark Elf scouts keep watch on the harbour at Koeglin Village.

S.K

I meet a woman on the outskirts of the village searching the horizon for signs of her son; I can’t help but think back to my own mother and how she must have felt every time I answered the call to return to barracks.

You see when troubles come to a soldier he faces them with a sword in his hand, a comrade at his side, a healer at his back, and a vanward threat upon which to fixate all thought, fear and action.

For the mother, there is but fretful anguish.  Adrift in perpetual suspense, she must bear the profound heartache that dulls all emotion to melancholy.  Her trembling lips are ever set for sighs and cries to pass over, whilst she must endure an abrading anxiety that devours the spirit.  Upon each false breath she hangs an unanswerable prayer, and a desperate pine to take action against her own imagination.

I would not wish a mother’s anguish upon my most hated foe.

S.K

Any attempt by mortals to understand what motivates these agents of Oblivion and their Deadric masters are more often than not futile.  It is enough to know that if we break every chain and close every portal, than we will do much to salve Tamriel’s wounds.

S.K

Dark Elf slavers attacked Koeglin village in the night resulting in a stand-off with the towns guard at the harbour’s warehouse.

The Dark Elves, or Dunmer, seem to be amongst the most aloof and withdrawn of the peoples of Tamriel.  I know little of their culture save that which I was taught as a boy in Cyrodiil; chiefly that they worship their ancestors as gods and their spirit magic is but a short step away from vile necromancy.

In the dim light of this warehouse it would prove difficult for a human to distinguish the ashen skin and red-eyes of a Dunmer from a Dremora.  The few I have met in combat have displayed skill and grace in sword play, quick wit, and a tenacity that might rival a cornered Senche-Tiger.  Socially I have found that snide, snark, and spite seem to be inherent traits.

Nature has blessed the Dunmeri with long life, but the nature of the Dunmeri ensures that few ever fully live it.

S.K