To Elphinia Light-Tounged every day is a new story. From the glorious sun rising each morning to alight a world of endless possibilities, to the black pin-pricked night sky whose darkness is but a canvas for her imagination. Whilst most think that stories are shaped by those who live them; she believes it is the other way around.
For Elphinia history is a song that must be sung lest it be forgot; although she does not sing of how it happened, but of how it was remembered.
Alcaire Castle, a Breton stronghold of Northern Stormhaven, ruled over by the Kings own brother, Duke Nathaniel. I arrive late in the evening to find the fortress under siege by a paranoia which threatens to undermine the entire accord of the Daggerfall Covenant.
An envoy from King Fahara’jhad, accompanied by a full Redguard regiment, sits impatiently outside the castle walls, whilst the Breton Knights of the Flame bristle nervously within. The envoy carries a message solely for the ears of the Duke, but a recent attempt upon the life of his young wife Lakana, a daughter of the Redguard King, has cast an umbra over this land, causing even the most sincere and earnest of intentions to be regarded with suspicion and distrust.
It is said in Cyrodiil, perhaps unkindly, that no Breton ever married for love. To the outsider there seems such a tradition of Breton royalty and nobility marrying for political, economic, or diplomatic reasons, that the idea of marriage as an honest bond between two people who are in love, seems almost an outlandish concept in High Rock.
Seemingly under the sway of the Supernal cultist Sentulus, at a secluded alter in the woods, Rosalie Nurin prepares to make a sacrifice of her husband.
I will never know whether it was weakness of character or unhappy circumstance that led Rosalie to betray her family. Undoubtedly much like Constable Pascal, Vaermina’s cultists got to her through her dreams. Dreams ignore stone walls and locked doors, they can light up the darkest temperament, and darken light ones. Following you throughout your day like a shadow, nightmares make many wish not to sleep, whilst the same fear makes others wish not to wake. Fear is our greatest weakness, and it is what these cultists are taking advantage of.
As for myself, in my sleep I have nightmares, awake I have my thoughts… ever since Coldharbour I am no longer sure which is which.
These spiteful creatures are often employed by their Daedric masters solely for their boundless appetite for wreck, bane and havoc. Like a Nord whelp given his first hammer, they seemingly take arrant delight in the destruction they beget. Their infatuation for fire makes the wood and thatch of the Breton farmstead particularly vulnerable to their mischief and gambol.
A common misconception is that these gibbering miscreants are cowardly by nature; whilst in pack they are undoubtedly boldest, when confronted alone however, I have yet to encounter a single scamp that fled from fight.