Erokii is believed to have once been the greatest of all the Ayleid cities in Northwest Tamriel, now however it is a carcass picked clean by carnivorous treasure hunters and tomb robbers.

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The relics of Erokii have been traded all over Tamriel for a thousand years, yet still the rapacious opportunists come, because the myths surrounding this long dead city, which are still sung about by tavern bards and debated by esteemed scholars alike, are just too seductive to disregard.

There is an old Colovian adage that goes ‘a myth is a simple truth wrapped in an elaborate lie’.  Perhaps, but the more I travel throughout Tamriel, the more I am discovering that many a myth turns out to be elaborately true.

Maybe it is then that the greatest myth of Erokii, the Tear of Anurraame, may in fact be true, and the relic most romanced by the bards, is buried somewhere deep in these very ruins, just waiting for a rapacious opportunist to recover.

S.K

In Siren’s Cove, near Northsalt,

Desuuga dances free,

singing her silvery serenade,

to the mariners of the sea.

‘Come set here your anchor,

and rest your aching oars,

come dance with me and caper,

upon my golden shores’.

As my boat drifted ever closer,

waves pulling me in near,

I could take not my eyes from her,

as her seduction filled my ear.

In the sun her scales did glisten,

with rich aqua hue,

her hair all trussed with seaweed,

shimmered deep marine blue.

I tried to resist her beckoning,

but my heart was fully stirred,

and few can resist enchantment,

when her haunting song is heard.

But as my boat reached sandy shore,

her sweet song swift turned sour,

and she summoned forth a tempest,

invoking oceans power.

Her fury was like the crashing of waves,

breaking upon the reef,

frost bolt, geyser, and blinding salt spray,

my shield my sole relief.

We battled for what felt like hours,

till finally I sunk deep my blade,

and the wondrous daughter of the sea,

shall dance no more this day.

S.K

Hidden inside the abandoned Hildune house in the fishing village of Northsalt can be found the only entrance to a forgotten mine.  In this tortured realm, no cave or delve remains empty for long, and Hildune’s once secret refuge is now being used as a burrow by House Montclair’s vampiric soldiers, who hide in wait for the command from their necromantic leader, Leidmir Corpse-Caller, to rise and devour the unsuspecting village above.

These living corpses are unencumbered by pity or regret, and care nothing for whomever or whatever their next victims will be.  They are strengthened by the blood upon which they feed, yet for them their savage bloodlust is far more than just survival and sustenance, it as a glory, a splendour, a purpose pure, and a valorous challenge to the confines of mortality.

S.K

To the west of the city of Northpoint, lies the provincial fishing village of Northsalt.  Its quiet solitude is in stark contradiction to the tumult that afflicts the rest of the region.

At its docks tethered fishing boats totter gently upon the soft lapping of the calm waters, their loose canvas sails flap idly with the passing of the coastal breeze.  Gulls strut impatiently about the pier for the next boat to return home with brimming hold.  And from the small rustic cottages, dirty white puffs of smoke rise lazily to meet the ever-darkening clouds clustering overhead.

Tranquillity it would seem, and yet as the first drops of rain fall the villagers begin to jitter and bustle for they know that the winds are sure to follow.  Soon the fishing boats will return to harbour, for they dare not trust the tides.

As I seek my own refuge from the rains, I soon discover that even here people can find no shelter from the storm that besets Rivenspire.

Gendinora, a sickly Wood-Elf, learns of the death of her brother far to the south at the dolmen of Westmark Moor.  In desperate need of money to buy his sisters medicines he foolishly joined the Bitterhand bandits, only to meet with an outlaw’s end. 

The Redguard gravedigger Giran sits alone at a table set for two, unaware that his wife has been lured away by a vampire, and no longer hungers for fried hake or grouper stew.

And alone upon the jetty the widow Granger sits in the rain staring out to sea.  Upon each trembling breath she hangs an unanswerable prayer, ‘blessed Divines return my husband to me…’

S.K