The nobles and notables of Rivenspire gather at Shornhelm castle for the coronation of a new King or Queen of Shornhelm.  High King Emeric admits that the triumvirate was a mistake and has come North to choose between the Baron Dorell and Countess Tamrith for who should rule over this fractured land.

Or rather curiously, he has proxied that decision to a foreign-born former Imperial soldier without a soul, who has twice now cut the High King down with his sword, albeit in the nightmare realms of Vaermina and Sheogorath.

Countess Tamrith promises to restore the faith, prioritizing care for the displaced, and rebuilding Rivenspire with the peoples interests at its heart; whilst the Baron promises to lead with a firm hand, primarily strengthening the countries defences by rebuilding the Shornhelm guard to protect land and people.

I firmly believe both would make capable rulers, but disparate times requires particular leaders.  Only with hindsight, that vice of the historian, could I be sure that I was making the correct decision, but as the Argonian’s are fond of saying, one should never ride a Guar up a mountain backwards.

Rebuilding this land and its people will require hard, unpopular, and unpalatable decisions.  When it came to making such a decision about his son, for right or wrong, Baron Dorell showed he was both willing and capable to make it.  If High Rock was at peace, I may well have chosen differently, but the Three Banners war shows no sign of end, and the anchors still fall.

S.K

Montclair is defeated, and the cursed relic has been removed from Tamriel, yet Rivenspire’s noble houses cannot yet rest their guard.  Montclair loyalists, led by a hitherto unknown nephew, still operate throughout the region, and they have made targets of Adusa-daro and the vampire house Ravenwatch.

Even for a soldier an unforeseen assassin is almost certain death, but an assassin expected, is but a coward with a very small knife.

S.K

A memory of his tenderness,
as sorrowful as a caged Netch,
like the sojourn of her first tear,
in parting anguish of one so dear.
A memory of his windless words,
like Kynareth’s sigh, felt unheard,
shackles her heart with silken chains,
she thought grief but mortal’s pain.
An arid trance of lingering gloom,
yet fervid dreams of phoenix plume,
crisp night air, and fresh morn’s hew,
a rose, a thorn, and a memory of you.

S.K

Atop the minatory spire of Doomcrag, overlooking the ruins of the once great Ayleid city of Erokii, Abagandra, the Lightless Remnant, casts its claret flush.

Originally Lattanya, the Light of Life, the relic was forged by the greatest of the Ayleid sorcerers and brought to High Rock by the migrating Mer, either by design, mistake, or fate.  The early Ayleid settlers suffered from disease and starvation in the barren wilderness, but the Remnant of Light healed their sickness and cured their hunger by bringing life to the infertile highlands.

However, the ancient Elves and their magics were not welcomed by High Rock’s original inhabitants who saw them as invaders and many a bloody and brutal conflict was fought.  High were the casualties on both sides, giving rise to savage dispositions, and the relic became tainted by the barbarity and bloodshed that surrounded it, eventually changing into the Abagandra.  Now it spread sickness instead of remedy; decay instead of growth.

Those who sought the relics catholicon would only find the torment in feral undeath or the curse of vampirism.  Unable to destroy the Remnant for fear of it unleashing its corruption across all the land, the relic was locked away atop the spire, behind tight guard and cunning trap.  Eventually the Alyeid civilization withered as all must; Erokii, the greatest city in northwest Tamriel fell to ruin and Abagandra became lost to myth and superstition.

That was until an Argonian necromancer named Reezal-Jul appeared with a shard of the relic and convinced the Rivenspire nobles, the vampire Count Ravenwatch and Baron Montclair, to use it on the Baron’s dying wife.  The shard seemed to have a propitious effect upon the Lady, but not enough to fully cure her.  The Argonian persuaded Montclair and Ravenwatch to ascend the cursed Doomcrag to find the fabled relic and imbue the Baroness with its full power.

The nobles were deceived however, for the moment Ravenwatch came into contact with the Lightless Remnant, his vampiric blight intensified the relic’s corruption and the ailing Baroness was turned wild bloodfiend, whilst Reezal-Jul, Montclair, and his daughter were turned full vampire.  Abagandra fed upon the maddening grief of the Montclairs and worked through them to threaten the entire population of Rivenspire.

Count Ravenwatch eventually returned to the Doomcrag to sever the Montclair’s connection to the cursed relic.  The vampire Count’s former ‘master’, the Daedric prince Molag Bal, agreed to take Abagandra safely from this realm into Coldharbour, upon a single proviso, that Count Ravenwatch would go with it.

S.K

I climb to the summit of the Doomcrag and I am finally able to look upon that most cursed of artefacts with my own eyes, the Lightless Remnant.  So startled was I by its sanguinary glow, that when the Baron Montclair appeared like a fiend from a childish nightmare, he seemed to me to step out of the relic itself.

I drew my sword to give battle to the baneful Baron, with full knowledge that whilst I shall be fighting for my life, we shall not be fighting for his.  For if Montclair should die whilst still connected to the Remnant, then there is a chance that the relic will shatter, unleashing its Blood-curse like a pestilence across all Rivenspire.  No, I am fighting to survive and to keep him busy long enough to give Verandis the time to find a way to cleft this pernicious connection.

Restraint is the quality of a moral man.  Whilst training to join the Imperial Legion, our instructor taught us that ‘A sword can earn you both fear and love, but only through restraint can a person earn respect.’  Ever since my escape from Coldharbour, I have been fighting with the abandon of a man whose fate is unredeemable, who is liberated from moral calliper, because what Divine can judge a man whose soul is stolen?

Yet now if I am to play my part in saving the people of this land I must remember once more how to fight with restraint.  I may not be a moral man, but I am forever the Legionnaire.

S.K