317. A cold welcome to the Desert

317 (a). A cold welcome to the Desert

Shoals of Longfin and Sablefish dance excitably about the hull of the Posset in the clear, turquoise waters of the Iliac Bay, whilst noisy gulls swoop the decks mistaking our tall ship for a trawler.  From the bow, I watch as the flaxen sands of the Alik’r Desert come slowly into focus.  As we drift into the great Sentinel docks, even in the baking hot Hammerfell sun, I felt a chill shake me to my core; something is very, very wrong.

317 (b). A cold welcome to the Desert

There is a deathly silence that hangs over the usually bustling docks of the Redguard city, an unnatural stillness, a dullness that rings like wooden bells.  The air is heavy with a stench, not of fish or brine, but of blood and decay.  The gulls fly no more, ousted from the piers by giant vultures.  One of the most prosperous sea-ports in all Hammerfell, and there is little sign of movement upon the jetties.

Captain Marck and the Altmer mage Neramo, who I had not seen since the Spearhead dropped me in Daggerfall, are aground already, but they fear to go any further.  Too soon I meet the reason for their timidity, a zombie charges me in unsteady gait.

317 (e). A cold welcome to the Desert

The undead have risen to take Sentinel harbour from the living, and there seems not a guard alive or willing to defend the crews of inbound ships, unaware of the monsters that gluttonously await their landing.


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