In the Hollow Wastes of the Alik’r Desert, whist the Withered Hand attempts to raise an undead army to purge the desert of the living, and the dark anchors of Coldharbour continue to rain Daedric monsters down upon the sands, the patrons of the Duneripper Downs lizard-racing track appear to show blinkered concern for anything but the next race.

Perhaps in these times of chaos and turmoil, when the next day is as uncertain as a Baandari surety, gambling is as much an act of faith for the gambler, as praying is for the priest.

S.K