Hidden amongst the lakeside ruins of Jackdaw Cove I discover a Wyress gently tending to a sickly spriggan. There used to be hundreds of spriggans cavorting between the trees here, as in most of the forests of Tamriel, but according to the Wyress this is the last spriggan in Jackdaw Cove; the rest having been corrupted into lurchers by the vile magics of the Reachmen.
I have no affection or affinity for spriggan. They attack me without cause, they rouse their forest companions against me, and they spit their sap at me as I ride by. I feel their enmity and hatred toward me more severely then from any other being on Nirn, indiginious or daedric, and it disturbs me, because they hate me for what I am, not who I am.
And yet… and yet I cannot let this spriggan die without at least making some effort to save it.
But it is not for pity or empathy for the spriggan, the Wyress, or the forest. Nor to spite the insidious interlopers from the Reach. It’s not even for Tamriel herself and her balance of nature; the idea that the loss of the spriggans from the forests of northern Bangkorai might in some deterministic manner have a negative effect upon the rest of the country.
No, not for any of these reasons, It is for me. Because when I lost my soul I was left with a sense of unrelenting emptiness deep inside me, but that abrading emptiness soon became filled by the echoes of my conscience in such vociferous clarity, that I have long forgot the sound of peace.