I was puzzled as to where his battalions were. Travelling through the bitter southern reaches of Coldharbour I have encountered only small groups of Dremora, packs of roaming wild daedra here and there, and even the odd elemental creature; but not the armies of demons that we had been expecting to face.
I had begun to fear what might be lying in wait for us to the north, or if whilst we were scattered across these azure wastes, Molag Bal may have already directed his forces in renewed assault upon Tamriel. Perhaps it might be that the Lord of Brutality holds our incursion in such contempt that he simply expects the wilds of Coldharbour to devour us before we have the chance to muster.
But finally in this border-realm of the Village of the Lost, I find the daedra amassed in number. A legion of the fiends consigned to rout these stolen townships. I wonder just how many of these border-realms there actually are, and how much of Molag Bal’s hellion forces has he committed to subjugating them.
The Village of the Lost is indeed a nightmare vision of what awaits Tamriel should the Planemeld succeed, and yet strangely it is also a place from which Tamriel can educe hope. Because if the daedra are here in number, then they cannot be elsewhere, for whilst these daedra are indeed eternal, they are not infinite. It is ironic perhaps that our best opportunity of defeating this enemy may well be provided by the enemy himself.