As I cross the malignant streets of Elinhir I spy what appears to be a portal aglow in a particularly dilapidated corner of the city. Back at the Crossroads Tavern in Belkarth, many a caravan driver and wayfarer had warned of rifts appearing across Craglorn, but this was the first I had encountered. At my approach six figures emerge from the fulgent light, their eyes ablaze with the purple glow of magicka, their faces twisted by delirium.
The scholar might measure six on one as somewhat unfavourable odds, but to the warrior one on six is a noble challenge. Besides, the true risk would be to leave this rift unclosed, for more of these spell-fiends could swift overrun the city and I may never make it through to the Apex Tower.
My shield crushed the skull of the final spell-fiend just in time for me to see the broiling flames and turbulent squall of atronachs stepping through the luminous portal. Soon they were joined by an enormous flesh atronach that damn near took my head off my shoulders with an arcing swing of its brutish clubbed arm.
The atronachs that have been attacking the region of late were thought to have been summoned by Craglorn mages to defend against the Dark Anchors of the insidious Planemeld, only to turn against their masters when the constellations disappeared from the sky. But these that are arriving through the rift appear to have ingressed from another realm entirely, and the atronachs patrolling the streets of Elinhir seem very much still under the influence of the Blackcaster Mages.
When the gods lash out at Tamriel, they scourge us with a whip of many tails.