The Newt Cave which lies just southeast of the town of Cropsford, was once notorious as a hidden den for smugglers. Some speculate that there is still treasure to be found deep within its darkest caverns, but one would first have to contend with a mischief of trolls and a small colony of giant bats.

Unlike the Bloodmayne Cave further to the south where, under the reign of the Spriggan Acanthia, there existed a relative peace between the various species that dwelt there, here at The Newt Cave, there are two leaders that vie for supremacy; the troll Graveltooth, and Rock Wing, a giant bat.

Thus there are tensions throughout the caverns between the two species. The atmosphere feels strained like the taunt strings of an instrument waiting to be struck. It would take a skilled bard but a short riff or a brief motif to discover just the right note to pluck to break the fibres of this tension and turn the creatures within, one upon another.

Bah, if only I weren’t so tone deaf.

S.K

As battles rage between the Banners over the nearby bridges, it appears my only way across the Niben River may be a makeshift bridge found at the Lunar Fang docks; although it looks as though it has been rebuilt more times then the gates of Orsinium. I spy figures moving about amongst the crates upon the wharf. Obviously this dock is still very much in operation, but by whom?

I decide to chance this rickety bridge rather then risk running afoul of any Aldmeri or Ebonheart parties, but no sooner had I begun crossing then I became aware of the rather pungent musty smell of wet dogs; I am soon to discover why. Hoping to sneak past unnoticed, I stealthy approach the people working upon the wharf, but they sense my presence without first seeing me. As they turn towards me, each starts a grisly and grotesque transformation from ordinary man and mer into werewolf.

It is not often werewolf packs choose to reveal their ‘gifts’ in the open so readily. There was the Greycloak mercenaries of course, who rampaged across the central wastelands of Craglorn, and back in Glenumbra the area between Aldcroft and Camlorn was practically overrun. But most smaller werewolf packs I encounter choose to hide themselves away in caves and delves. What is most impressive about this pack at the Lunar Fang Docks is that they appear to have mastered their ‘gift’, seemingly able to transform at will. I suspect news of their talent would be very much of interest to the villagers of Kerbol’s Hollow, back in Bangkorai.

Just what this pack are doing here or who they are doing it for will alas have remain a mystery for now, for each choose to die by my blade rather then give up their secrets. They say that there is no beast more savage than a raging werewolf, and whilst that may be true, for they indeed gain in both strength and ferocity, their rage seems to cost them any natural sense of self preservation. How grievous the consequences of their ‘gift’ seem to be.

S.K

The vanquished spirits of a forgotten battle fought in another age have risen seemingly unbidden from the graveyard at Moffka’s Lament in south-eastern Cyrodiil. Perhaps it is the endless turmoil in this land that has disturbed their eternal rest. Or maybe it is the land itself that has roused them in response to the wounds it suffers from the Banners fruitless war.

These Orc and Ayleid soldiers are believed to have fallen in a battle for the nearby Fort Variela. That they were buried in the same graveyard appears to be a rare act of honour and grace by whomever the victor was. Yet as I approach they seem to have forgotten what animosity they had for each other and attack only me. Perhaps it is that they never did fight against each other, but together against a common, more deadly foe? Either that or there really is nothing the dead hate more then the living.

The spirits themselves return still dressed in the weapons and armour in which they fell. I wonder after my own death if I am to be risen again whether I too will appear as I died, or maybe I will rise as a shadowy ghost; anything but a skeleton, I don’t think I would enjoy that.

S.K

That such an important site in humanity’s history in Tamriel should now be abandoned to necromancers should fill us all with shame. For here at the ruins of Sardavar Leed, just south of Lake Rumare in the Great Forest, there once stood the notorious Ayleid settlement known as Sard. It was here that the Ayleid’s would bring Nedic peoples from all across eastern Cyrodiil and beyond, to be trained inhumanely as slaves for their Elven masters.

But it was also here where a young girl, whose destiny it was to change the world, was first brought as a youth in chains to be raised as a slave. It was here that the thrice blessed Saint Alessia first prayed to Akatosh for deliverance from slavery for her people. Eventually her prayers would be answered and she would escape to lead the slave rebellion which would result in the collapse and extinction of that most wicked Ayleid Empire.

Now another more contemporary elf holds these ruins with equally nefarious purposes. Velandare, a high elven bonelord, leads a gang of summoners and their Daedric pets in necromantic rituals from atop the ruins. I shall take a great satisfaction in ridding these ruins of this elven scum. Alas no doubt that necromancers will again return to this site that is forever stained in the blood of generations of our Nedic ancestors. Hopefully other adventures can continue to clear these ruins until a time when this fruitless war is over and a fitting memorial may be erected in honour of those who bleed, suffered and died in cruel bondage to those insidious Ayleids.

And whilst I cannot bring myself to support the Breton king over the Nord, or vice versa, I shall never accept the Heartlands ever again being under the boots of an elf; whether they be unforeseen or treacherous worm.

S.K