The Nereid, wondrous daughter of the sea.  Grace in water, yet lithe on shore, she rides waves as effortlessly as she walks ocean floor.  Her scale and skin glisten with aqua hue, hair trussed with seaweed, shimmers deep marine blue.  She searches shoreward for a quarry unknown, for someone or something, anything or anyone.  As she dances the sand she hums a sorrowful hymn, whose melody like a love lost, haunts my restless sleep.  So swift to temper at her solitude disturbed, her fury was like the wave breaking upon shore.  Half cry, half roar, she let fly a storm, wondrous daughter of the ocean, who’ll dance no more.

S.K

Using the same pirate’s trick that the Sea Drakes used back on Stros M’Kai, the slavers have taken control of the lighthouse.   In the black of night, ships sail too close to land and beach upon the shallows, allowing the Dark Elves to storm the stricken vessels and capture any surviving crew.

Now that the village is free from Dremora influence, it would prove prudent to await the response of the local militia.  But I cannot… I will not stand idle whilst an innocent’s freedom is denied by threat of violence.  For every fetter around their feet, is a shackle around my conscience.

S.K

Dark Elf scouts keep watch on the harbour at Koeglin Village.

S.K

I meet a woman on the outskirts of the village searching the horizon for signs of her son; I can’t help but think back to my own mother and how she must have felt every time I answered the call to return to barracks.

You see when troubles come to a soldier he faces them with a sword in his hand, a comrade at his side, a healer at his back, and a vanward threat upon which to fixate all thought, fear and action.

For the mother, there is but fretful anguish.  Adrift in perpetual suspense, she must bear the profound heartache that dulls all emotion to melancholy.  Her trembling lips are ever set for sighs and cries to pass over, whilst she must endure an abrading anxiety that devours the spirit.  Upon each false breath she hangs an unanswerable prayer, and a desperate pine to take action against her own imagination.

I would not wish a mother’s anguish upon my most hated foe.

S.K

Any attempt by mortals to understand what motivates these agents of Oblivion and their Deadric masters are more often than not futile.  It is enough to know that if we break every chain and close every portal, than we will do much to salve Tamriel’s wounds.

S.K