Aldcroft is a town under siege from within, as well as without.  These werewolves, far from a feral pack of animals overwhelming the province by sheer savagery and number, appear to be coordinated, cunning, and following a premeditated plan.  

Together with Gloria Fausta, and the Lion’s Guard, we are able to prevent the same fate for Aldcroft as has befallen Camlorn.  With the immediate threats at an end, we must not hesitate.  The moment to push back is almost upon us, but first a little guile of our own, and for that we need capture a beast.

S.K

I hear a gentle sobbing coming from what I had previously thought to be an abandoned house.  Inside I discover a distraught young woman hiding from the world; her father killed by cultists during the Bloodthorn insurgence, now she is lost, adrift in sorrow.

If I have found her, then it is but a matter of time before the cultists find her too.  She cannot remain here, but she will not leave without a remembrance of her dead father.  

There is no cause great enough to justify the murder of innocents. It is a loathsome and repugnant act wrought only by the craven.  No more… no more shall I believe these cultists to be misguided, or just deluded; for even delusion bridles barbarity.  Farewell now forbearance, clemency and restraint… Sword I name thee retribution tonight.

S.K

We seem ever to be a step behind our enemies.  I arrive in Aldcroft on the heels of the Lion Guard, who themselves had arrived too late to prevent the Bloodthorn from kidnapping a Camlorn dignitary and usurping the lighthouse area.  If we are to win this battle for Glenumbra then we need first wrest the initiative from our enemies. 

To achieve this, we must counter-attack the cultists and force them into reacting to us; only then may we saddle momentum and override their advantage.

S.K

The road leading to Aldcroft is as bleak and dispiriting as any I have travelled.  The town itself seems besieged by a gloom that sits heavily upon its rooftops, such as I doubt even Arkay’s breath could raise.  Under laden gait its denizens scurry, finding what comfort they can in dogged routine, whilst even the birds seem reluctant to take wing into the smothering dusk.

Yet within this endless murk, blushes of hope can still be found.  Refugees from neighbouring Camlorn have been granted provision and shelter, the Wyress Gwen and Ileana have arrived, laying aside age old mistrust to offer their aid to the displaced, and the local militia stand united at Aldcroft’s gates, holding back the wild without.

Although I fear the blighted skies above Aldcroft will darken further before a dawn is seen again, it is here where we must make a stand and begin to push back the night.

S.K

I find the body of a man lying at the foot of a bridge leading up to an old ruin.  It is an indictment on these times that this is not such a rarefied sight.  Neither is it so extraordinary that I am soon to find myself in conversation with the former tenant of the body.  The dead tend to linger in Tamriel nowadays; every corpse seems to have a story to tell, a wrong to right, or a deed to finish.  I’ve made a promise to myself that the next time I die, I shan’t linger.  

Ghosts are generally despondent beings, if not downright miserable; speaking with them usually leaves my thoughts as heavy as branches after rainfall.  My mother used to say that ghosts were ‘nought but unfinished business’; the more I encounter, the more I think her right.  This particular ghost claims he was searching the ruins for “the greatest treasure of the Breton Kingdoms”; ghosts I have found also have a propensity for embellishment.

What is certain is that the ruins of Dresan Keep are now crawling with Angof’s Bloodthorn cultists, and they are searching for something.  And whilst I care little for this spirits ‘unfinished business’, it would be amiss of me if I were to not take every opportunity to scupper the plans of the Bloodthorn.

S.K