Long into deep abyss of night, the necromancers toil,

from evocation of the dead, to purging of the soul.

Unmindful of lingering spirits, wretched in solemn despair,

let loose memories of their final breaths upon the chill night air.

And Underneath livid shadows, of headstone, tomb, and shrine,

tincture of the necromancer’s brew, seeps darkness into vein.

‘Rouse forth from eternal slumber thrall, and claim thine corpse again,

for tonight you feast and carousal, on warm blood, and mortal pain.’

S.K

The Orcs are out searching for signs of the cult that attacked their homes.  I pity those that provoke the wrath of the Orsimer.  No longer does each new dawn herald a day to be lived, instead for them, the new dawn is but a prelude of a night to be survived.

S.K

These cultists stalk in shadows and hide in caves.  A child afraid of the dark is easily forgiven, but a man afraid of the light is no longer a man.  The one thing I know about cowards is that they will go to far greater lengths to avoid what they fear, then to obtain what they desire the most; and that I will use to my advantage.

Throughout this isle are scattered shrines showing visions of futures yet to come, alongside ancient ruins of communities reminding us of a past that has been and gone.  It is said that to predict your future, you need only study what was done in the past… but I firmly believe the best way to predict your future, is to create it yourself by what you do today.

S.K

The locals clean up after fending off an attack by the Bloodthorn Cult.  They burn the bodies to prevent the cult’s necromancers from raising their dead to fight again.  Whilst the Orsimer leadership claim their defence was wholly successful, others are not so sure.

S.K