Atop the minatory spire of Doomcrag, overlooking the ruins of the once great Ayleid city of Erokii, Abagandra, the Lightless Remnant, casts its claret flush.

Originally Lattanya, the Light of Life, the relic was forged by the greatest of the Ayleid sorcerers and brought to High Rock by the migrating Mer, either by design, mistake, or fate.  The early Ayleid settlers suffered from disease and starvation in the barren wilderness, but the Remnant of Light healed their sickness and cured their hunger by bringing life to the infertile highlands.

However, the ancient Elves and their magics were not welcomed by High Rock’s original inhabitants who saw them as invaders and many a bloody and brutal conflict was fought.  High were the casualties on both sides, giving rise to savage dispositions, and the relic became tainted by the barbarity and bloodshed that surrounded it, eventually changing into the Abagandra.  Now it spread sickness instead of remedy; decay instead of growth.

Those who sought the relics catholicon would only find the torment in feral undeath or the curse of vampirism.  Unable to destroy the Remnant for fear of it unleashing its corruption across all the land, the relic was locked away atop the spire, behind tight guard and cunning trap.  Eventually the Alyeid civilization withered as all must; Erokii, the greatest city in northwest Tamriel fell to ruin and Abagandra became lost to myth and superstition.

That was until an Argonian necromancer named Reezal-Jul appeared with a shard of the relic and convinced the Rivenspire nobles, the vampire Count Ravenwatch and Baron Montclair, to use it on the Baron’s dying wife.  The shard seemed to have a propitious effect upon the Lady, but not enough to fully cure her.  The Argonian persuaded Montclair and Ravenwatch to ascend the cursed Doomcrag to find the fabled relic and imbue the Baroness with its full power.

The nobles were deceived however, for the moment Ravenwatch came into contact with the Lightless Remnant, his vampiric blight intensified the relic’s corruption and the ailing Baroness was turned wild bloodfiend, whilst Reezal-Jul, Montclair, and his daughter were turned full vampire.  Abagandra fed upon the maddening grief of the Montclairs and worked through them to threaten the entire population of Rivenspire.

Count Ravenwatch eventually returned to the Doomcrag to sever the Montclair’s connection to the cursed relic.  The vampire Count’s former ‘master’, the Daedric prince Molag Bal, agreed to take Abagandra safely from this realm into Coldharbour, upon a single proviso, that Count Ravenwatch would go with it.

S.K

I climb to the summit of the Doomcrag and I am finally able to look upon that most cursed of artefacts with my own eyes, the Lightless Remnant.  So startled was I by its sanguinary glow, that when the Baron Montclair appeared like a fiend from a childish nightmare, he seemed to me to step out of the relic itself.

I drew my sword to give battle to the baneful Baron, with full knowledge that whilst I shall be fighting for my life, we shall not be fighting for his.  For if Montclair should die whilst still connected to the Remnant, then there is a chance that the relic will shatter, unleashing its Blood-curse like a pestilence across all Rivenspire.  No, I am fighting to survive and to keep him busy long enough to give Verandis the time to find a way to cleft this pernicious connection.

Restraint is the quality of a moral man.  Whilst training to join the Imperial Legion, our instructor taught us that ‘A sword can earn you both fear and love, but only through restraint can a person earn respect.’  Ever since my escape from Coldharbour, I have been fighting with the abandon of a man whose fate is unredeemable, who is liberated from moral calliper, because what Divine can judge a man whose soul is stolen?

Yet now if I am to play my part in saving the people of this land I must remember once more how to fight with restraint.  I may not be a moral man, but I am forever the Legionnaire.

S.K

On the middle tier of the Doomcrag, Montclair has imprisoned the vampire Gwendis within a ‘blood ward’.  It is only a matter of time before she breaks free her bonds and succumbs to the boundless hunger to feed upon Tamrith and Dorell.

Whilst Verandis uses his mind to attempt to overcome the wards, I set my vigour to vanquishing the oncoming undead.  Sometimes however, even strength and intellect must bow to common practicality, for it is only through resourcefulness that we might save the lives of the nobles, and the spirit of Gwendis.

S.K

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

We enter the Doomcrag, ready to end the mortal threat to Rivenspire of both the Baron and the Lightless Remnant.  However, Verandis’s worst fears are realised when Montclair’s bloody-projection appears and channels the power of the cursed relic into the house soldiers of Tamrith and Dorrell, turning them to bloodfiends.

We were forced to slay our own soldiers.

Verandis knew this might happen, in fact, I am sure now that he foresaw it.  And yet I cannot judge him, for I could have, should have, done more to overcome the blind pride of both Tamrith and Dorell.

We are taught that sacrifice is noble, that it is not something to regret, it is something to celebrate, and to aspire to.  But these men and women did not sacrifice themselves for the greater good, they were sacrificed… and there is nothing noble in that.

One thing I should have learnt from my journey through troubled High Rock is that the means by which we achieve, is often just as important as the achievement itself.

Our soldiers slain by our own hand, and Gwendis, Tamrith and Dorell, have been taken from us by the Remnant’s insidious light.  The fate of all Rivenspire now lies upon the shoulders of a vampire and a soldier without a soul.  I’d like to hear the tavern bards attempts to turn this into a doughty ballad.

S.K

As we near the top of the Shrouded Pass, out of the strange, still darkness spirits of the Erokii Ayleids appear and beg us to turn back, hoping their pleas would succeed where their traps and puzzles failed.  I have no reason to doubt the pure intentions and the truth in their warnings about the relic, for I sense a pestilence rides upon the night air above, and it smells of blood and rot.

But there can be no turning back, for to do so would condemn the people of Rivenspire to the deadly blood-curse, and that cannot be… that must not be.

S.K