That night another of Molag Bal’s iniquitous anchors fell upon Tamriel at the Mornouth Dolmen in Bangkorai; and that night another group of strangers set aside their colours to unite under a single banner in the defence of Tamriel. It is vital that even up here in the wilds of Northern High Rock, where the Reachmen forge base havoc, and the agents of the Seventh Legion provoke and incite, that no Daedric horn goes unchallenged.

Why do those treacherous worms continue to sacrifice themselves to the dread horns of Coldharbour? Is it fear? Greed? Or perhaps they see the Prince’s wings but not its tail? Whatever the reason for their betrayal of their families and kin, they are as much monsters as the Daedra they summon forth. And as for these Daedric monsters that cannot die, that fight unencumbered by remorse or compassion, we shall fight them all the same, because here on Nirn they are but all flesh and blood.

We must cede not an inch more of Tamriel to Oblivion. For I have witnessed first hand the surrender of the Imperial City to the Daedric cults, and beheld the desolation of the Aswala Stables in the Alik’r. I have walked amongst the Shiven of Coldhabour, I have delved into those most hidden depths where monsters from all parts of Oblivion plot and ploy in the darkest corners of this land. And I have come face to face with an aspect of the Lord of Brutality and the hate I saw reflected in his eyes is most dreadfully remembered.

Not one inch more…

S.K

It is with a twist of irony that the crows of Mournoth, those black spies of the Reachmen, lead me willingly to the Hagraven’s lair; there is an old Bosmer adage that goes, ’there is nowt so treacherous as the caw of the crow’.

The lair of Uela the Hagraven is a dark, dank hole, filled only with the roots of those vile Reach vines upon which even insects dare not crawl. Detritus and old bones litter the broken stone floor, and near the far wall stands an ill-fashioned alter from which the crone commands her crows. Her black spies do not alert her to my arrival and so she does not sense my presence until I am already upon her.

There are few more hideous creatures in all Tamriel then the Hagravens of the Reach. Grubby gray hair, pallid skin stretched taut over bony limbs, beady black eyes and beaked-noses, talons for hands and feet, with straggly black feathers growing from every open appendage.

The ‘old magics’ of the Reach have twisted and corrupted the Hagraven’s body, mind, and soul so that it can feed freely upon the old crones hatred and barbarity for the world about. The only way to cleanse the Hagraven’s turpitude influence over this land is with the blood of the Hagraven herself, to feed nature with her life essence just as it fed the ‘old magics’.

For the dark magics of the Reach are as much a part of Tamriel as all the splendour and beauty of nature, because for all Nirn does to sustain us, we in turn must do our part in sustaining her.

S.K

Hidden amongst the lakeside ruins of Jackdaw Cove I discover a Wyress gently tending to a sickly spriggan. There used to be hundreds of spriggans cavorting between the trees here, as in most of the forests of Tamriel, but according to the Wyress this is the last spriggan in Jackdaw Cove; the rest having been corrupted into lurchers by the vile magics of the Reachmen.

I have no affection or affinity for spriggan. They attack me without cause, they rouse their forest companions against me, and they spit their sap at me as I ride by. I feel their enmity and hatred toward me more severely then from any other being on Nirn, indiginious or daedric, and it disturbs me, because they hate me for what I am, not who I am.

And yet… and yet I cannot let this spriggan die without at least making some effort to save it.

But it is not for pity or empathy for the spriggan, the Wyress, or the forest. Nor to spite the insidious interlopers from the Reach. It’s not even for Tamriel herself and her balance of nature; the idea that the loss of the spriggans from the forests of northern Bangkorai might in some deterministic manner have a negative effect upon the rest of the country.

No, not for any of these reasons, It is for me. Because when I lost my soul I was left with a sense of unrelenting emptiness deep inside me, but that abrading emptiness soon became filled by the echoes of my conscience in such vociferous clarity, that I have long forgot the sound of peace.

S.K

The dark woods north of Halcyon Lake are full of crumbling forts and towers long ago garrotted by the wilds; but now the woods themselves are being strangled and chocked by the monstrous vines of the Reach.

Uela the Hagraven and her vile clan of Dark Witnesses threaten both the Viridian Woods and the Breton city of Evermore from their camp here in the dark forest. It is from the Jackdaw Cove that the black crows of the Reach fly.

In the past the Wyress might have had the knowledge and craft to drive back the Reachmen, but they no longer have any power here as the Witness’s foul totums suppress the forest magic. I posses the strength and skill to fight the wildmen, but I have not the knowledge of the land to stop their magics, or even find the Hagraven.

Only by working together can the sisters of the Wyrd and I hope to drive out the Reachmen and reclaim this forest. We share no bond of friendship or trust, only a common enemy. This most reluctant of unions must be like the waves of a moving sea between two shores, we each need to have faith that the other side will do their part.

S.K

Exploring abandoned delves in High Rock is a risky business, just ask Gluineth, a Bosmer girl I find locked in a cell in a former prison, now commonly known by locals as the Troll’s Toothpick.

The name is rather apt since a troll clan has taken up residence in the old Mournoth dungeon, abandoned since the Knahaten Flu epidemic, where they feast upon rats, skeevers and any bandits stupid enough to come searching for loot in an abandoned delve in troll country.

Perhaps as she waits upon the docks for passage down the bay, Gluineth will reflect upon just how close she came to becoming a toothpick herself, and find herself a less risky business by which to earn a living.

S.K