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

Dark Elf slavers attacked Koeglin village in the night resulting in a stand-off with the towns guard at the harbour’s warehouse.

The Dark Elves, or Dunmer, seem to be amongst the most aloof and withdrawn of the peoples of Tamriel.  I know little of their culture save that which I was taught as a boy in Cyrodiil; chiefly that they worship their ancestors as gods and their spirit magic is but a short step away from vile necromancy.

In the dim light of this warehouse it would prove difficult for a human to distinguish the ashen skin and red-eyes of a Dunmer from a Dremora.  The few I have met in combat have displayed skill and grace in sword play, quick wit, and a tenacity that might rival a cornered Senche-Tiger.  Socially I have found that snide, snark, and spite seem to be inherent traits.

Nature has blessed the Dunmeri with long life, but the nature of the Dunmeri ensures that few ever fully live it.

S.K

I arrive at the idyllic coastal hamlet of Koeglin, and immediately feel refreshed by the salt air and pastoral beauty of my surroundings.  The flourishing grasslands are kept green and made lush by Stormhaven’s characteristically regular rain-fall.  Between its white stoned holdings, trees offer plentiful shelter against the elements.  Today however, it is a calm summer sky with but a scattering of cotton clouds drifting freely upon warm morning air.  Beyond the harbour the sparkling horizon brims over the glinting sea, whilst silver tipped gulls dive and plunder its rich fishing waters.

I remember an Argonian associate once telling me that if you listen closely enough to the tides of the sea, you can hear the waves telling tale of distant shores and lands beyond reach.

As I reflected upon this I notice for the first time the frenzied movements of armed men upon the docks.  Then I spy what looks to be a female soldier held in stocks in the village square, whilst the people meander, downcast and on edge.  It appears Koeglin village is not quite the idyllic haven it first appeared to be.

S.K