Just to the Southwest of the town of Cropsford lies the Ayleid ruins of Culotte. An ancient Ayleid Well can be also be found at the site around which the townsfolk had once reported seeing cultists, but now all they see are ghouls, wraiths and zombies. Cropsford’s leaders, fearing that the undead will one day come shambling into town, occasionally pay mercenaries like myself to the go to the ruins and cull their numbers.

The townsfolk blame the cultists for stirring up the undead and perhaps they are right. But the cultists are long gone now and the undead continue to rise. Perhaps it is the enduring power of these Ayleid Wells that fuels their necromantic spells long after the cultists are gone. I recall seeing one such Well on the Isle of Betnikh at the ruins of Moriseli, where the Orc spirits of the Seamount Clan were summoned by the Reachman cultist Drusilla Nerva. Long after I had cut her down and set the restless spirit of Warcaller Targoth to rest, the Orc spirits continue to rise and roam. And again in Glenumbra, an Ayleid Well lies at the heart of the ruin’s of Enduum, where no matter how many skeletons are smashed by spell and blade, more soon rise to replace them.

The wells themselves are said to replenish their magicka at midnight, thus such necromantic spells may in effect, be eternal. To my mind such fountains of power should not be left unattended, I might even go so far as to suggest that they all be destroyed. It is all well and good for the scholars and mages to claim that one day they may learn to harness the magicka for the good of Tamriel. Yet it has been almost 3000 years since the Empire of the Ayleids fell and we know as little about them now as we did then.

S.K

The Newt Cave which lies just southeast of the town of Cropsford, was once notorious as a hidden den for smugglers. Some speculate that there is still treasure to be found deep within its darkest caverns, but one would first have to contend with a mischief of trolls and a small colony of giant bats.

Unlike the Bloodmayne Cave further to the south where, under the reign of the Spriggan Acanthia, there existed a relative peace between the various species that dwelt there, here at The Newt Cave, there are two leaders that vie for supremacy; the troll Graveltooth, and Rock Wing, a giant bat.

Thus there are tensions throughout the caverns between the two species. The atmosphere feels strained like the taunt strings of an instrument waiting to be struck. It would take a skilled bard but a short riff or a brief motif to discover just the right note to pluck to break the fibres of this tension and turn the creatures within, one upon another.

Bah, if only I weren’t so tone deaf.

S.K

As battles rage between the Banners over the nearby bridges, it appears my only way across the Niben River may be a makeshift bridge found at the Lunar Fang docks; although it looks as though it has been rebuilt more times then the gates of Orsinium. I spy figures moving about amongst the crates upon the wharf. Obviously this dock is still very much in operation, but by whom?

I decide to chance this rickety bridge rather then risk running afoul of any Aldmeri or Ebonheart parties, but no sooner had I begun crossing then I became aware of the rather pungent musty smell of wet dogs; I am soon to discover why. Hoping to sneak past unnoticed, I stealthy approach the people working upon the wharf, but they sense my presence without first seeing me. As they turn towards me, each starts a grisly and grotesque transformation from ordinary man and mer into werewolf.

It is not often werewolf packs choose to reveal their ‘gifts’ in the open so readily. There was the Greycloak mercenaries of course, who rampaged across the central wastelands of Craglorn, and back in Glenumbra the area between Aldcroft and Camlorn was practically overrun. But most smaller werewolf packs I encounter choose to hide themselves away in caves and delves. What is most impressive about this pack at the Lunar Fang Docks is that they appear to have mastered their ‘gift’, seemingly able to transform at will. I suspect news of their talent would be very much of interest to the villagers of Kerbol’s Hollow, back in Bangkorai.

Just what this pack are doing here or who they are doing it for will alas have remain a mystery for now, for each choose to die by my blade rather then give up their secrets. They say that there is no beast more savage than a raging werewolf, and whilst that may be true, for they indeed gain in both strength and ferocity, their rage seems to cost them any natural sense of self preservation. How grievous the consequences of their ‘gift’ seem to be.

S.K