The sun burns slow in the Alik’r Desert. I feel the sand against my skin, drawing the moisture from my tired body. I must move before the night falls. The coyotes come.
“And the dead tree gives no shelter, the crickets no relief” ~ The Waste Land, T.S. Eliot
It was only after the battle that I had time to look at the night sky where Masser and Secunda were, ensconced in their starry embrace. The smell of sea salt mingled with the blood of the Dreugh as their broodmother lay slain. I hadn’t noticed that the corals glowed.
In a somewhat remote spot of Cyrodiil, a mage has arranged a family of skeletons around a campfire. He has made sure all of them have their heads and are suitably warm. I wonder what tales are being told.