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
Every time I go to Stirk, and I’ve been there at least ten times, I almost always arrive at nearly but not always the same time – the magic hour just reaching its last tendrils over before the evening ends and night begins. The sun nears the horizon; night gathers above, bejeweled and waiting. I imagine that the sea breeze is balmy, and perhaps I can taste sorrow in the air – the Crimson Ship carried its burden hopeless into that endless Abecean Sea and were lost. Who mourns them?
This was a cave within a dungeon. I think it was one in the Aldmeri Dominion, but I could be wrong. Tamriel is so vast, that sometimes I forget where I am. The running water, the light from the hole above adds a nice touch and a reason for the foliage to exist here. It was a beautiful sight in the first person perspective – that, I remember.
Doomcrag is a majestic sight/site to behold, especially when the winds are whispering death wishes in your ears as a silent thunder fills the sky. Something awful is up there, and I’m about to meet it.