[i]Off the Coast of Hammerfell…[/i]

It could be said that the great Captain Alaire St. Tarley loved a very few number of things. These things being his mother, his ship, his crew, and a clear day- universally known by sailors worldwide as a good day to sail. Today was one such day, and Captain Alaire St. Tarley breathed every breath with an almost ceremonial type of care. He took caution not to sniff, nor grasp, nor would he wheeze. Just quiet, full breaths that took in the cold air, the smell of the sea, it was very much indeed a great day to sail. It was made all the more treasured by the Captain at the fact that most of his crew had made it off of the Isle of N’Gasta alive. Although, multiple attempts were made by the Captain to get his crew to talk of what they had seen on the isle, none were willing to divulge their experiences. What they had been through must have been quite the spectacle if they were not willing to tell even their Captain.

Alaire made note of this, and would tell King Hilaire back in Wayrest. Indeed, the fact that his men were unwilling to divulge the atrocities they had seen was a clear sign that Cleric Krieger was all the deranged lunatic that every other man saw him to be. Hilaire, for whatever Talos-damned reason, had decided to keep the Sorcerer in his court. Alaire told him he didn’t want to serve the King known as Hilaire the Foolish. Now that Krieger had stormed off from Wayrest, Hilaire could well be called Hilaire the Heirless now, that damned foolish seadog. Gorzath, Elayna and Wets-His-Blade had already rowed ashore with the rest of their comrades and Alaire had wished them luck before they left. He was under strict orders by King Hilaire to only stay for as long they needed to find Krieger. Sterling and Lana were indeed in need of saving, as Alaire and Adalard thought.

Francis and Vendel, who Alaire had met in a tavern on a rainy Wayrest night two years ago, were sent in to get them back with Gorzath and they did do just that. Adalard, Francis, Vendel, Sterling and Lana were among the numbers who outright refused to speak of the things they saw in Krieger’s lair, something that perplexed Alaire and teased his curiosity endlessly. Reports had made it to not only the Lord of Stros M’kai’s ears, but learned firsthand by Alaire as he took his crew onto his ship once again. Even if he did not know the exact happenings, it was a sure thing that Alaire’s mission was a success. With the help of Gorzath, Elayna and Wets-His-Blade, Francis and Vendel were able to retrieve Sterling and Lana for King Hilaire and managed to kill the so-called Cleric named Krieger for his crimes against the Pirate Republic of Wayrest.
Known only to the wayward vagabond Francis and the select few to go ashore and into the mausoleum, Krieger’s army of otherworldly creations of solidified hate and malice had lost all direction after the death of their creator and had taken to aimlessly wander the halls, but still holding enough of a mind to kill every man and mer follower that Krieger had attracted, a bloodbath that Francis, Vendel and Gorzath’s group had managed to survive and escape. It is unknown what has become of the magical creations, but Krieger’s followers have once again been scattered. The few that had survived managed to make it back to Stros M’kai, retreating into the mountains or paying for passage to High Rock, or even being employed by the captains of ships heading south to challenge the Dominion navy blockading Cyrodiil.

The ones who had made it into the mountains are rumored to have formed a coven, one day hoping to grow strong enough to retake the Isle of N’Gasta from the rogue creations and their terrible rending tendrils of solidified shadow. Their numbers are few but their clashes with the fractured Goblin tribes keep them in check and ensure that if there were a time where they were once again powerful and threatening the time would not be soon for either party. And so, the forbidden knowledge within Krieger’s library remains untouched, his corpse-bride sits, destitute in his study and his creations now wander his halls without true purpose. The giant golem of Dwemer origin and the mystery surrounding it remains buried under the wet soil of The Mausoleum and the piece of the puzzle that is the Dwemer’s return remains locked away in the metaphysical vault of Krieger’s creation. Francis just wishes that he could forget the things he saw there.

“Farewell and adieu, to you Breton ladies, farewell and adieu, to ye ladies ashore,” Came the singing voice of Adalard, “How fares thee, my Captain?”

“Well enough, I suppose. A good wind blowing North, clear skies and gentle seas,” Alaire said, a small smile that raised the corner of his lips upon his face as he looked out on the sea, he looked at his Quartermaster with the same smile, “My men sing their shanties, they make good time finishing their good work and I am happy because of all of this. I am also curious, my friend.”

“I knew you would be, Captain. I already told you that I refuse to divulge the sights I saw on the isle,” Adalard paused as he saw his Captain nod and turn to accompany his helmsman, he spoke up before his Captain left and closed his ear to his words, “But I will say this, sir. It was unnatural, evil in its purest form. Krieger is dead, his servants scampered off with no leader after the fight. Francis told me of one thing, though.”

“And what is this thing, my friend?” Alaire said, clasping his hands behind his back and turning around to look at his friend.

“A library of knowledge not known to most. They might bear secrets that our King Hilaire might like to know. Or Leo-”

“I do not speak of Mister Leo on my ship, Mister Adalard,” Alaire snapped, throwing up a hand to quiet his friend before continuing like nothing had occurred, “Knowledge, you say? The Synod may pay a great deal for knowledge, but only if they do not already possess it. The College of Whispers would pay double for it, if only to keep it out of the hands of the Synod, those petty fools.”

“[i]Rich[/i] petty fools, sir,” Adalard added, “There was something else he saw, as well, Captain.”

“Well, tell me.” Alaire spoke.

“A huge statue. A golem, maybe, like in the old tales of Tiber or the Nerevarine.” Adalard near whispered.

Alaire stood in silent contemplation at those words, the cogs of his mind visibly turning. This was news that was definitely worth telling. If he decided to bury the hatchet and send a letter to Leo, the two could be rich if they found anything of use in Krieger’s library. If Francis was telling the truth about this golem, well… Who knew what could come of it?

“Thank you, Mister Adalard. Tell the men to get wind in our sails and set course for Northpoint. I’m going to see an old friend.” Alaire ordered as he walked towards the helm.

“Sir, we’ve been away from home for two years. Our boots haven’t graced the streets of Wayrest for a longer time than I, or the men, would have liked.” Adalard pleaded.

“You are a sailor, Adalard, our life is at sea. As your [i]Captain, not your friend,[/i] I command you to order our men to get this ship underway and sail a few weeks more.” Alaire said more sternly and with none of the friendly tone he had moments before.

Adalard frowned deeply for a moment before sighing as he narrowed his eyes at his friend’s back. He turned towards the crew and bellowed out his orders to them, “Standby to wear ship!”, and the crew went to work furling the trysail. Shanties once again filled the air around the ship as it came alive with the sounds of the men singing and the officers giving out orders to the crew as they rushed about on the topdeck. Gradually, the orders were cried and carried out and the [i]Golden Gale[/i] would sail northwards.