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The Shezarrine - a Skyrim story
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The Shezarrine - a Skyrim story
by Wotan Wed May 06, 2020 12:24 am
First topic message reminder :
Welcome to the wonderful world of TES Skyrim. You know it by now, click the thumbnail to view the full-size screenhot and click the link to view the hidden screenshot I can't have displaued here. Have fun and enjoy the story. Let us begin...
My name is Bronkah Dovahkiir. This is my story. It Begins where it might have ended -- if fate had not intervened...
The Imperials had caught Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm and leader of the rebellion. The civil war could have ebded this day. But the black dragon had other ideas...
Here we were on the road to Helgen, to our execution and on to Sovngarde...
"Sic transit gloria Imperii - So passes the glory of the Empire", I thought to myself.
I was called up to the block after the brave Stormcloak Soldier. But then, out of seemingly nowhere...
The dragon saved my Life, but I was far from safe yet...
I followed Ralof, the Stormcloak Soldier into the keep...
We made it out together. Now we were on the road to the village of Riverwood...
Welcome to the wonderful world of TES Skyrim. You know it by now, click the thumbnail to view the full-size screenhot and click the link to view the hidden screenshot I can't have displaued here. Have fun and enjoy the story. Let us begin...
My name is Bronkah Dovahkiir. This is my story. It Begins where it might have ended -- if fate had not intervened...
The Imperials had caught Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm and leader of the rebellion. The civil war could have ebded this day. But the black dragon had other ideas...
Here we were on the road to Helgen, to our execution and on to Sovngarde...
"Sic transit gloria Imperii - So passes the glory of the Empire", I thought to myself.
I was called up to the block after the brave Stormcloak Soldier. But then, out of seemingly nowhere...
The dragon saved my Life, but I was far from safe yet...
I followed Ralof, the Stormcloak Soldier into the keep...
We made it out together. Now we were on the road to the village of Riverwood...
_________________
Nemo sine vitio est.
Wotan- Posts : 3378
Join date : 2020-04-27
Age : 58
Location : Danderyd / Sweden
Re: The Shezarrine - a Skyrim story
by Wotan Wed May 06, 2020 6:16 pm
https://ibb.co/vzz5Dpw
"Look, Papa! I made a new friend," Lucia said. "A fox?" "Coul I keep him? Please?" she said. I looked at Vilja, then at my adoptive daughter. I just couldn't resist those big, pleading eyes looking at me. "All right. But you're responsible for him," I said. "You're the best! Thanks!"
"I'm just a bit curious. Tell me, when did you realize that I was more than a friend to you... that you were in love with me?" Vilja said. "It was love at first sight... well, almost," I said. "It was? Oh... I had no idea! To be honest, at that point I was worried that you just saw me as a burden you wanted to get rid of as soon as possible. But then you helped me find Eldergleam Sanctuary... and to find all the ingredients. And you helped me get my flute back. I realized that you were a real friend, and that maybe you actually... cared for me. I couldn't imagine that you were in love with me, though. And at that point. I don't think I was in love with you, either. Strangely, I think it started to dawn on me when we met Halvdan in Riften. I looked at him, and he was everything I did NOT want. And then I looked at you..." "Yes...?" "I looked at you... and it was like I saw you for the first time. Your beautiful eyes, the warmth of your smile. And I realized that not all Nord men are like Halvdan... that they can also be tender, caring and loveable, like you... That evening, I couldn't stop looking at you, wondering what it would be like to be loved by you. But I didn't expect that you would feel the same," she said. "So that was when you realized you loved me?" "No... not really. I knew that you were special to me, that you meant more to me than anyone else. And I also knew that I found you very attractive. But I was still mistaking it for friendship. I think it was only when Wilbert suggested that I should come with him yo Cyrodiil that this might be more than so... You see, it didn't matter that I had dreamed of becoming a bard... suddenly, all that mattered was that I wanted to stay here, with you... And I was so happy when you asked me not to leave." "I never thought of asking you to leave!" I said. "I'm so glad for this. And I hope you have never regretted that you asked me to stay, either." "Of course I am happy that you are here!" "Good... because if you didn't want me around, I surely wouldn't stay," Vilja said.
https://ibb.co/nQ9r1kp
"You know, I'm really proud of that Wolfcry armour I made for you. I was just thinking... Wouldn't it be nice if we had one outfit each?" Vilja said. "Lovely idea!" I said. "Yes, I just knew you would say so! So, if you get me some more wolf pelts, I'll make another outfit, for me. And, you know what? If you could give me say ten wolf pelts, I think I could make some extra things for us both. You know, boots and stuff," she said.
I went hunting with Leifur...
https://ibb.co/SP9k3VB
Vilja displayed remarkable skill again, not just in the speed she finished the outfits but in the quality as well. I would just need to do some minor work on them to make everything perfect. Later, that evening, Vilja went into labor...
https://ibb.co/0MndKMD
Poor girl, she was so exhausted that she fell asleep.
An Explorer's Guide to Skyrim by Marcius Carvain, Viscount Bruma
Far too often, noble visitors from Cyrodiil see little more of Skyrim than the view from their carriage. To be sure, this coarse, uncivilized province is far from hospitable, but it is also a place of fierce, wild beauty, with grand vistas and inspiring natural wonders awaiting those with the will to seek them out and the refinement to truly appreciate them. If you are of a mind to see Skyrim for yourself, I recommend beginning your adventure as I did, by seeking out Stones of Fate.
No doubt you are taken aback by the name, as I once was. The provincials and village folk have all manner of dark tales about these ancient monuments. Stories of necromantic rituals and fell spirits, of great and terrible powers conferred on any who dare to touch them.
The stories are, as Jarl Igrof once told me, "A load of mammoth dung." A bit uncouth, but you get the point.
To be sure, keep your guards with you at all times - brigands and wild animals are never to be taken lightly. But the stones themselves are nothing to fear. Quite the contrary, their proximity to cities and roads makes them ideal destinations for the novice explorer, and many boast spectacular views that make the journey well worth the effort.
To whet your appetite, here are four such locations:
Most travelers enter Skyrim by way of Helgen, "Gateway to the North." If you find yourself in this backwater hovel, consider taking an afternoon's ride to the north, keeping to the road as it winds down the cliffs at the eastern end of Lake Ilinalta. Just off the path, on a small bluff, lie the three Guardian Stones, the greatest concentration of standing stones in all Skyrim. The view of the lake here at sunset is simply sublime.
Visitors from Cheydinhal will pass through Riften, city of intrigue and larceny since Tiber Septim's day. If you seek adventure in the Rift, leave the city by the southern gate and cast your gaze upon the bluff that rises to the south. Atop it sits the Shadow Stone, a fitting symbol for the city of thieves.
Whiterun is the heart of Skyrim, its towering palace rivaling even the great castles of Cyrodiil. But should you tire of the Jarl's hospitality, another adventure awaits a few hours to the east of the city, along the road that rises above White River Gorge. The Ritual Stone can be found atop the lone hill that rises on the north side of the road, set into an ancient monument. Take time to soak in the incredible view of Whiterun, the tundra, and the gorge from this unique spot.
More seasoned explorers may wish to visit Markarth, the ancient city of stone far to the west. The recent Forsworn Rebellion has made travel in the Reach perilous, but for those determined to seek adventure no matter the cost, another stone can be found to the east of the city, perched on the mountain above Kolskeggr Mine. Though the climb is difficult, reaching the summit is a milestone any explorer could be proud of.
There are other Stones of Fate to be found in Skyrim - I myself have seen several more, perched on the most remote mountain peaks, or wreathed in fog amid the northern marshes. But the true joy of exploration is in the discovery, and so I leave the rest to you. May the Eight guide your steps.
https://ibb.co/dLhQ5rX
It was early morning when our daughter was born. Vilja didn't waste any time to begin cleaning the house.
"Look, Papa! I made a new friend," Lucia said. "A fox?" "Coul I keep him? Please?" she said. I looked at Vilja, then at my adoptive daughter. I just couldn't resist those big, pleading eyes looking at me. "All right. But you're responsible for him," I said. "You're the best! Thanks!"
"I'm just a bit curious. Tell me, when did you realize that I was more than a friend to you... that you were in love with me?" Vilja said. "It was love at first sight... well, almost," I said. "It was? Oh... I had no idea! To be honest, at that point I was worried that you just saw me as a burden you wanted to get rid of as soon as possible. But then you helped me find Eldergleam Sanctuary... and to find all the ingredients. And you helped me get my flute back. I realized that you were a real friend, and that maybe you actually... cared for me. I couldn't imagine that you were in love with me, though. And at that point. I don't think I was in love with you, either. Strangely, I think it started to dawn on me when we met Halvdan in Riften. I looked at him, and he was everything I did NOT want. And then I looked at you..." "Yes...?" "I looked at you... and it was like I saw you for the first time. Your beautiful eyes, the warmth of your smile. And I realized that not all Nord men are like Halvdan... that they can also be tender, caring and loveable, like you... That evening, I couldn't stop looking at you, wondering what it would be like to be loved by you. But I didn't expect that you would feel the same," she said. "So that was when you realized you loved me?" "No... not really. I knew that you were special to me, that you meant more to me than anyone else. And I also knew that I found you very attractive. But I was still mistaking it for friendship. I think it was only when Wilbert suggested that I should come with him yo Cyrodiil that this might be more than so... You see, it didn't matter that I had dreamed of becoming a bard... suddenly, all that mattered was that I wanted to stay here, with you... And I was so happy when you asked me not to leave." "I never thought of asking you to leave!" I said. "I'm so glad for this. And I hope you have never regretted that you asked me to stay, either." "Of course I am happy that you are here!" "Good... because if you didn't want me around, I surely wouldn't stay," Vilja said.
https://ibb.co/nQ9r1kp
"You know, I'm really proud of that Wolfcry armour I made for you. I was just thinking... Wouldn't it be nice if we had one outfit each?" Vilja said. "Lovely idea!" I said. "Yes, I just knew you would say so! So, if you get me some more wolf pelts, I'll make another outfit, for me. And, you know what? If you could give me say ten wolf pelts, I think I could make some extra things for us both. You know, boots and stuff," she said.
I went hunting with Leifur...
https://ibb.co/SP9k3VB
Vilja displayed remarkable skill again, not just in the speed she finished the outfits but in the quality as well. I would just need to do some minor work on them to make everything perfect. Later, that evening, Vilja went into labor...
https://ibb.co/0MndKMD
Poor girl, she was so exhausted that she fell asleep.
An Explorer's Guide to Skyrim by Marcius Carvain, Viscount Bruma
Far too often, noble visitors from Cyrodiil see little more of Skyrim than the view from their carriage. To be sure, this coarse, uncivilized province is far from hospitable, but it is also a place of fierce, wild beauty, with grand vistas and inspiring natural wonders awaiting those with the will to seek them out and the refinement to truly appreciate them. If you are of a mind to see Skyrim for yourself, I recommend beginning your adventure as I did, by seeking out Stones of Fate.
No doubt you are taken aback by the name, as I once was. The provincials and village folk have all manner of dark tales about these ancient monuments. Stories of necromantic rituals and fell spirits, of great and terrible powers conferred on any who dare to touch them.
The stories are, as Jarl Igrof once told me, "A load of mammoth dung." A bit uncouth, but you get the point.
To be sure, keep your guards with you at all times - brigands and wild animals are never to be taken lightly. But the stones themselves are nothing to fear. Quite the contrary, their proximity to cities and roads makes them ideal destinations for the novice explorer, and many boast spectacular views that make the journey well worth the effort.
To whet your appetite, here are four such locations:
Most travelers enter Skyrim by way of Helgen, "Gateway to the North." If you find yourself in this backwater hovel, consider taking an afternoon's ride to the north, keeping to the road as it winds down the cliffs at the eastern end of Lake Ilinalta. Just off the path, on a small bluff, lie the three Guardian Stones, the greatest concentration of standing stones in all Skyrim. The view of the lake here at sunset is simply sublime.
Visitors from Cheydinhal will pass through Riften, city of intrigue and larceny since Tiber Septim's day. If you seek adventure in the Rift, leave the city by the southern gate and cast your gaze upon the bluff that rises to the south. Atop it sits the Shadow Stone, a fitting symbol for the city of thieves.
Whiterun is the heart of Skyrim, its towering palace rivaling even the great castles of Cyrodiil. But should you tire of the Jarl's hospitality, another adventure awaits a few hours to the east of the city, along the road that rises above White River Gorge. The Ritual Stone can be found atop the lone hill that rises on the north side of the road, set into an ancient monument. Take time to soak in the incredible view of Whiterun, the tundra, and the gorge from this unique spot.
More seasoned explorers may wish to visit Markarth, the ancient city of stone far to the west. The recent Forsworn Rebellion has made travel in the Reach perilous, but for those determined to seek adventure no matter the cost, another stone can be found to the east of the city, perched on the mountain above Kolskeggr Mine. Though the climb is difficult, reaching the summit is a milestone any explorer could be proud of.
There are other Stones of Fate to be found in Skyrim - I myself have seen several more, perched on the most remote mountain peaks, or wreathed in fog amid the northern marshes. But the true joy of exploration is in the discovery, and so I leave the rest to you. May the Eight guide your steps.
https://ibb.co/dLhQ5rX
It was early morning when our daughter was born. Vilja didn't waste any time to begin cleaning the house.
_________________
Nemo sine vitio est.
Wotan- Posts : 3378
Join date : 2020-04-27
Age : 58
Location : Danderyd / Sweden
Re: The Shezarrine - a Skyrim story
by Wotan Wed May 06, 2020 6:20 pm
Mimi grew quickly, she learned her first spell sooner than my other children.
I had to make an outfit for Mimi... but this day we had some skeevers invading our basement. Lucia likes to come down here and train, too.
Ingredient Classification 1: Rodent Parts by Gargrell Sorick
The fact that one of my Reachman ancestors, Mandaillonan the Marked, was among the first herbalists to accurately brew and successfully extract the beneficial qualities of a rodent instills me with a great sense of pride. This is tempered by her subsequent transformation into a hagraven, and death by Nord axe, but I still boil rodent toes with the knowledge that her concoctions and extracts revealed the finer qualities of vermin. For now, any bile rat or skeever may provide a gift in addition to inferior meat and disease.
Whether you're capturing these pests using traps or a sniffing dog, or hunting them in the wild, any large rodent of Tamriel provides the necessary ingredients for potion creation. Preparation is important, as is the size of your parts; larger skeever parts allow the alchemist to distill more drink than their smaller rat cousins. Although obvious to a simpleton, is is important to administer a swift killing blow before receiving a scratch or a bite, or you may be using your own prey to brew cures to black-heart blight or the droops.
Slicing at the correct point in a rodent's anatomy greatly increases the potency of (and payment for) each part. After death, with the vermin still twitching, sever the ears at the base, digging your knife behind the skull to save as much flapping skin as possible. Slice the feet cleanly off, as this makes rodent toes easier to carry and lessens rotting time. Don't pluck individual whiskers; instead, cut through and skin up and around the nose to keep as many of them intact as possible.
Rodent Ears
The hairless ears of a rat or skeever, individually cut from the skull quickly, just after death.
Proven Benefits (in Alchemy):
Fortifies your spell casting and constitution.
Bolsters your armor while combat rages and your prowess while wounding a foe through armor.
Conjures a protective ward and a mystic bolt to penetrate the enemy.
Conjures a protective ward and a magical immunity about your being.
Rodent Whiskers
The thick black strands form the snout of a rodent, wiry and still rooted to the face.
Proven Benefits (in Alchemy):
Fortifies your vitality and your spell casting.
Bolsters your armor and the damage you inflict while combat rages.
Conjures a protective ward, a mystic bolt to penetrate the enemy, and a magical immunity about your being.-Augments your abilities to move with the shadows and your senses to spot those silently creeping.
Rodent Toes
Carefully cut feet, allowing individual toes to be separated later as increases in potency are needed.
Proven Benefits (in Alchemy):
Fortifies your vitality and your constitution.
Fortifies your vitality, your spell casting, and your constitution.
Bolsters your prowess while wounding a foe through armor and the damage you inflict.
Bolsters your armor while combat rages, your prowess while wounding a foe through armor, and the damage you inflict.
Dragonstead still had a few secrets - for instance the hidden armoury. I showed it to Vilja, Mirai and my girls. It seemed to impres them, though the Place was mostly empty. It would take quite some work to fill it with weapons and armour.
https://ibb.co/L56GRg8 https://ibb.co/mX08Z8j
Of course, a good Life cannot just be toil and work. Lakeview is the perfect place where my family can relax. The little girls swim like fish. It's really just Mirai who has a problem, she's not a good swimmer, but she likes the relaxing bath. I told her not to worry about it, there is no need for her to know how to dive. Skyrim's Waters are too cold for her anyway.
_________________
Nemo sine vitio est.
Wotan- Posts : 3378
Join date : 2020-04-27
Age : 58
Location : Danderyd / Sweden
Re: The Shezarrine - a Skyrim story
by Wotan Wed May 06, 2020 6:27 pm
It was time to seek out the next book of chants. It was South of our home in Falkreath Hold...
It was the first time Mimi saw a dragon. She was quite impressed by her Daddy jumping on the wyrm's neck and whacking it on the head with his axe. My little daughter was even more in awe when I absorbed the dragon's soul and told her she could already do the same.
Our destination lay in the Mountains - Bloodlet Throne...
The girls were given quite a fright when one of the statues suddenly burst to Life - a gargoyle, evidence that we were indeed in a vampire lair.
Incident in Necrom by Jonquilla Bothe
"The situation simply is this," said Phlaxith, his face as chiseled and resolute as any statue. "Everyone knows that the cemetery west of the city is haunted by some malevolent beings, and has been for many years now. The people have come to accept it. They bury their dead by daylight, and are away before Masser and Secunda have risen and the evil comes forth. The only victims to fall prey to the devils within are the very stupid and the outsiders."
"It sounds like a natural solution to filtering out the undesirables then," laughed Nitrah, a tall, middle-aged woman with cold eyes and thin lips. "Where is the gold in saving them?"
"From the Temple. They're re-opening a new monastery near the cemetery, and they need the land cleansed of evil. They're offering a fortune, so I accepted the assignment with the caveat that I could assemble my own team to split the reward. That's why I've sought you each out. From what I've heard, you, Nitrah, are the best bladesman in Morrowind."
Nitrah smiled her unpleasant best.
"And you, Osmic, are a renowned burglar, though never once imprisoned."
The bald-pated young man stammered as if to refute the charges, before grinning back, "I'll get you in where you need to go. But then it's up to you to do what you need to do. I'm no combatter."
"Anything Nitrah and I can't handle, I'm sure Massitha will prove her mettle," Phlaxith said, turning to the fourth member of the party. "She comes on very good references as a sorceress of great power and skill."
Massitha was the picture of innocence, round-faced and wide-eyed. Nitrah and Osmic looked at her uncertainly, particularly watching her fearful expressions as Phlaxith described the nature of the creatures haunting the cemetery. It was obvious she had never faced any adversary other than man and mer before. If she survived, they thought to themselves, it would be very surprising.
As the foursome trudged toward the graveyard at dusk, they took the opportunity to quiz their new teammate.
"Vampires are filthy creatures," said Nitrah. "Disease-ridden, you know. They say off to the west, they'll indiscriminately pass on their curse together with a number of other afflictions. They don't do that here so much, but still you don't want to leave their wounds untreated. I take it you know something of the spells of Restoration if one of us gets bit?"
"I know a little, but I'm no Healer," said Massitha meekly.
"More of a Battlemage?" asked Osmic.
"I can do a little damage if I'm really close, but I'm not very good at that either. I'm more of an illusionist, technically."
Nitrah and Osmic looked at one another with naked concern as they reached the gates of the graveyard. There were moving shadows, stray specters among the wrack and ruins, crumbled paths stacked on top of crumbled paths. It wasn't a maze of a place; it could have been any dilapidated graveyard but even without looking at the tombstones, it did have one very noticeable feature. Filling the horizon was the mausoleum of a minor Cyrodilic official from the 2nd Era, slightly exotic but still harmonizing with the Dunmer graves in a complimentary style called decay.
"It's a surprisingly useful School," whispered Massitha defensively. "You see, it's all concerned with magicka's ability to alter the perception of objects without changing their physical compositions. Removing sensual data, for example, to cast darkness or remove sound or smell from the air. It can help by--"
A red-haired vampire woman leapt out of the shadows in front of them, knocking Phlaxith on his back. Nitrah quickly unsheathed her sword, but Massitha was faster. With a wave of her hand, the creature stopped, frozen, her jaws scant inches from Phlaxith's throat. Phlaxith pulled out his own blade and finished her off.
"That's illusion?" asked Osmic.
"Certainly," smiled Massitha. "Nothing changed in the vampire's form, except its ability to move. Like I said, it's a very useful School."
The four climbed up over the paths to the front gateway to the crypt. Osmic snapped the lock and disassembled the poison trap. The sorceress cast a wave of light down the dust-choked corridors, banishing the shadows and drawing the inhabitants out. Almost immediately they were set on by a pair of vampires, howling and screaming in a frenzy of bloodlust.
The battle was joined, so no sooner were the first two vampires felled than their reinforcements attacked. They were mighty warriors of uncanny strength and endurance, but Massitha's paralysis spell and the weaponry of Phlaxith and Nitrah clove through their ranks. Even Osmic aided the battle.
"They're crazy," gasped Massitha when the fight finally ended and she could catch her breath.
"Quarra, the most savage of the vampire bloodlines," said Phlaxith. "We have to find and exterminate each and every one."
Delving into the crypts, the group hounded out more of the creatures. Though they varied in appearance, each seemed to rely on their strength and claws for attacking, and subtlety did not seem to be the style of any. When the entire mausoleum had been searched and every creature within destroyed, the four finally made their way to the surface. It was only an hour until sunrise.
There was no frenzied scream or howl. Nothing rushed forward towards them. The final attack when it happened was so unlike the others that the questors were taken utterly by surprise.
The ancient creature waited until the four were almost out of the cemetery, talking amiably, making plans for spending their share of the reward. He judged carefully who would be the greatest threat, and then launched himself at the sorceress. Had Phlaxith not turned his attention back from the gate, she would have been ripped to shreds before she had a chance to scream.
The vampire knocked Massitha across a stone, its claws raking across her back, but stopped its assault in order to block a blow from Phlaxith's sword. It accomplished this maneuver in its own brutal way, by tearing the warrior's arm from its socket. Osmic and Nitrah set on it, but they found themselves in a losing battle. Only when Massitha had pulled herself back up from behind the pile of rocks, weak and bleeding, that the fight turned. She cast a magickal ball of flame at the creature, which so enraged it that it turned back to her. Nitrah saw her opening and took it, beheading the vampire with a stroke of her sword.
"So you do know some spells of destruction, like you said," said Nitrah.
"And a few spells of healing too," she said weakly. "But I can't save Phlaxith."
The warrior died in the bloodied dust before them. The three were quiet as they traveled across the dawn-lit countryside back toward Necrom. Massitha felt the throb of pain on her back intensify as they walked and then a gradual numbness like ice spread through her body.
"I need to go to a healer and see if I've been diseased," she said as they reached the city.
"Meet us at the Moth and Fire tomorrow morning," said Nitrah. "We'll go to the Temple and get our reward and split it there."
Three hours later, Osmic and Nitrah sat in their room at the tavern, happily counting and recounting the gold marks. Split three ways, it was a very comfortable sum.
"What if the healers can't do anything for Massitha?" smiled Osmic dreamily. "Some diseases can be insidious."
"Did you hear something in the hall?" asked Nitrah quickly, but when she looked, there was no one there. She returned, shutting the door behind her. "I'm sure Massitha will survive if she went straight to the healer. But we could leave tonight with the gold."
"Let's have one last drink to our poor sorceress," said Osmic, leading Nitrah out of the room toward the stairs down.
Nitrah laughed. "Those spells of illusion won't help her track us down, as useful as she keeps saying they are. Paralysis, light, silence -- not so good when you don't know where to look."
They closed the door behind them.
"Invisibility is another spell of illusion," said Massitha's disembodied voice. The gold on the table rose in the air and vanished from sight as she slipped it into her purse. The door again opened and closed, and all was silent until Osmic and Nitrah returned a few minutes later.
It was the first time Mimi saw a dragon. She was quite impressed by her Daddy jumping on the wyrm's neck and whacking it on the head with his axe. My little daughter was even more in awe when I absorbed the dragon's soul and told her she could already do the same.
Our destination lay in the Mountains - Bloodlet Throne...
The girls were given quite a fright when one of the statues suddenly burst to Life - a gargoyle, evidence that we were indeed in a vampire lair.
Incident in Necrom by Jonquilla Bothe
"The situation simply is this," said Phlaxith, his face as chiseled and resolute as any statue. "Everyone knows that the cemetery west of the city is haunted by some malevolent beings, and has been for many years now. The people have come to accept it. They bury their dead by daylight, and are away before Masser and Secunda have risen and the evil comes forth. The only victims to fall prey to the devils within are the very stupid and the outsiders."
"It sounds like a natural solution to filtering out the undesirables then," laughed Nitrah, a tall, middle-aged woman with cold eyes and thin lips. "Where is the gold in saving them?"
"From the Temple. They're re-opening a new monastery near the cemetery, and they need the land cleansed of evil. They're offering a fortune, so I accepted the assignment with the caveat that I could assemble my own team to split the reward. That's why I've sought you each out. From what I've heard, you, Nitrah, are the best bladesman in Morrowind."
Nitrah smiled her unpleasant best.
"And you, Osmic, are a renowned burglar, though never once imprisoned."
The bald-pated young man stammered as if to refute the charges, before grinning back, "I'll get you in where you need to go. But then it's up to you to do what you need to do. I'm no combatter."
"Anything Nitrah and I can't handle, I'm sure Massitha will prove her mettle," Phlaxith said, turning to the fourth member of the party. "She comes on very good references as a sorceress of great power and skill."
Massitha was the picture of innocence, round-faced and wide-eyed. Nitrah and Osmic looked at her uncertainly, particularly watching her fearful expressions as Phlaxith described the nature of the creatures haunting the cemetery. It was obvious she had never faced any adversary other than man and mer before. If she survived, they thought to themselves, it would be very surprising.
As the foursome trudged toward the graveyard at dusk, they took the opportunity to quiz their new teammate.
"Vampires are filthy creatures," said Nitrah. "Disease-ridden, you know. They say off to the west, they'll indiscriminately pass on their curse together with a number of other afflictions. They don't do that here so much, but still you don't want to leave their wounds untreated. I take it you know something of the spells of Restoration if one of us gets bit?"
"I know a little, but I'm no Healer," said Massitha meekly.
"More of a Battlemage?" asked Osmic.
"I can do a little damage if I'm really close, but I'm not very good at that either. I'm more of an illusionist, technically."
Nitrah and Osmic looked at one another with naked concern as they reached the gates of the graveyard. There were moving shadows, stray specters among the wrack and ruins, crumbled paths stacked on top of crumbled paths. It wasn't a maze of a place; it could have been any dilapidated graveyard but even without looking at the tombstones, it did have one very noticeable feature. Filling the horizon was the mausoleum of a minor Cyrodilic official from the 2nd Era, slightly exotic but still harmonizing with the Dunmer graves in a complimentary style called decay.
"It's a surprisingly useful School," whispered Massitha defensively. "You see, it's all concerned with magicka's ability to alter the perception of objects without changing their physical compositions. Removing sensual data, for example, to cast darkness or remove sound or smell from the air. It can help by--"
A red-haired vampire woman leapt out of the shadows in front of them, knocking Phlaxith on his back. Nitrah quickly unsheathed her sword, but Massitha was faster. With a wave of her hand, the creature stopped, frozen, her jaws scant inches from Phlaxith's throat. Phlaxith pulled out his own blade and finished her off.
"That's illusion?" asked Osmic.
"Certainly," smiled Massitha. "Nothing changed in the vampire's form, except its ability to move. Like I said, it's a very useful School."
The four climbed up over the paths to the front gateway to the crypt. Osmic snapped the lock and disassembled the poison trap. The sorceress cast a wave of light down the dust-choked corridors, banishing the shadows and drawing the inhabitants out. Almost immediately they were set on by a pair of vampires, howling and screaming in a frenzy of bloodlust.
The battle was joined, so no sooner were the first two vampires felled than their reinforcements attacked. They were mighty warriors of uncanny strength and endurance, but Massitha's paralysis spell and the weaponry of Phlaxith and Nitrah clove through their ranks. Even Osmic aided the battle.
"They're crazy," gasped Massitha when the fight finally ended and she could catch her breath.
"Quarra, the most savage of the vampire bloodlines," said Phlaxith. "We have to find and exterminate each and every one."
Delving into the crypts, the group hounded out more of the creatures. Though they varied in appearance, each seemed to rely on their strength and claws for attacking, and subtlety did not seem to be the style of any. When the entire mausoleum had been searched and every creature within destroyed, the four finally made their way to the surface. It was only an hour until sunrise.
There was no frenzied scream or howl. Nothing rushed forward towards them. The final attack when it happened was so unlike the others that the questors were taken utterly by surprise.
The ancient creature waited until the four were almost out of the cemetery, talking amiably, making plans for spending their share of the reward. He judged carefully who would be the greatest threat, and then launched himself at the sorceress. Had Phlaxith not turned his attention back from the gate, she would have been ripped to shreds before she had a chance to scream.
The vampire knocked Massitha across a stone, its claws raking across her back, but stopped its assault in order to block a blow from Phlaxith's sword. It accomplished this maneuver in its own brutal way, by tearing the warrior's arm from its socket. Osmic and Nitrah set on it, but they found themselves in a losing battle. Only when Massitha had pulled herself back up from behind the pile of rocks, weak and bleeding, that the fight turned. She cast a magickal ball of flame at the creature, which so enraged it that it turned back to her. Nitrah saw her opening and took it, beheading the vampire with a stroke of her sword.
"So you do know some spells of destruction, like you said," said Nitrah.
"And a few spells of healing too," she said weakly. "But I can't save Phlaxith."
The warrior died in the bloodied dust before them. The three were quiet as they traveled across the dawn-lit countryside back toward Necrom. Massitha felt the throb of pain on her back intensify as they walked and then a gradual numbness like ice spread through her body.
"I need to go to a healer and see if I've been diseased," she said as they reached the city.
"Meet us at the Moth and Fire tomorrow morning," said Nitrah. "We'll go to the Temple and get our reward and split it there."
Three hours later, Osmic and Nitrah sat in their room at the tavern, happily counting and recounting the gold marks. Split three ways, it was a very comfortable sum.
"What if the healers can't do anything for Massitha?" smiled Osmic dreamily. "Some diseases can be insidious."
"Did you hear something in the hall?" asked Nitrah quickly, but when she looked, there was no one there. She returned, shutting the door behind her. "I'm sure Massitha will survive if she went straight to the healer. But we could leave tonight with the gold."
"Let's have one last drink to our poor sorceress," said Osmic, leading Nitrah out of the room toward the stairs down.
Nitrah laughed. "Those spells of illusion won't help her track us down, as useful as she keeps saying they are. Paralysis, light, silence -- not so good when you don't know where to look."
They closed the door behind them.
"Invisibility is another spell of illusion," said Massitha's disembodied voice. The gold on the table rose in the air and vanished from sight as she slipped it into her purse. The door again opened and closed, and all was silent until Osmic and Nitrah returned a few minutes later.
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Re: The Shezarrine - a Skyrim story
by Wotan Wed May 06, 2020 6:41 pm
We delved deeper into the enemy stronghold...
…and finally, we encountered the vampires themselves.
The spells crackled in the chill air as we slaughtered the undead vermin. And finally, I found the book we were looking for.
Confessions of a Vampire Devotee
I first heard about the vampire lord Zalar-do while exploring the markets of Elden Root. The stories both fascinated and frightened me. Here was a Khajiit who had gained power and notoriety, whose very name was whispered with fear and a healthy dose of respect. I admit it. I had been pondering the risks and benefits of life as a vampire ever since I was a child. Now, with each tale I heard, every rumor I digested, I realized the goal that was set before me.
I had to find Zalar-do and convince her to turn me into a vampire.
Why do I want to be a vampire? That's a good question. I've certainly asked myself that very same thing on more than one occasion since this obsession grabbed hold of me. I suppose it has something to do with the allure of power and the correlation between vampirism and sex that some scholars go on and on about (yes, I've read every book and letter I could find pertaining to the subject). But if I can be totally honest - and since this is my private journal, I suppose I have to be - the real appeal has to do with the longevity of the species. I've read that ancients can survive hundreds, even thousands of years. As a child who saw both of his parents die much too young, this "immortality" has become a very attractive option to me.
I'm not extremely keen on the idea of drinking blood, however, but I suppose every advantage comes with its own set of disadvantages. Such is the way of the world. I might be squeamish at first, though I expect with time and practice I could even grow to enjoy a daily feast of the crimson liquid. I wonder if it needs to come from an intelligent creature? Or if it has to be fresh? I guess that's what the protruding fangs are for.
Before I could locate Zalar-do's lair or otherwise introduce myself to the vampire lord, the hunter Mel Andrys appeared in town. He asked about disappearances and mysterious deaths, and he even mentioned Zalar-do by name while I eavesdropped on his conversation with one of the town guards. He was going to ruin my chance to meet and offer myself as an apprentice to the vampire lord. I followed the hunter around, watching how he searched for traces of Zalar-do's passing and tracked her to her lair. It was empty, of course. She was much too smart to be caught by the likes of Mel Andrys.
I spent the next few months staying as close to the vampire hunter as I could without revealing my presence. I figured that he'd have a better chance of locating Zalar-do than I would, and once we got close to the vampire lord I was sure I'd be able to figure out how to help her avoid Mel Andrys and convince her to reward me with the power of the vampire. It was this dream that kept me moving, following the hunter from Grahtwood to Greenshade to Malabal Tor, until we eventually made our way to the Gold Coast.
Here, luck was with me. The vampire hunter was indisposed after we docked in Anvil. The rough storm our ship traveled through seems to have made the poor man ill. That gave me time to search for Zalar-do and get a few steps ahead of Mel Andrys. I believe that she has established her lair in Hrota Cave.- the perfect location from which to stalk prey in Anvil when the hunger comes upon her. I've made my way to the cave and plan to present myself to the vampire lord forthwith. I can't wait to become one of her apprentices!
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Re: The Shezarrine - a Skyrim story
by Wotan Wed May 06, 2020 6:45 pm
"I see that you have found the next Book of Chants. Once again you have done well! As I promised. the College has decided to reward you for each book you find. I hope you will find this sufficient for now. There is more to come. I have some good news about the first book you found. We have done some tests, and it appears the chants are working. Who knows, maybe Vilja will not only be able to join the College, but also be one of the first members to actually learn these ancient bard chants. But first, there are more books you need to find. Are you still willing to help her?" Wilbert said. I nodded in acknowledgement. "Good! I knew you wouldn't let Vilja down. I'll mark the location on your map. Good luck!" he said. "Oh, this will be fun! Shall we start searching for that book immediately?" Vilja said.
https://ibb.co/d59ZYxL
I wasn't in any rush to find that book - I still had not taken a bath since we left Bloodlet Throne...
But you can't relax for long when you have two adventurous girls like Haspina and Mimi. They kept nagging me about helping Vilja finding the third book for Wilbert. The rest was nice as long as it lasted, but now it was time to go back to questing...
Halldir's Cairn, here we come...
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Re: The Shezarrine - a Skyrim story
by Wotan Wed May 06, 2020 6:52 pm
We entered Halldir's Cairn...
There lay Agrius's Journal:
Never thought I'd see the day we were run out of the Knifepoint Gang. Least the storm should cover our tracks. Vidgrod, Raen, and I took shelter in a cave for the night. Looks like there's an old ruin here. Least there are no Draugr around.
Vidgrod and Raen both want to set up here for a while, maybe do some raiding. They ought to know better- the road's deserted, especially this time of year. Plenty of better places up north. But they seem awfully insistent about staying here. Wouldn't even lend a hand when I went out to hunt tonight.
Something's wrong. Raen hasn't said a word since she woke up this morning, just keeps staring off into space. Vidgrod isn't much better. They sick? Not like any illness I ever heard of. I'd just walk out on them, but I can't seem to get up the nerve. I feel like something's holding me back. What is this place?
We're not alone. I can hear him now. Someone, speaking in my mind. Old. Powerful. Halldir, that's the name. He wants something from us. Needs us to stay for the magic to work. I tried to run, can't. Just like them.
Raen jumped first. Onto the cairn. That's what Master wants - blood, sacrifice, power to live again. His magic, I can feel it pulsing in my blood. He's draining us. We'll serve him soon, our bodies, our souls. Just like the others. They're waiting. It's my turn.
The Draugr tried to stop us...
We even encountered ghosts. But at last we found the book we were looking for, hidden in an old chest.
I was briefly trapped with the draugr when the portcullis closed behind me. But the undead couldn't beat me, my team could still fire arrows at them from the other side of the shut gate. The gate opened automatically again as soon as all the draugr were slain.
Amongst the Draugr by Bernadette Bantien, College of Winterhold
It wasn't until my seventh month with the creatures that they seemed to accept me. Well, "accept" isn't really the proper word, but they seemed to have decided that I posed no threat to them and gradually ceased their attacks. Though more than capable of fending them off (a combination of fire and turning spells are generally sufficient), I admit that I tired of having to be ever vigilant in their presence.
I'll never know whether there was some sort of agreement communicated among them, for the only utterances they make seem to be in that heathen tongue that I can't even pronounce, much less transcribe. In time, I learned more of their intentions towards me from their general movements and tones rather than specific words. Hostility in any creature is easily read, but in these most peculiar of the living dead, with such variations in gait and speed, what amounts to a hostile charge in one may simply be casual movement in another. The eyes seem to be key to their intent, and I will confess to more than one dream haunted by the glowing pinpoints in the darkness.
I had always wondered why the ancient priests of the dragon cult insisted that their followers be buried with them. It seems the height of pagan vanity to drag your conscripts to their death along with you, but as I integrated into their presence, I began to observe the reasons. Every day, a different set of draugr would awaken, shamble their way to the sarcophagus of their priest, and prostrate themselves before it. Several hours of this, followed by a meticulous cleaning of the area. It would appear that the adherents of the dragon priest continue their worship of him in death, which would also explain the ferocity with which they defend his chambers.
It took several weeks before I felt comfortable approaching the dragon priest's resting place, myself. Inch by inch, until the snarling draugrs around me seemed to tire of fending off my timid presence. I was able to set some simple scrying spells around the tomb, that I might get a sense of what magical energies resided there. When the next group of draugr came to pay homage to the priest, I noted a sort of transferal happening. A distinct flow of life force between the adherents and the master.
It was here that I finally understood the dragon cult's notion of resurrection. The second eternal life was only promised to those who ascended to the priesthood, but the lesser functionaries contributed their life force to sustaining them for eternity. I don't know what sort of eternal wellspring they draw from, but it's clear that each draugr carries only the barest whisper of life in it, and rekindles it nightly while resting in its niche. I now believe that the grotesque forms that we see in the barrows were, in fact, buried fully as men and women, and only over the thousands of years that have passed withered into the wretched things we know. If we had visited a barrow directly after its construction, we might not have even known any of its inhabitants were dead!
These discoveries and extrapolations excite me, and my mind aches to return to the barrows. I have only paused here at the College to transcribe these notes and gather further supplies for a more extended stay. My new hope is to learn some rudimentary way of speaking to them, for imagining what they could tell us of the early mists of time is staggering.
There lay Agrius's Journal:
Never thought I'd see the day we were run out of the Knifepoint Gang. Least the storm should cover our tracks. Vidgrod, Raen, and I took shelter in a cave for the night. Looks like there's an old ruin here. Least there are no Draugr around.
Vidgrod and Raen both want to set up here for a while, maybe do some raiding. They ought to know better- the road's deserted, especially this time of year. Plenty of better places up north. But they seem awfully insistent about staying here. Wouldn't even lend a hand when I went out to hunt tonight.
Something's wrong. Raen hasn't said a word since she woke up this morning, just keeps staring off into space. Vidgrod isn't much better. They sick? Not like any illness I ever heard of. I'd just walk out on them, but I can't seem to get up the nerve. I feel like something's holding me back. What is this place?
We're not alone. I can hear him now. Someone, speaking in my mind. Old. Powerful. Halldir, that's the name. He wants something from us. Needs us to stay for the magic to work. I tried to run, can't. Just like them.
Raen jumped first. Onto the cairn. That's what Master wants - blood, sacrifice, power to live again. His magic, I can feel it pulsing in my blood. He's draining us. We'll serve him soon, our bodies, our souls. Just like the others. They're waiting. It's my turn.
The Draugr tried to stop us...
We even encountered ghosts. But at last we found the book we were looking for, hidden in an old chest.
I was briefly trapped with the draugr when the portcullis closed behind me. But the undead couldn't beat me, my team could still fire arrows at them from the other side of the shut gate. The gate opened automatically again as soon as all the draugr were slain.
Amongst the Draugr by Bernadette Bantien, College of Winterhold
It wasn't until my seventh month with the creatures that they seemed to accept me. Well, "accept" isn't really the proper word, but they seemed to have decided that I posed no threat to them and gradually ceased their attacks. Though more than capable of fending them off (a combination of fire and turning spells are generally sufficient), I admit that I tired of having to be ever vigilant in their presence.
I'll never know whether there was some sort of agreement communicated among them, for the only utterances they make seem to be in that heathen tongue that I can't even pronounce, much less transcribe. In time, I learned more of their intentions towards me from their general movements and tones rather than specific words. Hostility in any creature is easily read, but in these most peculiar of the living dead, with such variations in gait and speed, what amounts to a hostile charge in one may simply be casual movement in another. The eyes seem to be key to their intent, and I will confess to more than one dream haunted by the glowing pinpoints in the darkness.
I had always wondered why the ancient priests of the dragon cult insisted that their followers be buried with them. It seems the height of pagan vanity to drag your conscripts to their death along with you, but as I integrated into their presence, I began to observe the reasons. Every day, a different set of draugr would awaken, shamble their way to the sarcophagus of their priest, and prostrate themselves before it. Several hours of this, followed by a meticulous cleaning of the area. It would appear that the adherents of the dragon priest continue their worship of him in death, which would also explain the ferocity with which they defend his chambers.
It took several weeks before I felt comfortable approaching the dragon priest's resting place, myself. Inch by inch, until the snarling draugrs around me seemed to tire of fending off my timid presence. I was able to set some simple scrying spells around the tomb, that I might get a sense of what magical energies resided there. When the next group of draugr came to pay homage to the priest, I noted a sort of transferal happening. A distinct flow of life force between the adherents and the master.
It was here that I finally understood the dragon cult's notion of resurrection. The second eternal life was only promised to those who ascended to the priesthood, but the lesser functionaries contributed their life force to sustaining them for eternity. I don't know what sort of eternal wellspring they draw from, but it's clear that each draugr carries only the barest whisper of life in it, and rekindles it nightly while resting in its niche. I now believe that the grotesque forms that we see in the barrows were, in fact, buried fully as men and women, and only over the thousands of years that have passed withered into the wretched things we know. If we had visited a barrow directly after its construction, we might not have even known any of its inhabitants were dead!
These discoveries and extrapolations excite me, and my mind aches to return to the barrows. I have only paused here at the College to transcribe these notes and gather further supplies for a more extended stay. My new hope is to learn some rudimentary way of speaking to them, for imagining what they could tell us of the early mists of time is staggering.
_________________
Nemo sine vitio est.
Wotan- Posts : 3378
Join date : 2020-04-27
Age : 58
Location : Danderyd / Sweden
Re: The Shezarrine - a Skyrim story
by Wotan Wed May 06, 2020 6:58 pm
When we returned home, Anduniel was busy baking. We had freshly baked bread and tarts with dinner that evening. The following morning we traveled to Solitude...
"So you have found the third book as well? Excellent! Here is your reward," Wilbert said. "I'm happy to say that our evaluation of the chants is going well. But, there is still one more book we have to find. Or, you and Vilja, rather. You will help her finding this last book, too, won't you?" he continued. I nodded. "Good! I'll mark the location on your map. I wouldn't want to go to that Place, myself, but you are of course an experience adventurer," Wilbert said.
The horse carriage took us from Katlas's farm to Winterhold. We arrived just Before the dragon decided to swoop down on the settlement...
Winterhold... this is where the mage college is situated. This settlement was larger long ago, but a cataclysmic event saw most of the city collapse into the sea.
There could only be one outcome. The guards and the Citizens were in awe, never had they witnessed the like in their time.
On the Great Collapse
To the esteemed Jarl Valdimar of Winterhold,
First, please allow me to offer my most sincere condolences. I understand that you, like many others, have lost family and you have my deepest sympathies.
I also understand that some on your council have placed the blame for this horrible disaster on my colleagues at the College. While I can certainly appreciate the shock at the scope of recent events, and the desire to comprehend what has happened, I must strongly urge you to consider the full situation.
You know as well as any the College's history and reputation in Winterhold. It has long been a source of pride for your city, a unique fixture in Skyrim. Some of the greatest wizards have studied here, and the College has always promoted positive relations with the other provinces of Tamriel.
It is well-known that those relations have been, shall we say, strained over the last few decades. After the Oblivion Crisis, it was only natural that the people of Skyrim showed a distrust for mages, even though the vast majority of us actively worked to counter the actions of the Mythic Dawn cult. The College expected such a reaction, and hoped that distrust would fade over time.
And then, the Red Year. No one foresaw the explosion of Red Mountain, or the devastating effect it would have on the Dunmer culture. Your predecessor was kind enough to welcome many of the refugees, particularly those who could contribute to the College's studies. We were quite grateful.
When Solstheim was generously offered to the Dunmer as a new home, I was as surprised as any. I did not, however, share the apparent expectation that all dark elves would leave Skyrim. It did not go unnoticed that many in Winterhold were unhappy at how many mages chose to stay at the College rather than relocate.
And now, the storms that have wracked the coast of Skyrim for close to a year have finally broken, but at great cost to us all. This great collapse that has devastated Winterhold was unexpected, I assure you. That the College has remained unaffected is only a testament to the protective magicks placed around it so long ago. It in no way implies that we were somehow prepared specifically for this event, and is certainly no indication that the College was somehow responsible.
I certainly would never hold you accountable for the gossip spread amongst the people of Winterhold. I would urge you, though, to not allow that gossip to take root and become a commonly held belief. I do not wish to see our relationship crumble like Winterhold has, as I assure you the College will remain here a very, very long time.
Your persistent advocate,
Arch-Mage Deneth
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Re: The Shezarrine - a Skyrim story
by Wotan Wed May 06, 2020 7:03 pm
"My friend, Tatiyana, may be up at the College, or else in the Frozen Hearth. I remember she likes the wine there," Anduniel said. "I wonder where the College members buy their food and Daily wares. Obviously not at Brina's store, then she would have been more wealthy," Vilja mused.
Faralda, an Altmer mage was guarding the bridge to the College. She eyed me and my followers. She asked why we wanted to enter the College. I explained who we were looking for. She then said she couldn't let just anyone enter, but she must have seen the dragon get killed. She led us past the wards...
As it was rather late already, we Went back to the inn. They never had so many people come in at one time before...
"I'm looking for a book..." I said. "Book? I have plenty of books. Care to narrow it down more?" Delric said. "It was reently sold to you by a blonde Breton..." "Ahh, you must mean these old Daedric artifacts I've just come upon, very rare find. I'm a Little reluctant in parting with it... if not for the right price. 1000 gold and the pages are yours." "That's a Little much for some loose pages..." I said. "Hmm... I suppose so. Very well, I'll cut it in half. 500 is my final offer." "Okay, here is 500 gold." "I should warn you, there's some strange Magics attached to that piece. Whoever wrote it didn't want just anyone to read it," Delric said. I turned to my Young Breton companion. "Here's one of the pages, I don't know how helpful it is," I told her. "Let me see it..." Mirai said.
"Are you okay?!" I said. "I Think so... just it's... hard to Breathe... my chest feels so... hot," Mirai said. "Can you stand?" "I think so..." "So... could you read it?" I wondered. "No you idiot! I just couldn't focus... and as soon as I tried there was this... flash and I got a blinding headache. I'm guessing that flash is what you saw happen. But... ugh... this headache won't go away and... I Think I'm seeing things. Am I hallucinating? Wait... I Think it looks like more pieces of the book...! Yeah, I see them. Surrounded by ice, under water, in a Cave, in the forest... I Think I know where they are. This is way too specific to just be in my mind, whatever this page did to me, it's attracting me to the other pieces. I Think I can lea us to them, I feel almost magnetized to it. What do you think? Should we go find them?" she said. "It's answers you want, right, so... Let's do it," I said. "Okay, I'll show you where I'm being pulled on your map, we should go as soon as possible."
But before we go hunting for the other pages, we had to find Tatyana. But first, we should stay the night at the inn. Tomorrow we go to the College and look for Anduniel's friend...
Faralda, an Altmer mage was guarding the bridge to the College. She eyed me and my followers. She asked why we wanted to enter the College. I explained who we were looking for. She then said she couldn't let just anyone enter, but she must have seen the dragon get killed. She led us past the wards...
As it was rather late already, we Went back to the inn. They never had so many people come in at one time before...
"I'm looking for a book..." I said. "Book? I have plenty of books. Care to narrow it down more?" Delric said. "It was reently sold to you by a blonde Breton..." "Ahh, you must mean these old Daedric artifacts I've just come upon, very rare find. I'm a Little reluctant in parting with it... if not for the right price. 1000 gold and the pages are yours." "That's a Little much for some loose pages..." I said. "Hmm... I suppose so. Very well, I'll cut it in half. 500 is my final offer." "Okay, here is 500 gold." "I should warn you, there's some strange Magics attached to that piece. Whoever wrote it didn't want just anyone to read it," Delric said. I turned to my Young Breton companion. "Here's one of the pages, I don't know how helpful it is," I told her. "Let me see it..." Mirai said.
"Are you okay?!" I said. "I Think so... just it's... hard to Breathe... my chest feels so... hot," Mirai said. "Can you stand?" "I think so..." "So... could you read it?" I wondered. "No you idiot! I just couldn't focus... and as soon as I tried there was this... flash and I got a blinding headache. I'm guessing that flash is what you saw happen. But... ugh... this headache won't go away and... I Think I'm seeing things. Am I hallucinating? Wait... I Think it looks like more pieces of the book...! Yeah, I see them. Surrounded by ice, under water, in a Cave, in the forest... I Think I know where they are. This is way too specific to just be in my mind, whatever this page did to me, it's attracting me to the other pieces. I Think I can lea us to them, I feel almost magnetized to it. What do you think? Should we go find them?" she said. "It's answers you want, right, so... Let's do it," I said. "Okay, I'll show you where I'm being pulled on your map, we should go as soon as possible."
But before we go hunting for the other pages, we had to find Tatyana. But first, we should stay the night at the inn. Tomorrow we go to the College and look for Anduniel's friend...
_________________
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Join date : 2020-04-27
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Re: The Shezarrine - a Skyrim story
by Wotan Wed May 06, 2020 7:06 pm
After imbibing breakfast at the Frozen Hearth, we Went to the College...
"Are you Tatiyana?" I asked. "Yes, that I am. What can I do for you?" she said. "I'm here with Anduniel. She received a letter from you." "Anduniel? She's here? That's... great. Well, I suppose I should get this over with." "You don't sound very enthusiastic. She said you're friends," I said. "Did she? That was... kind of her. For my part, I admit I wasn't so friendly to her. To be completely honest, I was jealous mosyly. Jealous of her knack for magic. But in light of my recent Discovery, I felt I should put things right with her. Well hello, Anduniel. It's been a while," Tatiyana said. "Tatiyana, how are you?" "Good enough, I suppose. Look... Before we have any more small talk, I just need to say... I'm sorry." "Sorry for what?" Anduniel said. "I'm sorry for the way I treated you, giving you the Cold shoulder, being unsympathetic of your loss... all that. I just couldn't get past my jealousy of you, of your talent with magic. It felt like an insult to my being a Breton." "Only some types of magic. I could only master the basics of Restoration, and not enough to save my mother. But I bear you no ill will. I got your letter..." "Good. I'm glad that's settled. Now to business," Tatiyana said. "Why have you summoned us here?" I wondered. "I have uncovered some clues about this disease afflicted by Anduniel's mother. There has actually been Another incident. Well, something very closely resembling it. The interesting part is that once the victim was moved to a near freezing Environment, she began to remiss." "The illness could not survive the cold?" "That, or it simply was unable to thrive. To find out which it was, I isolated some of the patient's blood into thre samples: one as a Control, one in a hot Environment, the last in a cold one," Tatiyana said. "What did you find out?" "In the sample with no change, the blood darkened at a steady rate. In the hot one, it darkened much more quickly. And in the Cold one, the rate of change was barely noticeable. Once I brought the sample to freezing temperature, it stopped completely." "Great, so you've found a cure?" I said. "In a metter of speaking. If you venture down to the Midden, you will find the chamber in which I kept the patient while I treated her. Once I was convinced the illness had truly left her body, I released her. I expect she has reached her home by now." "What is the Midden?" I wondered. "A series of Chambers under the College. You might encounter a few Little nasties along the way... frostbite spiders, skeletons, and the like." "What are you looking for in this chamber?" "You'll need to pick up my notebook where I kept my records during the treatment. Also, please bring back a Hawk feather. I kept a small stash, just in case the patient crashed, they have strong restorative properties. Once you return, I'll brew a potent cure potion, and provide instructions on how to reproduce it," Tatiyana said. "Why didn't you do this yourself already," my daughter Haspina asked. "Because, to tell the truth, I'm a bit creeped out by the Midden. I Always felt like someone or... something was watching me down there. Once the patient was cured, I didn't want to go back there ever again, if I could help it," Tatiyana said. "What do we do with this potion?" I wondered. "Well, I assumed Anduniel would want to take it back home, seeing how the disease seems to thrive on heat, and Valenwood, Elsweyr... they're on the Southern coast. It's warm down there. Else, I suppose you could distribute it to other healers around Skyrim. I'm sure they would be grateful. And... do mention it came from me, won't you?" Tatiyana said.
After the chat with Tatiyana, we went to the Hall of Elements. The old Nord mage, Tolfdir, was holding a lecture for Three new student. They were a bit annoyed that he didn't teach them anything. It ended up with all of them turning to me and to my opinion. I suggested Tolfdir teach us something practical. He immediately volunteered me for this lesson - wards. I did know lesser ward, but it was not a spel I used often. But to demonstrate Tolfdir cast a destruction spell at me while I kept my ward up. The attack was negated by my protective spell - which was just what Tolfdir wanted to teach us. He finishe the lesson saying: "The College has undertaken a fascinating excavation in the ruins of Saarthal nearby. It's an excellent Learning opportunity. I suggest we meet there in a few hours, and see what awaits us inside. That's all for now, thank you." "I hope you don't mind if I come with you to Saarthal. After all, also I could do with some new knowledge in various applications of magic," Vilja said.
"Are you Tatiyana?" I asked. "Yes, that I am. What can I do for you?" she said. "I'm here with Anduniel. She received a letter from you." "Anduniel? She's here? That's... great. Well, I suppose I should get this over with." "You don't sound very enthusiastic. She said you're friends," I said. "Did she? That was... kind of her. For my part, I admit I wasn't so friendly to her. To be completely honest, I was jealous mosyly. Jealous of her knack for magic. But in light of my recent Discovery, I felt I should put things right with her. Well hello, Anduniel. It's been a while," Tatiyana said. "Tatiyana, how are you?" "Good enough, I suppose. Look... Before we have any more small talk, I just need to say... I'm sorry." "Sorry for what?" Anduniel said. "I'm sorry for the way I treated you, giving you the Cold shoulder, being unsympathetic of your loss... all that. I just couldn't get past my jealousy of you, of your talent with magic. It felt like an insult to my being a Breton." "Only some types of magic. I could only master the basics of Restoration, and not enough to save my mother. But I bear you no ill will. I got your letter..." "Good. I'm glad that's settled. Now to business," Tatiyana said. "Why have you summoned us here?" I wondered. "I have uncovered some clues about this disease afflicted by Anduniel's mother. There has actually been Another incident. Well, something very closely resembling it. The interesting part is that once the victim was moved to a near freezing Environment, she began to remiss." "The illness could not survive the cold?" "That, or it simply was unable to thrive. To find out which it was, I isolated some of the patient's blood into thre samples: one as a Control, one in a hot Environment, the last in a cold one," Tatiyana said. "What did you find out?" "In the sample with no change, the blood darkened at a steady rate. In the hot one, it darkened much more quickly. And in the Cold one, the rate of change was barely noticeable. Once I brought the sample to freezing temperature, it stopped completely." "Great, so you've found a cure?" I said. "In a metter of speaking. If you venture down to the Midden, you will find the chamber in which I kept the patient while I treated her. Once I was convinced the illness had truly left her body, I released her. I expect she has reached her home by now." "What is the Midden?" I wondered. "A series of Chambers under the College. You might encounter a few Little nasties along the way... frostbite spiders, skeletons, and the like." "What are you looking for in this chamber?" "You'll need to pick up my notebook where I kept my records during the treatment. Also, please bring back a Hawk feather. I kept a small stash, just in case the patient crashed, they have strong restorative properties. Once you return, I'll brew a potent cure potion, and provide instructions on how to reproduce it," Tatiyana said. "Why didn't you do this yourself already," my daughter Haspina asked. "Because, to tell the truth, I'm a bit creeped out by the Midden. I Always felt like someone or... something was watching me down there. Once the patient was cured, I didn't want to go back there ever again, if I could help it," Tatiyana said. "What do we do with this potion?" I wondered. "Well, I assumed Anduniel would want to take it back home, seeing how the disease seems to thrive on heat, and Valenwood, Elsweyr... they're on the Southern coast. It's warm down there. Else, I suppose you could distribute it to other healers around Skyrim. I'm sure they would be grateful. And... do mention it came from me, won't you?" Tatiyana said.
After the chat with Tatiyana, we went to the Hall of Elements. The old Nord mage, Tolfdir, was holding a lecture for Three new student. They were a bit annoyed that he didn't teach them anything. It ended up with all of them turning to me and to my opinion. I suggested Tolfdir teach us something practical. He immediately volunteered me for this lesson - wards. I did know lesser ward, but it was not a spel I used often. But to demonstrate Tolfdir cast a destruction spell at me while I kept my ward up. The attack was negated by my protective spell - which was just what Tolfdir wanted to teach us. He finishe the lesson saying: "The College has undertaken a fascinating excavation in the ruins of Saarthal nearby. It's an excellent Learning opportunity. I suggest we meet there in a few hours, and see what awaits us inside. That's all for now, thank you." "I hope you don't mind if I come with you to Saarthal. After all, also I could do with some new knowledge in various applications of magic," Vilja said.
_________________
Nemo sine vitio est.
Wotan- Posts : 3378
Join date : 2020-04-27
Age : 58
Location : Danderyd / Sweden
Re: The Shezarrine - a Skyrim story
by Wotan Wed May 06, 2020 7:10 pm
Visiting Saarthal sounded like it could be very interesting, but... first there was something we had to do...
Locating the entrance to the Midden was eay enough...
We ran into a few critters down there, as mentioned by Tatiyana, nothing of any concern. The chamber we were looking for wasn't too hard to find...
"Why go to so much trouble? Was it purely a healer's compassion, or was she someone Close to Tatiyana? And here the patient lay, in a coma, near Death... If not for the Cold, it is much like my mother. That must be Tatiyana's journal that she wanted us to retrieve. Let's get back to her quickly! And don't forget the Hawk feather. There should be one here..." Anduniel said.
Notes on the disease here named "Soul Rot"
"Soul Rot," is so named because its victims slowly lose their sense of self. Over a period of time, which depending on the individual could range from mere months to several years or decades, the mind slowly degenerates. Victims gradually lose their mental capacity, and thus, their ability to function normally in society.
The first known case of Soul Rot in Tamriel occurred in Valenwood, just a few years past. The victim was a female Bosmer. All attempts to find a cure were unrewarded, and left healers baffled. The Bosmer left behind a devastated husband and daughter.
It was an isolated case, and soon forgotten by most healers. Recently, however, Another woman fell victim to the illness. Drawing on data gathered from the Bosmer's daughter Anduniel, other healers, and several musty old volumes in the College library, I conducted an experimental treatment, anfd hoped for a miracle.
The Divines granted one.
Though my skills in Alteration and Illusion pale in comparison to others, my talent in Alchemy is highly recognized. I brewed potions to magnify these magical abilities in myself, and then used those Powers to Project a Three-dimensional image of the victim's blood abover her head, magnified several thousand fold. What I found was astounding.
There appeared to be hundrds, thousands, of tiny... animals, monsters, living in and feeding off of her brain. Too small to see with the Eyes alone, these beings were killing her from the inside out.
At the time I met this woman, I was engaged on a short pilgrimage, traveling through the Rift and broadening my knowledge of alchemical ingredients. I was a day's ride from Sarethi's farm when I chanced on a family traveling in the same direction. We spoke a while as I rode beside them. When they learned I'm a healer, they begged me to have a look at their niece who had been behaving oddly.
When I saw the Young lady, I immediately thought of Anduniel'd poor mother, and wondered if perchance it could be the same illness. I persuaded the family to let me take her to the College of Winterhold, where I'd have more Tools and counsel available. They agreed.
After we arrived, something unexpected happened: her behavior gradually returned to normal. After a few Days, she had enough strenth to walk, a week more and she resumed speaking, asking when she might return home. The possibility then occurred to me that the Cold itself could be aiding her recovery. But Before I released her, I had to make sure.
I performed a small blood test. Isolating some of her blood into three samples, I kept one as a Control, lit a fire under the second, and kept the third over ice and frost salts. To each sample I added some raw animal flesh asa source of food.
Using my magical image technique I explained earlier, I observed that in the sample that was heated from the fire, the tiny monsters reproduced and multiplied much more quickly. In the sample over ice they seemed to stop completely. The bets in the sample that was neither hot nor Cold continued to reproduce at a slower rate.
Next I tried heating the sample that was Cold. To my horror the Little beasts seemed to "Wake up" and continued to multiply, as if they'd not been slowed down at all! Hence I found that extreme Cold does not kill them, it merely halts their progress.
After I came across an old book in the Arcaneum about Kynareth and the healing Powers of the Eldergleam Tree, I sent a letter to Danica Purespring, asking for any knowledge she had that could supplement mine. She remembered Anduniel coming to her for help and regretted not being able to give any. But upon hearing what I'd found about the Eldergleam, she suggested adding some leaves from the Tree, and the water that feeds it, into a cure potion.
I convinced the Young lady, with some difficulty, to try this treatment on her. I put her in a state of constant sleep with a Sleep Drought, and kept her alive by a combination of Health potions and Healing spells every few hours, day and night for Close to a week. This fatigued me greatly.
The next time I performed the image magic, to my relief the tiny monsters were nerly gone! To be certain to kill Evert one of them, I continued the treatment Another few Days, by which time there was no trace of them, and then a few Days more after that. The woman was free and healthy again. She could go home.
Locating the entrance to the Midden was eay enough...
We ran into a few critters down there, as mentioned by Tatiyana, nothing of any concern. The chamber we were looking for wasn't too hard to find...
"Why go to so much trouble? Was it purely a healer's compassion, or was she someone Close to Tatiyana? And here the patient lay, in a coma, near Death... If not for the Cold, it is much like my mother. That must be Tatiyana's journal that she wanted us to retrieve. Let's get back to her quickly! And don't forget the Hawk feather. There should be one here..." Anduniel said.
Notes on the disease here named "Soul Rot"
"Soul Rot," is so named because its victims slowly lose their sense of self. Over a period of time, which depending on the individual could range from mere months to several years or decades, the mind slowly degenerates. Victims gradually lose their mental capacity, and thus, their ability to function normally in society.
The first known case of Soul Rot in Tamriel occurred in Valenwood, just a few years past. The victim was a female Bosmer. All attempts to find a cure were unrewarded, and left healers baffled. The Bosmer left behind a devastated husband and daughter.
It was an isolated case, and soon forgotten by most healers. Recently, however, Another woman fell victim to the illness. Drawing on data gathered from the Bosmer's daughter Anduniel, other healers, and several musty old volumes in the College library, I conducted an experimental treatment, anfd hoped for a miracle.
The Divines granted one.
Though my skills in Alteration and Illusion pale in comparison to others, my talent in Alchemy is highly recognized. I brewed potions to magnify these magical abilities in myself, and then used those Powers to Project a Three-dimensional image of the victim's blood abover her head, magnified several thousand fold. What I found was astounding.
There appeared to be hundrds, thousands, of tiny... animals, monsters, living in and feeding off of her brain. Too small to see with the Eyes alone, these beings were killing her from the inside out.
At the time I met this woman, I was engaged on a short pilgrimage, traveling through the Rift and broadening my knowledge of alchemical ingredients. I was a day's ride from Sarethi's farm when I chanced on a family traveling in the same direction. We spoke a while as I rode beside them. When they learned I'm a healer, they begged me to have a look at their niece who had been behaving oddly.
When I saw the Young lady, I immediately thought of Anduniel'd poor mother, and wondered if perchance it could be the same illness. I persuaded the family to let me take her to the College of Winterhold, where I'd have more Tools and counsel available. They agreed.
After we arrived, something unexpected happened: her behavior gradually returned to normal. After a few Days, she had enough strenth to walk, a week more and she resumed speaking, asking when she might return home. The possibility then occurred to me that the Cold itself could be aiding her recovery. But Before I released her, I had to make sure.
I performed a small blood test. Isolating some of her blood into three samples, I kept one as a Control, lit a fire under the second, and kept the third over ice and frost salts. To each sample I added some raw animal flesh asa source of food.
Using my magical image technique I explained earlier, I observed that in the sample that was heated from the fire, the tiny monsters reproduced and multiplied much more quickly. In the sample over ice they seemed to stop completely. The bets in the sample that was neither hot nor Cold continued to reproduce at a slower rate.
Next I tried heating the sample that was Cold. To my horror the Little beasts seemed to "Wake up" and continued to multiply, as if they'd not been slowed down at all! Hence I found that extreme Cold does not kill them, it merely halts their progress.
After I came across an old book in the Arcaneum about Kynareth and the healing Powers of the Eldergleam Tree, I sent a letter to Danica Purespring, asking for any knowledge she had that could supplement mine. She remembered Anduniel coming to her for help and regretted not being able to give any. But upon hearing what I'd found about the Eldergleam, she suggested adding some leaves from the Tree, and the water that feeds it, into a cure potion.
I convinced the Young lady, with some difficulty, to try this treatment on her. I put her in a state of constant sleep with a Sleep Drought, and kept her alive by a combination of Health potions and Healing spells every few hours, day and night for Close to a week. This fatigued me greatly.
The next time I performed the image magic, to my relief the tiny monsters were nerly gone! To be certain to kill Evert one of them, I continued the treatment Another few Days, by which time there was no trace of them, and then a few Days more after that. The woman was free and healthy again. She could go home.
_________________
Nemo sine vitio est.
Wotan- Posts : 3378
Join date : 2020-04-27
Age : 58
Location : Danderyd / Sweden
Re: The Shezarrine - a Skyrim story
by Wotan Wed May 06, 2020 7:13 pm
On our way back, we ran into some strange creatures...
"What were those things?" I wondered. "I... I'm not sure. They were... horrible! That last one looked just like... my mother," Anduniel said. "That's ridiculou. Your mother's dead. This was some kind of monster." "I know... silly of me. Come on. Let's get out of here," she said.
The encounter with those monsters led us on a minor detour...
Atronach Forge Manual
Nephew -
I apologize that I cannot see you personally before you leave. The trip from Sadrith Mora is treacherous this season, or I would have visited upon hearing the news. The Nords have a fine college at Winterhold, and I am sure you will excel. You may know that I, too, attended there. I was quite the conjuration adept in my own day. I am sending you my notes on something called the 'Atronach Forge', a bit of a project of mine while at Winterhold.
Mention nothing to the faculty, but ask your fellow pupils about a place called the Midden. You will find the Forge there. I fear a number of my notes are missing, scattered and lost in my travels around Skyrim. Perhaps you may stumble across these in your own adventures.
The Atronach Forge offers few clues as to who built it, and even fewer as to how to unlock its full potential. Only through blind experimentation, and a few singed eyebrows, have I been able to understand its function.
The Forge is mostly a large dais, almost crude of make, but emblazoned with the traditional Daedric rune. An offering box is attached, as well as a prominent lever. The Dais also features a large setting which seems set to receive some large, spherical object. I have had no luck determining what this missing object may be, however, or what effect it may have on the efficacy of the Forge.
The Forge is activated by placing certain items into the offering box, and then pulling the lever. The Forge consumes the items and conjures something upon the dais. The conjuration can be predicted reliably if the appropriate items are left in the box - but many combinations either have no effect or catastrophic reactions. Once I conjured a wild goat! Well, most of the goat, at least.
Experimenting wildly with the Forge is dangerous. I've recorded such recipes as I have discovered on the following pages.
The simplest, yet perhaps most hazardous stable recipe is that for a summoned atronach. The conjured brutes will attack the first thing they see, however! Be ready for battle if you have reason to use these recipes.
Flame Atronach:
Fire Salts + Ruby
Frost Atronach:
Frost Salts + Sapphire
Storm Atronach:
Void Salts + Amethyst
"We brought your things," I said. "Thank you. I've been afraid to go down there lately. I hope you didn't find trouble?" Tatiyana said. "Some monsters attacked us. We're not sure what they were," I said. "Oh dear! Well, I'm certainly glad you made it back safely. What were they like? These... monsters?" "One was a Chaurus, then a horrible Hagraven. And the last was an Elf that looked like my mother. They were all cloaked in fire," Anduniel said. "Hmm... I seem to remember... aren't you, pardon me, afraid of Charus? And Hagravens, how do you feel about them?" Tatiyana said. "Well... I'm not exactly afraid of them, but I don't like them either," Anduniel said. "And the last, the one that looked like your mother. That must have represented guilt, and sadness. I've Heard of this kind of thing happening, though never Heard of a documented case before. Your feelings of doubt, loss, and guilt must have manifested into real, corporeal menaces. Incredible. Oh, dear. I am so sorry you had to go through that. But on the Bright side, you faced your fears, and you won. Now that's something to Crow about," Tatiyana said. "Do you need anything else from us?" I wondered. "I'm afraid so, yes. I have in my notes here that I used water from the Eldergleam Sanctuary. I'd forgotten about that. It is sacred water, blessed by the healing Power of Kynareth. I boiled an Eldergleam leaf and a Hawk feather in this water. I need you to go and get them for me. Please," Tatiyana said. "Of course we'll get them for you. We'll be back soon," I said. "Thank you. I will wait here. When you return, I'll have the rest of the preparations ready. Here, you can collect water in this jug," she said.
"What were those things?" I wondered. "I... I'm not sure. They were... horrible! That last one looked just like... my mother," Anduniel said. "That's ridiculou. Your mother's dead. This was some kind of monster." "I know... silly of me. Come on. Let's get out of here," she said.
The encounter with those monsters led us on a minor detour...
Atronach Forge Manual
Nephew -
I apologize that I cannot see you personally before you leave. The trip from Sadrith Mora is treacherous this season, or I would have visited upon hearing the news. The Nords have a fine college at Winterhold, and I am sure you will excel. You may know that I, too, attended there. I was quite the conjuration adept in my own day. I am sending you my notes on something called the 'Atronach Forge', a bit of a project of mine while at Winterhold.
Mention nothing to the faculty, but ask your fellow pupils about a place called the Midden. You will find the Forge there. I fear a number of my notes are missing, scattered and lost in my travels around Skyrim. Perhaps you may stumble across these in your own adventures.
The Atronach Forge offers few clues as to who built it, and even fewer as to how to unlock its full potential. Only through blind experimentation, and a few singed eyebrows, have I been able to understand its function.
The Forge is mostly a large dais, almost crude of make, but emblazoned with the traditional Daedric rune. An offering box is attached, as well as a prominent lever. The Dais also features a large setting which seems set to receive some large, spherical object. I have had no luck determining what this missing object may be, however, or what effect it may have on the efficacy of the Forge.
The Forge is activated by placing certain items into the offering box, and then pulling the lever. The Forge consumes the items and conjures something upon the dais. The conjuration can be predicted reliably if the appropriate items are left in the box - but many combinations either have no effect or catastrophic reactions. Once I conjured a wild goat! Well, most of the goat, at least.
Experimenting wildly with the Forge is dangerous. I've recorded such recipes as I have discovered on the following pages.
The simplest, yet perhaps most hazardous stable recipe is that for a summoned atronach. The conjured brutes will attack the first thing they see, however! Be ready for battle if you have reason to use these recipes.
Flame Atronach:
Fire Salts + Ruby
Frost Atronach:
Frost Salts + Sapphire
Storm Atronach:
Void Salts + Amethyst
"We brought your things," I said. "Thank you. I've been afraid to go down there lately. I hope you didn't find trouble?" Tatiyana said. "Some monsters attacked us. We're not sure what they were," I said. "Oh dear! Well, I'm certainly glad you made it back safely. What were they like? These... monsters?" "One was a Chaurus, then a horrible Hagraven. And the last was an Elf that looked like my mother. They were all cloaked in fire," Anduniel said. "Hmm... I seem to remember... aren't you, pardon me, afraid of Charus? And Hagravens, how do you feel about them?" Tatiyana said. "Well... I'm not exactly afraid of them, but I don't like them either," Anduniel said. "And the last, the one that looked like your mother. That must have represented guilt, and sadness. I've Heard of this kind of thing happening, though never Heard of a documented case before. Your feelings of doubt, loss, and guilt must have manifested into real, corporeal menaces. Incredible. Oh, dear. I am so sorry you had to go through that. But on the Bright side, you faced your fears, and you won. Now that's something to Crow about," Tatiyana said. "Do you need anything else from us?" I wondered. "I'm afraid so, yes. I have in my notes here that I used water from the Eldergleam Sanctuary. I'd forgotten about that. It is sacred water, blessed by the healing Power of Kynareth. I boiled an Eldergleam leaf and a Hawk feather in this water. I need you to go and get them for me. Please," Tatiyana said. "Of course we'll get them for you. We'll be back soon," I said. "Thank you. I will wait here. When you return, I'll have the rest of the preparations ready. Here, you can collect water in this jug," she said.
_________________
Nemo sine vitio est.
Wotan- Posts : 3378
Join date : 2020-04-27
Age : 58
Location : Danderyd / Sweden
Re: The Shezarrine - a Skyrim story
by Wotan Wed May 06, 2020 7:17 pm
With our errand done, we set out for Saarthal...
Of course, we were late and the others were already waiting for us.
Before we entered, Tolfdir gave us another safety reminder...
"As some of you may know, Saarthal was one of the earliest Nord settlements in Skyrim. It was also the largest. Sacked by the elves in the infamous Night of Tears, not much is known about what happened to Saarthal. This is an exiting opportunity for us. To be able to study such an early civilization, and the magics they used..." Tolfdir said.
Night of Tears by Dranor Seleth
Saarthal holds a prominent place in Skyrim history, even if most do not remember it by name. It is of course the site of one of the first major Nord settlements, one of the first cities of men in Skyrim, and the earliest known capital of their civilization. It was also the site of terrible bloodshed, when the elves attempted to drive the Nords out of Skyrim, to succeed only in incurring their wrath in the form of Ysgramor and his fabled Five Hundred Companions, who swept the elves from Skyrim and firmly established it as the home of the Nords.
All this is known, but little else. What happened on that Night of Tears, when Saarthal was razed to the ground? What provoked the elves to such a deliberate, vicious attack, and what prompted such a severe response from the Nords?
Vingalmo's Treatise on the Altmer Antecedent suggests that the elves of the Merethic Era, along with their counterparts the early Dwemer, possessed a degree of sophistication unparalleled in Tamriel. They displayed power beyond what could be expected of the time. While a distinct explanation is not given for this, I believe that this work, compared with the early writings of Heseph Chirirnis, suggest that something greater was at work on that night in Saarthal.
The true motives behind the Night of Tears have been obscured to us by the passage of time, but I believe this was not a simple war of territory, or of control of Skyrim. I believe that what happened was a significant event based around something very particular.
The Nords found something when they built their city, buried deep in the ground. They attempted to keep it buried, but the elves learned of it and coveted it for themselves. Thus they assaulted Saarthal, their goal not to drive the Nords out but to secure this power for themselves. I believe Ysgramor knew something of what the elves would find under Saarthal, and rallied together his people to keep the elves from gaining it. When Nords once again controlled Skyrim, this power was buried deep below the earth and sealed away.
Time has kept this knowledge from us, but it is my hope that Time will also reveal the truth of these words. Every effort will be made to relocate Saarthal, and find that which has been lost to us.
Merethic Era by Xan
The term 'Merethic' comes from the Nordic, literally, "Era of the Elves." The Merethic Era was described by early Nord scholars as a series of years numbered in reverse order backward from the first event in their recorded history -- the founding of the Camoran Dynasty, which functions as the starting point of the First Era. The prehistoric events of the Merethic Era are listed here with their traditional Nordic Merethic dates. The earliest Merethic date cited by King Harald's scholars was ME2500 -- the Nordic reckoning of the first year of time. As such, the Merethic Era extends from ME2500 in the distant past to ME1 -- the year before the founding of the Camoran Dynasty and the establishment of White-Gold Tower as an independent city-state.
Circa ME 2500: Supposed date of construction of the Adamantine Tower on Balfiera Island in High Rock, the oldest known structure of Tamriel. Earliest historical date in unpublished Elvish chronicles.
Early Merethic Era: Aboriginal beastpeoples (ancestors of the Khajiit, Argonians, Orcish (goblin-kin), and other Beastfolk) live in preliterate communities throughout Tamriel.
Middle Merethic Era
The Aldmer (Elves) leave the doomed and now-lost continent of Aldmeris (also known as 'Old Ehlnofey') and settle Tamriel. Their first colonies are distributed widely along the entire coast of Tamriel. Later inland settlements are founded primarily in fertile lowlands in southwest and central Tamriel. The sophisticated, literate, technologically advanced Aldmeri culture drives the beastfolk into the jungles, marshes, mountains, and wastelands. The Adamantine Tower is rediscovered and captured by the Direnni, a prominent and powerful Aldmeri clan. Crystal Tower is built on Summerset Isle and, later, White-Gold Tower in Cyrodiil.
During the Middle Merethic Era, Aldmeri explorers map the coasts of Vvardenfel, building the foundation of the First Era wizard towers at Ald Redaynia, Bal Fell, Tel Aruhn, and Tel Mora in Morrowind. For more information: Before the Ages of Man.
The Ayleids flourish in the jungles surrounding White-Gold Tower (present day Cyrodiil). Wild Elves, also known as the Heartland High Elves, preserved the Dawn Era magicks and language of the Ehlnofey. Ostensibly a tribute-land to the High King of Alinor, Cyrod was often so isolated from the Summerset Isles as to be its own sovereign nation.
Late Middle Merethic Era: The Dwemer (sometimes referred to as 'Dwarves'), a free-thinking, reclusive Aldmeri clan devoted to the secrets and exploitation of science and myth, establish underground cities and communities in the mountain range (later the Velothi Mountains) separating modern-day Skyrim and modern-day Morrowind.For more information: The Annotated Anuad.
The Chimer (ancestors of the Dunmer, or Dark Elves), dynamic, ambitious, long-lived Aldmeri clans devoted to fundamentalist ancestor worship, follow the prophet Veloth out of their ancestral Aldmeri homelands to settle in the lands now known as Morrowind. Despising the secular culture and profane practices of the Dwemer, the Chimer also covet the lands and resources of the Dwemer, and for centuries provoke them with minor raids and territorial disputes.For more information: Lives of the Saints, A Short History of Morrowind,
Trinimac (strongest of the Aldmeri ancestor spirits) and his people try to halt the Velothi dissident movement. However, the Daedric Prince Boethiah, one of the masterminds of the movement, eats Trinimac. Trinimac's body and spirit are corrupted, and he emerges as the Daedric Prince Malacath. His people are changed accordingly and become the Orsimer, or Orcs.
For more information: The True Nature of Orcs, Varieties of Faith in the Empire, The Anticipations.
Circa ME 1000: Fleeing civil war and an increasingly frigid climate, Ysgramor and his men set sail from the northern continent of Atmora and land at Hsaarik Head, the extreme northern tip of Skyrim's Broken Cape. There the Atmorans build the legendary city of Saarthal and make first contact with the Aldmer or Elves of Tamriel.
The Atmorans and the Elves live in harmony for some time, but the relationship quickly turns hostile. In the city of Saarthal, the Atmorans find the Eye of Magnus. An unknown but powerful artifact that could endanger the world. The Elves learn this and decides to secure the artifact. The 'Night of Tears' happens, the city of Saarthal is sacked and destroyed. Ysgramor escapes to Atmora and soon returns with his legendary Five Hundred Companions and eventually takes the whole Skyrim from the Elves, laying the foundations of first human empire in Tamriel. His people would later come to be known as the Nords of Skyrim. The Dwemer in Blackreach, deep beneath Skyrim, are not affected by the war with the Nords.
Later on, Ysgramor develops a runic transcription of Nordic speech based on Elvish principles and is the first human historian.
For more information: Frontier, Conquest, and Accommodation: A Social History of Cyrodiil, University of Gwylim Press, 3E 344, Night of Tears.
Late Merethic Era - 1E 668: One faction of the Elves, known as the Snow Elves are cornered in the eastern island of Solstheim. In the 'Battle of the Moesring,' the Snow Prince, the leader of the Snow Elves army is killed. The Snow Elves are scattered and seek refuge to the Dwemer in Blackreach. The Dwemer trick the Snow Elves, make them blind and enslave them. They are now known as the Falmer. In some point in time, the Falmer rebel and the 'War of the Crag' enrages in Blackreach. The war is ended when the Dwemer vanished in the 1E 668.
For more information: Fall of the Snow Prince, The Falmer: A study.
Late Merethic Era - Circa 1E139: The Nords brought with them the Atmoran worship of animal gods. It is unknown how the situation came about, but in time the dragon priests had come to rule the Nords with an iron fist. They are however unable to maintain control and a rebellion known as 'The Dragon War' starts. Initially the Nords are crushed by the priests and dragons. However a few dragons take the side of the Nords. The dragon Paarthurnax teaches the Nords the magical language of the dragons to form the Thu'um or shout. The Nords eventually overthrow the dragon priests and the dragons are scattered. Even so, hold outs of dragon cultists remain well into the First Era, believing that the dragons will return.
For more information: The Dragon War, Skorm Snow-Strider's Journal.
Late Merethic Era: Velothi high culture disappears on Vvardenfell island. The earliest Dwemer Freehold colonies date from this period. The degenerate Velothi civilization devolves into tribal cultures, which, in time, evolve into the modern Great Houses of Morrowind, or persists as the barbarian Ashlander tribes. The only surviving traces of this tribal culture are scattered Velothi towers and Ashlander nomads on Vvardenfell Island. The original First Era High Elven wizard towers along the coasts of Tamriel are also abandoned about this time. For more information: Before the Ages of Man.
Meanwhile, other human tribes live scattered throughout Tamriel, often under the dominion of the culturally superior Aldmer:
"The Nedic peoples were a minority in a land of Elves, and had no choice but to live peacefully with the Elder Race. In High Rock, Hammerfell, Cyrodiil, and possibly Morrowind, they did just that, and the Nedic peoples flourished and expanded over the last centuries of the Merethic Era." - from Frontier, Conquest, and Accommodation: A Social History of Cyrodiil, University of Gwylim Press, 3E 344.
Merethic Era - Circa 1E 660: An immortal hero, warrior, sorceror, and king variously known as Pelinal Whitestrake, Harrald Hairy Breeks, Ysmir, Hans the Fox, etc., wanders Tamriel, gathering armies, conquering lands, ruling, then abandoning his kingdoms to wander again.
Of course, we were late and the others were already waiting for us.
Before we entered, Tolfdir gave us another safety reminder...
"As some of you may know, Saarthal was one of the earliest Nord settlements in Skyrim. It was also the largest. Sacked by the elves in the infamous Night of Tears, not much is known about what happened to Saarthal. This is an exiting opportunity for us. To be able to study such an early civilization, and the magics they used..." Tolfdir said.
Night of Tears by Dranor Seleth
Saarthal holds a prominent place in Skyrim history, even if most do not remember it by name. It is of course the site of one of the first major Nord settlements, one of the first cities of men in Skyrim, and the earliest known capital of their civilization. It was also the site of terrible bloodshed, when the elves attempted to drive the Nords out of Skyrim, to succeed only in incurring their wrath in the form of Ysgramor and his fabled Five Hundred Companions, who swept the elves from Skyrim and firmly established it as the home of the Nords.
All this is known, but little else. What happened on that Night of Tears, when Saarthal was razed to the ground? What provoked the elves to such a deliberate, vicious attack, and what prompted such a severe response from the Nords?
Vingalmo's Treatise on the Altmer Antecedent suggests that the elves of the Merethic Era, along with their counterparts the early Dwemer, possessed a degree of sophistication unparalleled in Tamriel. They displayed power beyond what could be expected of the time. While a distinct explanation is not given for this, I believe that this work, compared with the early writings of Heseph Chirirnis, suggest that something greater was at work on that night in Saarthal.
The true motives behind the Night of Tears have been obscured to us by the passage of time, but I believe this was not a simple war of territory, or of control of Skyrim. I believe that what happened was a significant event based around something very particular.
The Nords found something when they built their city, buried deep in the ground. They attempted to keep it buried, but the elves learned of it and coveted it for themselves. Thus they assaulted Saarthal, their goal not to drive the Nords out but to secure this power for themselves. I believe Ysgramor knew something of what the elves would find under Saarthal, and rallied together his people to keep the elves from gaining it. When Nords once again controlled Skyrim, this power was buried deep below the earth and sealed away.
Time has kept this knowledge from us, but it is my hope that Time will also reveal the truth of these words. Every effort will be made to relocate Saarthal, and find that which has been lost to us.
Merethic Era by Xan
The term 'Merethic' comes from the Nordic, literally, "Era of the Elves." The Merethic Era was described by early Nord scholars as a series of years numbered in reverse order backward from the first event in their recorded history -- the founding of the Camoran Dynasty, which functions as the starting point of the First Era. The prehistoric events of the Merethic Era are listed here with their traditional Nordic Merethic dates. The earliest Merethic date cited by King Harald's scholars was ME2500 -- the Nordic reckoning of the first year of time. As such, the Merethic Era extends from ME2500 in the distant past to ME1 -- the year before the founding of the Camoran Dynasty and the establishment of White-Gold Tower as an independent city-state.
Circa ME 2500: Supposed date of construction of the Adamantine Tower on Balfiera Island in High Rock, the oldest known structure of Tamriel. Earliest historical date in unpublished Elvish chronicles.
Early Merethic Era: Aboriginal beastpeoples (ancestors of the Khajiit, Argonians, Orcish (goblin-kin), and other Beastfolk) live in preliterate communities throughout Tamriel.
Middle Merethic Era
The Aldmer (Elves) leave the doomed and now-lost continent of Aldmeris (also known as 'Old Ehlnofey') and settle Tamriel. Their first colonies are distributed widely along the entire coast of Tamriel. Later inland settlements are founded primarily in fertile lowlands in southwest and central Tamriel. The sophisticated, literate, technologically advanced Aldmeri culture drives the beastfolk into the jungles, marshes, mountains, and wastelands. The Adamantine Tower is rediscovered and captured by the Direnni, a prominent and powerful Aldmeri clan. Crystal Tower is built on Summerset Isle and, later, White-Gold Tower in Cyrodiil.
During the Middle Merethic Era, Aldmeri explorers map the coasts of Vvardenfel, building the foundation of the First Era wizard towers at Ald Redaynia, Bal Fell, Tel Aruhn, and Tel Mora in Morrowind. For more information: Before the Ages of Man.
The Ayleids flourish in the jungles surrounding White-Gold Tower (present day Cyrodiil). Wild Elves, also known as the Heartland High Elves, preserved the Dawn Era magicks and language of the Ehlnofey. Ostensibly a tribute-land to the High King of Alinor, Cyrod was often so isolated from the Summerset Isles as to be its own sovereign nation.
Late Middle Merethic Era: The Dwemer (sometimes referred to as 'Dwarves'), a free-thinking, reclusive Aldmeri clan devoted to the secrets and exploitation of science and myth, establish underground cities and communities in the mountain range (later the Velothi Mountains) separating modern-day Skyrim and modern-day Morrowind.For more information: The Annotated Anuad.
The Chimer (ancestors of the Dunmer, or Dark Elves), dynamic, ambitious, long-lived Aldmeri clans devoted to fundamentalist ancestor worship, follow the prophet Veloth out of their ancestral Aldmeri homelands to settle in the lands now known as Morrowind. Despising the secular culture and profane practices of the Dwemer, the Chimer also covet the lands and resources of the Dwemer, and for centuries provoke them with minor raids and territorial disputes.For more information: Lives of the Saints, A Short History of Morrowind,
Trinimac (strongest of the Aldmeri ancestor spirits) and his people try to halt the Velothi dissident movement. However, the Daedric Prince Boethiah, one of the masterminds of the movement, eats Trinimac. Trinimac's body and spirit are corrupted, and he emerges as the Daedric Prince Malacath. His people are changed accordingly and become the Orsimer, or Orcs.
For more information: The True Nature of Orcs, Varieties of Faith in the Empire, The Anticipations.
Circa ME 1000: Fleeing civil war and an increasingly frigid climate, Ysgramor and his men set sail from the northern continent of Atmora and land at Hsaarik Head, the extreme northern tip of Skyrim's Broken Cape. There the Atmorans build the legendary city of Saarthal and make first contact with the Aldmer or Elves of Tamriel.
The Atmorans and the Elves live in harmony for some time, but the relationship quickly turns hostile. In the city of Saarthal, the Atmorans find the Eye of Magnus. An unknown but powerful artifact that could endanger the world. The Elves learn this and decides to secure the artifact. The 'Night of Tears' happens, the city of Saarthal is sacked and destroyed. Ysgramor escapes to Atmora and soon returns with his legendary Five Hundred Companions and eventually takes the whole Skyrim from the Elves, laying the foundations of first human empire in Tamriel. His people would later come to be known as the Nords of Skyrim. The Dwemer in Blackreach, deep beneath Skyrim, are not affected by the war with the Nords.
Later on, Ysgramor develops a runic transcription of Nordic speech based on Elvish principles and is the first human historian.
For more information: Frontier, Conquest, and Accommodation: A Social History of Cyrodiil, University of Gwylim Press, 3E 344, Night of Tears.
Late Merethic Era - 1E 668: One faction of the Elves, known as the Snow Elves are cornered in the eastern island of Solstheim. In the 'Battle of the Moesring,' the Snow Prince, the leader of the Snow Elves army is killed. The Snow Elves are scattered and seek refuge to the Dwemer in Blackreach. The Dwemer trick the Snow Elves, make them blind and enslave them. They are now known as the Falmer. In some point in time, the Falmer rebel and the 'War of the Crag' enrages in Blackreach. The war is ended when the Dwemer vanished in the 1E 668.
For more information: Fall of the Snow Prince, The Falmer: A study.
Late Merethic Era - Circa 1E139: The Nords brought with them the Atmoran worship of animal gods. It is unknown how the situation came about, but in time the dragon priests had come to rule the Nords with an iron fist. They are however unable to maintain control and a rebellion known as 'The Dragon War' starts. Initially the Nords are crushed by the priests and dragons. However a few dragons take the side of the Nords. The dragon Paarthurnax teaches the Nords the magical language of the dragons to form the Thu'um or shout. The Nords eventually overthrow the dragon priests and the dragons are scattered. Even so, hold outs of dragon cultists remain well into the First Era, believing that the dragons will return.
For more information: The Dragon War, Skorm Snow-Strider's Journal.
Late Merethic Era: Velothi high culture disappears on Vvardenfell island. The earliest Dwemer Freehold colonies date from this period. The degenerate Velothi civilization devolves into tribal cultures, which, in time, evolve into the modern Great Houses of Morrowind, or persists as the barbarian Ashlander tribes. The only surviving traces of this tribal culture are scattered Velothi towers and Ashlander nomads on Vvardenfell Island. The original First Era High Elven wizard towers along the coasts of Tamriel are also abandoned about this time. For more information: Before the Ages of Man.
Meanwhile, other human tribes live scattered throughout Tamriel, often under the dominion of the culturally superior Aldmer:
"The Nedic peoples were a minority in a land of Elves, and had no choice but to live peacefully with the Elder Race. In High Rock, Hammerfell, Cyrodiil, and possibly Morrowind, they did just that, and the Nedic peoples flourished and expanded over the last centuries of the Merethic Era." - from Frontier, Conquest, and Accommodation: A Social History of Cyrodiil, University of Gwylim Press, 3E 344.
Merethic Era - Circa 1E 660: An immortal hero, warrior, sorceror, and king variously known as Pelinal Whitestrake, Harrald Hairy Breeks, Ysmir, Hans the Fox, etc., wanders Tamriel, gathering armies, conquering lands, ruling, then abandoning his kingdoms to wander again.
_________________
Nemo sine vitio est.
Wotan- Posts : 3378
Join date : 2020-04-27
Age : 58
Location : Danderyd / Sweden
Re: The Shezarrine - a Skyrim story
by Wotan Wed May 06, 2020 7:35 pm
Timeline Series - Vol 1 Before the Ages of Man by Aicantar of Shimerene
Before man came to rule Tamriel, and before the chronicles of the historians recorded the affairs of the rulers of Tamriel, the events of our world are known only through myths and legends, and through the divinely inspired teachings of the Nine Divines.
For convenience, historians divide the distant ages of prehistory into two broad periods of time -- the Dawn Era, and the Merethic Era.
* The Dawn Era *
The Dawn Era is that period before the beginning of mortal time, when the feats of the gods take place. The Dawn Era ends with the exodus of the gods and magic from the World at the founding of the Adamantine Tower.
The term 'Merethic' comes from the Nordic, literally, "Era of the Elves." The Merethic Era is the prehistoric time after the exodus of the gods and magic from the World at the founding of the Adamantine Tower and before the arrival of Ysgramor the Nord in Tamriel.
The following are the most notable events of the Dawn Era, presented roughly in sequence as it must be understaoo by creatures of time such as ourselves.
The Cosmos formed from the Aurbis [chaos, or totality] by Anu and Padomay. Akatosh (Auriel) formed and Time began. The Gods (et'Ada) formed. Lorkhan convinced -- or tricked -- the Gods into creating the mortal plane, Nirn. The mortal plane was at this point highly magical and dangerous. As the Gods walked, the physical make-up of the mortal plane and even the timeless continuity of existence itself became unstable.
When Magic (Magnus), architect of the plans for the mortal world, decided to terminate the project, the Gods convened at the Adamantine Tower [Direnni Tower, the oldest known structure in Tamriel] and decided what to do. Most left when Magic did. Others sacrificed themselves into other forms so that they might Stay (the Ehlnofey). Lorkhan was condemned by the Gods to exile in the mortal realms, and his heart was torn out and cast from the Tower. Where it landed, a Volcano formed. With Magic (in the Mythic Sense) gone, the Cosmos stabilized. Elven history, finally linear, began (ME2500).
* The Merethic Era *
The Merethic Era was figured by early Nord scholars as a series of years numbered in reverse order backward from the their 'beginning of time' -- the founding of the Camoran Dynasty, recorded as Year Zero of the First Era. The prehistoric events of the Merethic Era are listed here with their traditional Nordic Merethic dates. The earliest Merethic date cited by King Harald's scholars was ME2500 -- the Nordic reckoning of the first year of time. As such, the Merethic Era extends from ME2500 in the distant past to ME1 -- the year before the founding of the Camoran Dysnasty and the establishment of the White Gold Tower as an indepenent city-state.
According to King Harald's bards, ME2500 was the date of construction of the Adamantine Tower on Balfiera Island in High Rock, the oldest known structure of Tamriel. (This corresponds roughly to the earliest historical dates given in various unpublished Elvish chronicles.)
During the early Merethic Era, the aboriginal beastpeoples of Tamriel -- the ancestors of the Khajiit, Argonian, Orcish, and other beastfolk -- lived in preliterate communities throughout Tamriel.
In the Middle Merethic Era, the Aldmeri (mortals of Elven origin) refugees left their doomed and now-lost continent of Aldmeris (also known as 'Old Ehlnofey') and settled in southwestern Tamriel. The first colonies were distributed at wide intervals on islands along the entire coast of Tamriel. Later inland settlements were founded primarily in fertile lowlands in southwest and central Tamriel. Wherever the beastfolk encountered the Elves, the sophisticated, literate, technologically advanced Aldmeri cultures displaced the primitive beastfolk into the jungles, marshes, mountains, and wastelands. The Adamantine Tower was rediscovered and captured by the Direnni, a prominent and powerful Aldmeri clan. The Crystal Tower was built on Summerset Isle and, later, White Gold Tower in Cyrodiil.
During the Middle Merethic Era, Aldmeri explorers mapped the coasts of Vvardenfel, building the First Era High Elven wizard towers at Ald Redaynia, Bal Fell, Tel Aruhn, and Tel Mora in Morrowind. It was also during this period that Ayleid [Wild Elven] settlements flourished in the jungles surrounding White Gold Tower (present day Cyrodiil). Wild Elves, also known as the Heartland High Elves, preserved the Dawn Era magics and language of the Ehlnofey. Ostensibly a tribute-land to the High King of Alinor, the Heartland's long lines of communication from the Summerset Isles' sovereignty effectively isolated Cyrodill from the High Kings at Crystal Tower.
The Late Middle Merethic Era is the period of the High Velothi Culture. The Chimer, ancestors of the modern Dunmer, or Dark Elves, were dynamic, ambitious, long-lived Elven clans devoted to fundamentalist ancestor worship. The Chimer clans followed the Prophet Veloth out of the ancestral Elven homelands in the southwest to settle in the lands now known as Morrowind. Despising the secular culture and profane practices of the Dwemer, the Chimer also coveted the lands and resources of the Dwemer, and for centuries provoked them with minor raids and territorial disputes. The Dwemer (Dwarves), free-thinking, reclusive Elven clans devoted to the secrets of science, engineering, and alchemy, established underground cities and communities in the mountain range (later the Velothi Mountains) separating modern Skyrim and Morrowind.
The Late Merethic Era marks the precipitous decline of Velothi culture. Some Velothi settled in villages near declining and abandoned ancient Velothi towers. During this period, Velothi high culture disappeared on Vvardenfell Island. The earliest Dwemer Freehold colonies date from this period. Degenerate Velothi devolved into tribal cultures which, in time, evolved into the modern Great Houses of Morrowind, or persisted as the barbarian Ashlander tribes. The only surviving traces of this tribal culture are scattered Velothi towers and Ashlander nomads on Vvardenfell Island. The original First Era High Elven wizard towers along the coasts of Tamriel were also abandoned about this time.
It was in the Late Merethic Era that the pre-literate humans, the so-called "Nedic Peoples", from the continent of Atmora (also 'Altmora' or 'the Elder Wood' in Aldmeris) migrated and settleed in northern Tamriel. The Nord culture hero Ysgramor, leader of a great colonizing fleet to Tamriel, is credited with developing a runic transcription of Nord speech based on Elvish principles, and so Ysgramor is considered the first human historian. Ysgramor's fleet landed at Hsaarik Head at the extreme northern tip of Skyrim's Broken Cape. The Nords built there the legendary city of Saarthal. The Elves drove the Men away during the Night of Tears, but Ysgramor soon returned with his Five Hundred Companions.
Also during the Late Merethic Era the legendary immortal hero, warrior, sorceror, and king variously known as Pelinal Whitestrake, Harrald Hairy Breeks, Ysmir, Hans the Fox, etc., wandered Tamriel, gathering armies, conquering lands, ruling, then abandoning his kingdoms to wander again.
"Well, are there any questions Before we begin?" Tolfdir said. "What's so important about this Place?" I asked. "We're particularly interested in the prevalence of magical seals placed on the tombs here. It's rather unlike anything we've encountered." "I don't have any more questions. What would you like me to do?" "Ah, yes. Hmm. Well, why don't you see if you can assist Arniel Gane? He's one of our scholars, here working on cataloging our finds. I expect he'd appreciate some help in locating additional artifacts here in the ruins. Any enchanted items will do, the usefulness of the enchantment is irrelevant. If you find anything, the class can look it over. Now, let's see. What shall we have the rest of you do? Brelyna, my dear, why don't you search for warding Magics. Anything designed to keep people out. Don't interact with them, just identify them. Onmund, please search that area over there. See if you notice any... residual energies. Alive or undead. J'zargo... what shall we have you do... Ah! Why don't you verufy that we're the first ones here? Look for any amount of tampering with the tombs. All right, everyone. Let's be careful, but have fun!" Tolfdir said. "J'zargo finds nothing but dust in these ruins," the Khajiit muttered.
The scholar I was supposed to assist was working alone in another section. He wasn't too pleased to be interrupted by our arrival...
"Well, certainly none of this will benefit my research..." Arniel Gane said. "Tolfdir sent me to help you," I said. "Ah, yes. You. I remember you. You're going to help? That's fine. Just... just don't make a mess of my work. I've only looked through a portion of this section. You, uh, you can look around in the chambers just North of here. Try and be careful, all right? We don't want to damage anything."
The Girls started searching the chambers, and quickly they found a couple of enchanted rings.
"This Place is scary... Are you sure we will manage?" Vilja said.
I don't know what could make her nervous, maybe it was a maternal thing. She need not worry. Mimi and Haspina are bright Children who can look after themselves. Mirai and Tolfdir picked up the rear just as I spotted something interesting - an amulet hanging on the wall...
I pulled the amulet from the wall, and there was a crash behind us. The sound of heavy metal striking the ground - the sound of a portcullis closing...
Before man came to rule Tamriel, and before the chronicles of the historians recorded the affairs of the rulers of Tamriel, the events of our world are known only through myths and legends, and through the divinely inspired teachings of the Nine Divines.
For convenience, historians divide the distant ages of prehistory into two broad periods of time -- the Dawn Era, and the Merethic Era.
* The Dawn Era *
The Dawn Era is that period before the beginning of mortal time, when the feats of the gods take place. The Dawn Era ends with the exodus of the gods and magic from the World at the founding of the Adamantine Tower.
The term 'Merethic' comes from the Nordic, literally, "Era of the Elves." The Merethic Era is the prehistoric time after the exodus of the gods and magic from the World at the founding of the Adamantine Tower and before the arrival of Ysgramor the Nord in Tamriel.
The following are the most notable events of the Dawn Era, presented roughly in sequence as it must be understaoo by creatures of time such as ourselves.
The Cosmos formed from the Aurbis [chaos, or totality] by Anu and Padomay. Akatosh (Auriel) formed and Time began. The Gods (et'Ada) formed. Lorkhan convinced -- or tricked -- the Gods into creating the mortal plane, Nirn. The mortal plane was at this point highly magical and dangerous. As the Gods walked, the physical make-up of the mortal plane and even the timeless continuity of existence itself became unstable.
When Magic (Magnus), architect of the plans for the mortal world, decided to terminate the project, the Gods convened at the Adamantine Tower [Direnni Tower, the oldest known structure in Tamriel] and decided what to do. Most left when Magic did. Others sacrificed themselves into other forms so that they might Stay (the Ehlnofey). Lorkhan was condemned by the Gods to exile in the mortal realms, and his heart was torn out and cast from the Tower. Where it landed, a Volcano formed. With Magic (in the Mythic Sense) gone, the Cosmos stabilized. Elven history, finally linear, began (ME2500).
* The Merethic Era *
The Merethic Era was figured by early Nord scholars as a series of years numbered in reverse order backward from the their 'beginning of time' -- the founding of the Camoran Dynasty, recorded as Year Zero of the First Era. The prehistoric events of the Merethic Era are listed here with their traditional Nordic Merethic dates. The earliest Merethic date cited by King Harald's scholars was ME2500 -- the Nordic reckoning of the first year of time. As such, the Merethic Era extends from ME2500 in the distant past to ME1 -- the year before the founding of the Camoran Dysnasty and the establishment of the White Gold Tower as an indepenent city-state.
According to King Harald's bards, ME2500 was the date of construction of the Adamantine Tower on Balfiera Island in High Rock, the oldest known structure of Tamriel. (This corresponds roughly to the earliest historical dates given in various unpublished Elvish chronicles.)
During the early Merethic Era, the aboriginal beastpeoples of Tamriel -- the ancestors of the Khajiit, Argonian, Orcish, and other beastfolk -- lived in preliterate communities throughout Tamriel.
In the Middle Merethic Era, the Aldmeri (mortals of Elven origin) refugees left their doomed and now-lost continent of Aldmeris (also known as 'Old Ehlnofey') and settled in southwestern Tamriel. The first colonies were distributed at wide intervals on islands along the entire coast of Tamriel. Later inland settlements were founded primarily in fertile lowlands in southwest and central Tamriel. Wherever the beastfolk encountered the Elves, the sophisticated, literate, technologically advanced Aldmeri cultures displaced the primitive beastfolk into the jungles, marshes, mountains, and wastelands. The Adamantine Tower was rediscovered and captured by the Direnni, a prominent and powerful Aldmeri clan. The Crystal Tower was built on Summerset Isle and, later, White Gold Tower in Cyrodiil.
During the Middle Merethic Era, Aldmeri explorers mapped the coasts of Vvardenfel, building the First Era High Elven wizard towers at Ald Redaynia, Bal Fell, Tel Aruhn, and Tel Mora in Morrowind. It was also during this period that Ayleid [Wild Elven] settlements flourished in the jungles surrounding White Gold Tower (present day Cyrodiil). Wild Elves, also known as the Heartland High Elves, preserved the Dawn Era magics and language of the Ehlnofey. Ostensibly a tribute-land to the High King of Alinor, the Heartland's long lines of communication from the Summerset Isles' sovereignty effectively isolated Cyrodill from the High Kings at Crystal Tower.
The Late Middle Merethic Era is the period of the High Velothi Culture. The Chimer, ancestors of the modern Dunmer, or Dark Elves, were dynamic, ambitious, long-lived Elven clans devoted to fundamentalist ancestor worship. The Chimer clans followed the Prophet Veloth out of the ancestral Elven homelands in the southwest to settle in the lands now known as Morrowind. Despising the secular culture and profane practices of the Dwemer, the Chimer also coveted the lands and resources of the Dwemer, and for centuries provoked them with minor raids and territorial disputes. The Dwemer (Dwarves), free-thinking, reclusive Elven clans devoted to the secrets of science, engineering, and alchemy, established underground cities and communities in the mountain range (later the Velothi Mountains) separating modern Skyrim and Morrowind.
The Late Merethic Era marks the precipitous decline of Velothi culture. Some Velothi settled in villages near declining and abandoned ancient Velothi towers. During this period, Velothi high culture disappeared on Vvardenfell Island. The earliest Dwemer Freehold colonies date from this period. Degenerate Velothi devolved into tribal cultures which, in time, evolved into the modern Great Houses of Morrowind, or persisted as the barbarian Ashlander tribes. The only surviving traces of this tribal culture are scattered Velothi towers and Ashlander nomads on Vvardenfell Island. The original First Era High Elven wizard towers along the coasts of Tamriel were also abandoned about this time.
It was in the Late Merethic Era that the pre-literate humans, the so-called "Nedic Peoples", from the continent of Atmora (also 'Altmora' or 'the Elder Wood' in Aldmeris) migrated and settleed in northern Tamriel. The Nord culture hero Ysgramor, leader of a great colonizing fleet to Tamriel, is credited with developing a runic transcription of Nord speech based on Elvish principles, and so Ysgramor is considered the first human historian. Ysgramor's fleet landed at Hsaarik Head at the extreme northern tip of Skyrim's Broken Cape. The Nords built there the legendary city of Saarthal. The Elves drove the Men away during the Night of Tears, but Ysgramor soon returned with his Five Hundred Companions.
Also during the Late Merethic Era the legendary immortal hero, warrior, sorceror, and king variously known as Pelinal Whitestrake, Harrald Hairy Breeks, Ysmir, Hans the Fox, etc., wandered Tamriel, gathering armies, conquering lands, ruling, then abandoning his kingdoms to wander again.
"Well, are there any questions Before we begin?" Tolfdir said. "What's so important about this Place?" I asked. "We're particularly interested in the prevalence of magical seals placed on the tombs here. It's rather unlike anything we've encountered." "I don't have any more questions. What would you like me to do?" "Ah, yes. Hmm. Well, why don't you see if you can assist Arniel Gane? He's one of our scholars, here working on cataloging our finds. I expect he'd appreciate some help in locating additional artifacts here in the ruins. Any enchanted items will do, the usefulness of the enchantment is irrelevant. If you find anything, the class can look it over. Now, let's see. What shall we have the rest of you do? Brelyna, my dear, why don't you search for warding Magics. Anything designed to keep people out. Don't interact with them, just identify them. Onmund, please search that area over there. See if you notice any... residual energies. Alive or undead. J'zargo... what shall we have you do... Ah! Why don't you verufy that we're the first ones here? Look for any amount of tampering with the tombs. All right, everyone. Let's be careful, but have fun!" Tolfdir said. "J'zargo finds nothing but dust in these ruins," the Khajiit muttered.
The scholar I was supposed to assist was working alone in another section. He wasn't too pleased to be interrupted by our arrival...
"Well, certainly none of this will benefit my research..." Arniel Gane said. "Tolfdir sent me to help you," I said. "Ah, yes. You. I remember you. You're going to help? That's fine. Just... just don't make a mess of my work. I've only looked through a portion of this section. You, uh, you can look around in the chambers just North of here. Try and be careful, all right? We don't want to damage anything."
The Girls started searching the chambers, and quickly they found a couple of enchanted rings.
"This Place is scary... Are you sure we will manage?" Vilja said.
I don't know what could make her nervous, maybe it was a maternal thing. She need not worry. Mimi and Haspina are bright Children who can look after themselves. Mirai and Tolfdir picked up the rear just as I spotted something interesting - an amulet hanging on the wall...
I pulled the amulet from the wall, and there was a crash behind us. The sound of heavy metal striking the ground - the sound of a portcullis closing...
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Re: The Shezarrine - a Skyrim story
by Wotan Wed May 06, 2020 7:38 pm
"What in the World was that racket? Is Everything all right?" Tolfdir wondered. "We're trapped in here!" I said. "How in the World did that happen?" "I pulled an amulet off the wall." "Really? Perhaps the amulet is important somehow. Is there some way you can use it?" Tolfdir said.
I pocketed my amulet of Talos and put the strange saarthal amulet around my neck. It had a weak enchantment to ease spellcasting.
"Some kind of resonance... you and the wall. It must be connected to the amulet! I wonder... what effect might your spells have?" Tolfdir said.
Master Tolfdir was right - there was something going on. But instead of using my spells, I had a different idea. I tried my Unrelenting Force shout at the wall...
It definitely had an effect...
"Well, this is highly unusual. And very interesting. Why in the World would this be sealed off? What is this Place? I'm not sure what to expect here. Plese be on your guard," Tolfdir said.
The old wizard took the lead as he stepped through the opening and into the winding tunnel beyond. Our Group followed behind...
I pocketed my amulet of Talos and put the strange saarthal amulet around my neck. It had a weak enchantment to ease spellcasting.
"Some kind of resonance... you and the wall. It must be connected to the amulet! I wonder... what effect might your spells have?" Tolfdir said.
Master Tolfdir was right - there was something going on. But instead of using my spells, I had a different idea. I tried my Unrelenting Force shout at the wall...
It definitely had an effect...
"Well, this is highly unusual. And very interesting. Why in the World would this be sealed off? What is this Place? I'm not sure what to expect here. Plese be on your guard," Tolfdir said.
The old wizard took the lead as he stepped through the opening and into the winding tunnel beyond. Our Group followed behind...
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Re: The Shezarrine - a Skyrim story
by Wotan Wed May 06, 2020 7:41 pm
We entered a small chamber. Then something weird happened...
"Hold, mage, and lsten well... Know that you have set in motion a chail of events that cannot be stopped. Judgement has not been passed, as you had no way of knowing. Judgement will be passed on your actions to come, and how you deal with the dangers ahead of you. This warning is passed to you because the Psijic Order Believes in you. You, mage, and you alone, have the potential to prevent disaster. Take great care, and know that the Order is watching," Nerien said.
"I... I swear I felt something rather strange just then. What just happened?" Tolfdir said. "Some sort of ghost or apparition appeared. It spoke to me," I said. "I'm afraid I didn't see anything... Can you tell me about what you saw?" "It said something about danger ahead, and the Psijic Order." "The Psijic Order? Are you sure about that? That's very odd. And danger ahead? Why that doesn't make any sense at all. The Psijics have no Connection to these ruins. And no one's seen any of their order in a log time. Perhaps we should take a look inside these coffins... Now please be careful. Who knows what we're going to find," Tolfdir said. "Why is the Psijic Order contacting me?" I wondered. "I have no idea, but it's fascinating. Assuming it's true, of course. The Isle of Artaeum disappeared over a hundred years ago, and no one has seen them since. And yet now, suddenly, they have chosen to Contact you? Why, it's intriguing! If nothing else, I'd take it as a compliment. The Psijics have only ever dealt with those they feel worthy," Tolfdir said.
I doubt it was the draugr we encountered the Psijic monk had warned me about. There had to be something deeper in these ruins... some reason this section had been sealed off. This should've been reason enough to turn back, but it's not how the human mind usually works - tell it to avoid something and it is likely to do the opposite.
Guide to the Psijic Order
Gradually, as the society grew, social stratification increased. A hierarchy of classes began to form, which is still largely enforced in Summerset to this day. At the top are the Wise, teachers and priests, followed by the Artists, Princes, Warriors, Landowners, Merchants, and Workers. Below Workers were the beasts, such as the enslaved goblins, who the Aldmer used to perform the jobs beneath the dignity of the very least of them. The religion of the people also changed because of this change in society: no longer did the Aldmer worship their own ancestors, but the ancestors of their "betters." Auriel, Trinimac, Syrabane, and Phynaster are among the many ancestor spirits who became Gods. A group of elders rebelled against this trend, calling themselves the Psijics, the keepers of the Old Ways of Aldmeris. With their mystical powers, they were able to settle in Arteaum, away from what they considered the corruption of their society. They continued to return to the land to act as advisors, but never again would they call Summerset home.
-From The Blessed Isle: Alinor and The Summersets
Early in Tamrielic history, a group of Aldmer rebelled against the changing beliefs of Summerset and left the isles. Calling Artaeum their new home, the Psijic were able to continue the Old Ways of Aldmeris. In addition, it is believed that the Psijics' views also included the suggestion that Anu’s son, the Time Dragon, was formed in reaction to Padhome’s influence. In effect, Anu had finally done something. Similar to the age old question of what happens when an Unstoppable Force meets an Immovable Object, this inconceivable effect gave rise to an equally inconceivable cause. PSJJJJ was named, and the Order took his name (Teachings of Vehk). Today, the Order accepts members from all races, and they are believed to be the oldest monastic group in Tamriel.
The name PSJJJJ is designed to be unpronounceable, but the name’s influence within the Order is tremendous. It is believed that PSJJJJ might be the Aldmeris or Old Ehlnofex name for Padhome's aforementioned influence on Anu. The Psijic Order is organized to divine this mystery of change. Change is the most sacred of the Eleven Forces within the Order.
The Isle of Artaeum
The Isle of Artaeum (ar-TAY-um) is the home of the Psijic Order. It is located in the Summerset Isle and is the third largest island in that region. "The Isle of Artaeum is difficult to chart geographically. It is said that it shifts continuously either at random or by decree of the Council" (il-Anselma). In fact, "When the Psijic Order does not wish someone to land on the island, the island and all on it become insubstantial" (Salarth).
Visitors to the isle are extremely rare, but Artaeum is believed to be elegant and beautiful. It is reported to contain idyllic orchards and clear pastures, still and silent lagoons, misty woodlands, and unique Psijic architecture that seems to be wondrous as well as natural to its surroundings. The Ceporah Tower, which is a relic from a civilization that predates the High Elves by several hundred years, is still used in certain rites by the Psijics. Anyone interested in meeting with the Psijics may find contacts in Potansa and Runcibae as well as many of the kingdoms of Summerset Isle (il-Anselma).
The Disappearance
Sometime around 2E 230, the Isle of Artaeum literally vanished from the sea. There have been various theories published about this event but none have been proven true. One popular story even states that Iachesis, Rite Master of the Psijics at that time, knew that the Psijics were going to leave:
"No, the island will be leaving the sea," said Iachesis, his voice taking on a dreamy quality. "In a few years, the mists will move over Artaeum and we will be gone. We are counselors by nature, and there are too many counselors in Tamriel as it is. No, we will go, and return when the land needs us again, perhaps in another age" (Townway).
Five hundred years passed, and the Isle of Arteaum returned just as mysteriously as it had left but with one important difference: Iachesis and the original Council of the Psijics did not return. The graycloaks who did return could not or would not offer an explanation for their disappearance. And unfortunately, they were unable to offer any explanation to the whereabouts of Iachesis and the Council. What is known is that the disappearance of Artaeum coincides with the founding of the Mages Guild (il-Anselma).
The War of the Isle
The War of the Isle, in 3E 110, twelve years after Antiochus assumed the throne, nearly took the province of Summurset Isle away from Tamriel. The united alliance of the kings of Summurset and Antiochus only managed to defeat King Orgnum of the island-kingdom of Pyandonea due to a freak storm. Legend credits the Psijic Order of the Isle of Artaeum with the sorcery behind the tempest (k'Thojj III).
In the Third Era, Emperor Antiochus asked the Psijic Order for help in defending the west coast of Tamriel. The Order caught wind of a meeting between King Orgnum and Queen Potema of Solitude, so a group of graycloaks paid a visit to the Queen. While there, the Psijics confronted Potema and confirmed the invasion planned by the Pyandonean Armada. In a shrewd maneuver, Queen Potema convinced the Order to defend Tamriel’s coast (Jarth).
...Potema heard that the fleet of the Pyandoneans had been utterly destroyed by a storm that had appeared suddenly off the Isle of Artaeum. The home port of the Psijic Order. King Orgnum and all of his ships had been utterly annihilated (Jarth).
3E 432
Some of Summerset's youth are rebelling against the present, ironically, by embracing the past. The Imperial Geographical Society is not allowed to visit Artaeum to survey and document it, but there is little doubt that the Psijic Order is increasingly popular among the young, and is willing to exploit this. Over the past thousand years, only seventeen new initiates were brought into the order. In the past two years, however, another thirty have joined. Thirty new members of an Order may not be enough to be a surprising trend in most circles, but to the tradition-bound graycloaks of Artaeum, it raises many questions. What the Psijics' aim in this recent recruitment, however, is anyone's guess at this time (PGttE: The Blessed Isle: Alinor and The Summersets).
"Hold, mage, and lsten well... Know that you have set in motion a chail of events that cannot be stopped. Judgement has not been passed, as you had no way of knowing. Judgement will be passed on your actions to come, and how you deal with the dangers ahead of you. This warning is passed to you because the Psijic Order Believes in you. You, mage, and you alone, have the potential to prevent disaster. Take great care, and know that the Order is watching," Nerien said.
"I... I swear I felt something rather strange just then. What just happened?" Tolfdir said. "Some sort of ghost or apparition appeared. It spoke to me," I said. "I'm afraid I didn't see anything... Can you tell me about what you saw?" "It said something about danger ahead, and the Psijic Order." "The Psijic Order? Are you sure about that? That's very odd. And danger ahead? Why that doesn't make any sense at all. The Psijics have no Connection to these ruins. And no one's seen any of their order in a log time. Perhaps we should take a look inside these coffins... Now please be careful. Who knows what we're going to find," Tolfdir said. "Why is the Psijic Order contacting me?" I wondered. "I have no idea, but it's fascinating. Assuming it's true, of course. The Isle of Artaeum disappeared over a hundred years ago, and no one has seen them since. And yet now, suddenly, they have chosen to Contact you? Why, it's intriguing! If nothing else, I'd take it as a compliment. The Psijics have only ever dealt with those they feel worthy," Tolfdir said.
I doubt it was the draugr we encountered the Psijic monk had warned me about. There had to be something deeper in these ruins... some reason this section had been sealed off. This should've been reason enough to turn back, but it's not how the human mind usually works - tell it to avoid something and it is likely to do the opposite.
Guide to the Psijic Order
Gradually, as the society grew, social stratification increased. A hierarchy of classes began to form, which is still largely enforced in Summerset to this day. At the top are the Wise, teachers and priests, followed by the Artists, Princes, Warriors, Landowners, Merchants, and Workers. Below Workers were the beasts, such as the enslaved goblins, who the Aldmer used to perform the jobs beneath the dignity of the very least of them. The religion of the people also changed because of this change in society: no longer did the Aldmer worship their own ancestors, but the ancestors of their "betters." Auriel, Trinimac, Syrabane, and Phynaster are among the many ancestor spirits who became Gods. A group of elders rebelled against this trend, calling themselves the Psijics, the keepers of the Old Ways of Aldmeris. With their mystical powers, they were able to settle in Arteaum, away from what they considered the corruption of their society. They continued to return to the land to act as advisors, but never again would they call Summerset home.
-From The Blessed Isle: Alinor and The Summersets
Early in Tamrielic history, a group of Aldmer rebelled against the changing beliefs of Summerset and left the isles. Calling Artaeum their new home, the Psijic were able to continue the Old Ways of Aldmeris. In addition, it is believed that the Psijics' views also included the suggestion that Anu’s son, the Time Dragon, was formed in reaction to Padhome’s influence. In effect, Anu had finally done something. Similar to the age old question of what happens when an Unstoppable Force meets an Immovable Object, this inconceivable effect gave rise to an equally inconceivable cause. PSJJJJ was named, and the Order took his name (Teachings of Vehk). Today, the Order accepts members from all races, and they are believed to be the oldest monastic group in Tamriel.
The name PSJJJJ is designed to be unpronounceable, but the name’s influence within the Order is tremendous. It is believed that PSJJJJ might be the Aldmeris or Old Ehlnofex name for Padhome's aforementioned influence on Anu. The Psijic Order is organized to divine this mystery of change. Change is the most sacred of the Eleven Forces within the Order.
The Isle of Artaeum
The Isle of Artaeum (ar-TAY-um) is the home of the Psijic Order. It is located in the Summerset Isle and is the third largest island in that region. "The Isle of Artaeum is difficult to chart geographically. It is said that it shifts continuously either at random or by decree of the Council" (il-Anselma). In fact, "When the Psijic Order does not wish someone to land on the island, the island and all on it become insubstantial" (Salarth).
Visitors to the isle are extremely rare, but Artaeum is believed to be elegant and beautiful. It is reported to contain idyllic orchards and clear pastures, still and silent lagoons, misty woodlands, and unique Psijic architecture that seems to be wondrous as well as natural to its surroundings. The Ceporah Tower, which is a relic from a civilization that predates the High Elves by several hundred years, is still used in certain rites by the Psijics. Anyone interested in meeting with the Psijics may find contacts in Potansa and Runcibae as well as many of the kingdoms of Summerset Isle (il-Anselma).
The Disappearance
Sometime around 2E 230, the Isle of Artaeum literally vanished from the sea. There have been various theories published about this event but none have been proven true. One popular story even states that Iachesis, Rite Master of the Psijics at that time, knew that the Psijics were going to leave:
"No, the island will be leaving the sea," said Iachesis, his voice taking on a dreamy quality. "In a few years, the mists will move over Artaeum and we will be gone. We are counselors by nature, and there are too many counselors in Tamriel as it is. No, we will go, and return when the land needs us again, perhaps in another age" (Townway).
Five hundred years passed, and the Isle of Arteaum returned just as mysteriously as it had left but with one important difference: Iachesis and the original Council of the Psijics did not return. The graycloaks who did return could not or would not offer an explanation for their disappearance. And unfortunately, they were unable to offer any explanation to the whereabouts of Iachesis and the Council. What is known is that the disappearance of Artaeum coincides with the founding of the Mages Guild (il-Anselma).
The War of the Isle
The War of the Isle, in 3E 110, twelve years after Antiochus assumed the throne, nearly took the province of Summurset Isle away from Tamriel. The united alliance of the kings of Summurset and Antiochus only managed to defeat King Orgnum of the island-kingdom of Pyandonea due to a freak storm. Legend credits the Psijic Order of the Isle of Artaeum with the sorcery behind the tempest (k'Thojj III).
In the Third Era, Emperor Antiochus asked the Psijic Order for help in defending the west coast of Tamriel. The Order caught wind of a meeting between King Orgnum and Queen Potema of Solitude, so a group of graycloaks paid a visit to the Queen. While there, the Psijics confronted Potema and confirmed the invasion planned by the Pyandonean Armada. In a shrewd maneuver, Queen Potema convinced the Order to defend Tamriel’s coast (Jarth).
...Potema heard that the fleet of the Pyandoneans had been utterly destroyed by a storm that had appeared suddenly off the Isle of Artaeum. The home port of the Psijic Order. King Orgnum and all of his ships had been utterly annihilated (Jarth).
3E 432
Some of Summerset's youth are rebelling against the present, ironically, by embracing the past. The Imperial Geographical Society is not allowed to visit Artaeum to survey and document it, but there is little doubt that the Psijic Order is increasingly popular among the young, and is willing to exploit this. Over the past thousand years, only seventeen new initiates were brought into the order. In the past two years, however, another thirty have joined. Thirty new members of an Order may not be enough to be a surprising trend in most circles, but to the tradition-bound graycloaks of Artaeum, it raises many questions. What the Psijics' aim in this recent recruitment, however, is anyone's guess at this time (PGttE: The Blessed Isle: Alinor and The Summersets).
_________________
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Re: The Shezarrine - a Skyrim story
by Wotan Wed May 06, 2020 7:45 pm
Immediately as we raised the portcullis, we had to battle draugr...
"I've never seen anythuíng like this in Nordic ruins Before. Why, just look at all these coffins! This bears closer inspection. I'd like to stay a while and examine this. You, however, should press on. See if you can find whatever this vision of yours mentioned. But if it is truly dangerous, be careful. Go on ahead. I'll be sure and Catch up with you Before long," Tolfdir said.
As we pressed deeper into the ruins we ran into more draugr. This was expected in a Nordic ruin, but there were also traps in the form of magical runes.
This ruin was truly large and filled with the ancient dead and undead. We came across one of those Nordic puzzles with turning pillars. You'd expect the ancients wouldn't leave the combination out in the open - but perhaps they did so because they couldn't remember them. Anyhow, this made it much easier for us - just match the image on the pillar with the image depicted on the wall behind it, then pull the lever and voila...
"I've never seen anythuíng like this in Nordic ruins Before. Why, just look at all these coffins! This bears closer inspection. I'd like to stay a while and examine this. You, however, should press on. See if you can find whatever this vision of yours mentioned. But if it is truly dangerous, be careful. Go on ahead. I'll be sure and Catch up with you Before long," Tolfdir said.
As we pressed deeper into the ruins we ran into more draugr. This was expected in a Nordic ruin, but there were also traps in the form of magical runes.
This ruin was truly large and filled with the ancient dead and undead. We came across one of those Nordic puzzles with turning pillars. You'd expect the ancients wouldn't leave the combination out in the open - but perhaps they did so because they couldn't remember them. Anyhow, this made it much easier for us - just match the image on the pillar with the image depicted on the wall behind it, then pull the lever and voila...
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Re: The Shezarrine - a Skyrim story
by Wotan Wed May 06, 2020 7:50 pm
Large chambers, hordes of draugr and more magic runes... When are we going to find whatever the Psijic warned me about?
More traps and more puzzles. And the Discovery that we are not the first to dig in this Place. The Imperials have been here Before us. How long ago, though, is hard to say. But the dust covering the journal we found was evidence enough it was long ago.
The Fall of Saarthal by Heseph Chirirnis, Mages Guild Scholar assigned to Imperial Archaeologist Sentius Floronius
Let it be known that the esteemed archaeologist has chosen to focus his boundless talents on the cooking and baking habits of early First Era Nords. While this work will no doubt bring great glory and benefit to the Empire, it is clear that my limited expertise is of no use to this effort.
I have instead been using my considerable free time to investigate a particular avenue of study, namely that of the Fall of Saarthal. Every child of the Empire knows what happened here; that the first city of Man on Tamriel was sacked by the elves, jealous and fearful of the threat men posed to them. Relations have obviously improved considerably since then, but to be able to see the results of the destruction first-hand, it is quite striking to note the degree of effort that went into the venture.
The first task before me was differentiating between areas of original architecture and those that were rebuilt after Ysgramor retook the city with his five hundred companions. Initially relying heavily on the expertise of archaeologist Floronius, my ability to discern the difference for myself improved over time. Indeed, I was surprised to find that many areas of the city, far more than I would have believed, retained much of the original stonework. Work was clearly done to remedy the effects of the city being burned after the elves' assault, but I suspect they underestimated the durability of Nordic craftsmanship.
Or rather, that is what I initially thought. Perhaps it was a mistaken sense of pride in the accomplishments of these early men, or perhaps it was just my inexperience that led me to this conclusion. Something was amiss, though. Repeated attempts to consult the exceedingly perceptive archaeologist were unfruitful, often digressing into lectures on the bathing habits of Saarthal residents, or the average number of potted plants in homes. I was again forced to rely on my limited powers of observation and deduction.
And so I have no conclusive results to report at this time. I can say with certainty that the initial attack on Saarthal seems to have been very focused, and does not appear to correlate to any locations that have been established as points of defense or importance. While the eminent scholar Sentius has yet to examine my findings, or indeed show any interest in them, my inclination is to suggest that not only did the elves know the apparent layout of the city, but that their assault was based on a specific directive and perhaps a singular goal.
My humble investigations shall continue as time permits.
We're very close, I can feel it. There is something immensely magically powerful nearby...
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Re: The Shezarrine - a Skyrim story
by Wotan Wed May 06, 2020 7:55 pm
"Well now... would you look at that," Tolfdir said.
We Went down the stairs to have a closer look... then a draugr lord attacked us...
The bloody creature turned out to be invulnerable to our attacks. We were in trouble until Master Tolfdir turned his attention to the mysterious orb...
The draugr finally became vulnerable to our attacks and Went down quickly.
"What is this thing?" I wondered. "I have no idea! This is Amazing. Absolutely Amazing. The Arch-Mage needs to be informed immediately. He needs to see this for himself. I don't dare leave this unattended. Can you return to the College and inform Savos Aren of this Discovery? Please, hurry," Tolfdir said. "I wonder what the Arch-Mage will say when he hears the news," vilja said.
I found a parchment on the draugr's body...
Be bound here, Jyrik, murderer, betrayer
Condemned by your crimes against realm and lord.
May your name and your deeds be forgotten forvever
And the charm which you bear be sealed by our ward.
I could feel the Word wall in the back chamber call to me...
"Sigruuf wahlaan qethsegol briinahii vahrukt, Lanal, wen brit luft los ol kinzon ahrk sot ol nus, dwiirok nol nahlaas ozinvey. Sigruuf raised this stone for his sister, Lanal, whose beautiful face was as sharp and white as a statue, carved from living ivory."
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Re: The Shezarrine - a Skyrim story
by Wotan Wed May 06, 2020 7:58 pm
"You are relatively new here, are you not? I have noticed you, but we have not spoken." "No, we haven't," I said. "Then allow me to introduce myself. I am Savos Aren, Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold. I an quite content to see nearly any aspect of magic explored and investigated here. But I do not and will not approve of any research or experiments that cause purposeful harm to your fellow members of the Colege. Are we clear?" "I need to speak to you about Saarthal." "Please don't tell me that Another apprentice has been incinerated. I have enough to deal with right now," Savos Aren said. "We found some sort of... orb. Tolfdir wanted you to see it." "I... see. I trust Tolfdir will provide a more... specific explanation. Thank you for bringing this to my attention. Tolfdir normally looks after your Little Group, yes? Since he's apparently occupied, and I will need to see this Discovery for myself, I thin perhaps you should begin researching the subject. Speak with Urag in the Arcanaeum. See if he's aware of anything that matches your Discovery. And... good work. The next time you find yourself exploring Nordic ruins, perhaps this will be helpful." "Dangerous research must be a problem here," I said. "Not often, no. Some risks must be taken, to be sure. I am simply trying to avoid untimely Deaths. We also must make an effort to avoid worsening what Skyrim Thinks of us." "Have you ever met with the Psijic Order?" "Personally? No, not I. One of their number used to advise the Arch-Mage when I was but an Apprentice here. But that was a great many years ago, Before all the members of the order were called back to the Isle of Artaeum, and it disappeared entirely," the Arch-Mage said.
"There you are. I've been trying to find you. I just wanted to let you know that Ancano's been asking about you. I Think he's looking for you," Faralda said. "Why would Ancano be looking for me?" I wondered. "I'm not sure. Just... Well, mind what you tell him, all right?" "Is there a problem?" "No, no. Well, I don't Think so. Between the two of us, there are rumors about him. That this advisor position he has is a sham, an excuse. That what he's really doing is spying for the Thalmor, trying to feed them information. Whether it's true, I can't say. But it never hurts to be a Little suspicious, does it?" Faralda said. "Thaks for the warning," I said. "You're welcome."
"I've finally found you! I want to join the College of Winterhold. But I need help with my wards. Can you teach me?" "Maybe some other time. It's late, it's been a long day. We all need some rest," I said. "Oh. All right... I guess I'll just keep practicing on my own. Sorry to bother you."
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Nemo sine vitio est.
Wotan- Posts : 3378
Join date : 2020-04-27
Age : 58
Location : Danderyd / Sweden
Re: The Shezarrine - a Skyrim story
by Wotan Wed May 06, 2020 8:02 pm
It was back to Whiterun to trade with Adrienne Avenicci and her husband Ulfberth War-Bear...
Then a short trip to Dragonstead...
"I have never been so bored. I never thought I'd want you so bad... Uh, I mean want to see you," Sofia said. "Oh... I know what you want," I whispered in her ear...
https://ibb.co/C9rzvFP
The next day we headed to Lakeview. A Group of outlaws thought it would be a good idea to attack us. We certainly proved them wrong.
Sofia was quite happy to be back in the adventuring group. She got both her carnal desires satisfied and her desire to kill things. And the girls were Always happy with a balance between adventure and relaxation back at home.
Then a short trip to Dragonstead...
"I have never been so bored. I never thought I'd want you so bad... Uh, I mean want to see you," Sofia said. "Oh... I know what you want," I whispered in her ear...
https://ibb.co/C9rzvFP
The next day we headed to Lakeview. A Group of outlaws thought it would be a good idea to attack us. We certainly proved them wrong.
Sofia was quite happy to be back in the adventuring group. She got both her carnal desires satisfied and her desire to kill things. And the girls were Always happy with a balance between adventure and relaxation back at home.
_________________
Nemo sine vitio est.
Wotan- Posts : 3378
Join date : 2020-04-27
Age : 58
Location : Danderyd / Sweden
Re: The Shezarrine - a Skyrim story
by Wotan Wed May 06, 2020 8:05 pm
"I heard something interesting the other day. You know Arcadia, the Whiterun alchemist? She was so happy because she had inherited a Circlet of Alchemy from her aunt. Well, the circlet never reached Whiterun. A Group of bandits stole it! Now, Arcadia Thinks she knows which bandits did this. And she says she'll reward anyone who brings back the circlet. Maybe that would be something we could look into when we are not too busy? I'll mark the location on your map, then you'll decide..." Vilja said.
"We have the water and the leaves for you," I told Tatiyana. "Wonderful, thank you! I'll add them to the mixtures I already got simmering here. Should only take a moment," she said. "What do you Think of the other College members?" "Oh, I mostly try to stay out of their way. I'm not a fan of confrontation. They all have their strengths, and their shortcomings. Nirye's insecure. J'zargo's arrogant. Drevis is loony. Aldous is a decent chap though, amusing really. I do like his idea of a weather panel. We could do with some warmth here, gets bloody cold...," Tatiyana said. "Sure does. Sure does..." Mirai said. "How is the potion?" I wondered. "It's done. I'll bottle it u for you to take to other healers. I'm sure they'll reward you for your troubles. And... take these, from me, as well. I truly appreciate your help. Also for bringing Anduniel here. It was good to see her," Tatiyana said.
The Bretons: Mongrels or Paragons? by Phrastus of Elinhir
That Men and Mer can interbreed has been known since the first humans began arriving on the shores of Tamriel in the middle of the Merethic Era. However, broad intermingling of Elves and humans only occurred in the far northwest of the continent, giving rise to the race of Men known as the Bretons. Given the history of conflict between humans and the children of Aldmeris elsewhere in Tamriel, how and why did this intermingling occur in High Rock?
The answer lies in the peculiar (for Elves) culture of Clan Direnni, the once-dominant Mer of northwest Tamriel. In contrast to the Ayleids of Cyrodiil, who brutally enslaved any humans they came into contact with, the Direnni simply conquered their local Nedes and then ruled them as a caste of nobility. The aristocratic Elves established a system of feudal vassalage over their human subjects, with rights and privileges that included the "Perquisite of Coition" with any human they desired. Sex with attractive Nedes was considered casual recreation, and Direnni nobles competed to have stables of the most desirable human subjects.
The inevitable Half-Elven offspring from these liaisons were not adopted into the families of their Direnni parents, being considered sub-Mer, but were nonetheless often given privileged positions among the subject Nedes. Over time, this led to the establishment of a recognized caste of mixed-blood humans, who were given the name "Bretons" (from the Ehlnofex "beratu," or "half"). The Breton caste was only allowed to marry humans, so over time their Elven blood became more diluted, and the Nedic appearance predominated.
Though they wielded great power for a time in the First Era, even then the Elves of Clan Direnni were never numerous, and as their geographical hegemony expanded administration and rulership was increasingly handed off to the Breton caste. After defeating the invading Alessian Horde in 1E 482 Clan Direnni was scattered and effectively exhausted. As the Elves retreated to central High Rock, then finally Balfiera Isle, the Bretons stepped easily into their shoes, assuming the feudal hierarchy established by the Direnni and simply replacing them with their own noble families.
The Breton nobles, who had been forced to differentiate themselves from the Direnni part of their heritage, justified their new ascension by distancing themselves from Elves and everything Elven—ironically so, as the Elven blood ran strongest in the older noble families. The Direnni were increasingly vilified by their former vassals, and the island clan became ever more insular and isolationist. However, they were still known as powerful magicians, and they were strong enough to repel an attempted Redguard invasion in 1E 907.
The Bretons continued redefining themselves, inventing a myth of a history of noble resistance to Direnni rule, and developing a thriving merchant class that began trading around the coasts of Tamriel. By the time the Empress Hestra and her legions arrived at Bangkorai Pass in 1E 1029, they were ready to join the Empire of Men and embrace the Eight Divines. Under the Remans, High Rock was possibly the most stable and prosperous province in the Second Empire.
Which brings us back to the (deliberately provocative) question of our title: are the Bretons then mongrels, or paragons? The answer, of course, is both (though if you call a Breton a mongrel, he is liable to feed you an inch or two of steel). The passionate race of Bretons embodies the strengths of both Men and Mer—as well as their flaws.
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Nemo sine vitio est.
Wotan- Posts : 3378
Join date : 2020-04-27
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Re: The Shezarrine - a Skyrim story
by Wotan Wed May 06, 2020 8:07 pm
"You are now in the Arcanaeum, of which I am in charge. It might as well be my own Little plane of Oblivion. Disrupt my Arcanaeum, and I will have you torn apart by angry Atronachs. Now, do you acquire assistance?" Urag gro-Shub said. "This is quite an impressive library," I said. "A mage is only as good as he knows. I try to make sure as much knowledge is available as possible. We've been keeping this Collection since the Second Era. Books have come and gone during that time, but it's mostly intact." "I need to learn about something we found in Saarthal." "I know what you want. Word travels fast around here. Discovered some big mystery, huh? Well you don't even need to ask. No, I don't have anything for you. Not anymore, anyway," the old Orc said. "You don't have anything that can help?" "I said not anymore. Orthorn stole a number of books when he ran off to Fellglow Keep to join those summoners. Some kind of Peace offering. I Think one of those volumes may have had some relevant information. If you want them, you'll have to talk to Orthorn." "Who is Orthorn?" I wondered. "He was an Apprentice here at the College. Not very skilled, but got involved with a Group of mage who took a liking to him. When they left, he took off after them. Stole supplies and books from the College, I suppose as a way to ingratiate himself." "Doesn't anyone care that Orthorn stole things from the College?" "Not enough to bother with it. Arch-Mage Aren's approach to these things is just to let them sort themselves out. Although now it looks like you'll be doing the sorting. Good luck with that," Urag said. "Why are these mages in Gellglow Keep?" I wondered. "Let's just call it a difference of opinion with the College. They wereinterested in research that goes outside the bounds of what the College allows, so they were... persuaded to leave," the Orc said. "That Orthorn must be a lunatic. I mean, one must be really obsessed with Reading in order to steal books," Vilja said.
Skyrim Cold Comfort at the Top of the World
FROST ATRONACH | Dappled light danced through the slowly swaying trees of larch; occasional leaves of yellow and orange drifted down to the forest floor. Sunlight in Skyrim was something of a novelty, but it was a welcome respite before the hunt ascended to higher climbs. A day out from Riften, our convergence with Kishra-do and first delivery for the benefactor was over; we were scouting the Autumnal Forest for wolves, wildcats, and other creatures to deliver to Kyne. So far, only a few bandit trophies. The Orc was mildly peeved we hadn’t faced anything more troublesome. Fang and Mauler shook themselves free from a thicket of brambles, and bounded over to their master. Fenrig examined a singe on one of the dogs’ hind legs. “We have an elemental Daedra in these woods. Bound to frost.”
Through the briars, the Nords silently crept, to view a small clearing close to the edge of a sulfur pool. A small cave entrance with a few old bones. A small wooden table upturned, bottles and herbs spilled all over and sitting in the low grass. A lantern snuffed. The collapsed form of a robed Nord, the maggots already at her. Five wolf corpses in the glade, all pierced by freezing ice. Dominating the glade was a towering giant of sharp ice shards, congregating together into a statue of magic and cold brutality. Four Argonians tall, jagged tree-trunk-sized limbs, and a pyramid head with eyes of gleaming white. A glacier came to life, standing motionless in the woods.
We were close enough to spot a piece of charred parchment, and Fenrig crept to retrieve it. An incantation scroll of a mage. It read: “Nomeg Jrool, I summon you from Oblivion to do my bidding. Defeat my adversaries, and…”
“A consort to the mage,” Fenrig said, without finishing the script.
“Remember the atronach we bettered near Ivarstead?” Ingjard prompted me.
“Yes,” I replied, “continuous pummeling from every one of us. No resting. A barrage from all angles. If we split our attacks—”
I was interrupted by a great crashing sound, as a bulky form clutching an oversized mace stumbled through the brambles with the agility of a wounded troll. Bashnag had decided to face the atronach himself. His idiocy allowed us time to scramble into safe positions around the glade, and watch as the Orc swung mightily, catching the atronach with a crushing strike to the leg. But without an immediate follow-up, the Daedra whipped the air around with its gigantic arm club, and made a violent offering of ice shards directly into the face of the Orc. Back he staggered, slowing as the frost took hold, and the atronach walloped the ground, sending a wave of ice shards directly at Bashnag, who toppled over with a crunching thud.
Ingjard’s arrow found its mark. Mauler darted between the atronach’s giant feet, as further arrows assailed the ice titan. This afforded our unsubtle friend the time to stagger to his feet, eyes burning red with a rage I’d not seen before. He emitted a roar that almost traveled to Windhelm. His mace broke the leg of the frost atronach, and it swayed on one unsteady trunk before crashing and bringing down a twenty-year-old pine on its way to the forest floor.
Arrows both Nord and Argonian in origin pockmarked the craggy carcass until there was nothing left but a few piles of ice. Footfalls-in-Snow promptly picked up the melting remains to secure frost salts, while I sat Bashnag down to explain how abandoning our pack wasn’t part of Kyne’s plan.
SNOW BEAR | The Pine Foothills of Eastmarch were the ideal hunting grounds for the snow bear. As the smell of sulfur pools left our nostrils, the ground became steeper, and the whistling winds more blustering. Ingjard chanced a smile over to Fenrig as the first precipitation melted on our faces. We’d be rosy cheeked in no time, and we stopped to listen for the soft patter of falling snow on the forest path, as the storm slowly grew in strength. We heard the chirrup of a wandering thrush, and a faint call of a felsaad tern, away from its Solstheim feeding grounds. Mauler pranced off as the snow deepened, intent on a meal of raw rabbit. He wasn’t happy to be sternly whistled back to heel as the snow bear tracks were found. We were overjoyed to be hunting in our own lands.
Bashnag’s rudimentary tracking skills extended to the snow bear, and his previous experience training them as guard mounts in the Strongholds of Wrothgar extended to teachings, focused on the Argonian. Strange, given his earlier reluctance to learn from Ingjard.
“Pretend to be dead; a bear devours your head. We learned that rhyme on my first hunt,” the Orc told Footfalls-in-Snow.
“You are a babbling brook of knowledge!” the Argonian replied with a nodding grin. His increasingly sarcastic enthusiasm is more becoming of a Khajiit.
A long, rumbling roar brought our trek to a halt and the forest to silence. The only sound was the thumping of blood between my ears. Fenrig had returned from his tracking, and gestured for us to split apart. A sliver of darkness in the rocks. A pile of scattered bones. The bear’s lair appeared through the pines, up a steep and slippery slope, which Fenrig navigated with almost wolf-like agility. The noise was from within the den; branches and debris cracked as a huge white mass of fur bounded out into the blizzard. Fenrig sat on his haunches, a dagger and shield at the ready. We instinctively knew how to end this hunt.
The snow bear rose to its hind legs as Fenrig advanced with his blade, bringing both paws down on him with a downward swipe that would buckle a shield of lesser quality. Instead, Fenrig used the momentum of the attack to shove the bear off balance, deftly leaping to the bear’s side, and cutting a tendon in its leg. Again the beast howled, turning the thrash the air where Fenrig had been. More savage thrusts with sharp, furred claws, sinking not into Nord flesh, but the ghost of his previous position. Silent prayer to Kyne finished, Fenrig rode the bear’s back, nicking the throat with an incision that would quickly bring the beast down.
As its cut jugular drained the bear of life and blood (and the snow stained a deep red), Footfalls-in-Snow clapped politely at the antics.
DWARVEN SPIDER, SPHERE, AND CENTURION | Holgunn One-Eye’s directions to the hidden Dwarven ruins were impressively exact. Both Fenrig and Footfalls-in-Snow returned to our camp at Cragwallow bearing enticing news: a strange stone edifice was indeed visible through the undergrowth in the Velothi foothills a short distance away. Treasure hunters and despoilers hadn’t the fortitude to venture to such a dangerous place. Many deemed this ruin cursed, and stories of golden demons boiling the hapless and the curious enhanced Mzulft’s reputation as a place to be rightly avoided. Yet here we were, cutting through bramble thickets to reach a strange, bronze-roofed outbuilding, resplendent in its ornate decay.
Ingjard unfurled Holgunn’s ancient map, and we both studied it as Fenrig scouted the area. If we listened carefully, we could hear a faint hissing and metal grinding, a sound seemingly from deep underground. But otherwise, there was nothing to disturb us, not even a bird or a small animal rustling. Fenrig soon returned, throwing a smooth, fist-sized rock for me to inspect. “If we had Roggvir’s pickaxes,” Fenrig said, as I turned the white ball of moonstone over in my hand, “we’d make out like bandits. Ore veins over there, by the escaping steam.” But this exploration wasn’t dedicated to Zenithar, so I made it clear that an entrance should be found. Ingjard’s thorough inspection of the maps and Bashnag’s boulder clearing soon revealed a massive but finely carved metal door. The Orc broke two daggers trying to pry it open, until Ingjard told him to stop. “Perhaps try inserting this instead?” she said with a wry smile, handing him and equally ornate key. “That’s the property of Holgunn One-Eye, and he wants it back.”
We ventured up sloping stone corridors and immense connecting rooms, slowly examining the hundreds of wall slabs and running fingers over the large bronze pipework. This was astounding: mechanical cogs grinding with life, periodic blasts of steam, clanks, faint rumbles… It was as if we were exploring within the belly of a giant, living beast. Ingjard pointed up to a gate of thin, golden bars. “This is where Holgunn’s footprints end.”
Bashnag pushed forward, spotting red marks on the ground. A small puddle of dried blood behind which a thick metal rod was protruding from a punctured pipe. “This ground plate. What if I step on it?” The Orc was naturally curious, but lacked appropriate wariness or basic common sense. As his boot touched metal, a rod shot from a golden crossbow (cunningly hidden from view) and missed Bashnag’s head by a beard’s whisker. He dropped his mace in surprise; it landed with a clatter enough to wake the dead.
But no draugr appeared. Instead, a circular shutter in the far wall expanded to reveal a hole, from which fell three metal carvings. They righted themselves, for these were animunculi: wolf-sized spiders constructed from metal and powered by magic, which Holgunn had mentioned. Sharp single claw toes scraped the stone, propping up a weighty central core with a rotating single eye (although Ingjard’s later examinations revealed it to be a crystalline power source of some kind). There was little time to ponder the mechanism of such contraptions, as the central Dwarven spider began crackling with purple arcs of shocking energy. Fenrig and the Argonian reached for their bows. The other spiders seemed to bathe in this static field. Then one scuttled forward, unnatural front claws stabbing Bashnag’s legs. It backed up, avoiding a pendulum-like mace swung from the off-kilter Orc, before slamming into the ground and exploding by Bashnag’s feet, who writhed in the lightning discharge before collapsing to the floor. Dead?
Footfalls-in-Snow fired an arrow, and it nicked the second spider, whose bronze body turned independently of its legs to find the source of the attack. Out crackled a massive gout of purple and white light, hitting the roughly hewn stone chair the Argonian was hiding behind. “Enough!” shouted Fenrig, charging at the two Dwarven spiders, who advanced immediately to meet in the middle of our stone combat chamber. Our Nord tracker exhibited the force of a werebear, using his favored axe to split the first spider down the middle. It sparked with unnatural energy and collapsed in two equally sized heaps. Ingjard’s arrows found their mark, as the final spider tripped back over its own legs at the force of each shot, before stopping completely, immobilized in a corner.
Bashnag regained consciousness, but remained embarrassed at being caught out “by such a feeble and toothless runt.” As our exploration passed into a larger chamber, resplendent with huge bronze heads peering down with lifeless eyes, the Orc would have the chance to prove himself.
“Kinetic energy, steam-powered resonators, wondrous species of luminous fungi… a place almost as magical as Grahtwood.” Footfalls-in-Snow was talking to himself again as he inspected a row of leering faces carved from metal, which stretched the length of the chamber. “Aha! An opening.” The Argonian tapped the mouth of one face, and a circular hole expanded, the mouth now wide in a silent shout. “Wait… I hear movement within the walls.” We backed up as a scraping sound uttered from the face, which spat out two strange balls of heavy bronze. Then, through magic or incomprehensible means, the spheres seemed to hatch, each expanding and unfolding to reveal a dead-eyed creature of bronze, beautifully sculpted from metal, but aggressive and unwavering. An aroused and dangerous warrior—an animated artifact working in tandem with the rumbling ruin itself.
Perhaps Bashnag might have prayed to Mauloch before our assault on Mzulft. Once again he drunk his luck from a thimble, staggering back with a crossbow bolt embedded in his shoulder. The Dwarven sphere reloaded its projectile and fired again; this dart missed the Orc, who wasn’t waiting for a third attack and closed the gap with impressive speed. As Bashnag closed, his adversary span its torso around, revealing a long blade molded into its arm. The second sphere retreated; its rudimentary intelligence was intent on keeping one animunculi at close quarters, the other at range. It was an impressive tactic, and one we used ourselves, yet it was strangely odd to see mechanical beasts copying our tactics so succinctly.
But the time for discussing stratagems was later. Bashnag parried a whirling blade as the sphere span around, and returned with a huge overhead pummel, breaking off the machine’s crossbow arm. Fenrig was knocked back by a charged bolt from the retreating sphere, the attack coating his shield in the same writhing energy that had consumed our Orc. Seeing Fenrig wasn’t stopped, the sphere suddenly leapt into the air, contracted into a ball, and shot downwards at the ground. This crash sent Fenrig flying against the wall, but he landed lithely, and was back to a fierce sprint before the sphere had even finished expanding again. Subsequently, a dull-eyed metal head landed at my feet, still pulsing with strange, crackling light. Bashnag finally got back into the swing of things too, crushing his sphere under mace and boot, until he was politely asked to stop as Footfalls-in-Snow sifted through the debris.
A mass of cogs, struts, and other parts collected, the Argonian tied up his roughly woven sack, and leaned up against a large, golden pipe, then arched his back. “Ah! this enkindles my aching scales, like the warm winds from Hammerfell,” he cooed.
“That’s no pipe,” Bashnag commented, pointing at the Argonian with the bolt he had just removed from his shoulder after a swift tug and a grunt. “That’s a leg.”
Footfalls-in-Snow looked up, and met the gaze of an immense golden head peering back down. This wasn’t a wall carving; it was attached to a powerful, steam-powered body which let out a terrifying hiss and creaked into life. The startled lizard disappeared from view in the escaping vapor.
“Shields out!” I shouted. “Nimble-footed to the walls!”
Bashnag joined me in the center of the chamber. Ingjard and Fenrig fled to the perimeter while the dogs growled and coaxed the slow-moving behemoth of bronze away from the spluttering Argonian. Every ponderous step the giant statue took was accompanied by grinding, whistles of pistons, and further belching clouds.
“Shields up top!” The Dwarven centurion rotated its hefty hammer arm, before a stilted spin around on its torso, bringing the arm down with a force that could crack steel. Bashnag took the brunt of it, and I saw him wince as he pushed back with his shoulder, now seeping blood from the sphere’s previous strike. Nord and Argonian arrows clattered off the steam giant’s back; one particularly precise in its flight entered the centurion’s armor plates, piercing the innards. I dove forwards as the machine bent over, mouth agape, and spewed a steam-filled roar so deafening, it rattled two of my teeth loose. I dove at the creature’s feet, hacking and tumbling around its base as it brought a twirling axe arm down, cutting deep into the stone where Bashnag had left a moment earlier. Another mighty mangle from my axe, and I almost severed the knee joint. The centurion’s balance suddenly became precarious; it twisted and its leg gave way. It fell like a seventy-year spruce, filling the room with a thunderous clang and a final expulsion of effluvium.
Footfalls-in-Snow was up on its chest, slicing apart metal tendrils, and finally plunged an arm through a chest cavity, struggling for a few moments before wrenching out a weighty golden contraption, spherical with a red, pulsing center. He held it aloft, in triumph.
“Dynamo core!”
We investigated Mzulft no further; our hunt now concentrates on flesh and blood, not bronze and fog.
DRAUGR | “Precisely what does ‘fresh bone and meal’ mean?” Ingjard asked, reading over Zagun-ra’s long parchment of ingredients. “I haven’t a recently slain Nord brother to inter and desiccate, and I will not despoil this barrow.” I replied that perhaps the Khajiit’s request was inaccurately translated, but I understood her concern: She was already at odds with collecting the remains of Nords, especially as her ancestors were buried in this crypt to honor Nahkriin the Priest. I was inclined to agree too; Skuldafn was a sacred place, and sealed for a reason.
“We could journey to Bleak Falls,” I pondered. “None of us share the bloodline of the Nords entombed there. Kyne wishes our hunt to include all beasts, including the offspring of man and mer. I take that to include draugr. In fact, didn’t Fenrig’s tribe have a dispute with Riverwood a few generations back? He might enjoy it.” Fenrig climbed down from his vantage point atop the henge on the outer-rim gathering grounds, and smiled. Possibly for the first time on this hunt.
“I’ll hunt bear, wolves, and spiders. Trolls and atronachs too. But I choose not to slay my own dead.” Ingjard was usually pliable, but on this subject she remained as unforgiving as the journey to High Hrothgar.
It would not be long before her obstinacy was truly tested.
“Where’s the green-tinged one?” Ingjard asked.
“Back at the camp, whittling something intricate and pointy out of snow bear bones,” Fenrig replied.
“No, the other one.” Ingjard jumped up and looked around. Our two foreign friends were cloaked with invisibility. But this was no spell.
“Do you think…?” Fenrig’s voice trailed off as we all three realized our predicament. “Check the hidden entrance; the one Holgunn One-Eye told you about when you were hunting with that idiot from Bravil.” Ingjard was already bolting up the snow-laden steps like a startled elk. Fenrig turned to me with a furrowed brow, and spoke with foresight and resignation: “I fear her ancestors may not be asleep for very much longer.”
The doors into Skuldafn’s ceremonial embalming chambers flew open, and out scampered the Argonian. He was closely pursued by one of our dead: a wight clad in the armor of a warrior from our first age. A bony finger pointed at the ground and out shot a blast of frost, covering the steps out of the grounds. Footfalls-in-Snow slipped on the gathering ice, but lived up to his name and remained upright. He increased his pace, managing to keep a large funereal jar within his webbed grasp. As he reached us, the jar was placed onto the snow at our feet. “Bone meal. Freshly excavated!”
Ingjard sat, seething, as we set about the draugr stumbling out of the crypt. Skeletons long since summoned to Sovngarde, now raised and wrapped around transparent flesh, rags of leather half rotted away, and helms from another age, many horned and all of fine craftsmanship, adorning some of the tougher, heavily armored draugr. Pale blue, lifeless eyes, bathed in eerie mist, hovering in black sockets. Gruff shouts as warrior of yore rose from their slumber. A pitched battle at Skuldafn, now spilling out onto the snow. Precisely what Ingjard had feared.
We could hear a din of clanks, the crunch of old bones against older walls, and finally Bashnag appeared, one hand clasping the thin neck of the restless dead. He snapped it easily; it crumbled in his hands, the head still scowling and teeth chattering as it hit the chamber steps. A more solid foe, writhing with magical energy, brought down a Nord axe into the Orc’s helm. It was blocked just in time, as Bashnag retaliated with his mace, pushing it through the draugr’s knotted beard and helmet, and halfway through the ceremonial altar wall. This was an impressive display, and one to applaud if it hadn’t resulted in such wanton devastation.
A scourge leapt to stall this defiler, and I was put in a strange position of wanting to applaud the enemy. Bashnag reached for his belt. “No frost, no poison, little leaf!” yelled Footfalls-in-Snow. “Torch the gray tree with fire!” The Orc lit his torch, embedding it in the musty torso of the scourge, who went up like oil-soaked kindling, and staggered out in a blaze before being dropped by Ingjard’s arrow, to quicken his journey from this realm. Bashnag was out and sliding down the steps, as the draugr retreated back into their tomb. Fenrig ran to the door and bolted it shut, as the Argonian sifted through the piles of dust, fragments of bone, and loose armor.
“By Stuhn’s beard, you’re lucky we didn’t disturb a deathlord, you intemperate goathead!” Ingjard was uncharacteristically emotional, and lashing out with unwritten fury at Bashnag. The Orc sat with a grin like an idiot wallowing in dung. “Or a lich! Did you fall and hit your head on every one of the Seven Thousand Steps? I’ve seen ogres with more battle mastery than you!” Bashnag’s smile lessened, and he shrugged. “We needed bone meal. I needed a battle. I killed two Reachmen with one mace.”
“Remind me to slap your forge wife the next time I’m in Wrothgar, you lumbering simpleton.” Ingjard lowered her voice to a tone most threatening. It had the desired effect; Bashnag apologized, and we attempted to settle down to sleep.
“When do we set the husks alight in Bleak Falls Barrow?” the Argonian inquired.
GIANT AND MAMMOTH | We almost had to drag Footfalls-in-Snow from the sulfur pools of Eastmarch; the Argonian seemed overly reluctant to leave the hot water, wrap up in pelts, and trudge on into the snow. He was happy to ignore the wafting smell from the gases bubbling up from the fabled underground lava beds (that only the Dwarves are said to have ever discovered). Bashnag was less enamored, likening the scent to “rotting cabbage” and “the arse cloud of a dying Reachman,” two of the more accurate descriptions of this often pungent odor. But depart we must; Fenrig spotted mammoths grazing on the far distant heaths. The hunt is incomplete without the trophies of the giant.
We live in an uneasy truce with the giants of Skyrim. Some believe that they are our Atmoran ancestors, and the more backward villagers on the border with Wrothgar still breed cows specifically to paint with runes as offerings to these lumbering nomads. But the days of such superstition have passed in our circle; they are now seen by more forward-thinking Nords as a nuisance to tolerate. They tend to their herds of mammoths with the care and attention a Nord farmer would display when rearing a prize goat. And judging by their equally sizable excretions, they subsist on milk, cheese, and curds from their mammoths. The meat they occasionally butcher ranges from carrion to easily trapped skeever; a giant would sever his own finger to add to a stew before slaughtering one of his woolly beasts. But until provoked, giants are remarkably peaceful.
The ground was uneven in this part of Bleakrock, with fields of heather, tufts of stunted gorse, and unremarkable bushes attempting to remain anchored to the windswept tundra. In the far distance, the sun had broken through a gap in the rain clouds, and lit up two huge and ungainly monsters (it was as if Kyne herself had chosen our prey for us). Each four-legged beast wandered the moorland slowly, mottled fur draping off their damp backs, each with an ugly head of four protruding tusks and trunk. Appearances are deceptive, for these frightening forms feed only on grasses and the occasional honey and oats fed by their giant keeper. The herd master was between his animals, tending to their drinking habits. The giant was clad in a tapestry of fur armor (three wolf pelts alone for each shin). Pale, creased skin over wiry muscle. Bones dangling from a belt of pouches. A necklace of large bird skulls. Bashnag was impressed by the size of his beard, and (of course) by the club he was carrying, which was twice the size of the Orc, with three particularly evil-looking claws protruding from it.
Out in a wide arc we crept, intending to fell a mammoth from every angle. Initial success: all our arrows met their mark, and the mammoth we chose trumpeted in pained anger. Unexpectedly, both beasts and their shepherd chose to lumber directly towards Ingjard and Fenrig, the nearest mammoth lifting up its trunk and thundering into a long charge. A lithe roll, and Ingjard avoided a trampling, as further arrows concentrated on the other hairy creature. Rearing up on its hind legs, the mammoth brought its entire weight down towards her, but quick thinking and reflexes allowed her to thrust a vicious sword up into the beast’s chin and across its throat. A great flood of deep red spurted out, as the mammoth wailed and thrashed, swaying its head back and forth in an attempt to send Ingjard flying. Again she deftly avoided a mauling, stepped out of the frenzied animal’s path, and waited for it to slump forwards and bleed out.
As Ingjard bettered her prey, Fenrig faced a foe four times his size, with only our ranged arrows (and encouraging shouts from the Orc) for help. The giant’s gangly frame worked to Fenrig’s advantage, as it attempted a huge kick which would have surely cracked a rib or two. But the giant struck air and grass as it slipped over, allowing Fenrig in with a swift pair of stabs. The giant pushed Fenrig back as it rose up to its feet, cleaving the area with a sweep of its club. This time Fenrig was on his back, but he sprang up, ran through the giant’s feet, and thrust a dagger through the bridge of his foe’s foot. Literally hopping mad, the giant struggled to remove Fenrig’s embedded toothpick while taking swift cuts to the legs. Unhappy in the extreme, it lifted its colossal club, then dropped it into the heather, hitting the ground with such force I half expected Fenrig to be launched tumbling upwards, through the low clouds to a distant doom. But Fenrig was on the giant’s back, puncturing the pale side flesh and scrambling to the head. A final dagger unsheathed, Fenrig plunged it through the giant’s ear, and it fell forwards, dead before it struck the soil.
Bashnag’s ebullient whooping was probably heard in Hammerfell.
We all ate well that evening. Fenrig sat with a painted smile, enduring numerous back slapping from an Orc impressed at our tracker’s victory in combat. Only our Argonian was silent, spending his time nibbling a sweetroll and butchering the three corpses of their trunks, tusks, toes, teeth, and any other important appendages indicated on our benefactor’s parchment notes.
WOLF | Snow wolves are a bit trickier to hunt, as their tracks and form are easily obscured, while their habitat is difficult to traverse. Our benefactor requested a white pelt, so we avoided the abundance of forest wolves and continued our trek up through the icy volcanic tundra of Eastmarch Hold. Fenrig complained of a pain behind his eyes, and requested Ingjard conclude the search for our prey. He hung back with the Argonian as Ingjard took the lead, utilizing the talented nose of Fang while Mauler followed closer to his master. An overhang of protruding pine tree roots, ground hardened by the perpetual cold, and a bluff through the trees, upon which Ingjard had tracked an impressive specimen: the pack leader.
It howled from its viewpoint, and Ingjard unbuckled her axe. Two subsequent howls to our right. The wolf pack was hunting together. While Fenrig looked on from a rocky perch further down the valley, Ingjard finally motioned to the flitting shadows behind the closer trees. Out padded a large white wolf, a fine specimen of Kyne’s, snow-colored fur save for faint stains of blood around the jowls, which were peeled back in a seething growl. Back arched, with soft, padded steps, and a tail raised in prowling agitation. Fang responded in a likewise manner, the two beasts circling each other, readying to pounce with a vicious snarl of sharp teeth and flowing spittle.
Ingjard’s axe cut through the first snow wolf’s side, and it twisted inwards, teeth bared as its blood coated the tree and her weapon. A second strike cut through the head swiftly, with the strength and precision of one well versed in animal combat. fang back away as Ingjard stepped across to confront the second snow wolf, which snapped viciously downwards, attacking her feet. Ingjard stumbled, but soon regained composure, as the wolf darted back into the woods. I motioned for the Argonian to bring out his skinning knife; we had the single pelt we had come for.
Kyne’s bounty was plentiful, but as stewards we took only what we needed.
FROST TROLL | Dawn on the foothills of the mountains south of Ironbind Barrow. The weather was unexpectedly clear as we waited at camp below the scree and sagging, but intricately carved, ruins. The air was crisp; Kyne had provided perfect hunting conditions. I was thankful for her mercy after our previous mishap. Fenrig and his hounds returned from foraging. He waved his fist at me, which was clasping three large rabbits. Then he sat down, poured himself some broth, and began to skin them. The dogs jostled playfully to lap up the blood.
True to his word, Footfalls-in-Snow arrived a few moments later, wiped his blade, looked up at Fenrig’s breakfast preparation, and turned up his nose at the roasting meat. He took a carefully wrapped sweetroll from his knapsack and began nibbling at it.
“Trolls,” the Argonian said, through tiny, pecked mouthfuls. “Smelt on the breeze since Dawnstar. Two saplings and a sturdy tree.”
“Three of them?” Ingjard asked. Footfalls nodded, but was otherwise focused on devouring his confection.
“How are your feelings on the lizard?” Ingjard took me aside and asked me, as we cleared the camp. “His knowledge of tracks and the wilderness is impressive,” she added. I told her I still had my suspicions.
The following morn, we passed by the pines and snowberries glistening in the sun. As we approached a bluff of loose rocks and deep snow, the Argonian inspected and ran his tongue over found dung—a taste less appetizing than his breakfast, to be certain—and confirmed our prey was within the range of Ingjard’s arrows.
Fenrig followed the nearby footprints to a crack in the rocks with bones strewn about the entrance. We stayed upwind, and crouched down to listen. The grunting from within was unmistakably trollish. I readied my own bow, and motioned to Bashnag. He gleefully clambered to the cave, and poured oil across the threshold. Ingjard and Fenrig found vantage points at the flanks. Footfalls decided to watch the proceedings from the safety of a tree.
“Now!”
Bashnag let out a resonating roar that echoed across the barrens. Out thundered a frost troll—a big brute, thick of fur, fists clenched and spittle frothing from between rows of uneven teeth, with three sunken piglet eyes, all wildly glaring at the Orc. The troll swiped twice with heavy hands, but Bashnag sidestepped quickly as the attack turned into ineffectual flailing.
In the time it took Bashnag to raise his obscenely large mace, five arrows had struck the troll from three different directions. It tumbled forward, slipping on the Orc’s oil, and cracked its head on the way to the afterlife. Bashnag’s expression was one of disappointment, but this was short lived: He soon spilled blood as a second troll leapt upon him, hammering at his armor as he took it by the throat, slammed it into the rocks, and caved its skull in with brute force, a slightly smaller mace, and invocations to Mauloch.
The ground shook as the third (and substantially taller) troll lumbered from its hole, pounding the ground with its anvil-like fists. Had it not been hunched, it would have been almost the size of a giant. Bashnag coaxed it towards the slick. The Orc’s throwing arm was impressive; he managed to cover the beast in oil from two more pots before Ingjard’s flaming arrows set the shrieking creature alight.
Footfalls-in-Snow slid from his tree.
The Argonian and I set about the unpleasant extrication of Zagun-ra’s troll fat from the three burning corpses. The smell of the bubbling flesh was sickeningly sweet. As it wafted through the air, Ingjard stifled a wretch, and Fenrig kept curious wolves at bay.
ICE WRAITH | The weather change was abrupt and dramatic; clouds rolling in from the Sea of Ghosts brought light snow, then heavier blizzards, and in a matter of hours, the road back to the docks became impassable. We halted our journey, as Fenrig feared our less competent members might lose themselves down an ice crevasse, or wander off into the walls of gray that assaulted us from all directions. Thick fog, snow blindness, and a shivering Argonian were tests sent by Kyne for us to overcome.
Spying a shelter of overhanging rocks, Fenrig pushed forward through the fresh snowdrifts. Then he stopped, yelled something indistinguishable over the howling winds, and fell backwards. He scrambled back upright, turned, and signaled to us, and we knew what he’d disturbed. A snaking skeleton of blue flame rose from the drift: a collection of ice bones bound together by nature magic, a sharp-ridged spine finishing at a malcontented jaw of bone and sharp teeth. Fenrig had awoken an ice wraith.
Raising his shield just in time, Fenrig countered the wraith’s lashing bite; those icy jaws struck steel and wood instead of Nord flesh. The snake promptly vanished back into the snow. Fenrig waded into the drift up to his waist, parting the fresh snow with sword and shield. Too late, he stepped onto the ice wraith’s waiting trap; a hail of shards pierced upwards, exploding from the ground and cutting up and around his legs. By now, we had joined our brother, and the Argonian whipped up a concentrated funnel of wind that parted the drift, forcing the foe into the air, where it weaved back and forth. Then it shot past us, straight into Fenrig’s bruised form.
Perhaps these words aren’t clear; the ice wraith actually entered Fenrig, reappearing after a moment out of his back, where Ingjard cut it down with an expertly swung axe. Fearing his possession, all we could do was watch Fenrig, who began to shake and turn as pale as the snow around us. Suddenly his eyes widened, mouth hung agape, and a second, smaller ice wraith spat itself from within, sailing out of Fenrig’s throat and into my hammering strike, which shattered it into dozens of pieces. Fenrig dropped to a knee, gasping.
Footfalls-in-Snow approached, letting us know the campfire was lit before gathering ice wraith teeth in a small, velvet-lined bag. As we huddled in a cave mouth, Fenrig and his dogs left us, after our tracker refused aid to limit a possible witbane infection. We heard faint howls over the gale throughout the night, and it wasn’t until the next morn that Fenrig returned, his clothing ruffled, but his pestilence cured.
Skyrim Cold Comfort at the Top of the World
FROST ATRONACH | Dappled light danced through the slowly swaying trees of larch; occasional leaves of yellow and orange drifted down to the forest floor. Sunlight in Skyrim was something of a novelty, but it was a welcome respite before the hunt ascended to higher climbs. A day out from Riften, our convergence with Kishra-do and first delivery for the benefactor was over; we were scouting the Autumnal Forest for wolves, wildcats, and other creatures to deliver to Kyne. So far, only a few bandit trophies. The Orc was mildly peeved we hadn’t faced anything more troublesome. Fang and Mauler shook themselves free from a thicket of brambles, and bounded over to their master. Fenrig examined a singe on one of the dogs’ hind legs. “We have an elemental Daedra in these woods. Bound to frost.”
Through the briars, the Nords silently crept, to view a small clearing close to the edge of a sulfur pool. A small cave entrance with a few old bones. A small wooden table upturned, bottles and herbs spilled all over and sitting in the low grass. A lantern snuffed. The collapsed form of a robed Nord, the maggots already at her. Five wolf corpses in the glade, all pierced by freezing ice. Dominating the glade was a towering giant of sharp ice shards, congregating together into a statue of magic and cold brutality. Four Argonians tall, jagged tree-trunk-sized limbs, and a pyramid head with eyes of gleaming white. A glacier came to life, standing motionless in the woods.
We were close enough to spot a piece of charred parchment, and Fenrig crept to retrieve it. An incantation scroll of a mage. It read: “Nomeg Jrool, I summon you from Oblivion to do my bidding. Defeat my adversaries, and…”
“A consort to the mage,” Fenrig said, without finishing the script.
“Remember the atronach we bettered near Ivarstead?” Ingjard prompted me.
“Yes,” I replied, “continuous pummeling from every one of us. No resting. A barrage from all angles. If we split our attacks—”
I was interrupted by a great crashing sound, as a bulky form clutching an oversized mace stumbled through the brambles with the agility of a wounded troll. Bashnag had decided to face the atronach himself. His idiocy allowed us time to scramble into safe positions around the glade, and watch as the Orc swung mightily, catching the atronach with a crushing strike to the leg. But without an immediate follow-up, the Daedra whipped the air around with its gigantic arm club, and made a violent offering of ice shards directly into the face of the Orc. Back he staggered, slowing as the frost took hold, and the atronach walloped the ground, sending a wave of ice shards directly at Bashnag, who toppled over with a crunching thud.
Ingjard’s arrow found its mark. Mauler darted between the atronach’s giant feet, as further arrows assailed the ice titan. This afforded our unsubtle friend the time to stagger to his feet, eyes burning red with a rage I’d not seen before. He emitted a roar that almost traveled to Windhelm. His mace broke the leg of the frost atronach, and it swayed on one unsteady trunk before crashing and bringing down a twenty-year-old pine on its way to the forest floor.
Arrows both Nord and Argonian in origin pockmarked the craggy carcass until there was nothing left but a few piles of ice. Footfalls-in-Snow promptly picked up the melting remains to secure frost salts, while I sat Bashnag down to explain how abandoning our pack wasn’t part of Kyne’s plan.
SNOW BEAR | The Pine Foothills of Eastmarch were the ideal hunting grounds for the snow bear. As the smell of sulfur pools left our nostrils, the ground became steeper, and the whistling winds more blustering. Ingjard chanced a smile over to Fenrig as the first precipitation melted on our faces. We’d be rosy cheeked in no time, and we stopped to listen for the soft patter of falling snow on the forest path, as the storm slowly grew in strength. We heard the chirrup of a wandering thrush, and a faint call of a felsaad tern, away from its Solstheim feeding grounds. Mauler pranced off as the snow deepened, intent on a meal of raw rabbit. He wasn’t happy to be sternly whistled back to heel as the snow bear tracks were found. We were overjoyed to be hunting in our own lands.
Bashnag’s rudimentary tracking skills extended to the snow bear, and his previous experience training them as guard mounts in the Strongholds of Wrothgar extended to teachings, focused on the Argonian. Strange, given his earlier reluctance to learn from Ingjard.
“Pretend to be dead; a bear devours your head. We learned that rhyme on my first hunt,” the Orc told Footfalls-in-Snow.
“You are a babbling brook of knowledge!” the Argonian replied with a nodding grin. His increasingly sarcastic enthusiasm is more becoming of a Khajiit.
A long, rumbling roar brought our trek to a halt and the forest to silence. The only sound was the thumping of blood between my ears. Fenrig had returned from his tracking, and gestured for us to split apart. A sliver of darkness in the rocks. A pile of scattered bones. The bear’s lair appeared through the pines, up a steep and slippery slope, which Fenrig navigated with almost wolf-like agility. The noise was from within the den; branches and debris cracked as a huge white mass of fur bounded out into the blizzard. Fenrig sat on his haunches, a dagger and shield at the ready. We instinctively knew how to end this hunt.
The snow bear rose to its hind legs as Fenrig advanced with his blade, bringing both paws down on him with a downward swipe that would buckle a shield of lesser quality. Instead, Fenrig used the momentum of the attack to shove the bear off balance, deftly leaping to the bear’s side, and cutting a tendon in its leg. Again the beast howled, turning the thrash the air where Fenrig had been. More savage thrusts with sharp, furred claws, sinking not into Nord flesh, but the ghost of his previous position. Silent prayer to Kyne finished, Fenrig rode the bear’s back, nicking the throat with an incision that would quickly bring the beast down.
As its cut jugular drained the bear of life and blood (and the snow stained a deep red), Footfalls-in-Snow clapped politely at the antics.
DWARVEN SPIDER, SPHERE, AND CENTURION | Holgunn One-Eye’s directions to the hidden Dwarven ruins were impressively exact. Both Fenrig and Footfalls-in-Snow returned to our camp at Cragwallow bearing enticing news: a strange stone edifice was indeed visible through the undergrowth in the Velothi foothills a short distance away. Treasure hunters and despoilers hadn’t the fortitude to venture to such a dangerous place. Many deemed this ruin cursed, and stories of golden demons boiling the hapless and the curious enhanced Mzulft’s reputation as a place to be rightly avoided. Yet here we were, cutting through bramble thickets to reach a strange, bronze-roofed outbuilding, resplendent in its ornate decay.
Ingjard unfurled Holgunn’s ancient map, and we both studied it as Fenrig scouted the area. If we listened carefully, we could hear a faint hissing and metal grinding, a sound seemingly from deep underground. But otherwise, there was nothing to disturb us, not even a bird or a small animal rustling. Fenrig soon returned, throwing a smooth, fist-sized rock for me to inspect. “If we had Roggvir’s pickaxes,” Fenrig said, as I turned the white ball of moonstone over in my hand, “we’d make out like bandits. Ore veins over there, by the escaping steam.” But this exploration wasn’t dedicated to Zenithar, so I made it clear that an entrance should be found. Ingjard’s thorough inspection of the maps and Bashnag’s boulder clearing soon revealed a massive but finely carved metal door. The Orc broke two daggers trying to pry it open, until Ingjard told him to stop. “Perhaps try inserting this instead?” she said with a wry smile, handing him and equally ornate key. “That’s the property of Holgunn One-Eye, and he wants it back.”
We ventured up sloping stone corridors and immense connecting rooms, slowly examining the hundreds of wall slabs and running fingers over the large bronze pipework. This was astounding: mechanical cogs grinding with life, periodic blasts of steam, clanks, faint rumbles… It was as if we were exploring within the belly of a giant, living beast. Ingjard pointed up to a gate of thin, golden bars. “This is where Holgunn’s footprints end.”
Bashnag pushed forward, spotting red marks on the ground. A small puddle of dried blood behind which a thick metal rod was protruding from a punctured pipe. “This ground plate. What if I step on it?” The Orc was naturally curious, but lacked appropriate wariness or basic common sense. As his boot touched metal, a rod shot from a golden crossbow (cunningly hidden from view) and missed Bashnag’s head by a beard’s whisker. He dropped his mace in surprise; it landed with a clatter enough to wake the dead.
But no draugr appeared. Instead, a circular shutter in the far wall expanded to reveal a hole, from which fell three metal carvings. They righted themselves, for these were animunculi: wolf-sized spiders constructed from metal and powered by magic, which Holgunn had mentioned. Sharp single claw toes scraped the stone, propping up a weighty central core with a rotating single eye (although Ingjard’s later examinations revealed it to be a crystalline power source of some kind). There was little time to ponder the mechanism of such contraptions, as the central Dwarven spider began crackling with purple arcs of shocking energy. Fenrig and the Argonian reached for their bows. The other spiders seemed to bathe in this static field. Then one scuttled forward, unnatural front claws stabbing Bashnag’s legs. It backed up, avoiding a pendulum-like mace swung from the off-kilter Orc, before slamming into the ground and exploding by Bashnag’s feet, who writhed in the lightning discharge before collapsing to the floor. Dead?
Footfalls-in-Snow fired an arrow, and it nicked the second spider, whose bronze body turned independently of its legs to find the source of the attack. Out crackled a massive gout of purple and white light, hitting the roughly hewn stone chair the Argonian was hiding behind. “Enough!” shouted Fenrig, charging at the two Dwarven spiders, who advanced immediately to meet in the middle of our stone combat chamber. Our Nord tracker exhibited the force of a werebear, using his favored axe to split the first spider down the middle. It sparked with unnatural energy and collapsed in two equally sized heaps. Ingjard’s arrows found their mark, as the final spider tripped back over its own legs at the force of each shot, before stopping completely, immobilized in a corner.
Bashnag regained consciousness, but remained embarrassed at being caught out “by such a feeble and toothless runt.” As our exploration passed into a larger chamber, resplendent with huge bronze heads peering down with lifeless eyes, the Orc would have the chance to prove himself.
“Kinetic energy, steam-powered resonators, wondrous species of luminous fungi… a place almost as magical as Grahtwood.” Footfalls-in-Snow was talking to himself again as he inspected a row of leering faces carved from metal, which stretched the length of the chamber. “Aha! An opening.” The Argonian tapped the mouth of one face, and a circular hole expanded, the mouth now wide in a silent shout. “Wait… I hear movement within the walls.” We backed up as a scraping sound uttered from the face, which spat out two strange balls of heavy bronze. Then, through magic or incomprehensible means, the spheres seemed to hatch, each expanding and unfolding to reveal a dead-eyed creature of bronze, beautifully sculpted from metal, but aggressive and unwavering. An aroused and dangerous warrior—an animated artifact working in tandem with the rumbling ruin itself.
Perhaps Bashnag might have prayed to Mauloch before our assault on Mzulft. Once again he drunk his luck from a thimble, staggering back with a crossbow bolt embedded in his shoulder. The Dwarven sphere reloaded its projectile and fired again; this dart missed the Orc, who wasn’t waiting for a third attack and closed the gap with impressive speed. As Bashnag closed, his adversary span its torso around, revealing a long blade molded into its arm. The second sphere retreated; its rudimentary intelligence was intent on keeping one animunculi at close quarters, the other at range. It was an impressive tactic, and one we used ourselves, yet it was strangely odd to see mechanical beasts copying our tactics so succinctly.
But the time for discussing stratagems was later. Bashnag parried a whirling blade as the sphere span around, and returned with a huge overhead pummel, breaking off the machine’s crossbow arm. Fenrig was knocked back by a charged bolt from the retreating sphere, the attack coating his shield in the same writhing energy that had consumed our Orc. Seeing Fenrig wasn’t stopped, the sphere suddenly leapt into the air, contracted into a ball, and shot downwards at the ground. This crash sent Fenrig flying against the wall, but he landed lithely, and was back to a fierce sprint before the sphere had even finished expanding again. Subsequently, a dull-eyed metal head landed at my feet, still pulsing with strange, crackling light. Bashnag finally got back into the swing of things too, crushing his sphere under mace and boot, until he was politely asked to stop as Footfalls-in-Snow sifted through the debris.
A mass of cogs, struts, and other parts collected, the Argonian tied up his roughly woven sack, and leaned up against a large, golden pipe, then arched his back. “Ah! this enkindles my aching scales, like the warm winds from Hammerfell,” he cooed.
“That’s no pipe,” Bashnag commented, pointing at the Argonian with the bolt he had just removed from his shoulder after a swift tug and a grunt. “That’s a leg.”
Footfalls-in-Snow looked up, and met the gaze of an immense golden head peering back down. This wasn’t a wall carving; it was attached to a powerful, steam-powered body which let out a terrifying hiss and creaked into life. The startled lizard disappeared from view in the escaping vapor.
“Shields out!” I shouted. “Nimble-footed to the walls!”
Bashnag joined me in the center of the chamber. Ingjard and Fenrig fled to the perimeter while the dogs growled and coaxed the slow-moving behemoth of bronze away from the spluttering Argonian. Every ponderous step the giant statue took was accompanied by grinding, whistles of pistons, and further belching clouds.
“Shields up top!” The Dwarven centurion rotated its hefty hammer arm, before a stilted spin around on its torso, bringing the arm down with a force that could crack steel. Bashnag took the brunt of it, and I saw him wince as he pushed back with his shoulder, now seeping blood from the sphere’s previous strike. Nord and Argonian arrows clattered off the steam giant’s back; one particularly precise in its flight entered the centurion’s armor plates, piercing the innards. I dove forwards as the machine bent over, mouth agape, and spewed a steam-filled roar so deafening, it rattled two of my teeth loose. I dove at the creature’s feet, hacking and tumbling around its base as it brought a twirling axe arm down, cutting deep into the stone where Bashnag had left a moment earlier. Another mighty mangle from my axe, and I almost severed the knee joint. The centurion’s balance suddenly became precarious; it twisted and its leg gave way. It fell like a seventy-year spruce, filling the room with a thunderous clang and a final expulsion of effluvium.
Footfalls-in-Snow was up on its chest, slicing apart metal tendrils, and finally plunged an arm through a chest cavity, struggling for a few moments before wrenching out a weighty golden contraption, spherical with a red, pulsing center. He held it aloft, in triumph.
“Dynamo core!”
We investigated Mzulft no further; our hunt now concentrates on flesh and blood, not bronze and fog.
DRAUGR | “Precisely what does ‘fresh bone and meal’ mean?” Ingjard asked, reading over Zagun-ra’s long parchment of ingredients. “I haven’t a recently slain Nord brother to inter and desiccate, and I will not despoil this barrow.” I replied that perhaps the Khajiit’s request was inaccurately translated, but I understood her concern: She was already at odds with collecting the remains of Nords, especially as her ancestors were buried in this crypt to honor Nahkriin the Priest. I was inclined to agree too; Skuldafn was a sacred place, and sealed for a reason.
“We could journey to Bleak Falls,” I pondered. “None of us share the bloodline of the Nords entombed there. Kyne wishes our hunt to include all beasts, including the offspring of man and mer. I take that to include draugr. In fact, didn’t Fenrig’s tribe have a dispute with Riverwood a few generations back? He might enjoy it.” Fenrig climbed down from his vantage point atop the henge on the outer-rim gathering grounds, and smiled. Possibly for the first time on this hunt.
“I’ll hunt bear, wolves, and spiders. Trolls and atronachs too. But I choose not to slay my own dead.” Ingjard was usually pliable, but on this subject she remained as unforgiving as the journey to High Hrothgar.
It would not be long before her obstinacy was truly tested.
“Where’s the green-tinged one?” Ingjard asked.
“Back at the camp, whittling something intricate and pointy out of snow bear bones,” Fenrig replied.
“No, the other one.” Ingjard jumped up and looked around. Our two foreign friends were cloaked with invisibility. But this was no spell.
“Do you think…?” Fenrig’s voice trailed off as we all three realized our predicament. “Check the hidden entrance; the one Holgunn One-Eye told you about when you were hunting with that idiot from Bravil.” Ingjard was already bolting up the snow-laden steps like a startled elk. Fenrig turned to me with a furrowed brow, and spoke with foresight and resignation: “I fear her ancestors may not be asleep for very much longer.”
The doors into Skuldafn’s ceremonial embalming chambers flew open, and out scampered the Argonian. He was closely pursued by one of our dead: a wight clad in the armor of a warrior from our first age. A bony finger pointed at the ground and out shot a blast of frost, covering the steps out of the grounds. Footfalls-in-Snow slipped on the gathering ice, but lived up to his name and remained upright. He increased his pace, managing to keep a large funereal jar within his webbed grasp. As he reached us, the jar was placed onto the snow at our feet. “Bone meal. Freshly excavated!”
Ingjard sat, seething, as we set about the draugr stumbling out of the crypt. Skeletons long since summoned to Sovngarde, now raised and wrapped around transparent flesh, rags of leather half rotted away, and helms from another age, many horned and all of fine craftsmanship, adorning some of the tougher, heavily armored draugr. Pale blue, lifeless eyes, bathed in eerie mist, hovering in black sockets. Gruff shouts as warrior of yore rose from their slumber. A pitched battle at Skuldafn, now spilling out onto the snow. Precisely what Ingjard had feared.
We could hear a din of clanks, the crunch of old bones against older walls, and finally Bashnag appeared, one hand clasping the thin neck of the restless dead. He snapped it easily; it crumbled in his hands, the head still scowling and teeth chattering as it hit the chamber steps. A more solid foe, writhing with magical energy, brought down a Nord axe into the Orc’s helm. It was blocked just in time, as Bashnag retaliated with his mace, pushing it through the draugr’s knotted beard and helmet, and halfway through the ceremonial altar wall. This was an impressive display, and one to applaud if it hadn’t resulted in such wanton devastation.
A scourge leapt to stall this defiler, and I was put in a strange position of wanting to applaud the enemy. Bashnag reached for his belt. “No frost, no poison, little leaf!” yelled Footfalls-in-Snow. “Torch the gray tree with fire!” The Orc lit his torch, embedding it in the musty torso of the scourge, who went up like oil-soaked kindling, and staggered out in a blaze before being dropped by Ingjard’s arrow, to quicken his journey from this realm. Bashnag was out and sliding down the steps, as the draugr retreated back into their tomb. Fenrig ran to the door and bolted it shut, as the Argonian sifted through the piles of dust, fragments of bone, and loose armor.
“By Stuhn’s beard, you’re lucky we didn’t disturb a deathlord, you intemperate goathead!” Ingjard was uncharacteristically emotional, and lashing out with unwritten fury at Bashnag. The Orc sat with a grin like an idiot wallowing in dung. “Or a lich! Did you fall and hit your head on every one of the Seven Thousand Steps? I’ve seen ogres with more battle mastery than you!” Bashnag’s smile lessened, and he shrugged. “We needed bone meal. I needed a battle. I killed two Reachmen with one mace.”
“Remind me to slap your forge wife the next time I’m in Wrothgar, you lumbering simpleton.” Ingjard lowered her voice to a tone most threatening. It had the desired effect; Bashnag apologized, and we attempted to settle down to sleep.
“When do we set the husks alight in Bleak Falls Barrow?” the Argonian inquired.
GIANT AND MAMMOTH | We almost had to drag Footfalls-in-Snow from the sulfur pools of Eastmarch; the Argonian seemed overly reluctant to leave the hot water, wrap up in pelts, and trudge on into the snow. He was happy to ignore the wafting smell from the gases bubbling up from the fabled underground lava beds (that only the Dwarves are said to have ever discovered). Bashnag was less enamored, likening the scent to “rotting cabbage” and “the arse cloud of a dying Reachman,” two of the more accurate descriptions of this often pungent odor. But depart we must; Fenrig spotted mammoths grazing on the far distant heaths. The hunt is incomplete without the trophies of the giant.
We live in an uneasy truce with the giants of Skyrim. Some believe that they are our Atmoran ancestors, and the more backward villagers on the border with Wrothgar still breed cows specifically to paint with runes as offerings to these lumbering nomads. But the days of such superstition have passed in our circle; they are now seen by more forward-thinking Nords as a nuisance to tolerate. They tend to their herds of mammoths with the care and attention a Nord farmer would display when rearing a prize goat. And judging by their equally sizable excretions, they subsist on milk, cheese, and curds from their mammoths. The meat they occasionally butcher ranges from carrion to easily trapped skeever; a giant would sever his own finger to add to a stew before slaughtering one of his woolly beasts. But until provoked, giants are remarkably peaceful.
The ground was uneven in this part of Bleakrock, with fields of heather, tufts of stunted gorse, and unremarkable bushes attempting to remain anchored to the windswept tundra. In the far distance, the sun had broken through a gap in the rain clouds, and lit up two huge and ungainly monsters (it was as if Kyne herself had chosen our prey for us). Each four-legged beast wandered the moorland slowly, mottled fur draping off their damp backs, each with an ugly head of four protruding tusks and trunk. Appearances are deceptive, for these frightening forms feed only on grasses and the occasional honey and oats fed by their giant keeper. The herd master was between his animals, tending to their drinking habits. The giant was clad in a tapestry of fur armor (three wolf pelts alone for each shin). Pale, creased skin over wiry muscle. Bones dangling from a belt of pouches. A necklace of large bird skulls. Bashnag was impressed by the size of his beard, and (of course) by the club he was carrying, which was twice the size of the Orc, with three particularly evil-looking claws protruding from it.
Out in a wide arc we crept, intending to fell a mammoth from every angle. Initial success: all our arrows met their mark, and the mammoth we chose trumpeted in pained anger. Unexpectedly, both beasts and their shepherd chose to lumber directly towards Ingjard and Fenrig, the nearest mammoth lifting up its trunk and thundering into a long charge. A lithe roll, and Ingjard avoided a trampling, as further arrows concentrated on the other hairy creature. Rearing up on its hind legs, the mammoth brought its entire weight down towards her, but quick thinking and reflexes allowed her to thrust a vicious sword up into the beast’s chin and across its throat. A great flood of deep red spurted out, as the mammoth wailed and thrashed, swaying its head back and forth in an attempt to send Ingjard flying. Again she deftly avoided a mauling, stepped out of the frenzied animal’s path, and waited for it to slump forwards and bleed out.
As Ingjard bettered her prey, Fenrig faced a foe four times his size, with only our ranged arrows (and encouraging shouts from the Orc) for help. The giant’s gangly frame worked to Fenrig’s advantage, as it attempted a huge kick which would have surely cracked a rib or two. But the giant struck air and grass as it slipped over, allowing Fenrig in with a swift pair of stabs. The giant pushed Fenrig back as it rose up to its feet, cleaving the area with a sweep of its club. This time Fenrig was on his back, but he sprang up, ran through the giant’s feet, and thrust a dagger through the bridge of his foe’s foot. Literally hopping mad, the giant struggled to remove Fenrig’s embedded toothpick while taking swift cuts to the legs. Unhappy in the extreme, it lifted its colossal club, then dropped it into the heather, hitting the ground with such force I half expected Fenrig to be launched tumbling upwards, through the low clouds to a distant doom. But Fenrig was on the giant’s back, puncturing the pale side flesh and scrambling to the head. A final dagger unsheathed, Fenrig plunged it through the giant’s ear, and it fell forwards, dead before it struck the soil.
Bashnag’s ebullient whooping was probably heard in Hammerfell.
We all ate well that evening. Fenrig sat with a painted smile, enduring numerous back slapping from an Orc impressed at our tracker’s victory in combat. Only our Argonian was silent, spending his time nibbling a sweetroll and butchering the three corpses of their trunks, tusks, toes, teeth, and any other important appendages indicated on our benefactor’s parchment notes.
WOLF | Snow wolves are a bit trickier to hunt, as their tracks and form are easily obscured, while their habitat is difficult to traverse. Our benefactor requested a white pelt, so we avoided the abundance of forest wolves and continued our trek up through the icy volcanic tundra of Eastmarch Hold. Fenrig complained of a pain behind his eyes, and requested Ingjard conclude the search for our prey. He hung back with the Argonian as Ingjard took the lead, utilizing the talented nose of Fang while Mauler followed closer to his master. An overhang of protruding pine tree roots, ground hardened by the perpetual cold, and a bluff through the trees, upon which Ingjard had tracked an impressive specimen: the pack leader.
It howled from its viewpoint, and Ingjard unbuckled her axe. Two subsequent howls to our right. The wolf pack was hunting together. While Fenrig looked on from a rocky perch further down the valley, Ingjard finally motioned to the flitting shadows behind the closer trees. Out padded a large white wolf, a fine specimen of Kyne’s, snow-colored fur save for faint stains of blood around the jowls, which were peeled back in a seething growl. Back arched, with soft, padded steps, and a tail raised in prowling agitation. Fang responded in a likewise manner, the two beasts circling each other, readying to pounce with a vicious snarl of sharp teeth and flowing spittle.
Ingjard’s axe cut through the first snow wolf’s side, and it twisted inwards, teeth bared as its blood coated the tree and her weapon. A second strike cut through the head swiftly, with the strength and precision of one well versed in animal combat. fang back away as Ingjard stepped across to confront the second snow wolf, which snapped viciously downwards, attacking her feet. Ingjard stumbled, but soon regained composure, as the wolf darted back into the woods. I motioned for the Argonian to bring out his skinning knife; we had the single pelt we had come for.
Kyne’s bounty was plentiful, but as stewards we took only what we needed.
FROST TROLL | Dawn on the foothills of the mountains south of Ironbind Barrow. The weather was unexpectedly clear as we waited at camp below the scree and sagging, but intricately carved, ruins. The air was crisp; Kyne had provided perfect hunting conditions. I was thankful for her mercy after our previous mishap. Fenrig and his hounds returned from foraging. He waved his fist at me, which was clasping three large rabbits. Then he sat down, poured himself some broth, and began to skin them. The dogs jostled playfully to lap up the blood.
True to his word, Footfalls-in-Snow arrived a few moments later, wiped his blade, looked up at Fenrig’s breakfast preparation, and turned up his nose at the roasting meat. He took a carefully wrapped sweetroll from his knapsack and began nibbling at it.
“Trolls,” the Argonian said, through tiny, pecked mouthfuls. “Smelt on the breeze since Dawnstar. Two saplings and a sturdy tree.”
“Three of them?” Ingjard asked. Footfalls nodded, but was otherwise focused on devouring his confection.
“How are your feelings on the lizard?” Ingjard took me aside and asked me, as we cleared the camp. “His knowledge of tracks and the wilderness is impressive,” she added. I told her I still had my suspicions.
The following morn, we passed by the pines and snowberries glistening in the sun. As we approached a bluff of loose rocks and deep snow, the Argonian inspected and ran his tongue over found dung—a taste less appetizing than his breakfast, to be certain—and confirmed our prey was within the range of Ingjard’s arrows.
Fenrig followed the nearby footprints to a crack in the rocks with bones strewn about the entrance. We stayed upwind, and crouched down to listen. The grunting from within was unmistakably trollish. I readied my own bow, and motioned to Bashnag. He gleefully clambered to the cave, and poured oil across the threshold. Ingjard and Fenrig found vantage points at the flanks. Footfalls decided to watch the proceedings from the safety of a tree.
“Now!”
Bashnag let out a resonating roar that echoed across the barrens. Out thundered a frost troll—a big brute, thick of fur, fists clenched and spittle frothing from between rows of uneven teeth, with three sunken piglet eyes, all wildly glaring at the Orc. The troll swiped twice with heavy hands, but Bashnag sidestepped quickly as the attack turned into ineffectual flailing.
In the time it took Bashnag to raise his obscenely large mace, five arrows had struck the troll from three different directions. It tumbled forward, slipping on the Orc’s oil, and cracked its head on the way to the afterlife. Bashnag’s expression was one of disappointment, but this was short lived: He soon spilled blood as a second troll leapt upon him, hammering at his armor as he took it by the throat, slammed it into the rocks, and caved its skull in with brute force, a slightly smaller mace, and invocations to Mauloch.
The ground shook as the third (and substantially taller) troll lumbered from its hole, pounding the ground with its anvil-like fists. Had it not been hunched, it would have been almost the size of a giant. Bashnag coaxed it towards the slick. The Orc’s throwing arm was impressive; he managed to cover the beast in oil from two more pots before Ingjard’s flaming arrows set the shrieking creature alight.
Footfalls-in-Snow slid from his tree.
The Argonian and I set about the unpleasant extrication of Zagun-ra’s troll fat from the three burning corpses. The smell of the bubbling flesh was sickeningly sweet. As it wafted through the air, Ingjard stifled a wretch, and Fenrig kept curious wolves at bay.
ICE WRAITH | The weather change was abrupt and dramatic; clouds rolling in from the Sea of Ghosts brought light snow, then heavier blizzards, and in a matter of hours, the road back to the docks became impassable. We halted our journey, as Fenrig feared our less competent members might lose themselves down an ice crevasse, or wander off into the walls of gray that assaulted us from all directions. Thick fog, snow blindness, and a shivering Argonian were tests sent by Kyne for us to overcome.
Spying a shelter of overhanging rocks, Fenrig pushed forward through the fresh snowdrifts. Then he stopped, yelled something indistinguishable over the howling winds, and fell backwards. He scrambled back upright, turned, and signaled to us, and we knew what he’d disturbed. A snaking skeleton of blue flame rose from the drift: a collection of ice bones bound together by nature magic, a sharp-ridged spine finishing at a malcontented jaw of bone and sharp teeth. Fenrig had awoken an ice wraith.
Raising his shield just in time, Fenrig countered the wraith’s lashing bite; those icy jaws struck steel and wood instead of Nord flesh. The snake promptly vanished back into the snow. Fenrig waded into the drift up to his waist, parting the fresh snow with sword and shield. Too late, he stepped onto the ice wraith’s waiting trap; a hail of shards pierced upwards, exploding from the ground and cutting up and around his legs. By now, we had joined our brother, and the Argonian whipped up a concentrated funnel of wind that parted the drift, forcing the foe into the air, where it weaved back and forth. Then it shot past us, straight into Fenrig’s bruised form.
Perhaps these words aren’t clear; the ice wraith actually entered Fenrig, reappearing after a moment out of his back, where Ingjard cut it down with an expertly swung axe. Fearing his possession, all we could do was watch Fenrig, who began to shake and turn as pale as the snow around us. Suddenly his eyes widened, mouth hung agape, and a second, smaller ice wraith spat itself from within, sailing out of Fenrig’s throat and into my hammering strike, which shattered it into dozens of pieces. Fenrig dropped to a knee, gasping.
Footfalls-in-Snow approached, letting us know the campfire was lit before gathering ice wraith teeth in a small, velvet-lined bag. As we huddled in a cave mouth, Fenrig and his dogs left us, after our tracker refused aid to limit a possible witbane infection. We heard faint howls over the gale throughout the night, and it wasn’t until the next morn that Fenrig returned, his clothing ruffled, but his pestilence cured.
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Wotan- Posts : 3378
Join date : 2020-04-27
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Re: The Shezarrine - a Skyrim story
by Wotan Wed May 06, 2020 8:13 pm
"You there. I have questions for you. You were in Saarthal, yes? It has come to my attention that something was found there," Ancano said. I had no ibterest in speaking with the Thalmor scum. I'd rather cleave the ugly bastard's skull with my axe, but in respect for the College, I refrained from such brash actions. "We found a lot of things... Nothing special," I said. "I know full well that you have. Please do not insult my intelligence. Tolfdir is still there now, is he? I shall expect a full report when he returns," he said. Ancano had not just pissed me off. "The only thing you can expect is my Daddy will chop your ugly head off, Thalmor scum!" Haspina blurted out.
I was hoping we'd find a small boat to row out to serpent Stone Island, else we'd have to leave Mirai behind - the icy cold water would kill her. We scoured the shore for a boat, and luckily enough we found one...
We had just killed two of those ice wraiths when we Heard a familiar sound...
The dragon just circled around a few times Before flying off. Maybe it didn't see us in the heavy snowfall.
We made it back to Windhelm, just when a dragon attacked.
After the long journey from Serpent Stone Island, and after defeting this dragon, we had earned some rest.
Seems something is always attacking - This time it was vampires.
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Re: The Shezarrine - a Skyrim story
by Wotan Wed May 06, 2020 8:17 pm
"You're alive. I Owe Ulfric a drink. I have to admit, I didn't Think we'd be seeing you again. I misjudged you. You're definitely Stormcloak material. It's time we made this official. You ready to take the Oath?" Galmar said. "Isn't it enough that I want to fight Imperials?" I said. "You can stick a sword through an Imperial any day you want. But that doesn't make you a Stormcloak. We're not just fighting Imperials. We're fighting to restore Skyrim to her glory and give her the king she deserves." "I'm ready to take the Oath." "That's the spirit. By swearing this oath you become one of us. A hero of the people. A true son of Skyrim. A Stormcloak. Repeat after me. I do swear my blood and honor to the service of Ulfric Stormcloak... Jarl of Windhelm and true High King of Skyrim. As Talos is my witness, may this oath bind me to Death and beyond... even to my lord as to my fellow Brothers and sisters in arms. All hail the Stormcloaks, the true sons and daughters of Skyrim!" Galmar said. "Now you're one of us. Which means you get to tag along on a Little trip with me. Oh, and here. You're a Stormcloak now, you ought to look the part," he said.
About to leave Town, a little girl walked up to me at the city gate...
"Hi Mister! Would you like to buy some flowers? Please?" "Sure. What do you have?" I said. "Not much. But I hope you like them!" "Who are you? Where are your parents?" "They're... they're dead. My mama died when I was Little. I... I don't remember her very well. My father was a Stormcloak Soldier. One day, he left and... didn't come back. I'm all alone. I... I try to sell flowers so I can buy food. It's not much but... what else can I do?" she said. "I could adopt you, if you want." "Really? Do you... do you have a Place I could live?" "Yes, I've got a house in Falkreath," I said. "Oh, wow! Are you... are you sure? You really wouldn't mind?" "Yes, I'm sure... daughter." "Yea! Thanks, mister - um, Papa! I promise, I'l be the best daughter ever! I need to get my things and say goodbye to everyone. Thanks! Thanks so much!" Sofie said.
We made a stop in Whiterun...
"So, how does it feel to be a Stormcloak? I don't know, Ulfric seems rather level-headed, but I think Galmar is a bit... obsessed... I can understand that you, being a Nord, wanted to join the Stormcloaks. Still, I can't help feeling that they are very unfair to the elves. Now that we are here, how about buying me a staff that can throw fireballs? I'm sure it would be very useful," Vilja said.
I pretended not to hear the last thing she said. Don't get me wrong, I do love Vilja and would buy her anything. It's just... I fear she'd just blast all of us and herself with such a weapon. We made for the Temple of Kynareth...
"I have a delivery for you, from Tatiyana at the College of Winterhold," I said. "Thank you. Honor dictates something in return. I hope you find this pleasing," Danica Pure-Spring said.
We continued our journey home...
"I... I have a home again. A family. I almost can't believe it. Thank you. Thanks... for everything," Sofie said.
About to leave Town, a little girl walked up to me at the city gate...
"Hi Mister! Would you like to buy some flowers? Please?" "Sure. What do you have?" I said. "Not much. But I hope you like them!" "Who are you? Where are your parents?" "They're... they're dead. My mama died when I was Little. I... I don't remember her very well. My father was a Stormcloak Soldier. One day, he left and... didn't come back. I'm all alone. I... I try to sell flowers so I can buy food. It's not much but... what else can I do?" she said. "I could adopt you, if you want." "Really? Do you... do you have a Place I could live?" "Yes, I've got a house in Falkreath," I said. "Oh, wow! Are you... are you sure? You really wouldn't mind?" "Yes, I'm sure... daughter." "Yea! Thanks, mister - um, Papa! I promise, I'l be the best daughter ever! I need to get my things and say goodbye to everyone. Thanks! Thanks so much!" Sofie said.
We made a stop in Whiterun...
"So, how does it feel to be a Stormcloak? I don't know, Ulfric seems rather level-headed, but I think Galmar is a bit... obsessed... I can understand that you, being a Nord, wanted to join the Stormcloaks. Still, I can't help feeling that they are very unfair to the elves. Now that we are here, how about buying me a staff that can throw fireballs? I'm sure it would be very useful," Vilja said.
I pretended not to hear the last thing she said. Don't get me wrong, I do love Vilja and would buy her anything. It's just... I fear she'd just blast all of us and herself with such a weapon. We made for the Temple of Kynareth...
"I have a delivery for you, from Tatiyana at the College of Winterhold," I said. "Thank you. Honor dictates something in return. I hope you find this pleasing," Danica Pure-Spring said.
We continued our journey home...
"I... I have a home again. A family. I almost can't believe it. Thank you. Thanks... for everything," Sofie said.
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Re: The Shezarrine - a Skyrim story
by Wotan Wed May 06, 2020 8:20 pm
"I found the second page..." I told Mirai. "Let me see it. Let's hope this one is less violent..." she said.
The young Breton woman read the page...
"It was a little smaller this time..." I said. "Yeah... but it still hurts! I hope they don't all do this... maybe if we put the whole thing back together it won't blow up in my face. There has to be a reason my dad wanted me to see this, right? Let's keep going," Mirai said.
We were close to where the captured dragon we freed told us to meet him...
"Is this your home?" I asked. "Yes, welcome small ones," Rhegul said. "There is just one thing I have not yet mentioned. My kin... they do not speak the common tongue of yours, or rather... they are not very fond of it. Are you able to speak Dovahzul?" the dragon continued. "Yes. Well enough, I think." "Then you are to introduce yourself and your relation to my kin. Do not disappoint me."
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