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> The stories so far, Edited and ready to roll.
post Mar 13 2006, 05:06 PM
Post #1


Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany

OK, this thread will contain any and all stories that are posted on the geocities site and labelled as edited. These babies we don't have to worry about until it actually comes time to stick em in the game.

I will sort out this thread... in other words, please do NOT post up stories yourself... it could lead to multiple copies which could prove problematic later.

Also, please keep posts in this thread to a minimum. This is mainly just a place where people have quick and easy (although not necessarily organised) access to the stories already finished with.
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post Mar 13 2006, 05:10 PM
Post #2


Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany

Section: Arcane Text

Written by Aldrina Dead-Lover (Willybubba)

A Necromancer’s Guide to the Empire

By Aldrina Dead-Lover


In the Era of the Third Empire, a necromancer finds its way no easier than in previous days. The ruling body in Cyrodiil, while possessing limited intelligence when it comes to the use of the dead, allows the backward provinces to maintain their archaic beliefs about the dead. With such primitive beliefs hampering a necromancer’s exploration of the art, it seemed only fair that I should level the playing field by providing a guide to practicing this so-called dark magic in the provinces of Tamriel.

A Hidden War

During my three hundred year stint of life in Tamriel, I have come across many secrets. It may shock some beginners of this art to realize that there is in fact a faction that dedicates itself to overcoming Arkay’s Law and Arkay’s Blessing. Yes, you think this is impossible. However, their plan is clever, and does not directly try to overcome these barriers. I suggest you read Arkay the Enemy, and count yourself among the missionaries of the King of Worms, for surely he is the founder of this cult. We have nothing to lose by helping such a mission, and therefore must do so, in order to establish ourselves and overcome the oppression of the provincial cultures.

Black Marsh

The Argonians of Black Marsh are rather tribal, but will take to strangers if you grease their dry, scaly hands with a septim or two. While this is true, it is highly suggested not to venture far from the coast. Often you can acquire a couple bodies through outright murder of the guides you hire to show you around, or by “assisting” clans with their tribal warfare. Though killing one’s guide can only be suggested when one is familiar with the region. Tribal warfare is random at best, and occurs much less after the Empire’s occupation. Apart from the dangers of the dark swamplands, Argonians have been known to spread disease, whether it is accidental or purposeful is yet to be proven. There are also rumors that they will eat outsiders. The acidic waters here provide an excellent source for skeletal bodies. These are some of the easiest creatures to summon, and it simply requires that you leave a dead body for about two weeks time. Upon return a pile of bones will be ready to be engineered into a reliable and hardy minion.


The Khajiit are actually easier going than the Argonians. In the jungle regions one meets similar problems as in Black Marsh, but the desert is a valuable resource to necromancers. Khajiits mark their graves with simple stones, which are often easy to spot, and seem to care very little if they are dug up. Not only this, but the dry desert preserves bodies naturally, and in a way that rivals that of the best Sload techniques. Not only this, but I myself have purchased bodies at various port towns. The Khajiit may charge a pretty septim for them at times, but often the druggies can be tempted with moon sugar. This is one of the easiest areas to practice necromancy.


The Bosmer are a dreadful little people. Hated by many and with good reason. The filthy wretches, though not performing Arkay’s rituals, often devour their foes. Not only this, but they hate Necromancers. This ignorant behavior makes practicing our art in Valenwood difficult to say the least. Not only that, but the woods of Valenwood provide many dangers and hazards. Coupled with the Bosmer, and it is not worth even a skilled necromancers time to attempt practicing in this region.

Summerset Isle

The Altmer study the bodies of the dead, not to resurrect them, but to extend their own lives. While a rich High Elf may be able to get by with necromancy, any other will suffer great punishment for their occupation. These people are not as primitive as the Bosmer, and perform Arkay’s rituals, making bodies hard to come by. This is another region best avoided unless you are yourself one of the Golden Skinned People.


Worship of Arkay is strongest, and bodies hard to come by. The terrain is dangerous however, and poorly preserved bodies can be found in remote regions, or after large battles. This is another region that isn’t too promising for necromancers.


It’s been long since I’ve left my chambers, I am not even sure if this is an official province of the Empire. I remember hearing a delegation was sent to try to come to a deal with the Orcs, and I only hope that it was successful. If it was, then we should find an abundance of the durable Orcish corpses so coveted by many necromancers.

High Rock

Northern High Rock offers few corpses due to the cremation of dead bodies, and many in the South are buried following Arkay’s Rituals. However, it was rumored that bodies of criminals in Daggerfall may be donated to necromancy in order to deter pirates in this lawless region. The winter months find bodies rather well preserved, but hard to find. The Breton clans still war with each other, and bodies can be stolen from the battlefield afterwards. If nothing else, discreet murder can serve its purpose in the backwater province.

The cold provides preservation for Nordic dead of exposure or battle, but snow can make them difficult to locate. The weather also contributes to less travel and therefore makes it rather easy to hide in the mountainous terrain. I have dedicated much time of late to a spell to magically detect dead bodies, but have yet to yield promising results.


The Dunmer practice a form of necromancy, but the dirty hypocrites persecute all other forms. However, we find a unique advantage in this province that no other offers. This is the only province in which slavery is legal, and nearly any race of slave can be purchased. As long as one is careful to hide one’s true intent, slaves provide useful live subjects to test spells, and afterwards make wonderful specimens for our art. So long as one is not found out it provides a unique opportunity to study.


Necromancy is illegal in Cyrodiil without the owner’s consent. So, if one cannot obtain the bodies of dead criminals, which the Empire donates, one must simply forge a document proclaiming consent of the use of a body. This provides the easiest way to practice necromancy. It is suggested that necromancers study on the Cyrodiil-Elsweyr border. This provides a lot of bodies with few repercussions, if any.

Other Regions

Thras is the land of the Sload. These people likely only practice necromancy on other races. They don’t take well to outsiders, and most Tamrielians hate them just as much. While they are a despicable race of creatures, they have been practicing necromancy unhindered for centuries. It is a shame we cannot somehow spy on them.
Akaviri is a land of beasts that will eat men or mer. Nothing is known of their dead, and I have never heard of one being used after death. It seems to me that they could make powerful servants. Next time they invade we should stand ready to capture their dead.


This is what I know of the various regions. There are more areas that may provide unique challenges and benefits to necromancers, but I have heard little of them, and spent even less time there. I would leave you with a list of books you may find useful; Book of Life and Service, Corpse Preparation V. I-III, Legions of Dead, N’Gasta! Kvata! Kvakis!, and Notes on Racial Phylogeny, among others. I wish you luck in your endeavors, and may this guide serve you well.

This post has been edited by Troika: Mar 13 2006, 05:42 PM
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post Mar 13 2006, 05:11 PM
Post #3


Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany

Section: Arcane Text

Written by Corryn (Corryn)

Tenusat re Korcius Venrie (The Wild Hunt) – Author Corryn, grandson of the Founder Corryn

At the request of the Librarian I write these words though I would not but for my grandfather after whom I am now named. He would not want knowledge lost, but neither would he would wish such dangerous words spread to corrupt more of our people. For this and other reasons, the entire procedure is not here written in its entirety.

The Wild Hunt is a release of all primal nature, of the horror and insanity of the dark times before order took hold of Mundus, when shape, being, and existence were fragile things. Chaos flowed though the fabric of all things, as it does now, but had no weight with which to balance. Of the Bosmer there were few who upon there final shaping to the forms they wield today still held the memories of the nightmare before-times. In times of desperation they fled to the final extreme of returning to time that is abhorrent to nature and the laws that govern reality. For this they are despised by many Bosmer who hold nature sacred and thus throughout time their number has remained small. Here follows a small measure of that which unleashes Korcius Venrie (the Formless Rebirth) known now as the Wild Hunt.

The Chant:
Sentre ni, Tinke ni, Relouke phe shna lisn’treso. Sute i
(Shape me, Rend me, Remake to flesh dissolved. Loss is

merk, senen len’tensal, weses phe quine somer.
taken, form destroyed, return to time before.)

The final verse is not written here so that none will be tempted to remake.

The Ring:
Those in the ceremony stand in a circle. Many symbols are drawn in the circle as they chant in their hoods. Symbols include Quine (time), Sukran (change),
Len’tenlsa (destruction), Kokra (despair), Res’tensla (creation) and many others not mentioned here to avoid attempts at recreation. The signs are a general cry for a time of dread and fury to avenge their lamenting people, to turn to the unnatural to destroy their suffering and their foes.

The Fire:
Around the circle flames of green lick the room with a dark fragrance in the air. They burn with unnatural heat and continue long after all fuel has been consumed. When the ceremony is complete the flames flow over across their forms, twisting and corrupting. They are created through alchemy with many dozens of ingredients although here I will mention only choke weed, dark emerald dust, and bone meal.

The Rebirth:
The flames recede and burn themselves out. Creatures emerge without flesh or will. They are nothing but bones, spines, claws, and teeth. They are fueled by wrath and slay any that are in their way. They have lost all sense or identity and have become a swarm of rage to flow though the land, until fury burns out and they turn to consume one another.

You scholars now have understanding in part of what few rare souls know. It is not a complete work and has been left so for good reason. I know the thirst for knowledge can be great in such noble minds, but let me lend one last caution:

Do not seek to fill what was not told lest you be lost.

This post has been edited by Troika: Mar 13 2006, 05:42 PM
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post Mar 13 2006, 05:12 PM
Post #4


Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany

Section: Arcane Text

Written by Caen Argu (stargate525)

Blasphemous Papers: Theology and Astrology
By Caen Argu

This report has been submitted by I, Master Wizard Argu of the Mages Guild, on alternate theories of Theology and Astrology. In it I shall attempt to disprove commonly held ‘facts’ of these two subjects.

The planets are the gods. That they appear as spherical heavenly bodies is a visual phenomena caused by mortal mental stress. Since each planet is an infinite mass of infinite size, as yet surrounded by the Void of Oblivion, the mortal eye registers them as bubbles within a space. Planets are magical and impossible. The eight planets correspond to the Eight Divines, with the ninth as the mortal planet, Nirn.

I disapprove of such a casual dismissal of such an interesting occurrence. It has been proven that if one were to levitate high enough, that Nirn takes on the appearance of a curved horizon. I believe that the planets are nothing but other incarnations of our own planet. Furthermore, I believe that if one could levitate long enough and with enough supplies and preparation to survive the trip, one could travel to another of these planets. While I have nothing to positively prove this claim, it is far more logical than the one that current lore provides.

Nirn is a finite ball of matter and magic made from all of the god planets at the beginning of time, when Lorkhan tricked/convinced/forced the gods to create the mortal plane. Nirn is the mortal plane and the mortal planet. Its creation upset the cosmic balance; now all souls have a vested interest in Nirn.

I agree that Nirn is indeed a finite ball of matter; if you sail long enough east you will wind up on the west. But the remainder of this definition is nothing but self-promoting babble. It is a ball of earth, same as the other planets.

Masser and Secunda
They are small planets, insofar as one infinite mass of infinite size can be smaller than another. Planets do have orbits, or at least lunar orbits are perceived to happen by mortals. Moons are regarded by various cultures as attendant spirits of their god planet, or minor gods, or foreign gods. The moons of Nirn are Masser and Secunda. Masser and Secunda, the moons of Nirn, are the attendant spirits of the mortal plane. They are like the mortal plane in that they are temporal and subject to the bounds of mortality; in fact of this, the moons are dead and died long ago. The moons used to be pure white and featureless, but today their 'skin' is decaying and withering away. Their planes are likewise dying. Mortals perceive this as the moons being spheres with patches of their 'surfaces' completely eaten away; as the moons spin, they seem to become slivers or ragged crescents. These are not caused by shadows, because you can see stars through the black patches of the lunar spheres.

I propose that Masser and Secunda are smaller spheres of earth, much like the planets, that were somehow ‘slaved’ into their parent planet. While I do not yet know if their connection is physical of magical, I assure you it is THERE. I also contend that the moons are not dead, but have life upon them. Through careful observation through a telescope (a Dwarven magnifying device) of the two planets, I have observed that the planets have ebb and a flow of pieces on their surface. I contend that there is water there, and where there is water, there is life. I believe the slivers and crescents we see are indeed caused by shadows, and that the ‘stars’ seen where the moons should be are in fact cities on Masser and Secunda, which the eyes is not powerful enough to see without surrounding blackness.

Space is the interpretation of Oblivion, which is black and empty and surrounds the mortal plane. Space is infinite, but it acts just like a planet, in that Oblivion is 'surrounded' by Aetherius. You can see Aetherius by the stars.

The lore seems to be correct on this. I believe that space is the absolute nothingness that the planets and the universe are suspended in. It behaves like water in that it has currents, and draws the planets about the sun, and the moons about their planets.

The stars are the bridges to Aetherius. They are perceived as holes on the inside surface of space. Because they are on the inside of a sphere, all stars are equidistant from Nirn. Larger stars, therefore, are not closer to the mortal plane; they are just larger tears in Oblivion. The largest tear in Oblivion is Magnus, the sun. Shooting stars are bits of matter and magic, either from Oblivion or Aetherius, that sometimes move through the cosmos. The largest shooting stars are really planets with independent orbits, like Baan Dar the Rogue Plane.

This was a theory I was unable to explain until recently. I was experimenting on gasses from Red Mountain when I accidentally sent a shock spell into it. It exploded, nearly leaving me blind. But what I saw was a great sphere of white light, right before the explosion. I now believe that the stars are great pools of that gas, lit on fire by magic. They do eventually begin to burn out and become unstable, falling from the sky in shooting stars. The larger and slower moving ones I have dubbed comeates. They are different in that they were once planets that were consumed by the magic fires, still traveling around in their orbits. To prove my theories, I have successfully created a star from a large quantity of that gas, and it is now in my research facility, being fed a constant stream of gas to keep it from burning out.

Constellations are collections of stars. Since each star is a bridge to magic, constellations are very powerful phenomena, and are revered. There are generally accepted to be thirteen constellations. Nine of these are made up completely of stars.

Constellations are powerful events only because they are great bodies of magic in close relation to each other. The effects of these are not yet known.

Magnus is the sun, the largest hole in Oblivion, and the gateway to magic. Magnus was present at the creation of the mortal plane, and, in fact, was its architect. Prehistoric Nirn was a magical place, and highly unstable to the first mortals. Magnus then left, some say in disgust, and Oblivion filled in the void with the Void. His escape was not easy, and tatters of Magnus remain in the firmament as stars.

Magnus appears to be the largest pool of magic in space. It is pulling in space in a spiral path, creating the orbits of the planets. If these rotations were to stop, all the planets would fall into Magnus and be consumed. However, since space is in fact nothing, there is no need to worry of its running out, and of a subsequent lack of orbit.

The Sky
The sky is another visual phenomenon caused by mortal mental stress, the night sky in particular. The sky is as impossible as planets; in essence, when you look into the sky, 'you look outside the material plane'. At night, Nirn is surrounded by Oblivion. The day sky is the multicolored elemental cloak of Magnus the sun. It changes colors as elemental influences rise and fall. Thus, when one looks at the day sky, they see into the remnants of Aetherius, and stare at magic. Those phenomena of the spirit realm that inhabitants of Nirn interpret as a universe came into being during the Dawn Era. It was created through magic and myth, and this process is interpreted in a variety of ways too numerous to mention here.

I believe the sky to be an ‘outer skin’ surrounding our planet, and possibly others, from the rigors of the nothingness of space. It is made up of air, with the outer reaches being the gas of stars. During the day, especially at sunrise and sunset, the sun burns off the outer layer of the sky, causing the redness. This act also reduces the insulation we have from space, which is why nights are cold. The blueness of the sky during day is the reflection of the great oceans and bodies of water on Nirn, bouncing back to us from that outer gas. That is also why we see the stars at night, when the gas is diminished and the reflective properties have slackened.

This post has been edited by Troika: Mar 13 2006, 05:42 PM
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post Mar 13 2006, 05:13 PM
Post #5


Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany

Section: Biographies & Autobiographies

Written by Sun's-Day (Stargate525)

Autobiography of Sun’s-Day; Vol. 1

I was born in Black Marsh, that is all I know of for certain. In my journeys in and around Black Marsh, the best theory presented to me was that I was either an orphan given up at birth, or an unwanted by-product of an illicit affair.
Though I prefer the one in which I’m the lost heir to the Argonian Royal family the best.
My first memories are ones of my surrogate family. We lived in a small town that bordered the outskirts of a forest. There was also this great tree that... is really a story for another time.
My father was an Imperial smith. He had set up shop here after retiring from the legion. My mother was a Breton. According to her, she had married my father at a very young age, but I always expected something more. She had the most uncanny knack of disappearing whenever unwelcome visitors came to call...
My parents never told me where I had come from when I was young, but when I was older they told me I was bought for fifty septims in a little town called Pelagiad in the province of Morrowind. They took me in and raised me as their own, and such good people I have never seen since.
My parents’ choice of town to settle in was fortunate for me, for I was not the only Argonian in town. I quickly made friends with another Argonian my age; Flamescales, the son of a farming family outside of town. They had moved here from Black Marsh for a better life, but I could always sense that Flamescales wasn’t happy here. We would later become inseparable on our adventures. And he had the most charming sister. Her tail was so agile that... it can wait for another time.
I matured faster than the non-Argonians around me, and was apprenticing in my father’s shop by the time I was five. Flamescales also managed to get an apprenticeship with my father. My father would always say that we were the two laziest apprentices he had ever trained. But we learned quickly nonetheless.

This post has been edited by Troika: Mar 13 2006, 05:43 PM
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post Mar 13 2006, 05:14 PM
Post #6


Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany

Section: Diaries & Logbooks

Written by Blade (Lord Blade)

Blade's Journal

[This appears to be a entry in the journal of an Argonian bounty-hunter named Blade. How this section came to be here, you do not know... as for where the remainder of the journal lies...]

Day 1


Blade has been released by the courts of the Imperial seat.
They consented to this because they thought that my skills could prove useful to them. At first, Blade was wary about working for them. The offer to be an Imperial Bounty Hunter, or remain for the rest of Blade's years in prison, it seemed very suspicious.
Caused Blade to suffer such imprisonment! Five of the scum did Blade kill with his own hands. The sixth coward fled to the guards. And while they
But then they told Blade the true purpose... slavers! Those foul maggots who's murder understood that what Blade had done was just... it was still a transgression of Imperial law.

But now... the Empire wishes Blade to do what Blade does best... hunt slavers. The foul practice is outlawed in the Empire. And there are many who try to sleeze past such laws, and hide their activities in the shadows. But not even the darkest shadow shall keep Blade from bringing slaver scum to swift justice.

Blade was told that he might be required to perform other tasks. To hunt down others who have wronged the Empire. Blade agrees to this for now... but will not take on such assignments lightly. Long hours have been spent studying the ways of the dry landers. Blade knows that there is often more of vengeance than of justice in such assignments. And Blade will be the one to decide if the prey is truly deserving of being hunted.

As for slavers... justice, vengeance... they both give Blade ample cause to hunt them down. Back home in the Black Marsh... Blade was titled a Slayer. The finest of the hunters of Blade's clan of the Blue Rock. Now... Blade shall put his skills to use against larger prey. More cunning prey. And the hunt will be good.

For now, Blade will travel south-east. Maybe Blade can find trace of those who first wronged him...

[The journal page is torn off here]

This post has been edited by Troika: Mar 13 2006, 05:43 PM
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post Mar 13 2006, 05:16 PM
Post #7


Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany

Section: Domestic Texts & Guides

Written by Uncle Cassius (LoganRah)

Uncle Cassius’s guide to vvardenfell:

Volume I: Uncle Cassius’s travelling cook book.

(The pages of this book are marked with many odd stains and some of the words are hard to read)

Good day friend. I hope you find this book useful in your travels as I have found all these recipes to be easy to make and delicious.

Some of these recipes are not very good for you if you intend to do any fighting or exercise immediately afterwards so I would advise making sure that you don’t eat them in areas where you may be attacked.

Guar tongue soup:


Four guar tongues
Three stone flower petals

First, boil the water. Next add in the stoneflower petals and bread and simmer till the bread is almost completely broken down and the stock is nice and thick. While you are doing this fry the guar tongues in a little fat. Add the guar tongues and a splash of sujamma in to the stock and boil till the tongues are very tender.

Bunglers pie:


Two parts bunglers bane
Stale bread
Saltrice flour

First, to make the pastry, crush the bread until there are no large pieces, and then mix it with the greef. Stir thoroughly, adding saltrice flour, until the pastry is of a thick muck-like consistency.
Now break the bunglers bane into small pieces. Coat the inside of a bowl with the pastry and put the bunglers bane into it (if you want an extra kick add some heather to the bunglers bane), add a splash of greef and cover the top with some more pastry. Place over hot coals, and cook for three hours. I do not advise doing any exercise for a few hours after eating.

This recipe MUST be prepared exactly to the recipe or eating it may result in death.

(the pages seem to be getting more smudged and some of the words have become completely unreadable)

Hackle-lo eggs:


• 5 Hackle-lo leafs
• Water
• 2 Large kwama eggs
• 1 c......t (the words hear are smudged with a strange black stain)

First hard boil the k........ eggs then make a large hole in the top of each egg and hollow out the centre. Now chop up ... Hackle-lo leafs. Now soak the c......t (once again the words hear are smudged) in the water for two hours. Finally put the leaf mixture into the eggs and cook until the eggs are going yellow.

...i...... and choke-rice in scamp skin:


• flin
• chokeweed
• saltrice
• 2 ...... ...kins

this is ...e of my favorites and is great for eating ......t...... First boil the saltrice and cho...weed in the flin for about ............... . Then fry the skamp skins quic..., make sure they are cooked ......ht ...r...... finally place the ...... on the skins a... r...l.

(after this the words are to smudged and stained to read. Obviously who ever last possessed the book used it while they were cooking and didn’t care for it properly)

This post has been edited by Troika: Mar 13 2006, 05:44 PM
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post Mar 13 2006, 05:30 PM
Post #8


Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany

Section: Domestic Texts & Guides

Written by Unknown (Venom_X)

The Mage’s Cookbook

In order to do the recipes that I have a person MUST be a powerful mage or have a powerful mage help them. That is because each recipe has a special ingredient to it. A SOUL.

Alit Super Steaks

1 common soul gem with the soul of a Kagouti (any other soul gem leaves a bad taint to the recipe)
1 lb of Alit meat
2 portions of ectoplasma
2 portions of red lichen
2 portions Wickwheat
4 portions of saltrice
4 cups of water (5 cups may be necessary)

Cook the meat to your desired taste (warning undercooked meat is a health hazard and I will not be responsible if you get diseased from it). Add the saltrice halfway through your cooking. When the meat is finished cooking you need to have it enchanted with the soul of the Kagouti. This is very tricky as there is NO SPELL to enchant the meat with. After the meat is enchanted, boil the water for 5 minutes than add the redlichen, ectoplasma, and wickwheat to the pot (you made need 1 more cup of water if too much has boiled away). Boil the meat in the pot for 6 minutes. Don’t worry about the meat getting cooked any further as the enchantment will protect it against that. Pull the meat out and serve. You need 1 Kagouti soul in a common soul gem for each 1 lb of meat.

Slaughterfish Filet

1 lesser soul gem with the soul of a Kwama Worker (any other soul gem leaves a bad taint to the recipe)
1 slaughterfish filet
2 portions of resin
1 portion of void salts (you may substitute vampire dust if you like a spicy flavor)

Cook the fish to your desired taste (warning undercooked meat is a health hazard and I will not be responsible if you get diseased from it). When the meat is finished cooking you need to have it enchanted with the soul of the slaughterfish. This is very tricky as there is NO SPELL to enchant the meat with. Pour the void salts or vampire dust over the fish and let it sit for 5 minutes on the fire. Put the resin on the other side of the filet and let it sit for 2 minutes on the fire. Once again do not worry about it cooking anymore as the enchantment will protect it.

Scamp Burgers

1 greater soul gem with the soul of a Dremora (any other soul gem leaves a bad taint to the recipe)
1 lb of scamp meat
2 portions of muck
1 portion of black lichen
1 portion shalf resin
5 bittergreen petals
5 cups of water

Pour muck and resin on top of the meat and cook to desired taste (warning undercooked meat is a health hazard and I will not be responsible if you get diseased from it). When the meat is finished cooking you need to have it enchanted with the soul of the Dremora. This is very tricky as there is NO SPELL to enchant the meat with. Get the water boiling and add the bittergreen petals the black lichen and the meat. Boil for 15 minutes. Once again do not worry about it cooking anymore as the enchantment will protect it.

Winged Twilight Delight

1 wing of a winged twilight
1 grand soul gem with the soul of a golden saint (you can use any soul gem that can contain the golden saint’s soul)
7 portions of scrib jelly
4 portions of bungler’s bane
1 portion of bloat
1 frost spell of 15 to 20 damage for 5 seconds

Enchant the wing with the soul of the golden saint. This is very tricky as there is NO SPELL to enchant the meat with. Take the wing, the jelly, bungler’s bane, and the bloat and grind them until they are thoroughly mixed. This will take a few hours to do and once finished it should look like a cream. Once finished you use the frost spell on the cream. Serves 2 or 3.

This post has been edited by Troika: Mar 13 2006, 05:44 PM
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post Mar 13 2006, 05:31 PM
Post #9


Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany

Section: Factual Texts

Writen by Jaeld Alteir (Jaeld Alteir)

"Of Crazy Old Men"
An Essay on the Dangers of Confronting Harmless-Looking Hermits

Written By Jaeld Alteir

If you wander the roadways of Tamriel long enough, you are bound to realize that unassuming old men make up a fair percentage of your fellow travelers, wandering amiably down the road with a typically distracted smile affixed to their features. Perhaps you have given them little thought, or barely even noticed them at all, as is often the case with quiet old men. Or perhaps you paused, and wondered about his errand, or if he had one at all. And your next thought, no doubt, would be to wonder why in the world a helpless-looking old man was traveling alone in the dangerous wilderness of roads that criss-cross our continent, and how he had managed to survive this long at all.

Well, I shall tell you. As a wandering old man myself, I feel I can offer some valuable insight on the subject. But it is no great secret, for every experienced traveler knows that one of the most important rules of the roadway is this: Never underestimate a smiling, harmless-looking old man.

It is a wise and sensible rule, but intriguing in that those unfamiliar with its basis find it difficult to understand and accept. Though I do not have precise statistics, I suspect that the disregard for this rule is responsible for a sizable percentage of all travel-related injuries. And so, in this essay, I shall attempt to outline and explain the derivation and application of this rule.

When given pause for thought, it is simple enough to see precisely why it is so unwise to confront or challenge a smiling old man, and the following items represent but a sampling of the lines of reasoning that can be applied to this issue.

- In this day and age, no sane man travels alone unless he has the fullest confidence in his ability to defend himself. Bandits and wild beasts make this an obvious necessity. Therefore, a man alone is either capable or crazy. If he is capable, it is obviously unwise to challenge him without substantial risk to oneself. If he is crazy, all bets are off. For instance, it may be that he is crazy but still capable after all, which is the worst possible scenario for the would-be assailant. If he is merely crazy, however, the danger is still quite great. Crazy men do not fight as normal men do, and reckless acts of violence can overwhelm even the most skillful assailant--unpredictability is a bewildering weapon. Therefore, since a traveler must be either capable or crazy in order to travel alone, neither option makes him a suitable target.

- Another danger of wandering old men is that they are old. Their days of glory are most likely past, and it is quite possible that they have nothing more to live for. And even the most casual student of war knows that an enemy with nothing left to live for will most likely fight to the bitter end, with reckless abandon. Facing a foe that does not fear death rarely ends well.

- It's not easy to get old. No one lives long enough to become an old man without surviving for quite a bit longer than any young buck that’s likely to be challenging him. So going up against someone who is obviously an old pro at surviving is always a risky proposition.

- Everyone carries a weapon of some sort these days. Just because you don't see it doesn't mean that it's not there. And if it's not anything conventional like a sword or a club, chances are it's just something even worse.

- If he smiles, run. People smile when they're happy and unconcerned. Typically, being waylaid on the highway is cause for concern. So if he's smiling instead, YOU should be concerned.

- Is it not often said that things are not always what they seem? This applies doubly for seemingly helpless old men.

- An old man has had a long time to learn a great many things. You don't live long enough to become a wandering old hermit without a few tricks up your sleeve, after all.

- It is said that "The foolish die young, while the wise and skillful live long." If you are young, and he is old, do you really wish to tempt fate and test the truth of those words?

- You are probably not the first to see this old man. You are probably not the first to think that he seems helpless and unimpressive. You are probably not the first to think that this may make him an easy target. Ask yourself, then, why is he still here, and what of the others who thought to make of him an easy victim?

The young tend to give little credence to the wisdom and strength of the old and weary, but the old have seen and weathered many trials, and there is great power lurking beneath that wrinkled skin. The savvy traveler knows that there is much behind that amiable smile, a slyness that speaks of something he knows that you do not. This friendly, bemused smile is to be feared above all else.

But yes, I suppose there is always the chance that you may find a smiling old man who is merely weak and senile, wandering aimlessly on his way to death's door. Perhaps you may meet one or two in your years of travels who truly are harmless, and no threat at all. But it is unlikely, and a risk that no sensible traveler is foolish enough to take. Better you return his smile with a courteous nod, perhaps a kind word, and be on your way--and let him continue on his, wherever it may take him.

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post Mar 13 2006, 05:34 PM
Post #10


Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany

Section: Factual Texts

Written by Dan Cellot (Stargate525)

Dances of Tamriel; the Cyrodiil Slide
A Collection of Common Dances
By Dan Cellot

Note to the reader: This is a generalized guide to basic dances in Tamriel. It is by no means complete. One must also be aware that the particulars of these dances may be different from region to region.

The Cyrodiil Slide: This dance is most commonly performed in bars and taverns all around Cyrodiil, although it has recently spread to imperial cities in Hammerfell and Summerset Isle. It remains popular due to its simplicity and that it can be done in groups as little as two to as large as two hundred and fifty-three. (The record, set during the Heart’s Day celebration in Anvil, has stood for over fifty years. Due to the clumsiness of Ulrich the Unsteady at this celebration, the emperor has since ordered that all dances of the Cyrodiil slide have a maximum size of eighty.)
Participants form lines up to twenty long. When one line is filled, another one should be formed behind it. The lines continue to stack until all participants are accommodated. The first step is four steps to the left, right foot behind your left. Then sidestep back to your original place, left foot behind right, turning one-quarter turn to the left. The participants take two steps forward, kneeling on their right knee in the process. (When done correctly, this step should look like a slide to your knee, a unique maneuver for which this dance is named.)
The rest of the dance requires practice. (Something Ulrich the Unsteady lacked) While still kneeling, twist a quarter to the right, and then rise to your feet turning around you to the left. To finish the dance, take three steps to your left, right foot behind your left. This should put you in the same relative location you were when you started. This then repeats until the song is finished.

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post Mar 13 2006, 05:35 PM
Post #11


Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany

Section: Foundres' Fates

Written by Corryn (Corryn)

The Final Journey of Corryn

The following are excerpts from the journal of Corryn, a founder of the Tes F’Ruun library detailing the last few days of his life. It was submitted to the library by his grandson Corryn.

Frostfall Fredas 28th

I have located an ancient temple deep in the jungle a few days travel east from Haven. The markings on the outside of the temple indicate an old tribe of Bosmeri that have not been seen in many thousands of years. This is most exciting. I am sure that much lore may be stored in the temple’s ancient vaults. Sadly the temple is deep in a cavern and I cannot climb down very far into the first tunnel by myself. I must return when I have someone to help in the exploration.

Sun’s Dusk Morndus 7th

I have returned to the site with equipment so that me and my colleagues can descend deeper into the catacombs. A few scholars from Haven as well as my grandson, Cor have accompanied me to help me in my research. Cor dreams of adventures and glory but I am afraid he shall find this archaic research rather dull. He looks up to me so much for the journeys of my youth and has even promised to take my name when he is of age. He will learn patience when he is older. I have gone off track; we will begin our descent at first light.

Sun’s Dusk Tirdas 8th

We spent most of the day negotiating our way down the slope. Cor nearly fell down, but he managed to damage his hand badly so the going has been slow. The rest of the team is impatient to begin searching, but the door is sealed on this level and we have no means to open it.
The most amazing thing has occurred; the moonlight has caused the doorway to open. We have placed bracers so that the door will not close again. We decided to skip rest for the night to begin work.

Sun’s Dusk Turdas 10th

Such a wealth of knowledge! There is much here that could earn a place of honor at the library, but so far the greatest discovery was a tome that appears to describe in detail the ritual of the Bosmer Wild Hunt. Certainly some few Bosmer still know the secret, but I have never heard of the practice ever being recorded. From what little I have been able to translate from the book, it is a most unpleasant transformation process. Oh, before I forget I must note that odd noises have been heard at night. Everyone is now required to carry a weapon with them except Cor, who still cannot use his hand.

Sun’s Dusk Fredas 11th

They came so quickly... there... there was nothing we could do. Many of my friends were lost in the first minute. They... they tried to get to Cor. I managed to grab him while fending ‘them’ off, I did not know such skill with a blade was still left to me. Cor and I sealed ourselves in one of the rooms in the back. We could see moonlight through cracks in the stone, but we couldn’t move them.

Sun’s Dusk Loredas 12th

I write this quickly so that my brothers at the Tes F’Ruun Library will know what happened. Those crazed Bosmer in the other room have started chanting. I recognize some lines of the chanting from the tome on the Wild Hunt. It is shameful that any of my brethren would change themselves into the horrific images I saw in [the tome on the Wild Hunt’s pages. I know the door will not hold back those creatures. When they started the ceremony, the trembling caused a stone from the rafters to fall. I have no strength to climb out so I am giving my journal to Cor so that he can escape and bring word of what has happened.
Note from Librarian:
- A hunting party found Cor wandering near Haven. At the time this is all they could get from him.

Cor "He... he pushed me up through the roof. And I waited, but he didn’t follow so I... I... I asked him to... I begged him to climb but he... he just yelled to run, but I... I couldn’t just leave him... and... and then the door broke... and they came at him."

Hunt leader "What did son? Come on speak up lad."

Cor "They... they were just teeth and... and bone and claws, and... and I have never seen such... and... and grandfather, he swung so quickly and... they could not touch him... but there were so many and... and... he yelled to me to run again... so I just ran and ran... and... and oh god I can still see them."

Here Cor broke down sobbing and would say no more..

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post Mar 13 2006, 05:37 PM
Post #12


Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany

Section: Founders' Fates

Written by Re-Lan (Argonians rule)

Autobiography of Re-Lan

It was a cold night when my egg was hatched. As I burst from my egg my, mother picked me up and held me to stop me from freezing. My father was a renowned warrior and led our small tribe of 50 through the hazards of Northern Black Marsh. That night, the night I was born, it happened. A Group of 100 Dunmer slavers attacked our tribe. My father and his warriors fought bravely and killed many a Dunmer, but in the end He went down under sheer numbers. Afterwards all children and women were enslaved. Any too old or to sick to work were brutally slain, that is how my grandparents lost their lives. We were taken to Morrowind, more specifically to Vvardenfall. There we were put to work in an egg mine. We had very little food and water over the next 20 years, and my mother would often take only a mouthful of food and give the rest to me so I could grow strong. On my 20th Birthday She died, no remorse from anyone. She was just an anonymous Argonian slave. I couldn't take it anymore. I picked up my Miner's pick and slew my Dunmer captors in a frenzy. I freed the other slaves and we each went our separate ways. I had only a sword from one of the Dunmer. My mother had said it was my father's and that the Dunmer had taken it when they killed him. I left Morrowind then. I traveled Tamriel righting wrongs, slaying beasts, and having many adventures. I grew tired after some years for I truly just wanted a purpose other than killing and fighting. One day I found an ancient tome in a temple. It was then I discovered the joy of written word. I had found a new purpose in life. So for the next 10 years I journeyed Tamriel collecting tomes and writing books. And so began my writing career. I journeyed Tamriel writing of what I learned and collecting books. Still I kept on adventures some of which were dangerous, like trying to convince a tribe of orcs to allow me to write their history. One day in Cyrodill I chanced upon several other scholars. They wished to found a library that would hold rare books they wrote and collected. I decided to join them with their library. I stayed with them until I began to get older. Then one day, a certain founder and I had a large fight over minor discrepancies in the facts of a certain text. I decided to leave the library for I could no longer stand him. I said my goodbyes to my friends, who I had worked with for years. I continued wandering until one day I found a small cottage in Northern Cyrodill. I purchased it and now live there alone, though I often visit my old friends in the library, having made amends with the aforementioned person. Their numbers dwindle each year. I enjoy reading and writing, though I am too old to adventure anymore. I am writing this so that people will always remember my story and the founding of the library. So if you are adventuring, remember that there is more to life than killing and slaying, just try cracking a book. You'd be surprised what you can learn. I know I was.

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post Mar 13 2006, 05:38 PM
Post #13


Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany

Section: Founders' Fates

Written by Blade (Lord Blade)

The Tale of Blade, the Argonian Bounty Hunter

Blade writes this journal to let others know of origins...

For many years has Blade hunted, working for the Empire as a
Bounty Hunter. Mostly hunting Blade's favorite prey... the foul
slavers, though from time to time Blade has been asked to hunt other
prey. Special prey. Criminals too dangerous for the soldiers to bring
in. Blade has hunted across Tamriel and brought to justice.

And only justice. Not once has Blade accepted the task of hunting prey
which he did not believe was truly deserving of being hunted. Many
times have the greedy and corrupt within the Empire asked Blade to
hunt down those who oppose them, those who have caused them shame, or
those who have interfered with their personal plans for power. These
prey Blade will never hunt. For Blade is no fool.

Blade sits here in this great Library of Tes F'Ruum, writing this
tale. It has been many years since Blade accepted the job as a Bounty
Hunter for the Empire. Slavers by the thousands have fallen to the
blade of Blade. Their fate was written from the moment they enslaved
another. And many others have also been brought to justice. Hundreds
of criminals, outlaws, bandits and others who break the laws or cause
grief and suffering to others. Blade's name has become commonplace in
taverns and inns, whispered in awe by those Blade serves to protect,
and muttered as a curse by those he hunts.

Yes... many have fallen or been brought in for trial at Blade's
hands... but never the ones who Blade has truly hunted all these

Blade came from the Blue Rock clan, a small, but proud clan in the
Black Marsh. At a young age did Blade show much skill at combat, as
well as tracking. And Blade was the youngest of his clan to earn the
title of Slayer, the proud few who lead the hunting parties of the

One day... while leading a fine party on a hunt through the southern
swamps, Blade and his clanmates were ambushed. The attack came without
warning. The first warning was the blast of frost which chilled
Legs-So-Quick, a young hunter who was little more than a hatchling. Blade was
about to warn the others and seek the aggressors when a blast of fire
flung him from his feet. Blade struck a tree and lost consciousness.

When Blade awoke, he was mostly covered by the swamp, and various bits
of debris. It was about a day after the attack. After taking his
measure of the situation, Blade knew what had happened. Slavers. The
foul vermin had laid in wait. From the signs, they had been there for
some time. Blade knows not how they knew where to await our group. But
they were there, and their attack was very efficient. They captured
Blade's clanmates. But they had made one dire mistake... Blade was
still free.

Blade tracked the slavers through the swamps for several days. They
had a head start, but Blade is not deterred so easily. But the trail
vanished. Never before had Blade seen such a thing. It was as if they
simply disappeared. Now, after much experience, Blade knows that it
was magic which helped them escape. They had teleported away. And this
meant that one of their party had to be a mage of some power.

Blade had little idea of where to go next, so he headed for the
capitol, hoping that there might be some clue as to who the slavers
may have been and some word of his clanmates. Along the way, Blade
had put several other slavers to the sword and helped various
villages Blade passed with tasks large and small. From slaying beasts
that threatened the town, to simple jobs of delivery. Anything to hone
the skills.

After arriving at Cyrodill, Blade began to ask around. Many treated
him as a beast, thinking his manner uncouth. And Blade knew that to
deal with those of "high society" Blade would need to be able to
emulate their ways. So Blade studied long and hard. Letters seemed to
come naturally, when they are normally something of difficulty for
Argonians. Blade learned of etiquette as well as streetwise ways. Soon he
was able to speak with high and low born and blend himself well
to all manner of social standings.

But alas, Blade had little luck, even in the highest positions of the
Empire... he could not find clues to what had happened to the slavers he
sought. And one day, while relaxing in a tavern, Blade heard several
Dunmer at a nearby table talking about slaves they had captured. As
Blade rose to confront the scum, they hurled insults at him, calling
Blade a beast! This was too much, and with nothing but Blade's bare
hands did he lay into the vile slavers. Five did Blade manage to slay,
before the sixth of their group managed to call for the city guard and
then flee.

The guard arrested Blade for murder. But Blade's fate was not to rot
in jail. No, the Empire had a use for his particular skills. They
offered Blade the job of Bounty Hunter in exchange for freedom. Blade
hoped that he would help the Empire curb the rampant slavery that had
become far too common of late. Naturally, Blade accepted...

Well, the bards now sing many songs of Blade's exploits. Though there
are many things which are still unsung, for they happened in the
deepest secrecy. But sadly, Blade has never managed to find the
slavers who attacked him so long ago or find his lost clanmates.

But all has not been in vain. Blade had once been sent to hunt down
one known only as "The Librarian." This one was said to be spreading
heresy. Blade investigated this one and found the truth. It was not
heresy which was spread. This "Librarian" was building a collection of
works from across Tamriel. Lost tales, songs, diaries and other works.
This was a truly noble deed, which brought fear and suspicious to those who
live lives full of lies and treachery. Blade refused to harm this
one... instead, assisting The Librarian in his quest.

Blade spent much time with him, aiding in the construction of the
Library of Tes F'Ruum, in which Blade now writes this tale. Over the
years, Blade made many trips back to the library, always bringing lost
tomes and scraps of parchments long lost and forgotten. Even a section
of a journal once used by Blade is now on the shelves of this place of

But sadly, even with the knowledge stored here... Blade has never
found those he seeks. Therefore, Blade has decided to set out on one
final hunt. Blade's friends tell him that he is too old now to hunt
again, that his time is past. But if Blade must die, then it will be
hunting the prey, not of old age. Blade now leaves this tale here, for
those who are to come. With luck Blade will return someday, with news
of his destiny complete...

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post Mar 13 2006, 05:39 PM
Post #14


Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany

Section: Founders' Fates

Written by Unknown (JulZ)

The Fate of Ra'Jarran

Ra'Jarran the Suthay-Raht was born on the island of Sheogorad, north of the island of Vvardenfell in Morrowind province. He was always an adventurer and a poet at heart. At the age of twenty, he joined the Thieves' Guild. After an incident where Ra'Jarran severely injured another Guild member for calling the famed Imperial poet Succulus Nurus a highly inappropriate name, he was expelled. Bitter and wanting a new life, Ra'Jarran got on a smugglers boat to the mainland (Paying for the journey with gold he stole from the ship's captain).

In Mournhold, he came across a rare book called "The Secret of the Fat Lutes". This book he found very interesting. But fate decided that Ra'Jarran would never finish this book. It was stolen by a Bosmer nightblade, who earlier had tried to buy the book from him. Ra'Jarran followed this Bosmer to the very border of Cyrodiil, but here all traces of the thief vanished.

Ra'Jarran decided to settle in Cyrodiil and continue his search for the book. As it turned out, he met a fellow book-lover. The two became friends, and together with ten others they founded the Library of Tes F'Ruum.

Ra'Jarran collected many rare books for the Library, including the poetries of Hainud Lasamabi, the ashlander poet. But in his heart he knew that the Library wouldn't be complete until it got a copy of "The Secret of the Fat Lutes".

One day Ra'Jarran heard a rumour about a Bosmer nightblade establishing a criminals' hamlet in southern Skyrim. He felt certain that this nightblade was the thief that stole his precious book. He hired a band of mercenaries and went to Skyrim.

No one has heard from Ra'Jarran after that, but it is assumed he was killed by the nightblade's servants.

The End

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post Mar 13 2006, 05:40 PM
Post #15


Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany

Section: Founders' Fates

Written by Various Sources (Jaeld Alteir)

"Many Faces, Many Sides: An Approximation of the One Known as Jaeld Alteir"
A Compilation from Many Sources by Drodicus the Learned


An Introduction
Drodicus the Learned, Editor

This land of ours once was blessed with the presence of an Altmer known by the name of Jaeld Alteir: scholar, wanderer, and friend. Some may say he still roams the wild places in search of knowledge, or perhaps peace, but there is little to substantiate these tales, and I must regrettably choose the more rational conclusion.
But if there was one thing that most intrigued and inspired this great figure, it was the eternal power of the written word, and so it seems fitting to erect a memorial of words to this dear departed friend and mentor. I shall not be alone in this endeavor, however, and have instead compiled a number of works in various forms from those who knew him well, and even from those who met him but once. All shall throw their literary light on the one who was Jaeld Alteir, and perhaps when illuminated from all directions we shall begin to understand the complex and marvelous being that he was.


Young Elf, Big Future
From the memoirs of Ralhi Olthai

...One can always tell that you're past your prime when your own students can out-think you using only what you've taught them. A strange paradox, it seems, but this young Altmer named Jaeld is running my old mind ragged. He wrings more out of what I tell him than I realized I put in there in the first place, and it's rather spooky when I get to thinking on it. But the worst of it is that he doesn't even seem to realize he's doing it!
Oh sure, I've had plenty of pupils before who were hot stuff and knew it, and they'd try to best their tired old teacher at every turn, but those lads just kept an old man on his toes! This Jaeld just slips modestly past, and it isn't until after he leaves for the day that I realize just how far ahead of me he got in our conversations. It's enough to make me start thinking about retirement.

But, ah, I've got another few decades left in me. The kid's just an exception to the rule--too smart for his own good, but too intent on everyone else's good to get a big head over it. He'll go places, surely...but as for me, I suppose I'll just stay on here at the university for a while longer. Things ought to settle down once Jaeld gets restless and moves on to bigger things...


Of Dabbling in Bureaucracy
From the correspondence of Disciple Josephus, of the Imperial Cult


I write to you with some concern about Adept Alteir, the High Elf who joined our order not so very long ago. While I cannot say that he has done anything wrong or improper, per se, I still worry about his future with us. Not to say that he isn't a dedicated and hard-working servant of the order, certainly, as his service record will attest. It's just that...well, I'm not convinced as to the depth of his loyalties.

There is little doubt that he is devoted to the work we do, but that's just it. I think he's more devoted to the work than to the hierarchy behind the work. While he is the utmost model of courtesy and respect to his superiors, they report what they can only describe as "an amiable strong will" about him. He has the perplexing ability to always seem to end up doing as he pleases while leaving us convinced that it's precisely what WE please as well. But a careful overview of his activities has led me to conclude that there have been a number of occasions on which he has left to conduct blessings and various acts of mercy on behalf of the Cult that were initially deemed of tertiary importance or prohibitive expense.

I merely express concern that he is simply "dabbling" in the order for his own purposes, and will undoubtedly leave the moment we start to conflict with whatever he deems is right and proper to begin with. It seems almost as if he is using the Cult as a convenient means towards learning and practicing the healing arts, rather than as a lifelong vocation.

Disciple Josephus


Magician of Words
A song by Thalacus Windsong

As I was walking towards forever,
O'er land and sea,
A traveler I met
And can never forget
For he twas a savior to me.

Bandits lept from the shadows
Wicked blades aloft,
And I quivered in fear
Seeing no help was near,
Save a voice from the tree line, quite soft.

"Harm not this lad good sirs,
But rather be on your way.
For none can withstand
A mysterious old man
Who holds arcane magicks in sway."

Now there isn't a bandit
In all of the land
Who is foolish enough
As to try out his luck
On a magicka-wielding old man.

Alteir was his name,
And with words and naught else
He wrought magic that day
And so I shall repay
With a song to his memory and health.


Fragments from the Journal of Mortimer of Wayrest, Pupil of Jaeld Alteir

3rd Rain's Hand
Master Alteir rarely speaks to me other than to comment on a rare piece of foliage or to tell me to go home and return to my own studies, but I refuse to leave his side. I think he is merely unaccustomed to company, having spent most of his life as a lone wanderer and hermit, moving with the seasons and with his literary interests. But, then again, he has never really tried to enforce his mandate that I return home, and I suspect that he may simply be issuing a disclaimer of sorts: "I appreciate your help, but I wander to strange lands, and do not wish to be responsible for whatever may befall us." But it is difficult to be certain if that is his meaning, for he is by nature a taciturn man, and speaks little.

4th Rain's Hand
We spent most of the afternoon watching tiny insects walking across the surface of a small pond. Master Alteir seemed intrigued by the idea--not so much that it was strange to us to see creatures walking upon the water, but that it was so utterly normal for the creatures themselves. "Would the drama of a life lived on water be so different from one lived on land, if their positions were reversed?" he mused. A discussion of the relativity of one's perceptions ensued.

5th Rain's Hand
Today we stumbled upon an isolated homestead beset by wild beasts. The farmer was trying to fend them off and keep them away from his livestock, but he was a frail old man and the beasts were many. Master Alteir merely grimaced sadly as we crested a hilltop and the scene first become visible, and then he strode boldly yet calmly into the midst of the commotion. The beasts turned and snarled at him, but with a simple gesture he suddenly began to radiate an overwhelmingly powerful aura of calm, and he seemed almost to shine with light as the fervor of the beasts subsided and they began almost instantly to cower silently at his feet. It was an amazing use of the most subtle of powers, and I was humbled by the sheer potency of the power he exuded in that moment. He left the grateful farmer with a simple smile and a copy of a book of poetry. I'm not quite sure that the man can read, as he seemed a bit puzzled by the gift, but I think that's a possibility that rarely occurs to so avid a reader as Master Alteir.

9th Rain's Hand
I could swear that the clouds seem to move aside when we pass, and the flowers bloom more brightly as Master Alteir approaches. But perhaps it is just unseasonably nice weather we are having. Either way, I can't recall having been stuck in a rainstorm yet on this trip, and each night Master Alteir sleeps soundly beneath the stars, with a peaceful expression on his face and no apparent fear of the possibility of rain.

11th Rain's Hand
We spoke of legends today, and of the formative strength that suggestion may have on the mind. Master Alteir is a treasure trove of obscure myths and legends gathered throughout his travels, and he was kind enough to share a number of them for my edification. We spent quite some time discussing where exactly the line between myth and reality might be drawn, especially as the fact of "now" fades into nothingness and becomes the past. I still can't decide if he actually believes any of the bizarre theories and points of view we so often discuss, or if he merely considers them to be amusing intellectual exercises.


From the personal writings of Jaeld Alteir

"A word is whatever you make it."


A Letter from Telvanni Wizard Velth Teroth, solicited by the Editor for the purposes of this compilation


So you ask about Jaeld Alteir, hmm? Fantastic chap, great wizard. Never did enough wizarding, in my opinion, but he was certainly good at it nonetheless. Those stuffed-shirt scholars that always seemed to like clustering around him preferred to think of him as a harmless little botanist who liked to read, and that's true enough, but you should see the fire this kid could spurt if he wanted to.

See, he joined the Telvanni for a time, back on one of his jaunts to Vvardenfell, and made a bit of a name for himself too. Not really cut out for Telvanni politics though, bit too pacifistic and all that, but he got himself a decent foothold and a modest tower to retreat to. But one of the bolder wizards over interpreted that pacifism bit, and decided it'd be fun to push ole Alteir and his entourage out of his tower. Heh. Boy am I glad I was within sight of that. Best fireworks show I've seen in a long time. See, Alteir wasn't necessarily a pacifist per se, he just usually found ways around his problems that didn't require him to BOTHER fighting. But start pushing around the folks he feels are under his protection? Flame on.

Yes, that kid turned into a living column of flame for a moment there at the start of it, once the other uppity Telvanni lad started pushing his luck. (can't remember his name..."Crispy" will suffice for the purposes of this story) The heavens split open above him, and each of Crispy's thugs got a personalized lightning bolt all to themselves. Make no mistake, that Alteir kid was a force to be reckoned with when he needed to be. Could've been quite the wizard if he'd get his nose out of those books. I mean, come on, a wizard needs to be well read and all, but there are limits. At some point you just need to get out there and fry stuff, right? At least that's how I do it, and it works just fine for me.



"I learned all I know from Jaeld, and I learned that I know nothing."
~Jeralic, fellow scholar and long-time student of Jaeld Alteir

"Once, I asked him what he would do if there were no books for him to study.
'Write them,' he replied.
At first, I thought he had somewhat missed the point of my question. Later, of course, I realized that it was I who had missed the point."
~Aliga, fellow scholar and occasional student of Jaeld Alteir

"How do you judge a man, I wonder? By his words or by his deeds? And if his words were few, but his deeds were many? Why, then I would call him Jaeld Alteir, and count myself lucky to have known him."
~Melethew, fellow scholar


From "The Written Word, Master and Slave" by Llothen the Poet
(this passage was found affixed to the wall in Jaeld Alteir's primary hermitage)

Oh the worlds that words have wrought, and that yet lie unbidden beyond the page! Muses, let loose your captives, or else tighten your grip so that we must struggle all the more to free them, and in struggling acquire that which is beyond our grasp! Words we command in droves, and yet they elude us still--we chase them ever onward, and they continue without end. What marvelous magic is this, that none can master yet all can wield! It can strike down kings or create gods, and yet even the simplest peasant can conquer it without fear. Words, that great gift of the gods! May they never fail us, but always surprise us!


From "Great Quests of Great Mortals"

...the Altmer known as Jaeld Alteir is said to have undertaken a journey of several years in search of an ancient tome written by a little-known order of monks who had devoted themselves to the fusion of knowledge and physical substance.

Alteir apparently took an interest in the subject over the course of numerous discussions with colleagues as to the feasibility of becoming, in essence, a living repository of knowledge far beyond the capabilities of biological organisms. "Just as the written word achieves a sort of immortality," he is said to have written, "Could it be possible for a living being to cross that line as well? To embody the written word so fully and completely as to virtually become it, and therefore become, by extension, beyond the grip of time themselves?"
The pursuit of this theory inspired a number of academic papers on the subject, but it was the search for remnants of that ancient monastic order that occupied him most, for although even their very name had been lost to history, they had been intimately involved in precisely the types of studies in which Alteir himself was now engrossed. His intellectual curiosity burned in him like a hunger, and he pieced together whatever clues he could in search of a copy of their primary holy book, "From Materiality to Memory". But they had been a remote and scattered order, and leads were scarce...


A Letter sent to Jaeld Alteir, from his personal correspondence. Date uncertain.

Dear Sir,

I write to thank you for your extraordinarily generous monetary contribution to our humble, fledgling library. I must confess that I was not aware you were a man of such means, though upon further reflection I suppose that one such as yourself might perchance amass much after he has traveled so widely for so long.

On a hunch, I made some inquiries to sate my own curiosity and discovered that you have been a generous benefactor of a great many libraries and literary collections of all sizes, great and small. I have even heard rumors that you were intimately involved in the founding and funding of the great Library of Tes F'Ruum, which, if I may say so in confidence, I consider to be a very worthy endeavor.

So on behalf of myself and the innumerable others to whom you have helped bring the light of knowledge, I offer my sincerest thanks.

To the pursuit of truth and knowledge,


Aye, I remember Jaeld. Tall, slender...moved slow when he could, and fast when he had to. The weight of years rested on that furrowed brow, but his eyes shone more brightly than a newborn babe's. They could light up a room, those eyes...cheer you when you were at your worst, even before he spoke a word in that quiet, level voice of his. Like a soft breeze on a cool summer night, that voice.

He came to our village many a time, secluded though we are. He always seemed to know when he would be needed most, and arrived during drought, or after a poor harvest, or when one of our closest kin was ill. He brought food when there was none, and brewed potions when they were most vital. He offered them freely in trade, and their price was but a quiet chat, and a tale spun from the ancient folklore of our ancestors. A wonderful listener, he was, and not just to the old tales that he soaked up so eagerly. The youngest child among us could sit on his lap and babble on about nothing, or relate his experiences chasing butterflies down by the stream, and Jaeld would sit and listen patiently as if it were the most enthralling story he'd ever heard.
A great man, that Jaeld, but probably too modest to realize it...I suspect he never fully realized just how extraordinary he really was.

-Village Elder, as recorded by Drodicus the Learned for this compilation


Further fragments from the Journal of Mortimer of Wayrest, Pupil of Jaeld Alteir
(Exact year uncertain, but clearly several years after the previous excerpt)

12th Frostfall
Blast it all, Master Alteir left me in the middle of the night! Oh, I've been so foolish to let my guard down--after establishing myself as his traveling companion for the past few years, the frequency of his insistences that I "Go home and not tarry here with a wandering old man" had reduced, and I thought perhaps he would no longer attempt to strike out on his own! And, truly, I still believe that that is much the case. He had grown rather accustomed to my presence, I think, and clearly enjoyed having someone to talk to on the rare occasions that he spoke, so if he left me here that must mean he is quite convinced that the path grows too dangerous ahead! I can write no more--I must hasten in search of his trail!

15th Frostfall
I have found but few scattered signs of the path Master Alteir has taken, and followed them as best I can, but it is uncertain at best. He has traveled this world too long, and can be as cunning as a Bosmer ranger in leaving no mark behind if he so wishes. He has been careless at times, however, and left the occasional track for me to find. Though convenient for me, I fear it means that this quest for the long-forgotten "From Materiality to Memory" has begun to consume him all the more. I pray that he shall not be overly careless in his pursuit, however, as we now travel in forbidding lands...

19th Frostfall
The crags grow more treacherous here, but I am beginning to piece together all that Master Alteir has shared in the past about his study of this extinct order of monks, and I must admit that the clues he has garnered over the years do seem to indicate that I'm on the right track. Alas, he is undoubtedly still far ahead, and I have not seen any sign of his passing for days...these bare stones leave little evidence.

20th Frostfall
I am beginning to despise the monastic practice of dwelling in such insanely secluded locales...
I hear noises in the dark now, too, whenever the moon passes behind the clouds. Beasts lurking in the shadows, no doubt. These mountains are not quite as lifeless as they seem, and unsteady footing is not the only danger now...

22nd Frostfall
I am deep in the mountains now, lost if not for landmarks that I remember from my talks with Master Alteir, signs of a long-forgotten order that he gleaned from other ancient tomes scattered across the land. I must confess that I often wondered if they had truly ever existed. Master Alteir has spoken so often in recent years about the possibilities that this lost book may help him to achieve. He dreams of the chance to meld material flesh and ethereal knowledge, to transcend the limits of mortal existence and transform himself into a living repository of knowledge, purified and limitless, without form or end. And what a gift that would be to the races of this world! A perfect store of knowledge, infinite and incorruptible, never to fall victim to the slow erasure of time. A noble idea, but is it even possible?? But that question, of course, is precisely why he seeks this book...

28th Frostfall
Alas, but I have found poor Master Alteir's walking stick, splintered in two upon the rocks halfway down a mighty cliff! His beloved staff, that traveled with him always before I was even born, its gnarled wood worn smooth over countless journeys! For a time I wept, and dared not glance down into the abyss below...but at last I could resist no more, and was met with the mournful sight of the scattered pages of a shattered book drooped listlessly on the rocks below, and slowly being sent twirling down deeper into the abyss by wailing gusts of wind...

I will return to the hermitage now, and linger here no more. His books must be gathered and delivered into the capable hands of the Librarian at Tes F'ruum...he would like that...yes, he would like that indeed...

This post has been edited by Troika: Mar 13 2006, 05:47 PM
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post Mar 13 2006, 05:41 PM
Post #16


Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany

Section: Founders' Fates

Written by Unknown (raithen)

The Known Breton

More specifically known as ‘The Lost Friend’

Raithen Arthat… now there is a name I have not heard for a long time. A curious fellow acted like he was the personal friend of everyone. You could walk into a classy bar, and might call you over, order you a drink, and begin discussing the daily events. Everyone who was someone knew Raithen, well, at least in his mind. He though like that, and although many people in the province of Morrowind knew him, he was often reminded that that is no longer where he was.

I am here to tell you the tale of this fellow, an interesting tale for all those willing to listen. It begins in a small town in High Rock, a town that cannot be named, for Raithen never told any more then this, and most of his family is dead by this time. He wished to become a wizard, and practice the art of magic. So he traveled to Summerset Isle, hoping to enlist in a mage’s guild, or magic school of some sort.

After training and learning from a group of mages, he came to be in the Dunmer province of Morrowind. He nestled down in the city of Vivec, on Vvardenfell, to study the ancient race of the Dwemer. This, evidently, made him rich. He learned a lot from the remains of the Dwarves, even that he should live his life to the fullest, as things will pay off in the end. How he learnt this remains a mystery. (Some say he translated some ancient Dwemer fortune papers, though the evidence is limited.)

Taking the advice of the Dwarves, he traveled to Cyrodiil. And his fortune was fulfilled. The house he bought in the capitol of the province held some mysterious secrets. It looked like a normal manor, extravagant, old, used. But this one was different somehow. One evening, he was strolling to his library for some reading, when he stepped on a lose board in the study. He called for his maid, whom he asked to call for a carpenter. As she left, Raithen looked into the hole. What he saw caught his interest. It was a book; he reached in and grabbed it.

It was a fictional book, of at least one hundred years old. Some say this is what triggered his sanity to finally go over the edge, but not yet. He read the book, it told of tales of a portal. A portal into another world. It also told that this portal could be found in one of the ancient ruins of the long dead race of wild elves. He regarded it with curiosity, and read it over and over again, and he always kept the book in a breast pocket.

Another day came with another happening. A fellow, an odd fellow, odder then Raithen himself, approached him. He asked Raithen to found a library. And after the fellow had given him the entire details of the library he agreed. He then contributed most of the books he had written to the library, he kept some for personal use.

After basking in his own glory for several years, his sanity finally gave out. He told his closest friends that he was going to go for a hike across the empire. He went out alone, with nothing but rations, camping equipment, and his horse. He was gone for two weeks.

He came riding his horse back into town at full trot. Shouting, “I’ve found it! I’ve found it!” He rode his horse into his own stable, and before anybody could shout something at him, he was already inside. He kicked his maid and servant out. Then he locked all his doors and windows, then boarded them over.
He was there for three days, and when his friends tried to talk to him through the door, he just yelled useless ramblings at them.

One night, Raithen finally came out of his house, in darkest night. He had a pack slung over his shoulder, and he made his way to his horse. There was one Imperial guard who saw what was going on, but before he could catch him, Raithen was already trotting into the night. But he dropped something from his hastily put-together pack. The guard, named Celcious Cavreen, picked up the last, tattered remains ever to be found of Raithen. It was the book, the book that caused all this madness.

Raithen was never seen again… Some say he went back to High Rock under the name Nehtiar Tahtra, others say he died alone of natural causes. But the most popular seems to be the most imaginary; he found a new world, a new dimension. Of course, this is completely false, as Raithen Arthat was completely senile when he wrote this in his journals.

Whatever it may be, keep your eyes out for a wizard named Nehtiar Tahtra. That just may be someone you know more then you know…

***Information taken from various journals and diaries of Raithen Arthat.
Many pieces done by Raithen Arthat can be found in the library of F’Ruum. We encourage you to read them.

This post has been edited by Troika: Mar 13 2006, 05:47 PM
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post Mar 13 2006, 05:48 PM
Post #17


Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany

Section: Historical Text

Written by Phaen (Phaen)

From Rihad to Hegathe: A History of the Tiber War: Part 1

4 First Seed, 2E862
The Imperial City, Cyrodiil

It was the crack of dawn. Slowly, a trickle of sunlight topped the hills to the east, spilling through the window of the conference room, illuminating the men inside. His Imperial Majesty Tiber Septim sat at the conference table with his three advisors. A large map of Tamriel was pinned to the wall.

With a flourish, Tiber Septim pointed at Hammerfell. “Gentlemen,” he said, “you are no doubt, well aware of the civil war currently raging in Hammerfell.”

Atteli Jullalian was the first to reply. “Of course. After the death of King Thassad II earlier this year, the Forebears took the city of Sentinel by force, starting a revolution. Naturally, Crown Prince A’Tor sailed forth from his capital at Stros M’Kai, and started a bloodbath.”

“Of course,” Septim replied. However, in response to the mad Prince’s butchery, the Forebears have signed a treaty with us, allowing us to bring our armies in and crush Hammerfell, once and for all.”

The advisors sat up in shock.

“Now,” Septim continued, “the Forebears have been pushed back so their forces only control Sentinel and the Dragontail Mountains. Now, we need to discuss an important matter: From where shall we invade?”

This time, Albeci Peleius replied first: “As the Forebears control the Dragontail Mountains, we should exploit this opportunity! We should bring an army from Wayrest over, and crush Elinhir from behind!”

“However,” Crassius Quarnia pointed out, “we would need at least several months to prepare the assault. Then, crossing the Dragontail Mountains would take quite a bit of time, and the Forebears could betray us and attack us, bogging us down. Attacking from the northwest is not the right idea.”

“Then,” Albeci retorted, “We should invade from the east, and smash Elinhir once and for all. And then, eastern Hammerfell would be ours and we could smash the rest easily!”

“Why are you so obsessed with Elinhir?” Atteli asked. “It’s only a single city, and unimportant. Our goal is the capital at Stros M’Kai. We should send a fleet over to invade it and capture it.”

“No,” Septim interrupted, staring at the map. “Our objective is not Stros M’Kai; it is the Prince’s army. If we invade Stros M’Kai now, we would win the capital, but not the army. It would slip away into the desert, and harass our forces until we are forced to flee. Our strategy should be to invade from the southeast, capture Rihad, Taneth, and Gilane, and force the Prince to flee to Stros M’Kai. There, we can corner him and defeat him.”

A vote was taken on the plan. Like always, it was unanimous.

From Rihad to Hegathe: A History of the Tiber War, Part 2
19 First Seed, 2E826
Hegathe, Hammerfell
Crown Prince A’Tor sat in the large throne room. Surrounding him were General Staron, Admiral Domas, and his Archmage Trithik. A large map of Tamriel was pinned to the table they were sitting by, and the walls were covered with fine tapestries.

“Now,” Admiral Domas announced, “I have just received word from our informant in the Imperial City that the backstabbing Forebears have signed a treaty, and the Imperials are about to attack us from the southeast! What do you think shall be done?”

Startled, the Prince asked, “What? How could this be?”

“Nonsense!” Staron declared. “How do we know that this Albeci Peleius informant of yours is reliable? For all we know, he could have been paid by the Imperials to give us false information, and divert our forces from uniting Hammerfell again!”

“I understand your point of view,” Domas replied. “However, if we ignored this information and it turned out that the Imperials are going to invade Rihad, then it would be a disaster! We should at least bring some of our soldiers there and send scouts to see if the Imperial Army really is marching towards our southeastern border.”

“Even if the Imperial Army is going to invade our southeastern border,” Staron retorted, “they would still need at least several months to gather their forces. We would have enough time to crush the Forebears in their mountain strongholds and then bring our armies down to Rihad.”

“How do we know that they will wait to gather their forces?” Trithik asked. “If they sent their armies in a forced march, we wouldn’t know about it until fifteen days later and by then they would have already been halfway to Rihad, and it would be too late to send our armies there.”

“I agree,” Prince A’Tor said . “We will send an army from Hegathe to Rihad right away, and send scouts into Cyrodiil to see if the army is on the march. In the meantime, we will move our headquarters from Hegathe to Gilane, so we may better respond to any threats. Now, about the possibility of hiring Altmer mages as mercenaries you brought up earlier, Trithik…”

7 Rain’s Hand, 2E862
The Imperial City, Cyrodiil
The footsteps sounded like a continuous clap of thunder in the distance.

Drums beat and trumpets blared. The Imperial Army was on the march.

The reserves had been called up, and soldiers had been marching into the city from the eastern parts of the Empire every day. A regiment from Winterhold, a brigade from Windhelm, and a division from the rainforests of the Nibenay valley. They came from everywhere. Now, the army marched, ready to demonstrate the full might of the Empire. Their sturdy armor gleaming in the sun, and their fine weaponry reflecting the sun’s rays, the Imperial Army was on the march.

A horde of battlemages marched on behind the warriors, and a contingent of elite archers marched behind them.

His Imperial Majesty Tiber Septim himself was with the soldiers, riding a large horse. Behind him, a regiment of elite cavalry trotted on.

“Open the gates!” The cry resounded off the thick sturdy walls.

Grunting and sweating, the gatekeepers wound the large crank, slowly opening the gate.

At last, the gate was fully opened. As the footsteps of the soldiers resounded off the stone-paved road, Yokudan spies peering at the army from outside the Imperial city scribbled down notes on pieces of parchments.

The Imperial Army was on the march.

From Rihad to Hegathe, a history of the Tiber War, part 3

11 Rain’s Hand
Gilane, Hammerfell
Crown Prince A’Tor angrily stormed into the meeting room. Seeing Admiral Domas there, he asked him, in a quiet and deadly tone: “You said to me a bit less than a month ago that the Imperials were about to invade from the southeast, yes?”

Domas immediately sensed his predicament, but not knowing what the problem was, saw no way to extricate himself from it. Seeing no other possibility, he answered, “Correct.”

“Then why,” A’Tor angrily yelled, “Why would they take the northwestern road out of the Imperial City instead of the southwestern road? If they were to invade at Rihad, it would be much quicker to take the southwestern road! The only possibility I can foresee is that they are about to invade our stronghold at Elinhir!”

“Sir,” Domas replied, desperately trying to save himself, “The Imperials are crafty. For all we know, they intend to force us to bring our armies north, and then march south to invade at Rihad. There is a town midway between Elinhir and Rihad named North Hall. We should station the majority of our armies there, and move them north or south, depending on which path the Imperials take at the intersection.”

Prince A’Tor was about to respond, but he was interrupted, when General Staron walked in.

“So,” Staron inquired, “Have the scouts reported back as to whether the Imperials are marching?”

Domas responded: “Apparently, the Imperials have taken the northwest route out of the Imperial City. Depending on which way they turn at the intersection, they could attack either Elinhir or Rihad. I advise to move our headquarters and the majority of our soldiers to North Hall, which is midway between Elinhir and Rihad. Once the Imperials make their move, we can respond. What do you think?”

Staron replied, “Seems like a fine move to me.”

The Prince gave his consent to the orders, and they began to be carried out.

From Rihad to Hegathe: A history of the Tiber War, Part 5

15 Rain’s Hand
North Hall, Hammerfell

Prince A’Tor, Admiral Domas, General Staron, and Archmage Trithik sat in the large room. A large map showing their army positions was pinned to the table they were sitting at. The four Redguards were in the middle of a heated discussion on whether or not to hire assassins to assassinate the Emperor, when a messenger walked into the room, gave a message to General Staron, bowed, then left.

After quickly skimming through the message, Staron stood up, and announced, “Remember the discussion we had four days ago about the Imperial army taking the northwest road out of the Imperial City instead of the southwest?”

Confused, A’Tor asked, “Well?”

“Well what?”

“That’s an annoying habit you’ve picked up from somewhere. And what about that discussion we had?”

Staron replied, “Well, my scouts have reported to me why they did that. Apparently, the reserves in High Rock and western Skyrim have been called up, and marched past Falkreath to meet the rest of the army.”

Surprised, Admiral Domas replied, “But that means they now have an army twice the size of ours!”

“Correct,” the Prince replied.
“And as the Forebears control northern Hammerfell, we cannot strike at their vulnerable parts in High Rock and western Skyrim. Our only hope is to give up the cities, and start using guerilla tactics against the Imperials.”

“No,” General Staron replied. “We cannot give up the cities. The best thing we should do is to assemble our forces at Rihad, and outmaneuver them there.”

“No,” Trithik objected. “The risk is too great. They outnumber us two to one!”

“Correct,” Staron retorted. “This is why we should attempt to assassinate Tiber Septim. With the head of the dragon severed, the body will hurt you no more. Similarly, when the army sees that their beloved Emperor is dead, they will flee in terror.”

“Fine,” Trithik replied. “We will attempt to assassinate the Emperor. How do you think we should do this?”

“We have the men who can do it,” Staron reported. “All we need is to get them close enough without anyone noticing.”

“I think I can fulfill that part. I know several High Elves, who can sell us some enchanted items to help us do that.”

With the discussion over, the meeting was called to an end.

20 Rain’s Hand.
Firsthold, Summerset Isle

Seeing the city of Firsthold, Archmage Trithik sighed in relief. Using a levitation spell, he had flown from North Hall, to Stros M’Kai to replenish his supply of restore magicka potions, and then all the way across the Abecean Sea to the High Elven city of Firsthold. Although he had been afraid that he would run out of magicka and fall into the Abecean Sea, his fears had proven unfounded.

Landing on the shore, the Archmage took a break to catch his breath, and then walked into the city.

The Altmer enchanter Telindil was in his store like normal. Trithik inquired to Telindil if he had any enchanted items that could cast a powerful Chameleon spell over the user for a long duration of time.

Sighing, Telindil replied, “I do have one such item. It is the Amulet of Shadows, a powerful artifact enchanted by the famous enchanter Dalak long ago. It will cast a powerful Chameleon spell over the user for a long duration of time, but it will cost you a lot. I will accept no less than ten thousand pieces of gold for it.”

Trithik could barely hold back his protest at the outrageous price for it. Remembering his lessons for haggling, he simply shook his head and said, “I see, I shall look for similar artifacts at other enchanters stores.”

Telindil smirked. “You may,” he said, “but there is only one Amulet of Shadows, and I have it.”

Trithik soon found that he spoke the truth. In the other stores, the enchanters simply shook their head when he inquired. Sighing, he paid the ten thousand pieces of gold for the Amulet of Shadows, and began the long journey to Rihad with a much lighter purse.

From Rihad to Hegathe: A history of the Tiber War: Part 6
25 Rain's Hand
Rihad, Hammerfell

A deluge of rain fell from the sky. Merchants in the plaza scrambled to get their wares under cover, children scrambled to get indoors, as the rain poured from the sky.

The headquarters of the Crowns was located in the center of the city. Inside, Crown Prince A'Tor sat listening, while General Staron and Admiral Domas argued on which plan they should use.

"My Prince," General Staron reported. "My scouts report that the Imperial army is encamped southwest of Sutch, a week’s march from Rihad. They outnumber us two to one." Drawing a diagram showing the troop positions, he continued "The vanguard makes up about a fourth of their total forces. It is encamped about two hours march in front of the main army. Although mostly made of light cavalry, there are several companies of archers, mages, light infantry, and heavy cavalry." Pausing, he continued. "Sir, the road leading to Rihad is surrounded by woods on both the north and the south sides. The terrain is also very hilly, with the two tallest hills next to each other over here. I suggest that we hide half of our forces just behind the crest of that hill, concealing them from the enemy. When the Imperial troops arrive at the bottom, we charge down, surprising them. The other half of our forces will be concealed in the woods, and will emerge behind the Imperial soldiers at the crest of the other hill. The Imperials will now be trapped in between the two hills, completely surprised, outnumbered with no where to run. Their only hope would be to surrender. Next, we will continue charging and attack their main force. They will be tired from the march and much smaller due to the fact the elimination of their vanguard. They will not expect an attack so soon, and our skill will triumph over their numbers. They will be cleansed from our lands!”

“I understand your idea, but I must respectfully object." Admiral Domas announced. "Your plan is fraught with risk. The vanguard only needs to hold their lines for two hours, and then the rest of the Imperial army will obliterate us! Any number of things could go wrong. Prince A'Tor, I advise that we use the fortifications at Rihad and hold out against the Imperial invaders. We are outnumbered two to one, and we need every advantage we can get."

"Which explains why we should adopt my idea!" Staron countered "If we can rout their vanguard, than we gain an advantage. Besides, who ever won a war by defense? Nobody."

"The only reason nobody has ever won a war through defense is that nobody has tried yet, due to idiots like you!" Domas retorted. "Our objective is not to invade Cyrodiil, merely to defend our borders from the Imperial Army."

It was at this exact moment that Archmage Trithik stumbled in, exhausted and dripping from the pouring rain outside. Muttering curses, he cast a spell. The water simply slid down off his clothes and into a large puddle around his feet. Next, he sat down at the meeting table.

After staring at the Archmage, Staron asked. "So, did you get the items you were looking for?"

"Do you think I would have come back without it?"


"Not for me," Trithik replied. "I spent a fortune on all those restore magicka potions I consumed on the journey to there and back. Besides, I was horribly gouged by the enchanter. Would you believe he made me spend ten thousand pieces of gold on it?

"We can discuss this later." Staron replied. "Domas, if we can hole up in the fortress, then we will just be attacked in the fortress while the rest of the Imperial Army goes on to take over Hammerfell."

While A'Tor had been silent until now, he interrupted the debate.

"I have decided that the best strategy would be to, first, follow Staron's strategy and defeat the vanguard. Then, some of our forces will dig in on the hill. Meanwhile, we will conceal some of our archers and cavalry in the woods to the north of the road. When the Imperials arrive, we will first charge down from the top of the hill, as before. Next, we send the archers and cavalry from the woods and attack them from the north. This will also be the signal for our assassin to assassinate the Emperor. Surprised, the Imperials will shift some of their forces to the north, which allows us to charge down from the hill, routing the Imperials once and for all."

"But-" Staron objected.

"No buts," A'Tor replied. "I have had enough with your bickering already. Now, go with Trithik, and instruct our assassin."

From Rihad to Hegathe: A History of the Tiber War, part 7

25 Rain's Hand
Rihad, Hammerfall.

Although the rain had subsided, the ground was still flooded with rain several inches deep. Although some of the merchants had returned, most were still in their houses, warm, cozy, and dry.

On the outskirts of the city sat a small dingy hut, the type that nobody would take a second glance at. Inside it, Archmage Trithik instructed the Redguard sword-singer Gancolm, on how to assassinate the Emperor.

"Now," Trithik instructed. "You should position yourself behind the Imperial Army, and use the Amulet of Shadows to avoid detection. Find the Emperor, and make sure you always keep him in sight. When a flaming arrow arcs over from the north that is your signal to attack. I assume that you should be skilled enough to kill the Emperor, and escape in the confusion.”

Gancolm only nodded.

The trap was set; now all they just had to wait for the prey to be caught in it.

2 Second Seed
Rihad, Hammerfell

Fatigued from marching all day, a sigh of relief was exhaled from the Imperial vanguard as they saw the majestic walls of the mighty fortress of Rihad, from the top of the hill they were standing at. There was only one more hill to climb, and they could stop marching and fortify their positions. The exhausted vanguard plodded forward, relieved that they were almost there.

And then, it happened.

A large group of Redguard archers appeared at the crest of the hill, sending a hail of arrows onto the Imperial vanguard. Then, a swarm of Redguard warriors charged down from the hill. A group of sword-singers spearheaded the charge, their Shehai cleaving through the ebony armor like a sword through butter. Surprised, the Imperial vanguard fell back.

Although the Redguards had the advantage of surprise and skill, the disciplined Imperial soldiers held their ground. The forces were still heavily strained, and Imperial commander Cidius Sosia was forced to send his last reserves into the fray.

Arrows flew wildly from both sides and the clang of sword against sword could be heard far in the distance, as the two armies ground at each other. Although the Imperials were managing to hold their ground, Cidius knew that they were hard-pressed. If anything happened, they would be completely routed. Feeling that his forces were stretched, Cidius ordered his forces to fall back to the crest of the second hill, and use the advantage of height.

Seeing the Imperials retreat to the crest of the hill, General Staron hissed in fury. His forces would emerge from the woods at any moment now, but instead of emerging at the Imperial rear, they would emerge at the Imperial flanks. He had not expected the Imperials to act so cowardly and retreat, rather than stand their ground. Now, there would be the chance for some of the Imperial warriors to escape and warn the main force!

Staron’s thoughts were abruptly interrupted, as his Redguard warriors emerged from the woods on both sides of the Imperial flanks. Charging directly at the Imperial line, the Redguards completely outflanked the Imperials, their swords striking down scores of the Empire’s finest warriors. Finally, seeing that they were almost surrounded, the Imperial warriors broke and retreated. But by then, it was too late for most of them. Regiments and regiments of Imperial warriors were completely surrounded, and forced to surrender. Only the tattered remnants of two Imperial regiments managed to escape the trap, fleeing into the forest. The rest of the Imperial vanguard was either dead or prisoners.

Seeing that there was hope of completely obliterating the vanguard, Staron ordered some of his warriors to pursue the Imperials while he positioned the rest in a position to ambush the Imperial Army. The Redguard warriors chased the Imperials like hounds after a fox, and many of the Imperials perished. Finally, feeling that all of the Imperials were dead, the Redguards returned to their positions, not knowing that two Imperials had managed to elude them.

From Rihad to Hegathe, A History of the Tiber War, Part 8
2 Second Seed
Rihad, Hammerfell.

His Imperial Majesty Tiber Septim was becoming more confused every minute. He had asked his vanguard commander to send back a messenger every half an hour. But the message that he should have received half an hour ago never came. Pondering the problem, he first decided that Cidius had simply forgotten to send the messenger. But that was unlikely, as Cidius was a good commander and hadn’t forgotten yet. Next, he considered the possibility that the messenger had been captured by enemy forces. However, he concluded that that scenario was unlikely. Outnumbered two to one, the Redguards would probably focus on defending the fortress of Rihad. The possibility that the messenger was lost didn’t hold up either. The road to Rihad had just been paved with stones a year ago, and there were no branches in the past. Frowning, the Emperor decided to wait another seven minutes and see if a messenger came.

The army continued marching, their feet thudding against the ground sounding like distant thunder. As they stood at the crest of the hill, they could see the ramparts of the fortress of Rihad. Sighing, they knew that there was only one hill left in their way.

Suddenly, two men rushed out of the woods to the south. Although their armor was heavily dented and arrows were sticking out of it, the Imperial insignia on the breastplate could still be seen. Gasping for breath, they reached for the Emperor. As his bodyguard restrained them, one of them hoarsely croaked, “It’s a trap!”

As the Emperor and his bodyguard stood there completely surprised, the soldier continued “The entire Redguard army is waiting just in front of you behind the crest of that hill! They slaughtered the rest of the vanguard, we were lucky to get away!”
His mind racing, Septim considered the options. If this was true, that would explain where his vanguard had disappeared to. And it would also mean that his entire army was marching right into a colossal trap. But before he shouted an order, he restrained himself. It was possible that the men were actually paid by Prince A’Tor and dressed in the uniforms so that his army would be slowed down and they could wipe out his vanguard in that time. His mind pondering the options as fast as he could, the Emperor stood there, his mind wracked with indecision. Finally, he decided that the two soldiers were speaking the truth.

Readying his thu’um, his Imperial Majesty commanded his army. “It’s a trap! Halt! Ready weapons-”

But it was too late, as his men stopped where they were standing and were in the process of following the orders, an enormous mass of Redguards charged down the hill at full speed, propelled by their adrenaline rush. As the army fumbled in an effort to unsheathe their weapons, Redguard swords cut down Imperial warriors by the score, their strength allowing them to cleave through the Imperial armor with a single strike. The corpses of Imperial soldiers were so many that after the battle, you could walk from one side of the battlefield to the other without touching the ground.

However, the Imperial Army would not be defeated so easily. Rallying the warriors, the army counterattacked furiously. The sword-singers who led the charge were quickly cut off from the rest of the Redguard army. But they refused to retreat and continued fighting, their gleaming Shehai cutting down rows of Imperials with each swing. But the smaller numbers of the Redguard army began to come into play, as they were forced to fall back.

From Rihad to Hegathe, a History of the Tiber War, Part 8

As the Redguards charged down the hill, Gancolm had activated the enchantment of the amulet and quickly began searching for the Emperor. After half a minute, he recognized the distinct custom adamantium-ebony blend of armor worn by the emperor. Holding a dagger in his hand, he smiled as Imperial soldiers rushed past him as he stood completely invisible to their eyes.

A flaming arrow flew into the sky from the woods to the north, passing over the Imperial army. Before it had touched the ground, a volley of thousands of arrows was fired directly into the crowd of packed Imperials. Next, an army of Redguards charged from the woods directly at the Imperial flank.

Part of the Imperial army began to move to face this new threat. But as soon as they began to move, the other Redguard army counterattacked and charged down the hill at the Imperial army. The armies continued to grind away at each other, determined to fight until the last breath.

As soon as he saw the flaming arrow, Gancolm held his dagger in hand, preparing to throw. Suddenly, he noticed that he was no longer invisible. Cursing, he realized that the enchantment must have worn off and reactivated the amulet. Aiming carefully, the Redguard prepared to throw his dagger…

Sorink was an extremely proud Redguard archer who was part of the ambushing army to the north. As he saw the Emperor standing in the distance, his mind filled with thoughts of the glory he would receive if the succeeded in killing the Emperor. Aiming carefully, he fired.

His Imperial Majesty Tiber Septim had been in the process of giving orders when he suddenly saw a Redguard holding a dagger suddenly appear from mid-air, mutter a curse, and vanish. Surprised, he was pondering if he was hallucinating when he saw an arrow flying through the air directly towards him. He raised his large adamantium-ebony shield to block the arrow.

Gancolm cursed in fury. The Emperor had suddenly raised his shield and deflected his dagger! Calming down, he began to approach the Emperor so that he could summon his Shehai and cleave through the Emperor’s armor.

Tiber Septim was completely surprised to see not just the arrow lying on the ground in front of him, but also a large throwing dagger that had seemed to have also been deflected by his shield. As he remembered the vanishing Redguard, he quickly put the pieces of the puzzle together. Readying his magicka, he cast a powerful Dispel spell. The pale green orb expanded into a large sphere a hundred feet wide in diameter. With the dispelling of the Chameleon effect, the Redguard was revealed for all to see.

From Rihad to Hegathe, a History of the Tiber War, Part 9

Seeing that he was visible, Gancolm cursed in fury. He was completely surrounded by Imperial soldiers. He attempted to activate the enchantment again, but the charge was already depleted. The only path out he saw was to kill the Emperor and quickly flee in the chaos that would ensue. Remembering the Ansei who had instructed him, he manifested a Shehai into his hand. With a single swing of it, he cleaved through the armor of two of the Emperor’s bodyguards. As they fell, he stepped forward and prepared to take the life of the Emperor.

Seeing the Shehai in the Ansei’s hand, Tiber Septim drew his sword, (insert sword name). Made out of ebony and adamantium blessed by the Eight Divines, enchanted by the Imperial Battlemage Zurin Arctus, the sword (insert sword name) was truly a work of art. As the Ansei prepared to swing the Shehai, the Emperor raised his sword.

The two swords clashed against each other, the pride of the Redguards pitted against the sword of the Emperor. Surprised that his Shehai had failed to cleave through the Emperor’s blade, Gancolm paused in a millisecond of hesitation.

That hesitation proved to be fatal. Seeing the brief pause, his Imperial Majesty thrust (insert sword name) directly into Gancolm’s stomach. As Gancolm lay on the ground dying, the spirit-sword dissipated.

However, there was no time to inspect the Ansei’s corpse. For the Redguards were counterattacking once more, and the Imperials were falling back. His Imperial Majesty Tiber Septim rode up to his soldiers, cheering them on. Then, he ordered a final counterattack to be launched.

Weary and fatigued, the outnumbered Redguard soldiers were no match for the overwhelming numbers of the Imperial Army. The fresh Imperial soldiers drove back the skilled Redguard warriors. Finally, the Redguards were routed from the field. With Imperial cavalry closely pursuing the routed Redguard armies, General Staron realized that his army was in no shape to defend the fortress at Rihad, and besides, the Imperial cavalry was following too closely. Seeing no other option, he gave the order to evacuate the fortress of Rihad. He then raced after the Redguard army, attempting to rally it.

The General finally managed to rally the army at the town ironically named Chaseguard, northwest of the fortress of Rihad. Although they had managed to drive off the pursuing cavalry, General Staron knew that his army was in no shape to meet the Imperial army in the open. Seeing no other option, he ordered the army to march to the strategic fortress of Taneth. And thus ended the Battle of Rihad, with the victorious Imperials gaining possession of southeastern Hammerfell.
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post Mar 13 2006, 05:49 PM
Post #18


Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany

Section: Historical Text

Written by Unknown (Argonians Rule)

The Origins of Nerevar
By: unknown

The years are countless to the time of Nerevar, so no dates shall be included.

It was a cold day that night. Many people said it was the coldest ever. Galin Inoril was giving birth to a baby boy. The small fishing village of Galath was sleepy enough and only 30 peasants of the Indoril family lived there. Sales had been the boy's father. He was a rogue, wanted for many crimes. He had met Galin while passing through Galath, probably stealing a fisherman's catch. He had fathered the boy after sweet-talking Galin. He was executed by guards the next day for various crimes. On the night the boy was botn his mother died from delivering him all alone and with no healers. For three days her body rotted and the new-born chimer gnawed on her corpse for sustanence. Finally an Indoril tax collector came through town. He discovered the chewed corpse and the infant in her little shack. The tax collector took the boy and gave him to another family of Indoril. The family was not as poor as the previous one because it owned a busy inn, in a large city.

For five years the innkeeper's wife raised the boy with the name Nerevar, a name that would go down in history. On Nerevar's 5th birthday he was put to work as a stable boy, cleaning up the manure of guar left by those who came. Nerevar worked like this for 10 years. On his 15th birthday a man came to the innkeeper's door, he had become aware of an able bodied boy capable of being a soldier. At this point in history every boy in Indoril had to serve 5 years in the army by law. Nerevar knew this was his chance to be something more than a stable boy. He was taken to a large manor, where he and 12 others were to be trained in war.

One day his first challenge came. He and the other 12 were to go on a raid against House Dres. Such raids were common then, but this was his first. A small villa belonging to a Dres councilor was the target. It had 10 guards. Nerevar and the others approached the villa at night. They each wore bonemold and wielded a chitin bow along with a steel longsword. Nerevar's men drew their bows back and picked off to outside sentries. They drew their swords and crept into the villa. The Dres councilor was awake reading, when he saw the 13 warriors. He screamed and all hell broke loose. He ran to get his ebony sword and signaled his guards. They came out and Nerevar's men began battling them. Nerevar himself chased after the councilor who was in his armory. The man lept out and slashed Nerevar's neck. The two parried back and forth, equal foes locked in mortal combat. Nerevar was slowly overpowering the Dres Councilor and had almost bested him, when the councilor swung at Nerevar hitting him in the neck, letting loose a fountain of blood. Nerevar stumbled but quickly regained his strength and swung with his all his might, decapitating the councilor. The guards had been dispatched quickly and effectively by Nerevar's men and they had lost no one. They returned home, heroes. Nerevar had left the battle victorious, but still bore a scar from that battle, his raspy voice.
Nerevar had gained quite a reputation as a tough warrior. One day he was invited to meet the grandmaster of Indoril. Nerevar knew such an invitation was an honor and he took it. The man's name was Seylin Somiek. He was impressive, to Nerevar, but not nearly as impressive as one lady in Somiek's court of nobles. Somiek greeted Nerevar and the two became good friends for over a year. He was given a manor and his own land. One day Somiek asked Nerevar to become a councilor for Indoril. Nerevar quickly agreed and was given this status. Several weeks later, Nerevar asked what the name of the lady he had spotted was. Somiek told him it was Almalexia. Nerevar then went to her and began his courtship. She agreed to marry him only if he had enough power. She wanted a grandmaster. Nerevar agreed. He grew ambitious after this and decided that he should be the new grandmaster. He asked Somiek to step down. Somiek had planned on retiring from his position anyway and considered Nerevar an honorable and worthy successor. He then named Nerevar grandmaster of house Indoril. And the rest is history...
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post Mar 13 2006, 05:52 PM
Post #19


Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany

Section: Jokes & riddles

Written by Unknown (Michael Edwards)

yrodillic Riddles

A collection of riddles from Cyrodiil. Traditionally, when a guest is to stay the night in a home of anyone, courtesy dictates
that the hosts provide an activity for everyone to relax after a (presumably) hard days work. Riddles quickly became the
pastime of choice as they were challenging, and could last all evening easily if one knew enough. Riddles come in all
forms, easy and difficult, and I hope to present an accurate selection of these in this collection.

I am persuasive, yet I use no words.
Thy gold, thy wit, thy wisdom, all these can I steal, yet I am neither man nor beast.
Many call me thief, but I am invited into the homes of all.
What am I?

By day, I am the silent stalker, yet I am banished by night.
I have no voice, yet I announce your presence to all but the blind.
What am I?

Given an hour with love and care, I can attract all,
yet leave me but half an hour longer, and I repulse them.

I am the scabbard for the most deadly of weapons.
All have it, few use it.
What am I?

A great race was to be run, and all of the contestants were lining up. The wizard, the warrior, and the thief were all to take part in it. Five miles were they to run, from the Temple to the foot of the mountain. Each was to be rewarded in their own way; the warrior with a sword, the wizard with a staff, and the thief with his life and freedom. The Wizard boasted of his magical skills, which would allow him to teleport to the end with great speed. The Warrior boasted of his great strength and endurance, which would surely see him to the finish. The thief had no skill in magic or great strength, but had already the gleam of a winner upon his face. The three contestants lined up at noon, and when the race began the wizard instantly teleported to the finish.
Yet the thief still won, how?


wodahS A
eriF eht no taeM
llukS A
The wizard indeed reached the end first, but the thief escaped during the course of the five mile race, and won his life and freedom.
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post Mar 13 2006, 05:53 PM
Post #20


Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany

Section: Jokes & Riddles

Written by Pedrias Gasaan (UberJordan)

I have traveled the land hearing many a racial slur, but none more often than that of the Orc.

The amount of jokes about them seems endless.
Here are a few of the many.
I in no way intend this to offend Orcs or those who are connected with them. I am quite fond of the Orcish myself, this is simply a compilation of that which is against them.

- Pedrias Gasaan
What do you call a Nord euphoric and infuriated from consuming excess amounts of mazte?

An Orc
The Altmer counts 10, the Argonian counts 10, and the Orc counts 10. What is wrong here?

Orcs cannot count.
What do you call an Orc who can read and write?

How do you tell the difference between an Orc male and an Orc female?

You can't!
An Orc ties the straps on his boots. This makes him?

I must say, Orcs are good for something. Their armourers are second to none.
At what?

Draining Imperial funding!
Why did the Orc die in the wilderness?

He mistook an Ogrim for his wife.
What do you call an Orc in an Imperial jail?
A problem
What do you call every Orc in Tamriel in Imperial Jail?
Problem solved.
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