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Brown Scroll

My most estimable Lakvan,

You must understand you risk my wrath by continued association with this Pergan Asuul. Your claim he is a Shadomage opposed to Skelos Undriel is irrelevant. Shadow magics bu their nature will twist on their casters and so do the words of the magic's practitioners.

My plan to have utterly destroy Undriel can tolerate no such risk this close to fruition.

End your association with Pergan Asuul or I shall end mine with you.

Ponder that choice as you will.

Sincerely, Jagar Tharn

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Children of the Wind

Rising from your lively breeze A flock of winsome sycamore seeds Round and round they waltz and whirl On one wing they dance and twirl

Drifting far from home they sail Carried by your lofty gale And where they finally come to rest Another tree begins to nest

Soon you call a storm to turn the vane And tuck them in with gentle rain Then once their shower's done Blow them away and free the sun

Once nurtured by your clouds in time These saplings stretch their limbs and climb Reaching farther through many springs Until they've fully spread their wings

And on your gale their seeds will soar On the journey of White Sycamore

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Letter from the Agents

Dear {...},

We know all about being falsely accused of crimes, but we are seldom in a position to combat the accusations. In your case, we are at least aware of the name of one of your accusers--{...}. I do not know if {she/he} is working for one of your enemies or ours, or is a completely innocent pawn, but {she/he} was allegedly witness to the burglary at {...}. Be careful speaking with {...}--{she/he} may have powerful friends. Your best bet may be in speaking with {her/him} in public. I understand that {she/he} frequents {...} in {...}.

The Agents

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The Waiting Door

From the Memoirs of Canon Nileno Nirith

As a child, I took great pains to avoid the Waiting Door. We weren't wealthy by any means, so our family shrine was really no more than a small shelf. I remember that my mother would polish it every Morndas eve, singing all the while. But despite all the songs and joyful communions, there was something about that space that set my skin to crawl--like going into a dark basement by candlelight or waking suddenly from a bad dream.

My parents stored a great many relics on the threshold of our Waiting Door, but the one I remember best was a polished lure. My grandfather was a fisherman, you see. Not by trade, but by avocation. He would wake well before dawn and paddle out to the centre of Lake Hairan, keen to hook a wrasse or two before beginning his daily labours.

One brisk morning in early Frostfall, I awoke from a dead sleep to the smell of pipe smoke. Afraid that my father had left his hookah smoldering, I crept out into the parlour to find the flame and smother it. To my great surprise his pipe rested on the end-table, cool as a river stone. Still, the scent persisted. I follow it around the corner and down the hall until, at length, I came to the Waiting Door. That same fear I always felt welled up in my throat. But then, seeing my grandfather's lure, I felt a profound sense of ease. I strained on my tip-toes to reach the shelf and took the lure in hand. This was, of course, thoroughly taboo, but in my child's heart I knew it was the right thing to do.

Without changing out of my night-clothes, I stole out the back door and jumped into my uncle's boat. I paddled out to my grandfather's favourite spot, affixed the lure to a line, and cast it out into the lake. I remember the water was like polished glass, and the moons' reflection glided across it so peacefully that even a single ripple felt like a blasphemy.

After an hour of silence I got a bit--a massive one. My lean arms strained against the fish for what felt like an eternity. Eventually, I landed it. It was a great fire-wrasse like my grandfather used to catch. My chest swelled with pride as I paddled home. By this point the sun had started to rise and the bantam guars were stirring in their coops. I placed the fish on a flaying board and started towards my parents' room to tell them the tale. But at the last moment, I hesitated. I glanced over my shoulder to see the Waiting Door and the empty spot where my grandfather's lure was enshrined. I took the relic from my pocket, kissed it, and placed it back on the shelf.

In that moment I saw the face of my grandfather--the face of my ancestors. And from that point onward, I was never afraid.

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Journal of Ventilias Proximus

Once more, Zulgukh fails me! One of his loose-lipped idiots must have sold out our arrangement.

I need more bodies! Better they are worked to the bone, which is why Zulgukh's offer was so tempting.

But this "Cosh" fellow has blackmailed Zulgukh to come to No Shira Citadel--headquarters of the Iron Wheel! If Zulgukh doesn't play this new merchant lord's game, how long before the Iron Wheel is knocking at my door?

I won't die in this stinkhole. The Cult of the Black Worm will take me in, I'm certain of it--I just need a few more souls to prove my worth....

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Diary of Faire Agarwen

Faire Agarwen Life Record

Third Marking

Tenth Kulniir

It feels like years since we were forced into hiding. I dare not write where we stay for fear of endangering the good people of this house should this diary be discovered. We have been shown a kindness by this family once known to the Snow Prince. Even in death his great influence has ensured our safety. We were separated from many of our kin along the road when it became increasingly difficult to travel discreetly in our numbers. We were forced to go our separate ways and travel only at night. I have heard no news of where the others may have gone and fear I never shall. Our lives are forever changed.

Seventh Marking

Tenth Kulniir

In the night I find it difficult not to focus on times past. There are moments in my rest when I still hear the laughing of young ones at play in the valley. Other times I see the pale flecks of happy memories too long. Often the surroundings make it impossible to dwell on any happiness. We have been locked together in such close quarters for so long. We grow tired of each other's company. Even the strongest of us have faltered, with nothing to do but think on what is lost. I wake each day to forlorn faces and am reminded of where we are and all we have left behind. We are all yearning for a day when we can emerge from hiding and walk freely in the light once more, but I fear we are losing all hope that such a day will even come.

Tenth Marking

Tenth Kulniir

I tire of the tears of women and children. My own have run dry. The men have begun to look upon us as if we are all weak, yet we have survived the same trials as they. I cannot bring myself to think on the numbers we lost in battle, yet I cannot force the images of my own losses from my mind and now, in a time when our people should be banding together in feels, we are drifting apart. The Nords have truly won. Our once great pride and unity are shattered. If we lose hope now we will never survive. Today many, myself included, have tried to speak out in voices of reason. There can be no hope without talk of our future. We can make no difference if our spirits remain broken.

Eighteenth Marking

Tenth Kulniir

We know that we can never again be the Snow Elves and live freely. In that world we will forever be in hiding in one form or another, but there is no reason we cannot live life with the sun and the wind on our skin. There are those here who are friends to us and plan to help us once the threat has ended. We know now to survive, we must be born anew outside. We will appear. We belong here inside. We will carry our truth and our scars.

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The Ebon Arm

The ground shakes. The great armies continue to wage their unrelenting battle. The battlefield is red, the rivers flow crimson, the sky reflects a deep pink. In the distance lightning flashes, and thunder sounds. Two huge ravens begin circling the field; their blackness is vibrant against the various shades of red in this vista of death and suffering. The bright flashes of light and rumbling begin to increase. The redness surrounding the battlefield begins giving way to a golden glow from the east, almost like a summer's setting sun. From the false sunset a massive golden stallion and single rider approach. All become suddenly still on the field of battle as both sides recognise Reymon Ebonarm, God of War, and the companion and protector of all warriors, also known as the Black Knight and his mighty steed War Master.

He rides into the middle of the blood soaked field and dismounts. He is a very imposing figure. His very tall and heavily muscled body is encased in ebony armour. His ebony helmet does not hide the flowing reddish blonde hair and beard which appear to almost shimmer gold,  nor does it shield the steel blue eyes that seem to pierce all they fall upon. In his left hand he carried a massive ebony tower shield on which is emblazoned a fiery red rose. As he raises his right arm, all see an arm and a magnificent ebony blade which are extensions of each other. The fused arm and sword are a result and symbol of the wounds suffered by this god during titanic battles in the youth of this world.

The ravens come to rest on his shoulders. And, as the point of the ebony blade seemingly touches the sky, lightning flashes, thunder roars. Then total quiet descends and a shudder rolls through both armies.

The leaders of both armies approach Reymon Ebonarm and kneel. In turn they tell their reasons for this war. Each asks for the favour of the Black Knight for their cause. Reymon Ebonarm listens, but there is no acknowledgement that he has chosen to favour one side or the other in this fight. However, each of the leaders has heard the other state his position. And, each knows that this war is baseless. They instruct their forces to bury their dead, tend their wounded and return to their homes.

Reymon Ebonarm mounts his great golden stallion, War Master, and again raises the ebony blade skyward and extends the huge rose emblazoned ebony shield to both armies. A massive chorus of cheers rises from the armies. The ravens again take to the air. Lightning and thunder follow him as he rides into the sunset followed by the two birds.

The armies do as they have been bidden. They care for their wounded and bury their dead. As they retreat towards their homes each warrior is sure that the great God Reymon Ebonarm, the Black Knight, has responded to their individual prayers for intervention. Each side has won, neither has lost.

As the armies depart the field, the rivers begin to run clear, and a single red rose begins to bloom near the grave of a fallen hero.

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Wabbajack

Little boys shouldn't summon up the forces of eternal darkness unless they have an adult supervising, I know, I know. But on that sunny night on the 5th of First Seed, I didn't want an adult. I wanted Hermaeus Mora, the Daedra of knowledge, learning, gums, and varnishes. You see, I was told by a beautiful, large breasted man who lived under the library in my home town that the 5th of First Seed was Hermaeus Mora's night. And if I wanted the Oghma Infinium, the book of knowledge, I had to summon him. When you're the new king of Solitude, every bit of knowledge helps.

Normally, you need a witches coven, or a Mages Guild, or at least matching pillow case and sheets to invoke a prince of Oblivion. The Man Under the Library showed me how to do it myself. He told me to wait until the storm was at its height before shaving the cat. I've forgotten the rest of the ceremony. It doesn't matter.

Someone appeared who I thought was Hermaeus Mora. The only thing that made me somewhat suspicious was Hermaeus Mora, from what I read, was a big blobby multi-eyed clawed monstrosity, and this guy looked like a waistcoated banker. Also, he kept calling himself Sheogorath, not Hermaeus Mora. Still, I was so happy to have successfully summoned Hermaeus Mora, these inconsistencies did not bother me. He had me do things that didn't make any sense to me (beyond the mortal scope, breadth, and ken, I suppose), and then his servant happily gave me something he called the Wabbajack. Wabbajack. Wabbajack. Wabbajack.

Wabbajack. Wabbajack. Wabbajack.

Wabbajack. Wabbajack. Wabbajack.

Maybe the Wabbajack is the Book of Knowledge. Maybe I'm smarter because I know cats can be bats can be rats can be hats can be gnats can be that's can be thises. And that doors can be boars can be snores can be floors can be roars can be spores can be yours can be mine. I must be smart, for the interconnective system is very clear to me. Then why, or wherefore do people keep calling me mad?

Wabbajack. Wabbajack. Wabbajack.

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The Common Tongue: Irano’s Copy

[This broadsheet is a newsletter copied on cheap paper, featuring sensational events in the city of Mournhold. One article describes a list of individuals who died under suspicious circumstances when their interests conflicted with those of 'a former prince of the West'. The reference is clearly King Helseth, King of Morrowind, formerly Prince Helseth of the kingdom of Wayrest in the province of High Rock.]

This copy was found under the pillow on Ivulen Irano's bed. The ownership of the chest at the foot of the bed indicates the ownership of the document.

THE COMMON TONGUE

"A poet can have no higher purpose than to tell the truth about the human condition." -- Lord Vivec

*MYSTERIES* OF THE WEST

I have a little list. They never would be missed.

Appearing at the top -- three names... Anhar, Khajiit male -- Martyrius Arruntius, Imperial male -- Jusole Asciele, Breton male. What do these three names have in common?

All three at one time or another represented an inconvenience to a Western noble prince named Helseth.

Anhar was an agent for Eastern ebony merchants. There was an unfortunate scandal concerning improper contracts offered to Helseth as compensation for his assistance in obtaining ebony import remits from the Imperial Board of Census and Excise. Luckily for Prince Helseth, this scandal blew over when no one could be found to testify. Is it just a coincidence that Anhar's health went into a steep decline, just as he was to testify before the Imperial magistrates? He died a natural death, according to the Imperial coroners. Convenient and timely, perhaps, but natural.

Martyrius Arruntius was a city alderman of Wayrest. Prince Helseth's liaison with the alderman's married daughter was potentially embarrassing to the Prince -- especially when Martyrius Arruntius forcefully pressed his suit for 'predatory adultery' in Wayrest's courts. Many thought it strange that Martyrius Arruntius should suddenly fall ill and die of 'exhaustion' on the eve of the trial. The suit was settled out of court, and charges dismissed. The Imperial coroners ruled that Martyrius Arruntius had died a natural death. Convenient and timely, admittedly, but natural.

Jusole Asciele was a diplomatic attache at the High Rock embassy in Wayrest. Widely rumoured to be an intelligence officer, Jusole Asciele was often seen at court, taking a great interest in the affairs of Queen Barenziah and her family. It is said that Wayrest can be a beastly uncomfortable place in high summer. Perhaps the Breton's constitution was ill-suited to the relentless heat and pestilential swarms of the southern Iliac. Jusole Asciele took suddenly ill one evening, and within three days he was dead. Once again, Imperial coroners ruled that Jusole Asciele had died a natural death. Convenient and timely, yes, but natural.

And these, The Common Tongue notes significantly, are only the 'A's on the list.

Some have quietly suggested that Prince Helseth was the most accomplished and subtle poisoner in the West. But The Common Tongue has never seen a single scrap of evidence that would prove such an indictment. [Admittedly, the absence of such proof could count as qualifying towards the title of a 'most accomplished and subtle poisoner'.]

And, further, The Common Tongue does not wish to suggest that King Helseth is a poisoner, or that the recent death of King Athyn Llethan's was a poisoning, and not a natural death. The Common Tongue has never seen a single scrap of evidence that would prove such an indictment. And the Imperial coroners have ruled that Athyn Llethan died a natural death.

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Krisandra Edrald’s Journal, Vol. 3

As the eve of Federic's return approaches, Arlie continues to withdraw into herself. The power Dulkhi has over her is overwhelming, and even my motherly attentions lose their effectiveness before her constant presence.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Allan has confronted Dulkhi at last, though I fear it was to no avail. The brute has had time to prepare her arguments, and from the look on my husband's face they are quite formidable.

He should not have allowed himself to become so attached to the lass! I knew the moment we took her in that no good would come of it.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Despite the difficulties in acquiring the necessary materials, everything has been laid out and prepared. Allan is as nervous as I am about what might come. Somehow Dulkhi has managed to quail even his brave heart. No matter. I am certain justice will prevail in the end.

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Krisandra Edrald’s Journal, Vol. 2

Allan continues to believe this association between our daughter and Dulkhi is but a passing fancy, that we should allow it to play out. He hasn't had to look in her eyes and see the terrible divide it has created within her.

She is torn with herself, and I will not watch her rent asunder while we stand helplessly by. If he will not do anything about it, I shall take matters into my own hands!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Went to talk with the Constable today only to find her in her cups.It would seem our estate is not alone in its troubles--there has been a power shift in Fell's Run.

Her replacement was not helpful nor was he forthcoming as to why. It would seem the town will no longer bother itself with our affairs nor ensure our protection! The nerve of this man. When this business with Dulkhi is settled, I will have strong words for his superiors in Shornhelm!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Opened the undercroft for the first time in ages. When we locked it up after Allan's mother died, I had hoped we would never open it again, but it is my only hope now.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I've found it! A ragged old book detailing what is necessary to contact Mehrunes Dagon, Daedric Prince of change! If any can alter our fate, it will be him. The ritual seems simple enough, though I know dabbling with even the simplest of conjurations can prove dangerous. Still, what choice do I have?

I've dispatched a courier to Shornhelm for the necessary components. We will have to be discreet about it, but I trust Alison to be discreet.

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Krisandra Edrald’s Journal, Vol. 1

My daughter has become quite maudlin since Federic left for Wayrest. I have assured her that all will be right when he returns, but she remains quite dour.

I have taken the liberty of sending to Fell's Run for a cask of tawny port. Such is hard to come by with the growing trouble in the region, and spirits from the arbours of Summerset are always a welcome reprieve from our local distillations. Surely, their bright and sunny notes will bring her aught but cheer!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Arlie came to me this evening in tears. It would seem Dulkhi, simpleton that she is, has managed to cause her no end of distress.  While I can understand how it might be difficult for her to fathom that she does harm with her attentions, that is no excuse.

If only Federic were here. His constant company has always comforted our dearest daughter. What I wouldn't give for him to return on the morrow.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

No matter how strongly I word my arguments, Allan seems unconcerned. He's rather attached to that servant girl. Doesn't he see what's at stake here?

If Dulkhi is allowed to interfere with our daughter's wedding, it could ruin us all! Such self-indulgence is abominable! I'll not allow her to continue this harassment.

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Pocket Guide to the Empire, First Edition: Aldmeri Dominion

The Aldmeri Dominion is a relatively recent creation. [1] Formerly divided into he two realms of the Summerset Isles and Valenwood, the Aldmeri Dominion has its origins in CE830, when the heirs of the Camoran Dynasty began to fight over the Valenwood throne. When a faction of the Bosmer (Wood Elves) made overtures of peace to their longtime enemies in West Cyrodiil--territorial concessions in return for Colovian support for the faction's claimant--the Altmer (High Elves) of Summerset invaded the Valenwood Nations. Citing a stewardship clause in a treaty from a thousand years before, the High Elves quickly established a provisional government, the Thalmor, on behalf of their own claimant, Camoran Anaxemes, whose bloodline had struck the pact with the Aldmeri Council in the first place. As the Cyrodilic Empire was still in the shambles of the Interregnum, the Colovians were quickly driven back by the Aldmeri army. The other heirs of the throne were silenced, the Wood Elves thanked their cousins for bringing back stability, and the High Elves reminded Anaxemes the price of Summerset's aid: fifty years' fealty to the King of Alinor. The Aldmeri Dominion was born. [2]

The Thalmor strengthened its hold on the Valenwood Nations during the foundation of the Third Empire. Savage Bosmer tribes skirmished with the Estates along the River Strid, whipped to a frenzy by their High Elven masters. With the Empire now reunified under Tiber Septim, these attacks have subsided; but encampments wait on either side of the Valenwood border, awaiting a decisive battle.  On the occasions when the Elves probe the Empire's defenses, the Legions have sent them back in tatters. Indeed, the Colovians have taken to calling their enemy the "Old Mary" Dominion, for the womanly offensives of its Elven soldiers. The situation at sea, however, is another story, and the Dominion terrorises the southern waters from the Cape of the Blue Divide to the Topal Bay. [3] Their sorcery has made allies of a few Reachmen, the Maormer of Pyandonea, and, as of this writing, perhaps even the Elsweyr Confederacy. Though no formal declaration of war has been made, Tamriel is divided between the Empire and the Elder Races, and Tiber Septim has made it known to the Thalmor that he is the True Emperor of Cyrodiil, and heir to all of its former holdings. The Elves of Tamriel have yet to answer.

Considering we have endured their offenses for two thousand years, we know surprisingly little about the Aldmeri. (Only Morrowind, under Skyrim domination during the First Empire, and open to travel and trade during most of the Common Era, is somewhat better known.). The Elves of High Rock and Cyrodiil were either wiped out long ago or displaced into obscurity. As for the Elves of the Dominion, our knowledge of their regions is limited to brief Imperial occupations, or to the translations we have of their literature (see "The Scarcity of Elven Writings").

Of particular scarcity is information about either the High Elves or the Summerset Isles. During the Second Empire [4] ambassadors were allowed only in the capital of Alinor, and thus any description of the Altmeri homeland is confined to that city alone, and elsewhere (see Places of Note--Alinor). Furthermore, we can offer only this brief but reliable account of the High Elven people. It comes from the journals of Eric of Guis [5]. Reman's emissary to the Altmer, who lived among them ca. 1E2820:

"High Elves consider themselves to be the only perfect race. Over hundreds of generations they have bred themselves into a racially pure line, and are now almost identical to one another in appearance. The theory that the High Elves do not reproduce as quickly or as often as humans is false. Rather, and to my horror, they kill nine out of ten babies born to them in their obsession for purity.

"The Altmer despise other Elves as unsophisticated churls and barely consider the non-Aldmeri races at all. They pay their Imperial tithes, I'm sure, not for fear of war with the humans but rather to keep an invasion from "infecting" their islands.

"Breeding outside the pure line is a terrible, unthinkable crime, and taken as prima facia evidence of the tainted blood of the individual in question--if they were, they wouldn't have the impulse to do it. Exile to the mainland is regarded as equivalent to a death sentence, since there is no purpose to living outside their ideal society.

:They have a high regard for order and gravitate naturally towards wearing uniforms and speaking in formal patterns. Their trees and their livestock have been bred to be as standard and ideal as they are. They have no real names of their own, only combinations of numbers that, when aloud, sound to human ears as such. They feel no real tenderness for one another and have no concept of compassion.

"They are decadent and self-obsessed, and prize form and their own brand of manners or style as their main value. Aware of their aristocratic position, they surround themselves with riches and treasures, the works of great artists and the finest of everything, but have no real appreciation for any of these things. Each of them is concerned solely with himself, and as a result they do no real socialising; they meet and hold courts only to demonstrate their importance and power to each other. Rarely do they speak to the human ambassadors of Cyrodiil; when they do, their speech is full of riddles, or spell-words that enchant one to a satisfied madness."

Valenwood was claimed as a wasteland province of the Second Empire, and its geography is partially described in several Imperial surveys. Valenwood is noteworthy in that it has no cities or townships built by the Wood Elves themselves. Their strict "Green Pact" prohibits the use of wood or other vegetable derivatives as building materials, and they are too improvident to learn the use of stone. The Wood Elves permitted a few roads to be built by the Second Empire, but neglect their maintenance, as the Bosmer do not need roads to move easily through the thickest forest; these roads would be now overgrown were it not for the High Elves of the Thalmor, who have repaired and widened them for rapid passage of their arms to and from the coast. Much of the region is impenetrable mangrove and coastal rain forest, with few grasslands or glade areas until further north near the Strident Coast. Many of the human trading posts established by the Second Empire have been abandoned or claimed by the beastfolk--Centaurs, Orcs, and Imga--that share the forests with the Bosmer tribes. Humans, in general, have learned not to intrude in the forests of Valenwood. While they once depended entirely on the annual Stridmeet caravans of the Colovian  West, the Wood Elves now rely on the sea piracy of the Dominion for whatever they require from the outside world.

Concerning the Wood Elves as people, we must again turn to the prolific Eric of Guid. After a grateful dismissal from the Court of Alinor, he stayed with the Bosmer for a time at the capital city of Falinesti, during its summer migration. As the city strode along the coastal region of the Cape, Eric of Guis recorded much about Valenwood culture:

"No less abhorrent are the Bosmer than their kin at Summerset, but they are far more cooperative. The Wood Elves love the current human activity because it makes them feel important. 

"They are exclusively and religiously carnivorous. They cannot, or will not, eat anything that is plant-based. They eat game, beastfolk, each other, or meats imported from other regions. This part of the Green Pact is known as the Meat Mandate, and, among its other rules, it requires that a fallen enemy must be eaten completely before three days pass. The family members of the warrior that slew the enemy may help him with his meal. Needless to say, the Wood Elves do not like to engage in large battles if they have not undergone a suitable starvation period.

"Though they are excellent archers, the Green Pact forces their bowyers and fletchers to use bone or similar material, or to buy bows from other cultures. The use of woodcrafts created by another race is not forbidden, nor is the sale of their own Valenwood timber as long as it is collected by a non-Bosmeri.

"The Wood Elves, of course, cannot some anything of a vegetable nature. Bone pipes are common, however, and are filled with caterpillars or tree grubs.

"For a brief time the Colovian armies used Wood Elf archers, as in the War of Rihad two years past. The Bosmer proved to be too undisciplined and prone to desertion for further use. They would sometimes walk into the shade of a single tree and vanish. Their forest-coupling skills are remarkable. The title of their most famous poem, the Meh Ayleidion, means "The One Thousand Benefits of Hiding."

"At the trading posts of the Empire, the Wood Elves become very happy. Some creations of carpentry delight them to no end. Most of it has never occurred to them. They bring their own trade items: hides, river pearls, finger-bone charms made from the still-magically-charged hands of their dead wizards. They often buy woodcrafts that they have no use for or whose use they never bother to find out. Some of the bravest Wold Elven warrior use wagon wheels as shields, or as (they think) impressive headgear.

"While sometimes amusing, the Bosmer have a bestial side. They can resort to animal shapes if they need to, or water. Their most dreaded transformation is the Wild Hunt, which killed King Borgas [6] for the "iniquities" of his Alessian faith. The Wild Hunt is a pack of shifting forest-demons and animal-gods, thousands strong, which sweeps through the countryside killing everything in its path. The Wood Elves do not like to talk about the Hunt, and I gather they do not feel proud of this power at all--Gomini, my Bosmer companion of late, tells me that the Hunt is used for justice, but that also, "every monster in the world that has even been comes from a previous Hunt. Those Bosmer that go Wild, they not not return.""

The traveller is advised to avoid the lands of the Aldmeri Dominion. Though the Thalmor have representatives at the Imperial City, and the Cyrodiilic Grand Vizier Zurin Arctus is meeting with the King of Alinor, contact with the Bosmer and Altmer are often disagreeable to the common Imperial citizen. Avoid their books and magic. Wear the permitted weaponry when near their borders. If you are manly and able, apply for service in the Legions.

The Scarcity of Elven Writings

Much of the blame for this can be laid on the Alessian Order, which was tireless in ferreting out and destroying Elven writings during its long dominance. Today, we are left with the beautiful heresies of the Anuad, surviving only by virtue of their popularity and proliferation, and perhaps a dozen more works of lesser renown. This, though, does not explain fully the scarcity of Elven letters. We might turn to Dylxexes, an early human scholar, for another answer. After studying the financial records of the Direnni Hegemony, a High Elven merchant family that exploited the human kingdoms of its day, he had this to say: "These [records] may help to explain why so much of Aldmeri literature is forbidden, scorned, or untranslated, for I have seen [their] like before. The Direnni were either exceedingly paranoid or their system of economy so inextricably linked with dangerous theosophist numeral-symbolism that much of what is recorded here requires... sorcerous precautions on the part of the reader. [Hidden magic] is everywhere incorporated in their writings... signs and preternatural runes and [correspondences]... in expenditure columns, even, or margins [that] can be fatal to the uninitiated. Crucial pages were covered with the spittle of the previous translator, who had babbled idiotically over the text for days before catching fire."

The Great Apes of Valenwood

The Great Apes, or Imga, are native beastfolk of Valenwood. they see the High Elves as their lords and masters, and as a portrait of an ideal, civilised society. Great Apes go to desperate measures to emulate the High Elves: they wear capes, practice with the dueling sword, and attempt to speak with perfect enunciation and courtly manners despite their gravelly, baritone voices. Each Imga bears some kind of title, be it Baron, Duke, Earl, or the like, which they use when addressing the members of the Thalmor (needless to say, there are no landowning Great Apes). More extreme Great Apes shave their bodies and powder their skin white to seem more like the High Elves. They often cut themselves in the process, creating the truly pathetic picture of a naked white Ape, skin dotted pink with blood, strutting around the trading posts of Valenwood with mock nobility. The Imga feel that humans are beneath them as lesser beastfolk, and pretend to find their smell exceedingly offensive--a Great Ape holds a perfumed corner of his cape to his nose when Men are around.

Places of Note

Alinor

A forbidden city for nearly fifty years, Alinor is both capital of the Summerset Isles and the heart of the Aldmeri Dominion. Human traders were only allowed at its ports, and they described the city as "made from glass or insect wings." Less fantastic accounts come from the Imperial emissaries of the Reman Dynasty, which describe the city as straight and glimmering, "a hypnotic swirl of ramparts and impossibly high towers, designed to catch the light of the sun and break it to its component colours, which lies draped across its stones until you are thankful for nightfall."

Falinesti

The walking city of the Bosmer king, Falinesti is south in the summer and north come Hearth Fire. It is the largest of Valenwood graht-oaks, whose magic was invoked at the dawn of recorded history. The Camoran throne is somewhere in the highest branches, as are numerous other dwellings. Wood Elves climb about its surface like termites, or carefully swing from level to level by means of thorny vines. Humans have generally been too unsettled by the city to stay there long, though Great Apes and Orcs are common. The Thalmor has decided to change the campital of Valenwood from Falinesti to Elden Root for the duration of the Aldmeri Dominion.

Annotations

1. Of this pamphlet, this regime, this lunacy 2. I don't know where to begin pointing out the lies 3. !!! 4. My bones chill thinking of such rampant human trespass 5. Does Grandfather remember this fool? 6. Wood Elves of the Wild Hunt, 1e369, still about in Valenwood--Willy the Bitten returned to haunt Silvenar Grove, While King Dead Wolf-Deer stalks the Lynpar March.

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[thetamrieliclibrary]

The Guardian and the Traitor

One of the more intriguing legends found on the island of Solstheim is the story of a mythical figure whose name is long forgotten, but whom time remembers as "the Traitor".

Certain that this myth is rooted in history I set out to learn what I could and perhaps piece together a presumptive account of the events that gave rise to the legend.

The tale is remembered best by the shamans of the Skaal, that unique tribe of Nords whose culture evolved along an entirely divergent path than that of their brethren in Skyrim.

I spoke at length to the shaman of Skaal Village, a wise and hospitable man named Breigr Winter-Moon. He described an age long ago when dragons ruled over the whole world and were worshipped as gods by men. Presiding over this cult of dragon-worshippers were the Dragon Priests, powerful mages who could speak the dragon language and call upon the power of the thu'um, or Voice.

According to the legend, one such Dragon Priest was seduced by a dark spirit named Herma-Mora, an unmistakable analogue for the Daedric Prince Hermaeus Mora. Lured by promises of power, this treacherous priest secretly plotted against his dragon master.

The Traitor's plot was discovered by one of is contemporaries, another Dragon Priest whom legend named The Guardian. The two fought a mighty battle that lasted for days, each hurling terrible arcane energies and thu'um shouts at the other.

So great and terrible were the forces unleashed in this contest that Solstheim was torn apart from the mainland of Skyrim. Here, the myth clearly descends into the realm of pure fantasy.

The Guardian, whom the legend presents as a paragon of loyalty and nobility, finally defeats the despicable Traitor, who seems to represent all that is corrupt and evil in men. Their epic duel is clearly representative of a greater struggle between good and evil. Perhaps it is this timeless quality that has kept the tale alive for so long.

Unlike many similar myths, the tale of the Guardian and the Traitor does not feature a suitably heroic ending. Herma-Mora snatches the Traitor away just as the Guardian is about to strike the killing blow.

The dragons appoint the Guardian ruler of Solstheim, but not before he is compelled to swear an oath of vigilance to watch for the Traitor's return. His reign is, by all accounts, a time of peace and prosperity for the people of the island, and he is remembered as a wise and just leader.

No further mention is made of the Traitor, but neither is he thought to be dead. The legend ends on a cautionary note that the people of Solstheim, the heirs of the Guardian, must remain wary, lest the dark influence of Herma-Mora, or event the Traitor himself, return someday.

Although no physical clues exist now on Solstheim to suggest the presence of the dragon cult, it is hardly difficult to believe that it might once have flourished here. Perhaps some hidden tomb still waits to be discovered that will tell the truth of the tale.

There are other tantalising clues, though perhaps these connections strain the bonds of credibility. For example, is it possible that the Skaal deity, the All-Maker, is some distant echo of mighty Alduin, the World-Eater of the ancient Nord pantheon?

Perhaps not, but one thing is certain: Solstheim's history is riddled with unanswered questions. Perhaps future generations will pull aside the veils of mystery and reveal the truth about the origins of the Skaal and the identities of the Guardian and the Traitor.

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[thetamrieliclibrary]

Catalogue of Afflictions in the City

To the alienist, the ability--or inability--of a living mind to cope with stimuli and deprivation is of the utmost interest. How is it that some minds endure when others fail? What manifests in the aftermath of those outcomes? How can those manifestations be identified and altered? The workings of our own minds are as much a mystery as the workings of the material world, and it is no less dangerous to neglect their care than it is to mistreat the corporeal self.

While Clockwork City is a facsimile of Nirn in many ways, it is not a duplication. Many of the rules that govern the world simply do not apply to this realm, and things often taken for granted in the terrestrial world are found to be of vital importance to an individual's sanity when they are suddenly found scarce. Here I will outline a number of the most common afflictions to develop in previously well-adjusted individuals now inhabiting the Clockwork City.

Cyclical Inert Ingestion -- Compulsive craving and ingestion of non-nutritious and sometimes harmful materials. It is not unusual for inhabitants and visitors in Clockwork City to experience a palate fatigue for the nutriment paste produced within the Brass Fortress, despite its inoffensive taste and complete nutritional profile. This often causes these individuals to experiment with consuming unusual substances for relief from that fatigue or because of a fallacious belief about the benefits of ingesting the substance that they have developed a taste for. In many cases this condition may safely go untreated, though some individuals' compulsions pose a significant danger to their health and those patients should be remanded to the Asylum Sanctorium for a more controlled therapeutic environment.

Magnusomnic Melancholy -- Connections between mortal beings and the stellar bodies are well established, though fraught with superstition and apocrypha. Our relationship with the sun is of particular relevance to the psyche. From simple moodiness and doldrums in the long nights of winter to the violent, frenzied aversion of victims of vampirism, exposure to the sun has a noticeable effect on the mental health of many races, so its complete absence from Clockwork City is trying on most individuals. Lethargy, irregular sleep patterns, dark thoughts or impulses, and a general malaise are all signs that your patient could be suffering from solar deprivation. See volumes on treatment regarding variations of light conjuration and simulated sunlight.

Encapsulation Syndrome -- A particularly insidious affliction similar to the acute fear of being trapped commonly observed in the terrestrial world. Individuals used to living their lives under open sky are sometimes disconcerted by the easily demarcated boundaries of Sotha Sil's heavens. They begin to feel an inescapable sense of confinement that creates ever-present feelings of anxiety and agitation. These mounting pressures will push them to breaking point if left unresolved and should be considered a priority for treatment.

Minisculation Terrors -- The terrors can be defined as bouts of irrational panic and paranoia that the victims are shrinking. It is unclear whether these episodes are a side effect of transitioning into this realm, or a pathological reaction to the experience of being miniaturized. Patients tend to describe peculiarities in their perception, ranging from a vague sense of things just being a little off, to vertigo, to delusional claims of evidence. For example, one such patient cited that they were now unable to reach an object they had placed on a high shelf the day before. Often these claims are a result of misremembered details, such as forgetting that they were wearing thick heeled shoes, though there is at least one recorded case of legitimate uncontrollable shrinking, so be diligent in investigating these claims.

Obsessive Focus and Fixation -- Particularly common among apostles. Sometimes our colleagues must be saved from themselves. Clockwork City was designed with freedom from distraction in mind. It is a place of contemplation and learning, and sometimes the example Lord Sotha Sil sets is adhered to too closely by his followers. We are not gods. We cannot withdraw into our studies indefinitely and tirelessly without consequence. It may be necessary to intervene in the studies of an apostle who has developed an unhealthy obsession with their research. Fixated patients have been known to neglect sleep, forget to eat, shun all contact with others, and in some cases literally work themselves to death. As such, we are granted the authority to remand such cases to Asylum Sanctorium at our discretion.

Corporeal Odium -- Self-loathing, specifically of one's physical form. Outside of Clockwork City it was primarily observed in kingdoms where one's physical features or biological heritage p;lay a significant role in an individual's societal worth. It is also a fairly common trait among possessing spirits. This condition is on the rise among Clockwork Apostles who believe their enhancements represent an ideal that their native flesh fails to live up to. Reckless augmentation, self-mutilation, and emotional volatility are all warning signs that an apostle's desire for alteration has become an unhealthy obsession and the patient should likely be remanded to the Asylum Sanctorium for psycho-spiritual realignment.

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[thetamrieliclibrary]

Old Snagara’s Breeding Guide

If you're reading this, I'm probably dead, just like the last ten caretakers. The next caretaker should benefit from what I learned, so I'm writing it down.

You don't have that much to do. Just make sure that Old Snagara stays in her cage. Every few days, she plops out another cub. I don't know how the bull gets close enough to fulfill his part of the process, but he's very sneaky. One of the healers said that some animals don't need to follow the traditional method for getting pregnant, but I'm pretty sure she was just tugging on my tusk.

Safety tips: 1. Don't open the cage to brush or groom her. Old Snagara bites! 2. When a cub arrives, request assistance. You'll need at least a dozen hands to hold her still while you take it away. 3. Cage the cub quickly. They will run away.

Most importantly, don't slaughter a cub within sight of Old Snagara. The first caretaker did that. What she did to him after that wasn't pretty.

Stay safe, be well, and good luck. I hope I'm rich, fat, and retired by the time you read this. Instead of, you know, dead.

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[thetamrieliclibrary]

Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition: High Rock

High Rock, the westernmost province on the mainland of Tamriel, is a land of temperate climates and soft rolling hills, split in half by the towering Wrothgarian Mountains. The quaint charm of its hamlets and austere grandeur of its cities speak of a gentle life, something that was only a distant dream for most of the long, peculiar history of the Bretons.

History

With its fertile soils and generally clement weather, it is little wonder that the region that is now known as High Rock has attracted many cultures throughout history. the Gods were the first of these. The Adamantine Tower, in a little island in the middle Iliac Bay, is widely considered to be the oldest structure in Tamriel. If the ancient tales are to be believed, it was crafted in the Dawn Era by the Gods themselves to have a place for meeting and deciding what would be the fate of Nirn. Perhaps this is merely a myth, but it is true that when the earliest Aldmer came to the region, the Tower was already standing.

There is evidence that early beast men of one variety or another hay have been the original inhabitants of High Rock, but the Aldmer coming from Summerset Isle were the first to settle and form permanent communities. The early Nedic people who arrived next were stumbling upon a highly sophisticated culture, and were quickly overwhelmed and absorbed. One of the earliest tales of Khosey describes a Nord raiding party attacking a group of what they presumed to be aldmer, but who were, on closer inspection, a mongrel race between the elf and human, the remnants of the earlier lost Nedic tribe. They were somewhat awkwardly called "Manmeri," but we know them today as Breton.

It took many centuries for the Bretons to become the dominant force in High Rock. For most of the First Era, the elves kept their hold on the land, with the Nords founding fortified towns along the coasts to support their pillaging parties, such as Daggerfall, which as a kingdom would have a profound influence on High Rock in years to come.

Of all the families of Aldmer who colonised High Rock, none did it so successfully as the Clan Direnni. So dominant were they that by the middle of the First Era, the whole of High Rock was commonly called "The Direnni Hegemony." As an economic and military power, they were formidable enough to pose a continued threat to the battle-hardened Nords and the nascent Alessian Empire of Cyrodiil.  Taking advantage of the internal strife in Skyrim, the Hegemony began taking land north and south of High Rock, claiming portions of Skyrim and Hammerfell. At the peak of their power, they controlled nearly a quarter of Tamriel. But they had overextended their reach, and slowly, year by year, they lost all they had gained, falling back to their fortress in Balfiera, the Adamantine Tower, now called the Direnni Tower.

The Bretons were operating beneath the eyes of history, and their rise in High Rock was through commerce and the foundation of small villages in well-chosen positions, such as the sleepy fishing hamlet of Wayrest on the coast between the Bjoulsae River and the Iliac Bay. Daggerfall, Camlorn, Reich Gradkeep, and many other Nordic cities became Breton not by any act of war, but simply by being assimilated by them. By the end of the First Era, High Rock was the land of the Bretons, and would be so ever after.

But High Rock was never a single cohesive Breton nation. The power vacuum left by the decline of the Dirennis fractured High Rock into a hundred fiefdoms of small, walled city-states. This has often left the Bretons at the mercy of the larger powers of Tamriel, but has also made High Rock surprisingly resilient during the times of chaos following the fall of the great empires.

Scarcely had the rule of the Dirennis passed into history before two new powers arrived in the region. The Redguards of Yokuda began their conquest of Hammerfell in the 808th year of the First Era, largely displacing beast folk in their attacks, but also supplanting Breton settlements along the southern Iliac Bay. The two cultures warred over dominance in the Bay, until they were faced with a common enemy in the Orcish Kingdom of Orsinium.

The rise and fall and rebirth of Orsinium is detailed in a larger section, but suffice it to say for now that the discovery of the "monstrous" kingdom of the creatures, as they were regarded, was a very unpleasant surprise to both the Redguards and Bretons. An alliance between Daggerfall and the new kingdom of Sentinel led to the long war known as the Siege of Orsinium. The humans eventually prevailed: Orsinium was destroyed and the Orcs dispersed far and wide across Tamriel.

High Rock fared relatively well during the long interregnum following the fall of the Cyrodiilic Empire, but its multitide of fractious kingdoms were easily conquered by Tiber Septim. Indeed, many Bretons welcomed the rebirth of the Empire. Still, some of them managed to unite to stop the encroachment of the Camoran Usurper in his destructive march northward from Valenwood in 3E 267. With a weak Emperor on the Imperial throne, and no clear leadership from the usual powers of the west, the Usurper may have swept over High Rock had the smallest of regions of the Iliac Bay not banded together under the Baron of Dwynnen to defeat him. Once again, an overwhelming force had underestimated the Bretons, and been defeated.

The unity was lost when the threat was removed, and for the next one hundred and fifty years, internal and external conflicts continued. In the east, the Nords reclaimed some of their old kingdoms in the War of the Bend'r-Mahk. In the west, the War of Betony, though ostensibly between Daggerfall and Sentinel, spilled into Daggerfall's neighbouring kingdoms. In the centre, Orsinium reappeared as the home of the Orcs, threatening once again the fortunes of Wayrest. In the year 417, however, the province redefined itself in a most mysterious way.

They call the event the Miracle of Peace. On the 10th of Frostfall, a strange force exploded over the Iliac Bay, displacing armies and decimating whole territories. Though its nature is still unknown, most Bretons believe it was the ancient Gods who had once made High Rock their home scouring the land, making it whole once again. Though it was a painful process for most--the Miracle is sometimes spoken of as the Warp in the West--the result of it is a province that is more unified than it has ever been in modern history.

Where once there were a hundred small squabbling kingdoms, today, just two decades after the Miracle, there are five.

Current Events

Battle-weary, the kingdoms of High Rock have eschewed violence recently in favour of diplomatic solutions. This is not to say that there have been no tensions over the new borders between Daggerfall and Wayrest, or between Camlorn and Northpoint and Evermore, but they are localised skirmishes, and have yet to explode into war, as they might have done in the past. The royal family of Daggerfall has recently celebrated the marriage of their son Camaron to Lady Kelmena, the daughter of Duke Senhyn of Camlorn, suggesting a possible unified kingdom along the western coast of Tamriel. King Gothryd and Queen Aubk-i's own marriage twenty years before had cemented relations and formed the basis of the peace between Daggerfall and Sentinel, which continues to this day.

Northpoint and Evermore were not directly affected by the Miracle of Peace, but took advantage of it, swallowing up their small neighbours in the chaos of its aftermath. Far enough west to avoid the predations of Skyrim in the Bend'r-Mahk, and far enough north not to be targeted by Daggerfall and Wayrest, they have been quiet of late, watching their neighbours distrustfully.

The Queen of Wayrest, Elysana, is considered by many to be the most feared ruler in the West. It is hardly surprising, considering that in order to achieve the throne, she had to outmaneuver and defeat her stepbrother, Helseth, a man now renowned in the East for his cunning, as well as his mother, Barenziah. With her consort, Elysana continues to control and dominate politics in High Rock, and her recent alliance with Wayrest's old enemies, the Orcs of Orsinium, has many observers wondering what her next move will be.

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