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Y88b d88P Y88b. 888 Y88..88P 888 888 X88 "Y8888P" "Y8888P 888 "Y88P" 888 888 88888P' IIIIIIIIIIVVVVVVVV VVVVVVVV I::::::::IV::::::V V::::::V I::::::::IV::::::V V::::::V II::::::IIV::::::V V::::::V I::::I V:::::V V:::::V I::::I V:::::V V:::::V I::::I V:::::V V:::::V I::::I V:::::V V:::::V I::::I V:::::V V:::::V I::::I V:::::V V:::::V I::::I V:::::V:::::V I::::I V:::::::::V II::::::II V:::::::V I::::::::I V:::::V I::::::::I V:::V IIIIIIIIII VVV ______ .______ __ __ ____ ____ __ ______ .__ __. / __ \ | _ \ | | | | \ \ / / | | / __ \ | \ | | | | | | | |_) | | | | | \ \/ / | | | | | | | \| | | | | | | _ < | | | | \ / | | | | | | | . ` | | `--' | | |_) | | `----.| | \ / | | | `--' | | |\ | \______/ |______/ |_______||__| \__/ |__| \______/ |__| \__| ========================================================================== I: ### # # # ##### ##### #### ##### # # #### ##### # #### # # # ## # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # ## # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # ##### # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # ## # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # ## ### # # # # # #### ##### #### #### # # #### # # ========================================================================== This is a FAQ about the books of the Elder Scrolls IV Oblivion and it's various offical mods including the Knights of the Nine, where to find them, and the text that is in them. ================================================= II: ____ __ ____ __ ____ _____ ____ (_ _) /__\ ( _ \( ) ( ___) ( _ )( ___) )( /(__)\ ) _ < )(__ )__) )(_)( )__) (__)(__)(__)(____/(____)(____) (_____)(__) ___ _____ _ _ ____ ____ _ _ ____ ___ / __)( _ )( \( )(_ _)( ___)( \( )(_ _)/ __) ( (__ )(_)( ) ( )( )__) ) ( )( \__ \ \___)(_____)(_)\_) (__) (____)(_)\_) (__) (___/ =================================================== I. Introduction II. Table of Contents III. Contacting Me IV. Version History V. Book FAQ V.1 Skill Books V.2 The Books VI. Credits VII. Legal Stuff VIII. The End ======================================================================== III: :'######:::'#######::'##::: ##:'########::::'###:::::'######::'########: '##... ##:'##.... ##: ###:: ##:... ##..::::'## ##:::'##... ##:... ##..:: ##:::..:: ##:::: ##: ####: ##:::: ##:::::'##:. ##:: ##:::..::::: ##:::: ##::::::: ##:::: ##: ## ## ##:::: ##::::'##:::. ##: ##:::::::::: ##:::: ##::::::: ##:::: ##: ##. ####:::: ##:::: #########: ##:::::::::: ##:::: ##::: ##: ##:::: ##: ##:. ###:::: ##:::: ##.... ##: ##::: ##:::: ##:::: . ######::. #######:: ##::. ##:::: ##:::: ##:::: ##:. ######::::: ##:::: :......::::.......:::..::::..:::::..:::::..:::::..:::......::::::..::::: '####:'##::: ##:'########::'#######:: . ##:: ###:: ##: ##.....::'##.... ##: : ##:: ####: ##: ##::::::: ##:::: ##: : ##:: ## ## ##: ######::: ##:::: ##: : ##:: ##. ####: ##...:::: ##:::: ##: : ##:: ##:. ###: ##::::::: ##:::: ##: '####: ##::. ##: ##:::::::. #######:: ....::..::::..::..:::::::::.......::: ========================================================================= You may contact me at theshadowdragon777@yahoo.com but only for the following things. *Errors in my guide *Spelling Mistakes *Suggestions *Praise *Contributions *Constructive Criticism *Asking if you can use this FAQ on your site Things you should not email to me: *SPAM *Things that have nothing to do with Oblivion *Hate Mail/Flames *etc... ================================================= IV: ____ ____ .__ \ \ / /___________ _____|__| ____ ____ \ Y // __ \_ __ \/ ___/ |/ _ \ / \ \ /\ ___/| | \/\___ \| ( <_> ) | \ \___/ \___ >__| /____ >__|\____/|___| / \/ \/ \/ ___ ___ .__ __ / | \|__| _______/ |_ ___________ ___.__. / ~ \ |/ ___/\ __\/ _ \_ __ < | | \ Y / |\___ \ | | ( <_> ) | \/\___ | \___|_ /|__/____ > |__| \____/|__| / ____| \/ \/ \/ ==================================================== Version Number: 0.1 Date Added: 07/04/07 What's New: Started Version Number: 1.0 Date: 11/15/07 What's New: Finally got over lots of lazyness and finished it, Everything is new. =========================================================================== V: _______ _ ____ _ ______ ____ |__ __| | | _ \ | | | ____/\ / __ \ | | | |__ ___ | |_) | ___ ___ | | __ | |__ / \ | | | | | | | '_ \ / _ \ | _ < / _ \ / _ \| |/ / | __/ /\ \| | | | | | | | | | __/ | |_) | (_) | (_) | < | | / ____ \ |__| | |_| |_| |_|\___| |____/ \___/ \___/|_|\_\ |_|/_/ \_\___\_\ =========================================================================== As in previous Elder Scrolls games, Oblivion is full of books. In this FAQ I will list each one, where to find most of them, and even have what is said within them. Many of the nonmagic books are found all over Oblivion and there is not really a specific spot to look for them so if there is a book without a location usually that means it is one of these. If there is a specific location for a book and I don't have in this FAQ feel free to Email me and I may add it into the FAQ and give you credit for finding it. Table of Contents ACROBATIC BOOKS LOLZ01 - The Black Arrow, v1 LOLZ02 - A Dance in Fire, v1 LOLZ03 - A Dance in Fire, v4 LOLZ04 - Mystery of Talara, v1 LOLZ05 - Thief ALCHEMY BOOKS LOLZ06 - Calcinator Treatise LOLZ07 - De Rerum Dirennis LOLZ08 - A Game at Dinner LOLZ09 - Mannimarco, King of Worms LOLZ10 - Song of the Alchemists ALTERATION BOOKS LOLZ11 - Daughter of the Niben LOLZ12 - The Dragon Break LOLZ13 - The Lunar Lorkhan LOLZ14 - Reality & Other Falsehoods LOLZ15 - Sithis ARMORER BOOKS LOLZ16 - The Armorer's Challenge LOLZ17 - Cherim's Heart of Anequina LOLZ18 - Heavy Armor Repair LOLZ19 - Last Scabbard of Akrash LOLZ20 - Light Armor Repair ATHLETICS BOOKS LOLZ21 - The Argonian Account, Book 1 LOLZ22 - Beggar LOLZ23 - A Dance in Fire, v3 LOLZ24 - The Ransom of Zarek LOLZ25 - The Red Kitchen Reader BLADE BOOKS LOLZ26 - 2920, Morning Star (V1) LOLZ27 - Battle of Sancre Tor LOLZ28 - Fire and Darkness LOLZ29 - Song of Hrormir LOLZ30 - Words and Philosophy BLOCK BOOKS LOLZ31 - A Dance in Fire, V2 LOLZ32 - Death Blow of Abernaint LOLZ33 - The Mirror LOLZ34 - The Warp in the West LOLZ35 - Warrior BLUNT BOOKS LOLZ36 - The Importance of Where LOLZ37 - King LOLZ38 - The Legendary Sancre Tor LOLZ39 - Mace Etiquette LOLZ40 - Night Falls on Sentinal CONJURATION BOOKS LOLZ41 - 2920, Frostfall (v10) LOLZ42 - 2920, Hearth Fire (V9) LOLZ43 - The Doors of Oblivion LOLZ44 - Liminal Bridges LOLZ45 - Mythic Dawn Commentaries 1 LOLZ46 - The Warrior's Charge DESTRUCTION BOOKS LOLZ47 - The Art of War Magic LOLZ48 - The Horrors of Castle Xyr LOLZ49 - A Hypothetical Treachery LOLZ50 - Mystery of Talara, v3 LOLZ51 - Mythic Dawn Commentaries 2 LOLZ52 - Response to Bero's Speech HAND TO HAND BOOKS LOLZ53 - Ahzirr Traajijazeri LOLZ54 - Immortal Blood LOLZ55 - Master Zoaraym's Tale LOLZ56 - Way of the Exposed Palm LOLZ57 - The Wolf Queen, V2 HEAVY ARMOR BOOKS LOLZ58 - 2920, MidYear (V6) LOLZ59 - Chimarvamidium LOLZ60 - Fighters Guild History, 1st Edition/History of the Fighers Guild LOLZ61 - Hallgerd's Tale LOLZ62 - How Orsinium Passed to Orcs ILLUSION BOOKS LOLZ63 - The Argonian Account, Book 3 LOLZ64 - Incident in Necrom LOLZ65 - Mystery of Talara, v4 LOLZ66 - Mythic Dawn Commentaries 3 LOLZ67 - Palla, Volume 1 LOLZ68 - The Wolf Queen, v3 LIGHT ARMOR BOOKS LOLZ69 - Ice and Chitin LOLZ70 - Lord Jornibret's Last Dance LOLZ71 - The Rear Guard LOLZ72 - The Refugees LOLZ73 - Rislav The Righteous MARKSMAN BOOKS LOLZ74 - A Dance in Fire, v5 LOLZ75 - The Black Arrow, v2 LOLZ76 - Father of the Niben LOLZ77 - The Gold Ribbon of Merit LOLZ78 - Vernaccus and Bourlor MERCANTILE BOOKS LOLZ79 - 2920, Sun's Height (v7) LOLZ80 - The Buying Game LOLZ81 - A Dance in Fire, v6 LOLZ82 - A Dance in Fire, v7 LOLZ83 - Wolf Queen, v4 MYSTICISM BOOKS LOLZ84 - 2920, Sun's Dawn (v2) LOLZ85 - Before the Ages of Man LOLZ86 - The Black Arts On Trial LOLZ87 - The Firsthold Revolt LOLZ88 - Mythic Dawn Commentaries 4 LOLZ89 - Souls, Black and White RESTORATION BOOKS LOLZ90 - 2920, Rain's Hand (v4) LOLZ91 - The Exodus LOLZ92 - Mystery of Talara, v2 LOLZ93 - Notes on Racial Phylogeny LOLZ94 - Withershins SECURITY BOOKS LOLZ95 - Advances in Lock Picking LOLZ96 - The Locked Room LOLZ97 - Proper Lock Design LOLZ98 - Surfeit of Thieves LOLZ99 - The Wolf Queen, v1 SNEAK BOOKS LOLZ100 - 2920, Last Seed (v8) LOLZ101 - Legend of Krately House LOLZ102 - Purloined Shadows LOLZ103 - Sacred Witness LOLZ104 - The Wolf Queen, v6 SPEECHCRAFT BOOKS LOLZ105 - 2920, Second Seed (v5) LOLZ106 - Biography of the Wolf Queen LOLZ107 - The Wolf Queen, v5 LOLZ108 - The Wolf Queen, v7 MARKER BOOKS LOLZ109 - Agnar's Journal LOLZ110 - Cleansing of the Fane LOLZ111 - Knightfall LOLZ112 - Modern Heretics NON-MAGICAL BOOKS LOLZ113 - 2920, First Seed (v3) LOLZ114 - 2920, Sun's Dusk (v11) LOLZ115 - 2920, Evening Star (v12) LOLZ116 - Aevar Stone-Singer LOLZ117 - Amantius Allectus' Diary LOLZ118 - The Amulet of Kings LOLZ119 - Ancotar's Journal LOLZ120 - Arcana Restored LOLZ121 - The Argonian Account, Book 2 LOLZ122 - The Argonian Account, Book 4 LOLZ123 - Ayleid Reference Text LOLZ124 - Azura and the Box LOLZ125 - Beggar Prince LOLZ126 - Bible of the Deep Ones LOLZ127 - Biography of Barenziah, v 1 LOLZ128 - Biography of Barenziah, v 2 LOLZ129 - Biography of Barenziah, v 3 LOLZ130 - A Bloody Journal LOLZ131 - The Book of Daedra LOLZ132 - Brenus Astis' Journal LOLZ133 - Brief History of the Empire v 1 LOLZ134 - Brief History of the Empire v 2 LOLZ135 - Brief History of the Empire v 3 LOLZ136 - Brief History of the Empire v 4 LOLZ137 - The Brothers of Darkness LOLZ138 - Children of the Sky LOLZ139 - A Children's Anuad LOLZ140 - Dar-Ma's Diary LOLZ141 - Darkest Darkness LOLZ142 - Diary of Springheel Jak LOLZ143 - Drothan's Field Journal (Mehrunes Razor) LOLZ144 - Drothan's Journal (Mehrunes Razor) LOLZ145 - Dwemer History and Culture LOLZ146 - Earana's Notes LOLZ147 - The Eastern Provinces LOLZ148 - Fall of the Snow Prince LOLZ149 - Feyfolken I LOLZ150 - Feyfolken II LOLZ151 - Feyfolken III LOLZ152 - The Firmament LOLZ153 - Five Songs of King Wulfharth LOLZ154 - The Five Tenets LOLZ155 - Followers of the Gray Fox LOLZ156 - Fragment: On Artaeum LOLZ157 - Frontier, Conquest LOLZ158 - Frostcrag Spire Memoirs (Wizard's Tower) LOLZ159 - Fundaments of Alchemy LOZL160 - Galerion the Mystic LOLZ161 - Gelebourne's Journal LOLZ162 - Glories and Laments LOLZ163 - Gods and Worship LOLZ164 - Greywyn's Journal (Vile Lair) LOLZ165 - Guide to Anvil LOLZ166 - Guide to Bravil LOLZ167 - Guide to Cheydinhal LOLZ168 - Guide to Chorrol LOLZ169 - Guide to the Imperial City LOLZ170 - Guide to Leyawiin LOLZ171 - Guide to Skingrad LOLZ172 - Hanging Gardens LOLZ173 - Hiding With the Shadow LOLZ174 - History of Lock Picking LOLZ175 - Imbel Genealogy LOLZ176 - Journal of the Lord Lovidicus LOLZ177 - The Knights of the Nine LOLZ178 - The Last King of the Ayleids LOLZ179 - The Legendary Scourge LOLZ180 - A Less Rude Song LOLZ181 - A Life of Uriel Septim VII LOLZ182 - Lithnilian's Research Notes LOLZ183 - Log of the Emma May LOLZ184 - The Lusty Argonian Maid LOLZ185 - Macabre Manifest LOLZ186 - The Madness of Pelagius LOLZ187 - Mages Guild Charter LOLZ188 - Magic from the Sky LOLZ189 - Manifesto Cyrodiil Vampyrum (Vile Lair) LOLZ190 - Manual of Armor LOLZ191 - Manual of Arms LOLZ192 - Manual of Spellcraft LOLZ193 - Mixed Unit Tactics LOLZ194 - More than Mortal LOLZ195 - Mysterious Akavir LOLZ196 - Mystery of Talara, v 5 LOLZ197 - Mysticism LOLZ198 - Myth or Menace? LOLZ199 - Necromancer's Moon LOLZ200 - N'Gasta! Kvata! Kvakis! LOLZ201 - The Old Ways LOLZ202 - On Morrowind LOLZ203 - On Oblivion LOLZ204 - Opusculus Lamae Bal ta Mezzamortie (Vile Lair) LOLZ205 - Origin of the Mages Guild LOLZ207 - Palla, Volume 2 LOLZ208 - The Path of Transcendence LOLZ209 - Pension of the Ancestor Moth LOLZ210 - The Pig Children LOLZ211 - The Posting of the Hunt LOLZ212 - Provinces of Tamriel LOLZ213 - The Real Barenziah, v 1 LOLZ214 - The Real Barenziah, v 2 LOLZ215 - The Real Barenziah, v 3 LOLZ216 - The Real Barenziah, v 4 LOLZ217 - The Real Barenziah, v 5 LOLZ218 - The Red Book of Riddles LOLZ219 - Remanada LOLZ220 - Report: Disaster at Ionith LOLZ221 - Ruins of Kemel-Ze LOLZ222 - Rolard Nordssen LOLZ223 - The Seed LOLZ224 - Shezarr and the Divines (Knights of the Nine) LOLZ225 - Sir Amiel's Journal (Knights of the Nine) LOLZ226 - The Song of Pelinal, v1 (Knights of the Nine) LOLZ227 - The Song of Pelinal, v2 (Knights of the Nine) LOLZ228 - The Song of Pelinal, v3 (Knights of the Nine) LOLZ229 - The Song of Pelinal, v4 (Knights of the Nine) LOLZ230 - The Song of Pelinal, v5 (Knights of the Nine) LOLZ231 - The Song of Pelinal, v6 (Knights of the Nine) LOLZ232 - The Song of Pelinal, v7 (Knights of the Nine) LOLZ233 - The Song of Pelinal, v8 (Knights of the Nine) LOLZ234 - Spirit of the Daedra LOLZ235 - Ten Commands: Nine Divines LOLZ236 - Thief of Virtue LOLZ237 - The Third Door LOLZ238 - Tome of Unlife LOLZ239 - Traitor's Diary LOLZ240 - Treatise on Ayleidic Cities (Mehrunes Razor) LOLZ241 - Trials of St. Alessia LOLZ242 - The True Nature of Orcs LOLZ243 - Varieties of Daedra LOLZ244 - The Waters of Oblivion LOLZ245 - The Wild Elves LOLZ246 - The Wolf Queen, v8 LOLZ240A - Lord Kelvyn's Will LOLZ240B - Lord Jaren's Journal BLACK HORSE COURIOR (NORMAL) (Normal Black Horse Papers can be found at any time in many different locations ranging from people's houses to guild halls. You can also get them from couriors.) LOLZ247 - Assassination! LOLZ248 - Gray Fox, Man or Myth? LOLZ249 - Gray Fox Unmasked! LOLZ250 - New 'Doomstones' Series! LOLZ251 - A New Guild for Fighters? LOLZ252 - Night Mother Rituals! BLACK HORSE COURIOR (TRIGGERED) (Triggered Black Horse papers are ones that will appear after a certain task is done such as the compeletion of a certain quest) LOLZ253 - Adamus Phillida Slain! LOLZ254 - Anvil Tarts Thwarted! LOLZ255 - Cheydinhal Heir Saved! LOLZ256 - Greatest Painter Safe! LOLZ257 - New Watch Captain Named LOLZ258 - Palace Break-In? LOLZ259 - Pale Pass Discovery! LOLZ260 - Poor Burdened by Taxes! LOLZ261 - Pranks Spoils Society Gathering! LOLZ262 - Rain of Burning Dogs! LOLZ263 - Tragic Accident! Baenlin Dead! LOLZ264 - Vampire Nest in the City! LOLZ265 - Waterfront Raid Fails! NOTES (Will be added shortly) -BOOKS BY SERIES- ~2920, THE LAST YEAR OF THE FIRST ERA~ -Morning Star (LOLZ26) -Sun's Dawn (LOLZ84) -First Seed (LOLZ113) -Rain's Hand (LOLZ90) -Second Seed (LOLZ105) -MidYear (LOLZ58) -Sun's Height (LOLZ79) -Last Seed (LOLZ100) -Hearth Fire (LOLZ42) -Frostfall (LOLZ41) -Sun's Desk (LOLZ114) -Evening Star (LOLZ115) ~A DANCE IN FIRE~ -Volume 1 (LOLZ02) -Volume 2 (LOLZ31) -Volume 3 (LOLZ23) -Volume 4 (LOLZ03) -Volume 5 (LOLZ74) -Volume 6 (LOLZ81) -Volume 7 (LOLZ82) ~~ANCIENT TALES OF THE DWEMER~~ Book II: The Seed (LOLZ223) Book III: The Importance of Where (LOLZ36) Book V: Song of the Alchemists (LOLZ10) BooK VI: Chimarvamidium (LOLZ59) Book X: More than Mortal (LOLZ194) Book XI: Azura and the Box (LOLZ124) ~THE ARGONIAN ACCOUNT~ -Book 1 (LOLZ21) -Book 2 (LOLZ121) -Book 3 (LOLZ63) -Book 4 (LOLZ122) ~THE BLACK ARROW~ -Volume 1 (LOLZ01) -Volume 2 (LOLZ75) ~~MYSTERY OF TALARA~ -Volume 1 (LOLZ04) -Volume 2 (LOLZ92) -Volume 3 (LOLZ50) -Volume 4 (LOLZ65) -Volume 5 (LOLZ196) ~~MYTHIC DAWN COMMENTARIES~~ -Book 1 (LOLZ45) -Book 2 (LOLZ51) -Book 3 (LOLZ66) -Book 4 (LOLZ88) ~~PALLA~~ -Book 1 (LOLZ67) -Book 2 (LOLZ207) ~~STORY OF ESLAF EROL~~ -Beggar (LOLZ22) -Thief (LOLZ04) -Warrior (LOLZ35) -King (LOLZ37) ~~THE WOLF QUEEN~~ -Volume 1 (LOLZ99) -Volume 2 (LOLZ57) -Volume 3 (LOLZ68) -Volume 4 (LOLZ83) -Volume 5 (LOLZ107) -Volume 6 (LOLZ104) -Volume 7 (LOLZ108) -Volume 8 (LOLZ246) Template: (Search Code: Enter this code using Control F while using the table of contents above to quickly find what you need or want. Book Name: The Title of the Book Character that "wrote it": It's ingame author ID: The PC plays of this game can use this ID to create a copy of the book whereever they are. For ID's that start with xx that means they are books that come from one of the official mods and the xx will stand for what number the mod is. If it is the first mod you installed the xx will be 01 and so on until the 9th mod which is 09. After that it gets a little tricky as with the 10th mod the xx becomes 1A. Where It can be Found: Where you can find the book. It's Text: The text of the book so you can read it at your computer instead of while playing the game. ======ACROBATICS BOOKS====== (Search Code: LOLZ01) ~~The Black Arrow, v1~~ Gorgic Guine Item ID: 000243CD The Black Arrow, v1 is found inside of a chest in Torbal the Sufficient's House in the village of Brindle Home ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- I was young when the Duchess of Woda hired me as an assistant footman at her summer palace. My experience with the ways of the titled aristocracy was very limited before that day. There were wealthy merchants, traders, diplomats, and officials who had large operations in Eldenroot, and ostentatious palaces for entertaining, but my relatives were all far from those social circles. There was no family business for me to enter when I reached adulthood, but my cousin heard that an estate far from the city required servants. It was so remotely located that there were unlikely to be many applicants for the positions. I walked for five days into the jungles of Valenwood before I met a group of riders going my direction. They were three Bosmer men, one Bosmer woman, two Breton women, and a Dunmer man, adventurers from the look of them. “Are you also going to Moliva?” asked Prolyssa, one of the Breton women, after we had made our introductions. “I don't know what that is,” I replied. “I'm seeking a domestic position with the Duchess of Woda.” “We'll take you to her gate,” said the Dunmer Missun Akin, pulling me up to his horse. “But you would be wise not to tell Her Grace that students from Moliva escorted you. Not unless you don't really want the position in her service.” Akin explained himself as we rode on. Moliva was the closest village to the Duchess's estate, where a great and renowned archer had retired after a long life of military service. His name was Hiomaste, and though he was retired, he had begun to accept students who wished to learn the art of the bow. In time, when word spread of the great teacher, more and more students arrived to learn from the Master. The Breton women had come down all the way from the Western Reach of High Rock. Akin himself had journeyed across the continent from his home near the great volcano in Morrowind. He showed me the ebony arrows he had brought from his homeland. I had never seen anything so black. “From what we've heard,” said Kopale, one of the Bosmer men. “The Duchess is an Imperial whose family has been here even before the Empire was formed, so you might think that she was accustomed to the common people of Valenwood. Nothing could be further from the truth. She despises the village, and the school most of all.” “I suppose she wants to control all the traffic in her jungle,” laughed Prolyssa. I accepted the information with gratitude, and found myself dreading more and more my first meeting with the intolerant Duchess. My first sight of the palace through the trees did nothing to assuage my fears. It was nothing like any building I had ever seen in Valenwood. A vast edifice of stone and iron, with a jagged row of battlements like the jaws of a great beast. Most of the trees near the palace had been hewn away long ago: I could only imagine the scandal that must have caused, and what fear the Bosmer peasants must have had of the Duchy of Woda to have allowed it. In their stead was a wide gray-green moat circling in a ring around the palace, so it seemed to be on a perfect if artificial island. I had seen such sights in tapestries from High Rock and the Imperial Province, but never in my homeland. “There'll be a guard at the gate, so we'll leave you here,” said Akin, stopping his horse in the road. “It'd be best for you if you weren't damned by association with us.” I thanked my companions, and wished them good luck with their schooling. They rode on and I followed on foot. In a few minutes' time, I was at the front gate, which I noticed was linked to tall and ornate railings to keep the compound secure. When the gate-keeper understood that I was there to inquire about a domestic position, he allowed me past and signaled to another guard across the open lawn to extend the drawbridge and allow me to cross the moat. There was one last security measure: the front door. An iron monstrosity with the Woda Coat of Arms across the top, reinforced by more strips of iron, and a single golden keyhole. The man standing guard unlocked the door and gave me passage into the huge gloomy gray stone palace. Her Grace greeted me in her drawing room. She was thin and wrinkled like a reptile, cloaked in a simple red gown. It was obviously that she never smiled. Our interview consisted of a single question. “Do you know anything about being a junior footman in the employment of an Imperial noblewoman?” Her voice was like ancient leather. “No, Your Grace.” “Good. No servant ever understands what needs to be done, and I particularly dislike those who think they do. You're engaged.” Life at the palace was joyless, but the position of junior footman was very undemanding. I had nothing to do on most days except to stay out of the Duchess's sight. At such times, I usually walked two miles down the road to Moliva. In some ways, there was nothing special or unusual about the village - there are thousands of identical places in Valenwood. But on the hillside nearby was Master Hiomaste's archery academy, and I would often take my luncheon and watch the practice. Prolyssa and Akin would sometimes meet me afterwards. With Akin, the subjects of conversation very seldom strayed far from archery. Though I was very fond of him, I found Prolyssa a more enchanting companion, not only because she was pretty for a Breton, but also because she seemed to have interests outside the realm of marksmanship. “There's a circus in High Rock I saw when I was a little girl called the Quill Circus,” she said during one of our walks through the woods. “They've been around for as long as anyone can remember. You have to see them if you ever can. They have plays, and sideshows, and the most amazing acrobats and archers you've ever seen. That's my dream, to join them some day when I'm good enough.” “How will you know when you're a good enough archer?” I asked. She didn't answer, and when I turned, I realized that she had disappeared. I looked around, bewildered, until I heard laughter from the tree above me. She was perched on a branch, grinning. “I may not join as an archer, maybe I'll join as an acrobat,” she said. “Or maybe as both. I figured that Valenwood would be the place to go to see what I could learn. You've got all those great teachers to imitate in the trees here. Those ape men.” She coiled up, bracing her left leg before springing forward on her right. In a second, she had leapt across to a neighboring branch. I found it difficult to keep talking to her. “The Imga, you mean?” I stammered. “Aren't you nervous up at that height?” “It's a cliche, I know,” she said, jumping to an even higher branch, “But the secret is not to ever look down.” “Would you mind coming down?” “I probably should anyhow,” she said. She was a good thirty feet up now, balancing herself, arms outstretched, on a very narrow branch. She gestured toward the gate just barely visible on the other side of the road. “This tree is actually as close as I want to get to your Duchess's palace.” I held back a gasp as she dove off the branch, somersaulting until she landed on the ground, knees slightly bent. That was the trick, she explained. Anticipating the blow before it happened. I expressed to her my confidence that she would be a great attraction at the Quill Circus. Of course, I know now that never was to be. On that day, as I recall, I had to return early. It was one of the rare occasions when I had work, of a sort, to do. Whenever the Duchess had guests, I was to be at the palace. That is not to say that I had any particular duties, except to be seen standing at attention in the dining room. The stewards and maids worked hard to bring in the food and clear the plates afterwards, but the footmen were purely decorative, a formality. But at least I was an audience for the drama to come. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- (Search Code: LOLZ02) ~~A Dance in Fire, v1~~ Waughin Jarth Item ID: 000243CB A Dance in Fire, v1 is found on a table in the upstairs of Ganredhel's House in Cheydinhal ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Chapter 1 Scene: The Imperial City, Cyrodiil Date: 7 Frost Fall, 3E 397 It seemed as if the palace had always housed the Atrius Building Commission, the company of clerks and estate agents who authored and notarized nearly every construction of any note in the Empire. It had stood for two hundred and fifty years, since the reign of the Emperor Magnus, a plain-fronted and austere hall on a minor but respectable plaza in the Imperial City. Energetic and ambitious middle-class lads and ladies worked there, as well as complacent middle-aged ones like Decumus Scotti. No one could imagine a world without the Commission, least of all Scotti. To be accurate, he could not imagine a world without himself in the Commission. “Lord Atrius is perfectly aware of your contributions,” said the managing clerk, closing the shutter that demarcated Scotti's office behind him. “But you know that things have been difficult.” “Yes,” said Scotti, stiffly. “Lord Vanech's men have been giving us a lot of competition lately, and we must be more efficient if we are to survive. Unfortunately, that means releasing some of our historically best but presently underachieving senior clerks.” “I understand. Can't be helped.” “I'm glad that you understand,” smiled the managing clerk, smiling thinly and withdrawing. “Please have your room cleared immediately.” Scotti began the task of organizing all his work to pass on to his successor. It would probably be young Imbrallius who would take most of it on, which was as it should be, he considered philosophically. The lad knew how to find business. Scotti wondered idly what the fellow would do with the contracts for the new statue of St Alessia for which the Temple of the One had applied. Probably invent a clerical error, blame it on his old predecessor Decumus Scotti, and require an additional cost to rectify. “I have correspondence for Decumus Scotti of the Atrius Building Commission.” Scotti looked up. A fat-faced courier had entered his office and was thrusting forth a sealed scroll. He handed the boy a gold piece, and opened it up. By the poor penmanship, atrocious spelling and grammar, and overall unprofessional tone, it was manifestly evident who the writer was. Liodes Jurus, a fellow clerk some years before, who had left the Commission after being accused of unethical business practices. “Dear Sckotti, I emagine you alway wondered what happened to me, and the last plase you would have expected to find me is out in the woods. But thats exactly where I am. Ha ha. If your'e smart and want to make lot of extra gold for Lord Atrius (and yourself, ha ha), youll come down to Vallinwood too. If you have'nt or have been following the politics hear lately, you may or may not know that ther's bin a war between the Boshmer and there neighbors Elswere over the past two years. Things have only just calm down, and ther's a lot that needs to be rebuilt. Now Ive got more business than I can handel, but I need somone with some clout, someone representing a respected agencie to get the quill in the ink. That somone is you, my fiend. Come & meat me at the M'ther Paskos Tavern in Falinnesti, Vallinwood. Ill be here 2 weeks and you wont be sorrie. -- Jurus P.S.: Bring a wagenload of timber if you can.” “What do you have there, Scotti?” asked a voice. Scotti started. It was Imbrallius, his damnably handsome face peeking through the shutters, smiling in that way that melted the hearts of the stingiest of patrons and the roughest of stonemasons. Scotti shoved the letter in his jacket pocket. “Personal correspondence,” he sniffed. “I'll be cleared up here in a just a moment.” “I don't want to hurry you,” said Imbrallius, grabbing a few sheets of blank contracts from Scotti's desk. “I've just gone through a stack, and the junior scribes hands are all cramping up, so I thought you wouldn't miss a few.” The lad vanished. Scotti retrieved the letter and read it again. He thought about his life, something he rarely did. It seemed a sea of gray with a black insurmountable wall looming. There was only one narrow passage he could see in that wall. Quickly, before he had a moment to reconsider it, he grabbed a dozen of the blank contracts with the shimmering gold leaf ATRIUS BUILDING COMMISSION BY APPOINTMENT OF HIS IMPERIAL MAJESTY and hid them in the satchel with his personal effects. The next day he began his adventure with a giddy lack of hesitation. He arranged for a seat in a caravan bound for Valenwood, the single escorted conveyance to the southeast leaving the Imperial City that week. He had scarcely hours to pack, but he remembered to purchase a wagonload of timber. “It will be extra gold to pay for a horse to pull that,” frowned the convoy head. “So I anticipated,” smiled Scotti with his best Imbrallius grin. Ten wagons in all set off that afternoon through the familiar Cyrodilic countryside. Past fields of wildflowers, gently rolling woodlands, friendly hamlets. The clop of the horses' hooves against the sound stone road reminded Scotti that the Atrius Building Commission constructed it. Five of the eighteen necessary contracts for its completion were drafted by his own hand. “Very smart of you to bring that wood along,” said a gray-whiskered Breton man next to him on his wagon. “You must be in Commerce.” “Of a sort,” said Scotti, in a way he hoped was mysterious, before introducing himself: “Decumus Scotti.” “Gryf Mallon,” said the man. “I'm a poet, actually a translator of old Bosmer literature. I was researching some newly discovered tracts of the Mnoriad Pley Bar two years ago when the war broke out and I had to leave. You are no doubt familiar with the Mnoriad, if you're aware of the Green Pact.” Scotti thought the man might be speaking perfect gibberish, but he nodded his head. “Naturally, I don't pretend that the Mnoriad is as renowned as the Meh Ayleidion, or as ancient as the Dansir Gol, but I think it has a remarkable significance to understanding the nature of the merelithic Bosmer mind. The origin of the Wood Elf aversion to cutting their own wood or eating any plant material at all, yet paradoxically their willingness to import plantstuff from other cultures, I feel can be linked to a passage in the Mnoriad,” Mallon shuffled through some of his papers, searching for the appropriate text. To Scotti's vast relief, the carriage soon stopped to camp for the night. They were high on a bluff over a gray stream, and before them was the great valley of Valenwood. Only the cry of seabirds declared the presence of the ocean to the bay to the west: here the timber was so tall and wide, twisting around itself like an impossible knot begun eons ago, to be impenetrable. A few more modest trees, only fifty feet to the lowest branches, stood on the cliff at the edge of camp. The sight was so alien to Scotti and he found himself so anxious about the proposition of entering the wilderness that he could not imagine sleeping. Fortunately, Mallon had supposed he had found another academic with a passion for the riddles of ancient cultures. Long into the night, he recited Bosmer verse in the original and in his own translation, sobbing and bellowing and whispering wherever appropriate. Gradually, Scotti began to feel drowsy, but a sudden crack of wood snapping made him sit straight up. “What was that?” Mallon smiled: “I like it too. 'Convocation in the malignity of the moonless speculum, a dance of fire --'” “There are some enormous birds up in the trees moving around,” whispered Scotti, pointing in the direction of the dark shapes above. “I wouldn't worry about that,” said Mallon, irritated with his audience. “Now listen to how the poet characterizes Herma-Mora's invocation in the eighteenth stanza of the fourth book.” The dark shapes in the trees were some of them perched like birds, others slithered like snakes, and still others stood up straight like men. As Mallon recited his verse, Scotti watched the figures softly leap from branch to branch, half-gliding across impossible distances for anything without wings. They gathered in groups and then reorganized until they had spread to every tree around the camp. Suddenly they plummeted from the heights. “Mara!” cried Scotti. “They're falling like rain!” “Probably seed pods,” Mallon shrugged, not turning around. “Some of the trees have remarkable --” The camp erupted into chaos. Fires burst out in the wagons, the horses wailed from mortal blows, casks of wine, fresh water, and liquor gushed their contents to the ground. A nimble shadow dashed past Scotti and Mallon, gathering sacks of grain and gold with impossible agility and grace. Scotti had only one glance at it, lit up by a sudden nearby burst of flame. It was a sleek creature with pointed ears, wide yellow eyes, mottled pied fur and a tail like a whip. “Werewolf,” he whimpered, shrinking back. “Cathay-raht,” groaned Mallon. “Much worse. Khajiti cousins or some such thing, come to plunder.” “Are you sure?” As quickly as they struck, the creatures retreated, diving off the bluff before the battlemage and knight, the caravan's escorts, had fully opened their eyes. Mallon and Scotti ran to the precipice and saw a hundred feet below the tiny figures dash out of the water, shake themselves, and disappear into the wood. “Werewolves aren't acrobats like that,” said Mallon. “They were definitely Cathay-raht. Bastard thieves. Thank Stendarr they didn't realize the value of my notebooks. It wasn't a complete loss.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- (Search Code: LOLZ03) ~~A Dance in Fire, v4~~ Waughin Jarth Item ID: 000243CC A Dance in Fire, v4 is found on a table in the Great Hall of Kvatch castle after the Battle of Kvatch has taken place. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Chapter 4 Eighteen Bosmeri and one Cyrodilic former senior clerk for an Imperial building commission trudged through the jungle westward from the Xylo River to the ancient village of Vindisi. For Decumus Scotti, the jungle was hostile, unfamiliar ground. The enormous vermiculated trees filled the bright morning with darkness, and resembled nothing so much as grasping claws, bent on impeding their progress. Even the fronds of the low plants quivered with malevolent energy. What was worse, he was not alone in his anxiety. His fellow travelers, the natives who had survived the Khajiit attacks on the villages of Grenos and Athay, wore faces of undisguised fear. There was something sentient in the jungle, and not merely the mad but benevolent indigenous spirits. In his peripheral vision, Scotti could see the shadows of the Khajiiti following the refugees, leaping from tree to tree. When he turned to face them, the lithe forms vanished into the gloom as if they had never been there. But he knew he had seen them. And the Bosmeri saw them too, and quickened their pace. After eighteen hours, bitten raw by insects, scratched by a thousand thorns, they emerged into a valley clearing. It was night, but a row of blazing torches greeted them, illuminating the leather-wrought tents and jumbled stones of the hamlet of Vindisi. At the end of the valley, the torches marked a sacred site, a gnarled bower of trees pressed closed together to form a temple. Wordlessly, the Bosmeri walked the torch arcade toward the trees. Scotti followed them. When they reached the solid mass of living wood with only one gaping portal, Scotti could see a dim blue light glowing within. A low sonorous moan from a hundred voices echoed within. The Bosmeri maiden he had been following held out her hand, stopping him. "You do not understand, but no outsider, not even a friend may enter," she said. "This is a holy place." Scotti nodded, and watched the refugees march into the temple, heads bowed. Their voices joined with the ones within. When the last wood elf had gone inside, Scotti turned his attention back to the village. There must be food to be had somewhere. A tendril of smoke and a faint whiff of roasting venison beyond the torchlight led him. They were five Cyrodiils, two Bretons, and a Nord, the group gathered around a campfire of glowing white stones, pulling steaming strips of meat from the cadaver of a great stag. At Scotti's approach, they rose up, all but the Nord who was distracted by his hunk of animal flesh. "Good evening, sorry to interrupt, but I was wondering if I might have a little something to eat. I'm afraid I'm rather hungry, after walking all day with some refugees from Grenos and Athay." They bade him to sit down and eat, and introduced themselves. "So the war's back on, it seems," said Scotti amiably. "Best thing for these effete do-nothings," replied the Nord in between bites. "I've never seen such a lazy culture. Now they've got the Khajiiti striking them on land, and the high elves at sea. If there's any province that deserves a little distress, it's damnable Valenwood." "I don't see how they're so offensive to you," laughed one of the Bretons. "They're congenital thieves, even worse than the Khajiiti because they are so blessed meek in their aggression," the Nord spat out a gob of fat which sizzled on the hot stones of the fire. "They spread their forests into territory that doesn't belong to them, slowly infiltrating their neighbors, and they're puzzled when Elsweyr shoves back at them. They're all villains of the worst order." "What are you doing here?" asked Scotti. "I'm a diplomat from the court of Jehenna," muttered the Nord, returning to his food. "What about you, what are you doing here?" asked one of the Cyrodiils. "I work for Lord Atrius's building commission in the Imperial City," said Scotti. "One of my former colleagues suggested that I come down to Valenwood. He said the war was over, and I could contract a great deal of business for my firm rebuilding what was lost. One disaster after another, and I've lost all my money, I'm in the middle of a rekindling of war, and I cannot find my former colleague." "Your former colleague," murmured another of the Cyrodiils, who had introduced himself as Reglius. "He wasn't by any chance named Liodes Jurus, was he?" "You know him?" "He lured me down to Valenwood in nearly the exact same circumstances," smiled Reglius, grimly. "I worked for your employer's competitor, Lord Vanech's men, where Liodes Jurus also formerly worked. He wrote to me, asking that I represent an Imperial building commission and contract some post-war construction. I had just been released from my employment, and I thought that if I brought some new business, I could have my job back. Jurus and I met in Athay, and he said he was going to arrange a very lucrative meeting with the Silvenar." Scotti was stunned: "Where is he now?" "I'm no theologian, so I couldn't say," Reglius shrugged. "He's dead. When the Khajiiti attacked Athay, they began by torching the harbor where Jurus was readying his boat. Or, I should say, my boat since it was purchased with the gold I brought. By the time we were even aware of what was happening enough to flee, everything by the water was ash. The Khajiiti may be animals, but they know how to arrange an attack." "I think they followed us through the jungle to Vindisi," said Scotti nervously. "There was definitely a group of something jumping along the treetops." "Probably one of the monkey folk," snorted the Nord. "Nothing to be concerned about." "When we first came to Vindisi and the Bosmeri all entered that tree, they were furious, whispering something about unleashing an ancient terror on their enemies," the Breton shivered, remembering. "They've been there ever since, for over a day and a half now. If you want something to be afraid of, that's the direction to look." The other Breton, who was a representative of the Daggerfall Mages Guild, was staring off into the darkness while his fellow provincial spoke. "Maybe. But there's something in the jungle too, right on the edge of the village, looking in." "More refugees maybe?" asked Scotti, trying to keep the alarm out his voice. "Not unless they're traveling through the trees now," whispered the wizard. The Nord and one of the Cyrodiils grabbed a long tarp of wet leather and pulled it across the fire, instantly extinguishing it without so much as a sizzle. Now Scotti could see the intruders, their elliptical yellow eyes and long cruel blades catching the torchlight. He froze with fear, praying that he too was not so visible to them. He felt something bump against his back, and gasped. Reglius's voice hissed from up above: "Be quiet for Mara's sake and climb up here." Scotti grabbed hold of the knotted double-vine that hung down from a tall tree at the edge of the dead campfire. He scrambled up it as quickly as he could, holding his breath lest any grunt of exertion escape him. At the top of the vine, high above the village, was an abandoned nest from some great bird in a trident-shaped branch. As soon as Scotti had pulled himself into the soft, fragrant straw, Reglius pulled up the vine. No one else was there, and when Scotti looked down, he could see no one below. No one, that is except the Khajiiti, slowly moving toward the glow of the temple tree. "Thank you," whispered Scotti, deeply touched that a competitor had helped him. He turned away from the village, and saw that the tree's upper branches brushed against the mossy rock walls that surrounded the valley below. "How are you at climbing?" "You're mad," said Reglius under his breath. "We should stay here until they leave." "If they burn Vindisi like they did Athay and Grenos, we'll be dead sure as if we were on the ground," Scotti began the slow careful climb up the tree, testing each branch. "Can you see what they're doing?" "I can't really tell," Reglius stared down into the gloom. "They're at the front of the temple. I think they also have ... it looks like long ropes, trailing off behind them, off into the pass." Scotti crawled onto the strongest branch that pointed toward the wet, rocky face of the cliff. It was not a far jump at all. So close, in fact, that he could smell the moisture and feel the coolness of the stone. But it was a jump nevertheless, and in his history as a clerk, he had never before leapt from a tree a hundred feet off the ground to a sheer rock. He pictured in his mind's eye the shadows that had pursued him through the jungle from the heights above. How their legs coiled to spring, how their arms snapped forward in an elegant fluid motion to grasp. He leapt. His hands grappled for rock, but long thick cords of moss were more accessible. He held hard, but when he tried to plant his feet forward, they slipped up skyward. For a few seconds, he found himself upside down before he managed to pull himself into a more conventional position. There was a narrow outcropping jutting out of the cliff where he could stand and finally exhale. "Reglius. Reglius. Reglius," Scotti did not dare to call out. In a minute, there was a shaking of branches, and Lord Vanech's man emerged. First his satchel, then his head, then the rest of him. Scotti started to whisper something, but Reglius shook his head violently and pointed downward. One of the Khajiiti was at the base of the tree, peering at the remains of the campfire. Reglius awkwardly tried to balance himself on the branch, but as strong as it was it was exceedingly difficult with only one free hand. Scotti cupped his palms and then pointed at the satchel. It seemed to pain Reglius to let it out of his grasp, but he relented and tossed it to Scotti. There was a small, almost invisible hole in the bag, and when Scotti caught it, a single gold coin dropped out. It rang as it bounced against the rock wall on the descent, a high soft sound that seemed like the loudest alarm Scotti had ever heard. Then many things happened very quickly. The Cathay-Raht at the base of the tree looked up and gave a loud wail. The other Khajiiti followed in chorus, as the cat below crouched down and then sprung up into the lower branches. Reglius saw it below him, climbing up with impossible dexterity, and panicked. Even before he jumped, Scotti could tell that he was going to fall. With a cry, Reglius the Clerk plunged to the ground, breaking his neck on impact. A flash of white fire erupted from every crevice of the temple, and the moan of the Bosmeri prayer changed into something terrible and otherworldly. The climbing Cathay-Raht stopped and stared. "Keirgo," it gasped. "The Wild Hunt." It was as if a crack in reality had opened wide. A flood of horrific beasts, tentacled toads, insects of armor and spine, gelatinous serpents, vaporous beings with the face of gods, all poured forth from the great hollow tree, blind with fury. They tore the Khajiiti in front of the temple to pieces. All the other cats fled for the jungle, but as they did so, they began pulling on the ropes they carried. In a few seconds time, the entire village of Vindisi was boiling with the lunatic apparitions of the Wild Hunt. Over the babbling, barking, howling horde, Scotti heard the Cyrodiils in hiding cry out as they were devoured. The Nord too was found and eaten, and both Bretons. The wizard had turned himself invisible, but the swarm did not rely on their sight. The tree the Cathay-Raht was in began to sway and rock from the impossible violence beneath it. Scotti looked at the Khajiiti's fear-struck eyes, and held out one of the cords of moss. The cat's face showed its pitiful gratitude as it leapt for the vine. It didn't have time to entirely replace that expression when Scotti pulled back the cord, and watched it fall. The Hunt consumed it to the bone before it struck the ground. Scotti's own jump up to the next outcropping of rock was immeasurably more successful. From there, he pulled himself to the top of the cliff and was able to look down into the chaos that had been the village of Vindisi. The Hunt's mass had grown and began to spill out through the pass out of the valley, pursuing the fleeing Khajiiti. It was then that the madness truly began. In the moons' light, from Scotti's vantage, he could see where the Khajiiti had attached their ropes. With a thunderous boom, an avalanche of boulders poured over the pass. When the dust cleared, he saw that the valley had been sealed. The Wild Hunt had nowhere to turn but on itself. Scotti turned his head, unable to bear to look at the cannibalistic orgy. The night jungle stood before him, a web of wood. He slung Reglius's satchel over his shoulder, and entered. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- (Search Code: LOLZ04) ~~Mystery of Talara, v1~~ Waughin Jarth Item ID: 000243CE Mystery of Talara, v1 is only found as random loot unless you have the Shivering Isles expansion where it can be found on a chest on top of a mountain north of the letter "T" in The Laughing Coast. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- The year was 3E 405. The occasion was the millennial celebration of the founding of the Breton Kingdom of Camlorn. Every grand boulevard and narrow alley was strung with gold and purple banners, some plain, some marked with the heraldic symbols of the Royal Family or the various principalities and dukedoms which were vassals of the King. Musicians played in the plazas great and small, and on every street corner was a new exotic entertainer: Redguard snake charmers, Khajiiti acrobats, magicians of genuine power and those whose flamboyant skill was equally impressive if largely illusion. The sight that drew most of the male citizens of Camlorn was the March of Beauty. A thousand comely young women, brightly and provocatively dressed, danced their way down the long, wide main street of the city, from the Temple of Sethiete to the Royal Palace. The menfolk jostled one another and craned their necks, picking their favorites. It was no secret that they were all prostitutes, and after the March and the Flower Festival that evening, they would be available for more intimate business. Gyna attracted much of the attention with her tall, curvaceous figure barely covered by strips of silk and her curls of flaxen hair specked with flower petals. In her late twenties, she wasn't the youngest of the prostitutes, but she was certainly one of the most desirable. It was clear by her demeanor that she was used to the lascivious glances, though she was far from jaded at the sight of the city in splendor. Compared to the squalid quarter of Daggerfall where she made her home, Camlorn at the height of celebration seemed so unreal. And yet, what was even stranger was how, at the same time, familiar it all looked, though she had never been there before. The King's daughter Lady Jyllia rode out of the palace gates, and immediately cursed her misfortune. She had completely forgotten about the March of Beauty. The streets were snarled, at a standstill. It would take hours to wait for the March to pass, and she had promised her old nurse Ramke a visit in her house south of the city. Jyllia thought for a moment, picturing in her mind the arrangement of streets in the city, and devised a shortcut to avoid the main street and the March. For a few minutes she felt very clever as she wound her way through tight, curving side streets, but presently she came upon temporary structures, tents and theaters set up for the celebration, and had to improvise a new path. In no time at all, she was lost in the city where she had lived all but five years of her life. Peering down an alley, she saw the main avenue crowded with the March of Beauty. Hoping that it was the tale end, and desirous not to be lost again, Lady Jyllia guided her horse toward the festival. She did not see the snake- charmer at the mouth of the alley, and when his pet hissed and spread its hood, her charge reared up in fear. The women in the parade gasped and surged back at the sight, but Lady Jyllia quickly calmed her stallion down. She looked abashed at the spectacle she had caused. "My apologies, ladies," she said with a mock military salute. "It's all right, madam," said a blonde in silk. "We'll be out of your way in a moment." Jyllia stared as the March passed her. Looking at that whore had been like looking in a mirror. The same age, and height, and hair, and eyes, and figure, almost exactly. The woman looked back at her, and it seemed as if she was thinking the same thing. And so Gyna was. The old witches who sometimes came in to Daggerfall had sometimes spoke of doppelgangers, spirits that assumed the guise of their victims and portended certain death. Yet the experience had not frightened her: it seemed only one more strangely familiar aspect of the alien city. Before the March had danced it way into the palace gates, she had all but forgotten the encounter. The prostitutes crushed into the courtyard, as the King himself came to the balcony to greet them. At his side was his chief bodyguard, a battlemage by the look of him. As for the King himself, he was a handsome man of middle age, rather unremarkable, but Gyna was awed at the sight of him. A dream, perhaps. Yes, that was it: she could see him as she had dreamt of him, high above her as he was now, bending now to kiss her. Not a one of lust as she had experienced before, but one of small fondness, a dutiful kiss. "Dear ladies, you have filled the streets of the great capitol of Camlorn with your beauty," cried the King, forcing a silence on the giggling, murmuring assembly. He smiled proudly. His eyes met Gyna's and he stopped, shaken. For an eternity, they stayed locked together before His Highness recovered and continued his speech. Afterwards, while the women were all en route back to their tents to change into their costumes for the evening, one of the older prostitutes approached Gyna: "Did you see how the King looked at you? If you're smart, you'll be the new royal mistress before this celebration ends." "I've seen looks of hunger before, and that wasn't one of them," laughed Gyna. "I'd wager he thought I was someone else, like that lady who tried to run us over with her horse. She's probably his kin, and he thought she had dressed up like a courtesan and joined the March of Beauty. Can you imagine the scandal?" When they arrived at the tents, they were greeted by a stocky, well-dressed young man with a bald pate and a commanding presence of authority. He introduced himself as Lord Strale, ambassador to the Emperor himself, and their chief patron. It was Strale who had hired them, on the Emperor's behalf, as a gift to the King and the kingdom of Camlorn. "The March of Beauty is but a precursor to the Flower Festival tonight," he said. Unlike the King, he did not have to yell to be heard. His voice was loud and precise in its natural modulations. "I expect each of you to perform well, and justify the significant expense I've suffered bringing you all the way up here. Now hurry, you must be dressed and in position on Cavilstyr Rock before the sun goes down." The ambassador needn't have worried. The women were all professionals, experts at getting dressed and undressed with none of the time-consuming measures less promiscuous females required. His manservant Gnorbooth offered his assistance, but found he had little to do. Their costumes were simplicity itself: soft, narrow sheets with a hole for their heads. Not even a belt was required, so the gowns were open at the sides exposing the frame of their skin. So it was long before the sun had set that the prostitutes turned dancers were at Cavilstyr Rock. It was a great, wide promontory facing the sea, and for the occasion of the Festival of Flowers, a large circle of unlit torches and covered baskets had been arranged. As early as they were, a crowd of spectators had already arrived. The women gathered in the center of the circle and waited until it was time. Gyna watched the crowd as it grew, and was not surprised when she saw the lady from the March approaching, hand-in-hand with a very old, very short white-haired woman. The old woman was distracted, pointing out islands out at sea. The blonde lady seemed nervous, unsure of what to say. Gyna was used to dealing with uneasy clients, and spoke first. "Good to see you again, madam. I am Gyna of Daggerfall." "I'm glad you bear me no ill will because of the whores, I mean horse," the lady laughed, somewhat relieved. "I am Lady Jyllia Raze, daughter of the King." "I always thought that daughters of kings were called princess," smiled Gyna. "In Camlorn, only when they are heirs to the throne. I have a younger brother from my father's new wife whom he favors," Jyllia replied. She felt her head swim. It was madness, speaking to a common prostitute, talking of family politics so intimately. "Relative to that subject, I must ask you something very peculiar. Have you ever heard of the Princess Talara?" Gyna thought a moment: "The name sounds somewhat familiar. Why would I have?" "I don't know. It was a name I just thought you might recognize," sighed Lady Jyllia. "Have you been to Camlorn before?" "If I did, it was when I was very young," said Gyna, and suddenly she felt it was her turn to be trusting. Something about the Lady Jyllia's friendly and forthcoming manner touched her. "To be honest, I don't remember anything at all of my childhood before I was nine or ten. Perhaps I was here with my parents, whoever they were, when I was a little girl. I tell you, I think perhaps I was. I don't recall ever being here before, but everything I've seen, the city, you, the King himself, all seem ... like I've been here before, long ago." Lady Jyllia gasped and took a step back. She gripped the old woman, who had been looking out to sea and murmuring, by the hand. The elderly creature looked to Jyllia, surprised, and then turned to Gyna. Her ancient, half-blind eyes sparkled with recognition and she made a sound like a grunt of surprise. Gyna also jumped. If the King had seemed like something out of a half- forgotten dream, this woman was someone she knew. As clear and yet indistinct as a guardian spirit. "I apologize," stammered Lady Jyllia. "This is my childhood nursemaid, Ramke." "It's her!" the old woman cried, wild-eyed. She tried to run forward, arms outstretched, but Jyllia held her back. Gyna felt strangely naked, and pulled her robe against her body. "No, you're wrong," Lady Jyllia whispered to Ramke, holding the old woman tightly. "The Princess Talara is dead, you know that. I shouldn't have brought you here. I'll take you back home." She turned back to Gyna, her eyes welling with tears. "The entire royal family of Camlorn was assassinated over twenty years ago. My father was Duke of Oloine, the King's brother, and so he inherited the crown. I'm sorry to have bothered you. Goodnight." Gyna gazed after Lady Jyllia and the old nurse as they disappeared into the crowd, but she had little time to consider all she had heard. The sun was setting, and it was time for the Flower Festival. Twelve young men emerged from the darkness wearing only loincloths and masks, and lit the torches. The moment the fire blazed, Gyna and all the rest of the dancers rushed to the baskets, pulling out blossoms and vines by the handful. At first, the women danced with one another, sprinkling petals to the wind. The crowd then joined in as the music swelled. It was a mad, beautiful chaos. Gyna leapt and swooned like a wild forest nymph. Then, without warning, she felt rough hands grip her from behind and push her. She was falling before she understood it. The moment the realization hit, she was closer to the bottom of the hundred foot tall cliff than she was to the top. She flailed out her arms and grasped at the cliff wall. Her fingers raked against the stone and her flesh tore, but she found a grip and held it. For a moment, she stayed there, breathing hard. Then she began to scream. The music and the festival were too loud up above: no one could hear her - she could scarcely hear herself. Below her, the surf crashed. Every bone in her body would snap if she fell. She closed her eyes, and a vision came. A man was standing below her, a King of great wisdom, great compassion, looking up, smiling. A little girl, golden-haired, mischievous, her best friend and cousin, clung to the rock beside her. "The secret to falling is making your body go limp. And with luck, you won't get hurt," the girl said. She nodded, remembering who she was. Eight years of darkness lifted. She released her grip and let herself fall like a leaf into the water below. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- (Search Code: LOLZ05) ~~Thief~~ Reven Item ID: 000243CA Thief is found in on a shelf on the second floor of S'Krivva's House in Bravil. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- If the reader has not yet had the pleasure of reading the first volume in these series on the life of Eslaf Erol, 'Beggar,' he should close this book immediately, for I shan't recap. I will tell you this much, gentle reader. When we last saw Eslaf, he was a boy, an orphan, a failed beggar, running through the wildy winter woods of Skyrim, away from his home of Erolgard. He continued running, stopping here and there, for many more years, until he was a young man. Eslaf discovered that among the ways of getting food, asking for it was the most troublesome. Far easier was finding it in the wilderness, or taking it from unguarded market stalls. The only thing worse than begging to get food was begging for the opportunity to work for the money to buy it. That seemed needlessly complicated. No, as far as Eslaf was concerned, he was best off being a scavenger, a beggar, and a thief. He commited his first act of thievery shortly after leaving Erolgard, while in the southern woods of Tamburkar in the rugged land near Mount Jensen just east of the village of Hoarbeld. Eslaf was starving, having not eaten anything but a rather scrawny raw squirrel in four days, and he smelled meat cooking and then found the smoke. A band of minstral bards was making camp. He watched them from the bushes as they cooked, and joked, and flirted, and sang. He could've asked them for some food, but so many others had refused him before. Instead, he rushed out, grabbed a piece of meat from the fire, and wincing from the burns, scrambled up the nearest tree to devour it while the bards stood under him and laughed. 'What is your next move, thief?' giggled a fair, red-headed woman who was covered with tattoos. 'How do you intend to disappear without us catching and punishing you?' As the hunger subsided, Eslaf realized she was right. The only way to get out of the tree without falling in their midst was to take the branch down to where it hung over a creek. It was a drop off a cliff of about fifty feet. That seemed like the wisest strategy, so Eslaf began crawling in that direction. 'You do know how to fall, boy?' called out a young Khajiiti, but a few years older than Eslaf, thin but muscular, graceful in his slightest movements. 'If you don't, you should just climb down here and take what's coming to you. It's idiotic to break your neck, when we'd just give you some bruises and send you on your way.' 'Of course I know how to fall,' Eslaf called back, but he didn't. He just thought the trick of falling was to have nothing underneath you, and let nature take its course. But fifty feet up, when you're looking down, is enough to give anyone pause. 'I'm sorry to doubt your abilities, Master Thief,' said the Khajiiti, grinning. 'Obviously you know to fall feet first with your body straight but loose to avoid cracking like an egg. It seems you are destined to escape us.' Eslaf wisely followed the Khajiiti's hints, and leapt into the river, falling without much grace but without hurting himself. In the years that followed, he had to make several more drops from even greater heights, usually after a theft, sometimes without water beneath him, and he improved the basic technique. When he arrived in the western town of Jallenheim on the morning of his twenty-first birthday, it didn't take him long to find out who was the richest person, most deserving of being burgled. An impregnable palace in a park near the center of town was owned by a mysterious young man named Suoibud. Eslaf wasted no time in finding the palace and watching it. A fortified palace he had come to learn was like a person, with quirks and habits beneath its hard shell. It was not an old place, evidently whatever money this Suoibud had come into was fairly recent. It was regularly patrolled by guards, implying that the rich man was fearful of been burgled, with good reason. The most distinctive feature of the palace was its tower, rising a hundred feet above the stone walls, doubtless giving the occupant a good defensive view. Eslaf guessed that that if Suoibud was as paranoid as he guessed him to be, the tower would also provide a view of the palace storehouse. The rich man would want to keep an eye on his fortune. That meant that the loot couldn't be directly beneath the tower, but somewhere in the courtyard within the walls. The light in the tower shone all night long, so Eslaf boldly decided that the best time to burgle was by the light of day, when Suoibud must sleep. That would be the time the guards would least expect a thief to pounce. And so, when the noon sun was shining over the palace, Eslaf quickly scaled the wall near the front gate and waited, hidden in the crenelations. The interior courtyard was plain and desolate, with few places to hide, but he saw that there were two wells. One the guards used from time to time to draw up water and slake their thirst, but Eslaf noticed that guards would pass by the other well, never using it. He waited until the guards were distracted, just for a second, by the arrival of a merchant in a wagon, bearing goods for the palace. While they were searching his wagon, Eslaf leapt, elegantly, feet first, from the wall into the well. It was not a particularly soft landing for, as Eslaf had guessed, the well was not full of water, but gold. Still, he knew how to roll after a fall, and he didn't hurt himself. In the dank subterranean storehouse, he stuffed his pockets with gold and was about to go to the door which he assumed would lead to the tower when he noticed a gem the size of an apple, worth more than all the gold that was left. Eslaf found room for it down his pants. The door did indeed lead to the tower, and Eslaf followed its curving stairwell up, walking quietly but quickly. At the top, he found the master of the palace's private quarters, ornate and cold, with invaluable artwork and decorative swords and shields on the walls. Eslaf assumed the snoring lump under the sheets was Suoibud, but he didn't investigate too closely. He crept to the windows and looked out. It was going to be a difficult fall, for certes. He needed to jump from the tower, past the walls, and hit the tree on the other side. The tree branches would hurt, but they would break his fall, and there was a pile of hay he had left under the tree to prevent further injury. Eslaf was about to leap when the occupant of the room woke up with a start, yelling, 'My gem!' Eslaf and stared at him for a second, wide-eyed. They looked alike. Not surprising, since they were brothers. Eslaf Erol's story is continued in the book 'Warrior.' ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- ~~ALCHEMY BOOKS~~ (Search Code: LOLZ06) ~~Calcinator Treatise~~ Anonymous Item ID: 00073A5F Calcinator Treatise can be found under the innkeeper's bed at the Imperial Bridge Inn and it will also be given to you during the quest "Two Sides of the Coin." It can also be found in random loot. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Argonian alchemists of the Black Marsh have long held that the phases of the moon dictate the precise positioning of the Calcinator. During the full moon, the Calcinator should face due South, aligned with the Southron pole star. It is well known that the Southron pole star is slightly offset from true south. The diligent Alchemist will refer to star charts for the specific day and time to more precisely align the Calcinator. For each night of the phases of the moon after full, the Calcinator should be rotated clockwise one twenty-eighth of a circle. If the Alchemist is closer to the Southron pole star than the Northern Sisters, he should rotate it counter- clockwise instead. Set the device where the moonlight is shining on half of it. Of course, if it is a new moon, the Calcinator should be fully exposed instead. Proper alignment of the Calcinator will create one part in forty-seven more purity of the distillate. Obviously this is a highly desired attribute, even though the effect may not be that noticeable. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- (Search Code: LOLZ07) ~~De Rerum Dirennis~~ Vorian Direnni Item ID: 000243D2 It is found on a shelf on the second floor of All Things Alchemical. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- I am six-hundred-and-eleven years old. I have never had children of my own, but I have many nieces and nephews and cousins who have been raised with the tales and traditions of our ancient, illustrious, and occasionally notorious clan, the Direnni. Few families in Tamriel can boast so many famous figures, wielding so much power over the fate of so many. Our warriors and kings are stuff of legend, and it is not to dismiss their honor and their achievements to say you have heard quite enough about them. I myself have never picked up a sword or written an important law, but I am part of a lesser known but still important Direnni tradition: the way of the wizard. My own autobiography would be of little interest to posterity — though my nephew, nieces, and cousins indulge me to tell wild tales of life in the chaotic Second Era of Tamriel — but I have a few ancestors whose stories should be told. They may have changed history as we know it as dramatically as my better known relatives, but their names are in danger of being forgotten. Most recently, Lysandus, the King of Daggerfall, was able to conquer his ancient enemies of Sentinel in part thanks to his court sorceress, Medora Direnni. Her grandfather Jovron Direnni was Imperial Battlemage to the court of the Dunmer Empress of Tamriel, Katariah, assisting her in creating peace in a time of turmoil. His great great grandfather Pelladil Direnni had a similar role with the first Potentate, and encouraged the Guild Act without which we would not have all the professional organizations we have today. His ancestor, many times back, was the witch Raven Direnni, who with her better known cousins Aiden and Ryain, brought an end to the tyranny of the latter Alessian Empire. Before the Psijics of Artaeum, it is said, she created the art of enchantment, learning how to bind a soul into a gem and use that to ensorcel all manners of weaponry. But it is the story of an ancestor even more ancient, more distant than Raven I wish to tell. Asliel Direnni harkens back to the humble beginnings of our clan, in the tiny farming village of Tyrigel on the banks of the river Caomus which was then called the Diren, hence the family name. Like all on Summurset Isle in those days, he was a simple planter of the fields. But while others only grew enough to sustain their immediate kin, even distant cousins of the Dirennis worked together. They would decide as a group which fields were best for wheat, orchard, vine, livestock, or apiary, and thereby always have the best yields of any farm which worked alone, doing the best as it could with what it had. Asliel had a particularly poor farm for most kind of agriculture, but small herbs found its stony, loamless, acidic soil very comfortable. Out of necessity more than anything else he became an expert on all manners of herbs. For the most part, of course, they were used in flavoring cooking, but as you know, hardly any plant grows on the surface of our world without a magickal potential. Even so long ago, witches already were in existence. It would be ridiculous for me to suggest that Asliel Direnni invented alchemy. What he did, what we can all be grateful for, is that he formulated it into an art and science. There were no witches' covens in Tyrigel, and, of course, there would be no Mages Guild yet for thousands of years, so people would come to him for cures. He learned for himself the exact formula for combining black lichen and roobrush to create a cure for all manners of poison, and the amount of willow anther to crush and mix with chokeweed to cure diseases. There were few much greater threats in Tyrigel in those peaceful days than disease or accidental poisonings. Yes, there were some dark forces in the wilderness, trolls, chimera, the occasional malevolent fairy folk and Will-O- the-Wisp, but even the youngest, most foolish Altmer knew how to avoid them. There were, however, a few unusual threats which Asliel had a hand in defeating. One of the tales told of him that I believe to be true is how he was brought a young niece who had been suffering from an unknown disease. Despite his ministrations, she grew weaker and weaker every morning. Finally, he gave her a bitter tasting drink, and the next morning, ashes were found all around her bed. A vampire had been feeding on the poor girl, but Asliel's potion had turned her very blood into poison, without harming her in the least. If only this formula had not been lost in the mists of history! This would have been enough to make him a minor but significant figure in the annals of early Summurset, but at that point in history, a barbarian tribe called the Locvar had found their way down the Diren River, and recognized Tyrigel as a rich target for raids. The Direnni, not being warriors yet but simple farmers, were helpless and could only flee and watch the Locvar take the best of their crops, raid after raid. Asliel, however, had been experimenting with the vampire dust, and brought his cousins to him with a plan. The next time the Locvar were sighted on the Diren, the word went out and all the most able-bodied came to Asliel's laboratory. When the barbarians arrived in Tyrigel, they found the farms deserted, and assumed that all had fled as usual. As they set about stealing the bounty, they suddenly found themselves under attack by invisible forces. Believing the Direnni farms to be haunted, they ran away very quickly. They attempted a few more raids, for their greed would always eventually overpower their fear, and each time, they were set upon by attackers who they could not see. As barbaric as they were, they were not stupid, and they changed their mind about the source of their defeat. It could not be that the farms were haunted, because the crops were still being tended and harvested, and the animals seemed to show no fear. The Locvar decided to send a scout to the farm to see if he could spy their secrets. The scout sent word back to the Locvar that the Direnni farms were populated with flesh and blood, entirely visible Altmer. He continued to watch as his barbarian cohorts moved down the river, and he saw the elderly and children flee for the hills, while the able-bodied farmers and their wives went to Asliel's laboratory. He saw them go in; he saw no one come out. As usual, the Locvar were repelled by invisible forces, but their scout soon told them what he saw happening in the laboratory. The next night, two of the Locvar approached Asliel's farm very stealthily, and managed to kidnap him without alerting the rest of the Direnni. The Locvar chieftain, knowing that the farmers could no longer count on the alchemist to make them invisible, considered an immediate attack on the farms. But he was a vengeful sort, and felt he had been humiliated by these simple farmers. A crafty plan emerged in his mind. What if the Direnni, who always saw his barbarian tribe coming, for once did not? Imagine the slaughter if no one even had a chance to flee. The scout had told the chieftain that Asliel had used the dust of a vampire to make the farmers invisible, but he was not sure what the other ingredient had been. He described an incandescent powder that Asliel had mixed into the dust. Asliel, of course, refused to help the Locvar, but they were experts in torture as well as pillage, and he knew he would have to talk or die. Finally after hours of torture, he agreed to tell them what the incandescent powder was. He did not know the name, but he called it "Glow Dust," the only remains of a slain Will-O-The-Wisp. He told them they would need a lot of it if they wanted to turn the whole tribe invisible for the raid. The Locvar grumbled that not only did they have to find and kill a vampire to attain his dust, but find and kill several Will-O-The-Wisps to get theirs. In a few days time, they came back with the ingredients the alchemist asked for. The chieftain, not being a complete idiot, made Asliel taste the potion first. He did as he was told and turned invisible, demonstrating that it did truly work. The chieftain put him to work creating more. No one apparently noticed that while he did, he was nibbling on black lichen and roobrush. The Locvar took the potion as he doled it out, and soon, but not too soon that they didn't suffer, they were all dead. The scout who had seen Asliel mixing the invisibility potion had apparently mistook the glow of the candlelight in the laboratory for an incandescence which the second ingredient of the invisibility potion did not possess. The second ingredient was actually dull, simple redwort, one of the most common herbs in Tamriel. When they had insisted during torture that Asliel tell them what the incandescent powder was, Asliel remembered that he had once experimentally mixed glow dust and vampire dust together once and created a powerful poison. It was simple enough to steal a little redwort from the barbarian's camp, mix that with the vampire and glow dust mixture, and create a potion that was in fact an invisibility poison. After curing himself, he gave the poison to the barbarians. The Locvar, being dead, never again raided the Direnni farms, and having no other enemies, they were able to grow more and more prosperous and powerful. Generations later, they left Summurset and began their historic adventures on the Tamriel mainland. Asliel Direnni, because of his excellence as an alchemist, was invited to Artaeum and became a Psijic. It is not known how many more of the common formulas we know today were invented by him there, but I have no doubt, the science and art of alchemy as we know it today would not exist without him. But that is all in the distant past. Asliel's innovations, like my modest ones, like the achievements of the Dirennis throughout history, are but a stepping stone to the wonders which will come in the future. I wish I could be there to witness them, but if I can only share some of the past with the children of Direnni and the children of Tamriel, then I will consider my life well spent. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- (Search Code: LOLZ08) ~~A Game at Dinner~~ An Anonymous Spy Item ID: 000243CF A Game at Dinner can be found on a bookcase on the first floor of the Chorrol Mages Guild. It can also be found if you buy the Frostcrag Spire official mod after buying the library area upgrade. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Forward From The Publisher: The history behind this letter is almost as interesting and dark as the story it tells. The original letter to the mysterious Dhaunayne was copied and began circulating around the Ashlands of Vvardenfell a few months ago. In time, a print found its way to the mainland and Prince Hlaalu Helseth's palace outside Almalexia. While the reader may conclude after reading this letter that the Prince would be furious about such a work, impugning his highness with great malevolence, quite the reverse was true. The Prince and his mother, Queen Barenziah, had it privately printed into bound copies and sent to libraries and booksellers throughout Morrowind. As matter of record, the Prince and the Queen have not officially stated whether the letter is a work of pure imagination or based on an actual occurrence. The House Dres has publicly denounced the work, and indeed, no one named Dhaunayne, despite the suggestions in the letter, has ever been linked to the house. We leave the reader to interpret the letter as he or she believes. — Nerris Gan, Publisher Dark Liege Dhaunayne, You asked for a detailed description of my experience last night and the reasons for my plea to House Dres for another assignment. I hope I have served you well in my capacity as informant in the court of Prince Helseth, a man who I have stated in many previous reports could teach Molag Bal how to scheme. As you know, I've spent nearly a year now working my way into his inner circle of advisors. He was in need of friendship when he first arrived in Morrowind and eagerly took to me and a few others. Still, he was disinclined to trust any of us, which is perhaps not surprising, given his tenuous position in Morrowind society. For your unholiness's recollection, the Prince is the eldest son of Barenziah, who was once the Queen of Morrowind and once the Queen of the High Rock kingdom of Wayrest. At the death of her husband, Prince Helseth's stepfather, King Eadwyre, there was a power struggle between the Prince and Eadwyre's daughter, the Princess Elysana. Though details of what transpired are imperfect, it is clear that Elysana won the battle and became Queen, banishing Helseth and Barenziah. Barenziah's only other child, Morgiah, had already left court to marry and become Queen of the Summurset Isle kingdom of Firsthold. Barenziah and Helseth crossed the continent to return to Morrowind only last year. They were well received by Barenziah's uncle, our current king, Hlaalu Athyn Llethan, who had taken the throne after Barenziah's abdication more than forty years ago. Barenziah made it clear that she had no designs on reclaiming the throne, but merely to retire to her family estates. Helseth, as you know, has lingered in the royal court, and many have whispered that while he lost the throne of Wayrest, he does not intend to lose the throne of Morrowind at Llethan's death. I've kept your unholiness informed of the Prince's movements, meetings, and plots, as well as the names and characters of his other advisors. As you may recall, I've often thought that I was not the only spy in Helseth's court. I told you before that a particular Dunmer counselor of Helseth looked like a fellow I had seen in the company of Tholer Saryoni, the Archcanon of the Tribunal Temple. Another, a young Nord woman, has been verified to visit the Imperial fortress in Balmora. Of course, in their cases, they might well have been on Helseth's own business, but I couldn't be certain. I had begun to think myself paranoid as the Prince himself when I found myself doubting the sincere loyalty of the Prince's chamberlain, Burgess, a Breton who had been in his employ since his days in the court of Wayrest. That is the background on that night, last night. Yesterday morning, I received a curt invitation to dine with the Prince. Based only on my own paranoia, I dispatched one of my servants, who is a good and loyal servant of the House Dres, to watch the palace and report back anything unusual. Just before dinner, he returned and told me what he had witnessed. A man cloaked in rags had been given entrance into the palace, and had stayed there for some time. When he left, my servant saw his face beneath the cloak — an alchemist of infamous repute, said to be a leading suppliers of exotic poisons. A fine observer, my servant also noticed that the alchemist entered the palace smelling of wickwheat, bittergreen, and something alien and sweet. When he left, he was odorless. He had come to the same conclusion as I did. The Prince had procured ingredients to prepare a poison. Bittergreen alone is deadly when eaten raw, but the other ingredients suggested something far deeper. As your unholiness can doubtless imagine, I went to dinner that night, prepared for any eventuality. All of Prince Helseth's other counselors were in attendance, and I noticed that all were slightly apprehensive. Of course, I imagined that I was in a nest of spies, and all knew of the Prince's mysterious meeting. It is just as likely that some knew of the alchemist's visit, while others were simply concerned by the nature of the Prince's invitation, and still others merely unconsciously adopted the tense disposition of their fellow, better informed counselors. The Prince, however, was in fine mettle and soon had everyone relaxed and at ease. At nine, we were all ushered into his dining hall where the feast had been laid out. And what a feast! Honeyed gorapples, fragrant stews, roasts in various blood sauces, and every variety of fish and fowl expertly and ostentatiously prepared. Crystal and gold flagons of wine, flin, shein, and mazte were at our seats to be savored as appropriate with each course. As tantalizing as the aromas were, it occurred to me that in such a maze of spices and flavors, a discreet poison would be undetectable. Throughout the meal, I maintained the illusion of eating the food and drinking the liquor, but I was surreptitious and swallowed nothing. Finally, the plates and food were cleared from the table, and a tureen of a spicy broth was placed in the center of the banquet. The servant who brought it then retired, closing the banquet hall door behind him. “It smells divine, my Prince,” said the Marchioness Kolgar, the Nord woman. “But I cannot eat another thing.” “Your Highness,” I added, feigning a tone of friendliness and slight intoxication. “You know that every one at this table would gladly die to put you on the throne of Morrowind, but is it really necessary that we gorge ourselves to death?” The others at the table agreed with appreciative groans. Prince Helseth smiled. I swear by Vaernima the Gifter, my dark liege, even you have never seen a smile such as this one. “Ironic words. You see, an alchemist visited me today, as some of you already doubtless know. He showed me how to make a marvelous poison and its antidote. A most potent potion, excellent for my purposes. No Restoration spell will aid you once you've ingested it. Only the antidote in the tureen will save you from certain death. And what a death, from what I've heard. I am eager to see if the effects are all that the alchemist promised. It should be horribly painful for the afflicted, but quite entertaining.” No one said a word. I could feel my heart beating hard in my chest. “Your Highness,” said Allarat, the Dunmer I suspected of alliance with the Temple. “Have you poisoned someone at this table?” “You are very astute, Allarat,” said Prince Helseth, looking about the table, eying each of his advisors carefully. “Little wonder I value your counsel. As indeed I value all in this room. It would be perhaps easiest for me to say who I haven't poisoned. I haven't poisoned any who serve but one master, any whose loyalty to me is sincere. I haven't poisoned any person who wants to see King Helseth on the throne of Morrowind. I haven't poisoned anyone who isn't a spy for the Empire, the Temple, the House of Telvanni, the House of Redoran, the House of Indoril, the House of Dres.” Your unholiness, he looked directly at me at his last words. I know that in certainty. My face is practiced at keeping my thoughts from showing, but I immediately thought of every secret meeting I've had, every coded message I sent to you and the House, my dark liege. What could he know? What could he, even without knowing, suspect? I felt my heart beating even faster. Was it fear, or poison? I couldn't speak, certain as I was that my voice would betray my calm facade. “Those loyal to me who wish harm on my enemies may be wondering how can I be certain that the poison has been ingested. Is it possible that the guilty party, or dare I say, parties were suspicious and merely pretended to eat and drink tonight? Of course. But even the craftiest of pretenders would have to raise a glass to his or her lips and put empty forks or spoons in their mouths to play the charade. The food, you see, was not poisoned. The cups and cutlery were. If you did not partake out of fear, you're poisoned just the same, and sadly, missed an excellent roast.” Sweat beaded on my face and I turned from the Prince so he would not see. My fellow advisors, all of them, were frozen in their seats. From the Marchioness Kolgar, white with fear, to Kema Inebbe, visibly shaking; from the furrowed, angry brow of Allarat to the statue-like stare of Burgess. I couldn't help thinking then, could the Prince's entire counsellorship be comprised of nothing but spies? Was there any person at the table loyal? And then I thought, what if I were not a spy myself, would I trust Helseth to know that? No one knows better than his advisors both the depth of the Prince's paranoia and the utter implacability of his ambition. If I were not a spy for the House Dres, even then would I be safe? Could a loyalist be poisoned because of a not-so-innocent misjudgment? The others must have been thinking the same, loyalists and spies alike. While my mind whirled, I could hear the Prince's voice, addressing all assembled: “The poison acts quickly. If the antidote is not taken within one minute from now, there will be death at the table.” I couldn't decide whether I had been poisoned or not. My stomach ached, but I reminded myself it might have been the result of sitting at a sumptuous banquet and not partaking. My heart shook in my chest and a bitter taste like Trama Root stung my lips. Again, was it fear or poison? “These are the last words you will hear if you are disloyal to me,” said Prince Helseth, still smiling that damned smile as he watched his advisors squirming in their seats. “Take the antidote and live.” Could I believe him? I thought of what I knew of the Prince and his character. Would he kill a self-confessed spy at his court, or would he rather send the vanquished back to his masters? The Prince was ruthless, but either possibility was within his manner. Surely the theatricality of this whole dinner was meant to be a presentation to instill fear. What would my ancestors say if I joined them after sitting at a table, eventually dying of poison? What would they say if I took the antidote, confessing my allegiance to you and the House Dres, and was summarily executed? And, I confess, I thought of what you might to do me even after I was dead. I had grown so light-headed and filled with my own thoughts, that I didn't see Burgess jump from his seat. I was only suddenly aware that he had the tureen in his hands and was gulping down the liquid within. There were guards all around, though I never noticed them entering. “Burgess,” said Prince Helseth, still smiling. “You have spent some time at Ghostgate. House Redoran?” “You didn't know?” Burgess laughed sourly. “No House. I report to your stepsister, the Queen of Wayrest. I've always been in her employ. By Akatosh, you poisoned me because you thought I was working for some damnable Dark Elves?” “You're half right,” said the Prince. “I didn't guess who you were working for, or even that you were a spy. But you're also wrong about me poisoning you. You poisoned yourself when you drank from the tureen.” Your unholiness, you don't need to hear how Burgess died. I know that you have seen much over the many, many years of your existence, but you truly don't want to know. I wish I could erase the memory of his agonies from my own mind. The council was dismissed shortly thereafter. I do not know if Prince Helseth knows or suspects that I too am a spy. I do not know how many others that night, last night, were as close as I was from drinking from the tureen before Burgess did. I only know that if the Prince does not suspect me now, he will. I cannot win at the games he mastered long ago at the court of Wayrest, and I beg your unholiness, my dark liege Dhaunayne to use your influence in the House Dres and dismiss your loyal servant from this charge. Publisher's Note: Of course, the anonymous writer's signature has not been on any reprint of the letter since the original. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- (Search Code: LOLZ09) ~~Mannimarco, King of Worms~~ Horicles Item ID: 000243D0 Mannimarco, King of Worms can be found in a display case on the first-floor Arcane University's Mystic Archives. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- O sacred isle Artaeum, where rosy light infuses air, O'er towers and through flowers, gentle breezes flow, Softly sloping green-kissed cliffs to crashing foam below, Always springtide afternoon housed within its border, This mystic, mist-protected home of the Psijic Order: Those counselors of kings, cautious, wise, and fair. Ten score years and thirty since the mighty Remans fell, Two brilliant students studied within the Psijics' fold. One's heart was light and warm, the other dark and cold. The madder latter, Mannimarco, whirled in a deathly dance, His soul in bones and worms, the way of the necromance. Entrapping and enslaving souls, he cast a wicked spell. The former, Galerion had magic bold and bright as day. He confronted Mannimarco beneath gray Ceporah Tower, Saying, 'Your wicked mysticism is no way to wield your power, Bringing horror to the spirit world, your studies must cease.' Mannimarco scoffed, hating well the ways of life and peace, And returned to his dark artistry; his paints, death and decay. O sacred isle Artaeum, how slow to perceive the threat, When the ghastly truth revealed, how weak the punishment. The ghoulish Mannimarco from the isle of the wise was sent To the mainland Dawn's Beauty, more death and souls to reap. 'You have found a wolf, and sent the beast to flocks of sheep,' Galerion told his Masters, 'A terror on Tamriel has set.' 'Speak no more of him,' the sage Cloaks of Gray did say. 'Twas not the first time Galerion thought his Masters callous, Unconcerned for men and mer, aloof in their island palace. 'Twas not the first time Galerion thought 'twas time to build A new Order to bring true magic to all, a mighty Mages Guild. But 'twas the time he left, at last, fair Artaeum's azure bay. O, but sung we have of Vanus Galerion many times before, How cast he off the Psijics' chains, bringing magic to the land. Throughout the years, he saw the touch of Mannimarco's hand, Through Tamriel's deserts, forests, towns, mountains, and seas. The dark grip stretching out, growing like some dread disease By his dark Necromancers, collecting cursed artifacts of yore. They brought to him these tools, mad wizards and witches, And brought blood-tainted herbs and oils to his cave of sin, Sweet Akaviri poison, dust from saints, sheafs of human skin, Toadstools, roots, and much more cluttered his alchemical shelf, Like a spider in his web, he sucked all their power into himself, Mannimarco, Worm King, world's first of the undying liches. Corruption on corruption, 'til the rot sunk to his very core, Though he kept the name Mannimarco, his body and his mind Were but a living, moving corpse as he left humanity behind. The blood in his veins became instead a poison acid stew. His power and his life increased as his fell collection grew . Mightiest were these artifacts, long cursed since days of yore. They say Galerion left the Guild, calling it 'a morass,' But untruth is a powerful stream, polluting the river of time. Galerion beheld Mannimarco's rise through powers sublime, To his mages and Lamp Knights, 'Before my last breath, Face I must the tyranny of worms, and kill at last, undeath.' He led them north to cursed lands, to a mountain pass. O those who survived the battle say its like was never seen. Armored with magicka, armed with ensorcelled sword and axe, Galerion cried, echoing, 'Worm King, surrender your artifacts, And their power to me, and you shall live as befits the dead.' A hollow laugh answered, 'You die first,' Mannimarco said. The mage army then clashed with the unholy force obscene. Imagine waves of fire and frost, and the mountain shivers, Picture lightning arching forth, crackling in a dragon's sigh. Like leaves, the battlemages fly to rain down from the sky, At the Necromancers' call, corpses burst from earth to fight, To be shattered into nothingness with a flood of holy light. A maelstrom of energy unleashed, blood cascades in rivers. Like a thunderburst in blue skies or a lion's sudden roar, Like sharp razors tearing over delicate embroidered lace, So at a touch did Galerion shake the mountain to its base. The deathly horde fell fatally, but heeding their dying cries From the depths, the thing they called Worm King did rise. Nirn itself did scream in the Mages' and Necromancers' war His eyes burning dark fire, he opened his toothless maw, Vomiting darkness with each exhalation of his breath, All sucking in the fetid air felt the icy touch of death. In the skies above the mountain, darkness overcame pale, Then Mannimarco Worm King felt his dismal powers fail: The artifacts of death pulled from his putrid skeletal claw. A thousand good and evil perished then, history confirms. Among, alas, Vanus Galerion, he who showed the way, It seemed once that Mannimarco had truly died that day. Scattered seemed the Necromancers, wicked, ghastly fools, Back to the Mages Guild, victors kept the accursed tools, Of him, living still in undeath, Mannimarco, King of Worms. Children, listen as the shadows cross your sleeping hutch, And the village sleeps away, streets emptied of the crowds, And the moons do balefully glare through the nightly clouds, And the graveyard's people rest, we hope, in eternal sleep, Listen and you'll hear the whispered tap of the footsteps creep, Then pray you'll never feel the Worm King's awful touch. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- (Search Code: LOLZ10) ~~Song of the Alchemists~~ Marobar Sul Item ID: 000243D1 Song of Alchemists is found on bookshelf against the west wall of the first floor of the Arcane University's Lustratorium. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- When King Maraneon's alchemist had to leave his station After a laboratory experiment that yielded detonation, The word went out that the King did want A new savant To mix his potions and brews. But he declared he would only choose A fellow who knew the tricks and the tools. The King refused to hire on more fools. After much deliberation, discussions, and debates, The King picked two well-learned candidates. Ianthippus Minthurk and Umphatic Faer, An ambitious pair, Vied to prove which one was the best. Said the King, "There will be a test." They went to a large chamber with herbs, gems, tomes, Pots, measuring cups, all under high crystalline domes. "Make me a tonic that will make me invisible," Laughed the King in a tone some would call risible. So Umphatic Faer and Ianthippus Minthurk Began to work, Mincing herbs, mashing metal, refining strange oils, Cautiously setting their cauldrons to burbling boils, Each on his own, sending mixing bowls mixing, Sometimes peeking to see what the other was fixing. After they had worked for nearly three-quarters an hour, Both Ianthippus Minthurk and Umphatic Faer Winked at the other, certain he won. Said King Maraneon, "Now you must taste the potions you've wrought, Take a spoon and sample it right from your pot." Minthurk vanished as his lips touched his brew, But Faer tasted his and remained apparent in view. "You think you mixed silver, blue diamonds, and yellow grass!" The King laughed, "Look up, Faer, up to the ceiling glass. The light falling makes the ingredients you choose Quite different hues." "What do you get," asked the floating voice, bold, "Of a potion of red diamonds, blue grass, and gold?" "By [Dwemer God]," said Faer, his face in a wince, "I've made a potion to fortify my own intelligence." Publisher's Note: This poetry is so clearly in the style of Gor Felim that it really does not need any commentary. Note the simple rhyming scheme of AA/BB/CC, the sing-song but purposefully clumsy meter, and the recurring jokes at the obviously absurd names, Umphatic Faer and Ianthippus Minthurk. The final joke that the stupid alchemist invents a potion to make himself smarter by pure accident would have appealed to the anti-intellectualism of audiences in the Interregnum period, but would certainly be rejected by the Dwemer. Note that even "Marobar Sul" refuses to name any Dwemer gods. The Dwemer religion, if it can even be called that, is one of the most complex and difficult puzzles of their culture. Over the millennia, the song became a popular tavern song in High Rock before eventually disappearing from everything but scholarly books. Much like the Dwemer themselves. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- ~~ALTERATION BOOKS~~ (Search Code: LOLZ11) ~~Daughter of the Niben~~ Sathyr Longleat Item ID: 000243D4 Daughter of the Niben is found on a bookshelf in the northeast room of the living quarters in the Skingrad Mages Guild in the living. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Bravil is one of the most charming towns in Cyrodiil, sparkling in her simple beauty, illustrious by her past. No visit to the southern part of the Imperial Province is complete without a walk along Bravil's exciting river port, a talk with her friendly native children, and, of course, in the tradition of the village, a whispered word to the famous statue of the Lucky Old Lady. Many thousands of years before the arrival of the Atmorans, the native Ayleid people had long lived in the vicinity of modern day Bravil. The Niben then, as now, provided food and transportation, and the village was even more populous than it is today. We are not certain what they called their region: as insular as they were, the word they used would be translated to simply mean "home." These savage Ayleids were so firmly entrenched that the Bravil region was one of the very last areas to be liberated by the Alessian army in the second century of the 1st era. Though little remains of that era culturally or archeologically, thank Mara, the tales of debauchery and depravity have entered into the realm of legends. How the Ayleids were able to survive such a long siege is debated by scholars to this day. All, however, grant the honor of the victory to one of the Empress Alessia's centurions, a man called Teo Bravillius Tasus, the man for whom the modern town is named. It was said he invaded the village no less than four times, after heavy resistance, but each time upon the morning dawning, all his soldiery within would be dead, murdered. By the time more centuria had arrived, the fortified town was repopulated with Ayleids. After the second successful invasion, secret underground tunnels were found and filled in, but once again, come morning, the soldiers were again dead, and the citizens had returned. After the third successful siege, legions were posted outside of the town, watching the roads and riverway for signs of attacks, but no one came. The next morning, the bodies of the invading soldiers were thrown from the parapets of town's walls. Teo Bravillius Tasus knew that the Ayleids must be hiding themselves somewhere in the town, waiting until nightfall, and then murdering the soldiers while they slept. The question was where. After the fourth invasion, he himself led the soldiers in a thorough inspection of every corner, every shadow. Just as they were ready to give up, the great centurion noticed two curious things. High in the sheer walls of the town, beyond anyone's ability to climb, there were indentations, narrow platforms. And by the river just inside the town, he discovered a single footprint from someone clearly not wearing the Imperial boot. The Ayleids, it seemed, had taken two routes to hide themselves. Some had levitated up to the walls and hidden themselves high above, and others had slipped into the river, where they were able to breathe underwater. It was a relatively easy task once the strange elves' even stranger hiding holes had been discovered to rout them out, and see to it that there were no more midnight assassinations of the Empress's troops. It may seem beyond belief that an entire community could be so skilled in these spells hundreds and hundreds of years before the Mages Guild was formed to teach the ways of magicka to the common folk. There does, however, appear to be evidence that, just as the Psijics on the Isle of Artaeum developed Mysticism long before there was a name for it, the even more obscure Ayleids of southern Cyrodiil had developed what was to be known as the school of Alteration. It is not, after all, much of a stretch when one considers that other Ayleids at the time of Bravil's conquering and even later were shapeshifters. The community of pre-Bravil could not turn into beasts and monsters, but they could alter their bodies to hide themselves away. A related and useful skill, to be sure. But not so effective to save themselves in the end. Very little is left of the Ayleid presence in Bravil of today, though archetectural marvels of other kinds are very evident. As beautiful and arresting as the Benevolence of Mara cathedral and the lord's palace are, no manmade structure in Bravil is as famous as the statue called The Lucky Old Lady. The tales about the Lady and who she was are too numerous to list. It was said she was born the illegitimate daughter of a prostitute in Bravil, certainly an inauspicious beginning to a lucky life. She was teased by the other children, who forever asked her who her father was. Every day, she would run back to her little shack in tears from their cruelty. One day, a priest of Stendarr came to Bravil to do charitable work. He saw the weeping little girl, and when asked, she told him the cause of her misery: she didn't know who her father was. "You have kind eyes and a mouth that tells no lies," replied the priest after a moment, smiling. "You are clearly a child of Stendarr, the God of Mercy, Charity, and Well-Earned Luck." The priest's thoughtful words changed the girl forever. Whenever she was asked who her father was, she would cheerfully reply, "I am a child of Luck." She grew up to be a barmaid, it was said, kind and generous to her customers, frequently allowing them to pay when they were able to. On a particularly rainy night, she gave shelter to a young man dressed in rags, who not only had no money to pay, but was belligerent and rude to her as she fed him and gave him a room. The next morning, he left without so much as a thank you. Her friends and family admonished her, saying that she had to be careful, he might have even been dangerous. A week later, a royal carriage arrived in Bravil, with an Imperial prince within. Though he was scarcely reconizable, it was the same young man the Lady had helped. He apologized profusely for his appearance and behavior, explaining that he had been kidnapped and cursed by a band of witches, and it wasn't until later he had returned to his senses. The Lady was showered with riches, which she, of course, generously shared with all the people of Bravil, where she lived to a content old age. No one knows when the statue to her was erected in the town square, or who the artist was, but it has stood there for thousands of years, since the first era. To this day, visitors and Bravillians alike go to the Lucky Old Lady to ask for her to bless them with luck in their travails. Just one more charming aspect of the charming, and very lucky village of Bravil. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- (Search Code: LOLZ12) ~~The Dragon Break~~ Fal Droon Item ID: 000243D5 The Dragon Break is found in the bedroom of Dovyn Aren's House which is in the Elven Gardens District. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- The late 3rd era was a period of remarkable religious ferment and creativity. The upheavals of the reign of Uriel VII were only the outward signs of the historical forces that would eventually lead to the fall of the Septim Dynasty. The so called "Dragon Break" was first proposed at this time, by a wide variety of cults and fringe sects across the Empire, connected only by a common obsession with the events surrounding Tiber Septim's rise to power -- the "founding myth", if you will, of the Septim Dynasty. The basis of the Dragon Break doctrine is now known to be a rather prosaic error in the timeline printed in the otherwise authoritative "Encyclopedia Tamrielica", first published in 3E 12, during the early years of Tiber Septim's reign. At that time, the archives of Alinor were still inaccessible to human scholars, and the extant records from the Alessian period were extremely fragmentary. The Alessians had systematically burned all the libraries they could find, and their own records were largely destroyed during the War of Righteousness. The author of the Encyclopedia Tamrielica was apparently unfamiliar with the Alessian "year", which their priesthood used to record all dates. We now know this refers to the length of the long vision-trances undertaken by the High Priestess, which might last anywhere from a few weeks to several months. Based on analysis of the surviving trance scrolls, as well as murals and friezes from Alessian temples, I estimate that the Alessian Order actually lasted only about 150 years, rather than the famous "one thousand and eight years" given by the Encyclopedia Tamrielica. The "mystery" of the millennial-plus rule of the Alessians was accepted but unexplained until the spread of the Lorkhan cults in the late 3rd era, when the doctrine of the Dragon Break took hold. Because this dating (and explanation) was so widely held at the time, and then repeated by historians down through today, it has come to have the force of tradition. Recall, however, that the 3rd era historians were already separated from the Alessians by a gulf of more than 2,000 years. And history was still in its infancy, relying on the few archives from those early days. Today, modern archaeology and paleonumerology have confirmed what my own research in Alessian dating first suggested: that the Dragon Break was invented in the late 3rd era, based on a scholarly error, fueled by obsession with eschatology and Numidiumism, and perpetuated by scholarly inertia. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- (Search Code: LOLZ13) ~~The Lunar Lorkhan~~ Fal Droon Item ID: 000243D8 The Lunar Lorkhan can either be recieved as a reward during "Two Sides of Coin" quest or in Henantier's Dream World which is a place only available during the quest Through A Nightmare, Darkly. It can also be found in random loot. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- I will not go into the varying accounts of what happened at Adamantine Tower, nor will I relate the War of Manifest Metaphors that rendered those stories unable to support most qualities of what is commonly known as "narrative." We all have our favorite Lorkhan story and our favorite Lorkhan motivation for the creation of Nirn and our favorite story of what happened to His Heart. But the Theory of the Lunar Lorkhan is of special note. In short, the Moons were and are the two halves of Lorkhan's 'flesh-divinity'. Like the rest of the Gods, Lorkhan was a plane(t) that participated in the Great Construction... except where the Eight lent portions of their heavenly bodies to create the mortal plane(t), Lorkhan's was cracked asunder and his divine spark fell to Nirn as a shooting star "to impregnate it with the measure of its existence and a reasonable amount of selfishness." Masser and Secunda therefore are the personifications of the dichotomy-- the "Cloven Duality," according to Artaeum-- that Lorkhan legends often rail against: ideas of the anima/animus, good/evil, being/nothingness, the poetry of the body, throat, and moan/silence-as-the-abortive, and so on -- set in the night sky as Lorkhan's constant reminder to his mortal issue of their duty. Followers of this theory hold that all other "Heart Stories" are mythical degradations of the true origin of the moons (and it needn't be said that they observe the "hollow crescent theory" as well). ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- (Search Code: LOLZ14) ~~Reality & Other Falsehoods~~ Item ID: 00073A69 Reality & Other Falsehoods is found on a shelf in the second floor of Southern Books in Leyawiin. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- It is easy to confuse Illusion and Alteration. Both schools of magic attempt to create what is not there. The difference is in the rules of nature. Illusion is not bound by them, while Alteration is. This may seem to indicate that Alteration is the weaker of the two, but this is not true. Alteration creates a reality that is recognized by everyone. Illusion's reality is only in the mind of the caster and the target. To master Alteration, first accept that reality is a falsehood. There is no such thing. Our reality is a perception of greater forces impressed upon us for their amusement. Some say that these forces are the gods, other that they are something beyond the gods. For the wizard, it doesn't really matter. What matters is the appeal couched in a manner that cannot be denied. It must be insistent without being insulting. To cast Alteration spells is to convince a greater power that it will be asier to change reality as requested than to leave it alone. Do not assume that these forces are sentient. Our best guess is that they are like wind and water. Persistent but not thoughtful. Just like directing the wind or water, diversions are easier than outright resistance. Express the spell as a subtle change and it is more likely to be successful. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- (Search Code: LOLZ15) ~~Sithis~~ Anonymous Item ID: 000243D6 Sithis can be found in the on a desk in the office of Leyawiin Chapel Hall. It can also be found in Deepscorn Hollow after buying the study area upgrade if you have the Deepscorn Hallow official mod. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Sithis is the start of the house. Before him was nothing, but the foolish Altmer have names for and revere this nothing. That is because they are lazy slaves. Indeed, from the Sermons, 'stasis asks merely for itself, which is nothing.' Sithis sundered the nothing and mutated the parts, fashioning from them a myriad of possibilities. These ideas ebbed and flowed and faded away and this is how it should have been. One idea, however, became jealous and did not want to die; like the stasis, he wanted to last. This was the demon Anui-El, who made friends, and they called themselves the Aedra. They enslaved everything that Sithis had made and created realms of everlasting imperfection. Thus are the Aedra the false gods, that is, illusion. So Sithis begat Lorkhan and sent him to destroy the universe. Lorkhan! Unstable mutant! Lorkhan had found the Aedric weakness. While each rebel was, by their nature, immeasurable, they were, through jealously and vanity, also separate from each other. They were also unwilling to go back to the nothing of before. So while they ruled their false dominions, Lorkhan filled the void with a myriad of new ideas. These ideas were legion. Soon it seemed that Lorkhan had a dominion of his own, with slaves and everlasting imperfections, and he seemed, for all the world, like an Aedra. Thus did he present himself as such to the demon Anui-El and the Eight Givers: as a friend. Go unto the Sharmat Dagoth Ur as a friend. AE HERMA MORA ALTADOON PADHOME LKHAN AE AI. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- (Search Code: LOLZ16) ~~The Armorer's Challenge~~ Mymophonus Item ID: 000243D9 The Armorer's Challenge can be found in the First Edition boostore in the Imperial City Market District or on top of second-floor bookcase to the right of the stairs. in the Fighters Guild in Cheydinhal ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Three hundred years ago, when Katariah became Empress, the first and only Dunmer to rule all of Tamriel, she faced opposition from the Imperial Council. Even after she convinced them that she would be the best regent to rule the Empire while her husband Pelagius sought treatment for his madness, there was still conflict. In particular from the Duke of Vengheto, Thane Minglumire, who took a particular delight in exposing all of the Empress's lack of practical knowledge. In this particular instance, Katariah and the Council were discussing the unrest in Black Marsh, the massacre of Imperial troops outside the village of Armanias. The sodden swampland and the sweltering climate, particular in summertide, would endanger the troops if they wore their usual armor. "I know a very clever armorer," said Katariah, "His name is Hazadir, an Argonian who knows the environments our army will be facing. He knew him in Vivec where he was a slave to the master armorer there, before he moved to the Imperial City as a freedman. We should have him design armor and weaponry for the campaign." Minglumire gave a short, barking laugh: "She wants a slave to design the armor and weaponry for our troops! Sirollus Saccus is the finest armorer in the Imperial City. Everyone knows that." After much debate, it was finally decided to have both armorers contend for the commission. The Council also elected two champions of equal power and prowess, Nandor Beraid and Raphalas Eul, to battle using the arms and armaments of the real competitors in the struggle. Whichever champion won, the armorer who supplied him would earn the Imperial commission. It was decided that Beraid would be outfitted by Hazadir, and Eul by Saccus. The fight was scheduled to commence in seven days. Sirollus Saccus began work immediately. He would have preferred more time, but he recognized the nature of the test. The situation in Armanias was urgent. The Empire had to select their armorer quickly, and once selected, the preferred armorer had to act swiftly and produce the finest armor and weaponry for the Imperial army in Black Marsh. It wasn't just the best armorer they were looking for. It was the most efficient. Saccus had only begun steaming the half-inch strips of black virgin oak to bend into bands for the flanges of the armor joints when there was a knock at his door. His assistant Phandius ushered in the visitor. It was a tall reptilian of common markings, a dull, green-fringed hood, bright black eyes, and a dull brown cloak. It was Hazadir, Katariah's preferred armorer. "I wanted to wish you the best of luck on the — is that ebony?" It was indeed. Saccus had bought the finest quality ebony weave available in the Imperial City as soon as he heard of the competition and had begun the process of smelting it. Normally it was a six month procedure refining the ore, but he hoped that a massive convection oven stoked by white flames born of magicka would shorten the operation to three days. Saccus proudly pointed out the other advancements in his armory. The acidic lime pools to sharpen the blade of the dai-katana to an unimaginable degree of sharpness. The Akaviri forge and tongs he would use to fold the ebony back and forth upon itself. Hazadir laughed. "Have you been to my armory? It's two tiny smoke-filled rooms. The front is a shop. The back is filled with broken armor, some hammers, and a forge. That's it. That's your competition for the millions of gold pieces in Imperial commission." "I'm sure the Empress has some reason to trust you to outfit her troops," said Sirollus Saccus, kindly. He had, after all, seen the shop and knew that what Hazadir said was true. It was a pathetic workshop in the slums, fit only for the lowliest of adventurers to get their iron daggers and cuirasses repaired. Saccus had decided to make the best quality regardless of the inferiority of his rival. It was his way and how he became the best armorer in the Imperial City. Out of kindness, and more than a bit of pride, Saccus showed Hazadir how, by contrast, things should be done in a real professional armory. The Argonian acted as an apprentice to Saccus, helping him refine the ebony ore, and to pound it and fold it when it cooled. Over the next several days, they worked together to create a beautiful dai-katana with an edge honed to a keen sharp enough to trim a mosquito's eyebrows, and a suit of armor of bound wood, leather, silver, and ebony to resist the winds of Oblivion. On the day of the battle, Saccus, Hazadir, and Phandius finished polishing the armor and brought in Raphalas Eul for the fitting. Hazadir left only then, realizing that Nandor Beraid would be at his shop shortly to be outfitted. The two warriors met in the arena in the Imperial City with an audience of the Empress and the Imperial Council two hours later. From the moment Saccus saw Eul in his suit of shining ebony and dai-katana blazing and Beraid in his collection of dusty, rusted merchandise from Hazadir's shop, he knew who would win. And he was right. The first blow from the dai-katana lodged in the soft shield, as there was no metal trim to deflect it. Before l could pull his sword back, Beraid lashed out with his long sword at the weak points in the armor, it was the perfect weapon to perforate the joints. Eul retrieved his sword and slashed at Beraid but his armor was scaled and angled, and the attacks rolled off like water. When Eul's armor began to fall off, the Empress and Council, out of mercy, called a victor. Hazadir received the commission and thanks to his knowledge of Argonian battle tactics and weaponry and how best to combat them, he designed implements of war that brought down the insurrection in Armanias. Katariah won the respect of Council, and even, grudgingly, that of Thane Minglumire. Sirollus Saccus went to Morrowind to learn what Hazadir learned there, and was never heard from again. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- (Search Code: LOLZ17) ~~Cherim's Heart of Anequina~~ Livillus Perus, Professor at the Imperial University Item ID: 000243DC Cherim's Heart of Aneqina can be found on a desk on the second floor of The First Edition which is in the Imperial City Market District ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Contemporary with Maqamat Lusign (interviewed in volume seventeen of this series) is the Khajiti Cherim, whose tapestries have been hailed as masterpieces all over the Empire for nigh on thirty years now. His four factories located throughout Elsweyr make reproductions of his work, but his original tapestries command stellar prices. The Emperor himself owns ten Cherim tapestries, and his representatives are currently negotiating the sale of five more. The muted use of color contrasted with the luminous skin tones of Cherim's subjects is a marked contrast with the old style of tapestry. The subjects of his work in recent years have been fabulous tales of the ancient past: the Gods meeting to discuss the formation of the world; the Chimer following the Prophet Veloth into Morrowind; the Wild Elves battling Morihaus and his legions at the White Gold Tower. His earliest designs dealt with more contemporary subjects. I had the opportunity to discuss with him one of his first masterpieces, The Heart of Anequina, at his villa in Orcrest. The Heart of Anequina presents an historic battle of the Five Year War between Elsweyr and Valenwood which raged from 3E 394 (or 3E 395, depending on what one considers to be the beginning of the war) until 3E 399. In most fair accounts, the war lasted 4 years and 9 months, but artistic license from the great epic poets added an additional three months to the ordeal. The actual details of the battle itself, as interpreted by Cherim, are explicit. The faces of a hundred and twenty Wood Elf archers can be di