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Great Spirits of the Reach

Vashu gra-Morga
By Vashu gra-Morga, Chief Daedrotheologist at the University of Gwylim
Most residents of Tamriel profess some variety of faith. In a world beset by danger—both conventional and cosmic—rejecting deities out of hand is a failing proposition. Unfortunately, this shared desire for religious identity rarely brings people together. Instead, it commonly drives us apart. Many of the fault-lines are predictable. Racial politics, historical enmities, and claims of divine sanction routinely undercut any attempt at a good faith dialogue. But one central rift underpins all of it: the perceived supremacy of the Aedra.
An old Orcish proverb reads, "conquerors name the wars" — an apt description of how those in power shape our understanding of history. But this proverb is doubly true when it comes to matters of faith. Conquerors do more than name wars. They shape beliefs. If we accept the premise that those who hold the White-Gold Tower hold Tamriel in some fundamental sense, the primacy of Aedra makes perfect sense. Not because they are in fact superior, but because those in a position of supremacy insist that they are.
With a few notable exceptions, the story of Cyrodiil—and thus Tamriel writ large—has been shaped by those professing Aedric faiths. It began with the Aldmer and passed to the Ayleids. And while the Wild Elves flirted with Daedra-worship for a time, they paid a high price for it at the hands of the Alessians. From that point forward, the Aedra enjoyed special status in the realm of Tamrielic faith—a status that by definition diminished the standing of those races who cleaved to non-Aedric practice. Most of these races already suffered scorn and abuse at the hands of Men and Elves (Orcs, Argonians, and Khajiit), while others were regarded with cruel suspicion by their Elven kin (the Chimer, and later the Dunmer). All these people suffered—and still suffer—the privilege awarded to Aedra worshipers. But no race has suffered more abuse on the basis of their faith than the people of the Reach.
Despite being bullied, scorned, and repeatedly invaded by foreign aggressors, the Reachfolk have managed to retain a rich Daedra-worshipping culture that shows no signs of dilution or retreat. It is my sincere hope that this treatise will shed new light on this under-appreciated faith and inspire a greater respect for the proud and hardy people of the Reach.
By Vashu gra-Morga, Chief Daedrotheologist at the University of Gwylim
The Reachfolk worship many spirits, both great and small. In truth, there are as many faiths as there are clans in the Reach. Some clans might worship a sacred elk or the spirit of a mountain spring. Others might sacrifice goats to ghosts of ancient heroes. There are some spirits, however, that transcend clan boundaries—those we in the rest of Tamriel recognize as the Daedric Princes.
Chief among the Reach pantheon is Hircine—Prince of the Hunt. Names vary from clan to clan: Old Elk-Eye, Hunt-King, Beast Father, Skinshaper, and the Spear with Five Points. Like all Reach gods, Hircine is regarded as a cruel teacher. Indeed, Reachfolk do not call their articles of faith "beliefs;" they call them "lessons." But those who heed Hircine's lessons grow swift, strong, and cunning. For a Reach hunter, these physical manifestations of faith are far more important than any of the nebulous ethical concerns debated in the temples of the Divines.
Hircine is the avatar of the fierce and terrifying "now." He tells his followers that life is lived breath-by-breath, and all creatures are predator, prey, or both. This engenders a sense of urgency and constant wariness that often leads to conflict, but also keeps Reachfolk safe. In the heart of a Hircine-worshiper, there is no rest and no expectation of rest.
For the uninitiated, such a faith sounds exhausting. But the fruits it bears are difficult to dismiss. Reachfolk maintain a level of focus and athleticism that few races can match. While brief stillness waits at the end of the hunt, there is always another hunt on the horizon.
Reachfolk also welcome Hircine's truest servants into their midst as protectors and guides. I speak, of course, of werewolves. Few Reachfolk describe lycanthropy as a blessing, but they accept it as a useful condition. The werewolf suffers on behalf of her clan and causes enemies to suffer in turn.
By Vashu gra-Morga, Chief Daedrotheologist at the University of Gwylim
Reachfolk recognize only two worlds: the world of flesh and the world of spirit. While Hircine reigns supreme in the world of flesh, Namira, the Spirit Queen, rules over the infinite realm of spirit.
Even among Daedra worshipers, Namira is usually regarded with fear and suspicion. Her traditional sphere of influence inspires instant revulsion in mortals. Chilling mysteries and the inevitability of decay lie at the very heart of most mortal fears. But in the Reach, her dominion extends far beyond mere slugs and darkness. Reachfolk see Namira as the avatar of all primal dualisms. Life and death, beginnings and endings, possibility and entropy—all fundamental competing forces flow from her realm of spirit. While most religions strive for some sense of harmony, Reach theology is inextricably linked with conflicts like these. This obsession with conflict as an essential force of existence no doubt plays a role in their belligerent attitude toward outsiders and each other.
Paradoxically, most Reachfolk do find some measure of peace in Namira's teachings. Clan witches often describe Namira as one who gives and takes; giving life and taking life until the spirit finds deep wisdom.
By Vashu gra-Morga, Chief Daedrotheologist at the University of Gwylim
Reachfolk place great emphasis upon natural rhythms and the pitiless march of time. Everything that exists will pass. The fort that rises too high will fall. The clan that starves will one day grow strong. This eternal balance is the work of Peryite, the Master of Tasks and Lord of Order. In many ways, Peryite serves as a vital foil to the primacy of conflict. While wars and plagues may inflict grievous wounds, the Taskmaster ensures that the world always returns to its natural and intended state.
As is the case with most cultures, Reachfolk associate Peryite with blights and disease. But unlike other people, Reachfolk see no malevolence in illness. Quite the contrary. Lives extinguished by disease make room for healthier, more vibrant Reachfolk to take their place. Like wildfires, diseases serve as a revitalizing force of nature—a necessary check on the hazards of abundance.
I should note that Peryite's role in Reach society mimics that of Akatosh in Aedric faiths in many crucial ways. Associations with time, rigid natural order, draconic imagery, and so on lead me to believe that some cultural cross-pollination may have occurred during the early interactions of man and mer in Northwestern Tamriel—a heretical but fascinating thought.
By Vashu gra-Morga, Chief Daedrotheologist at the University of Gwylim
Scholars often dismiss Reach theology as simple Daedra worship, but the great spirits of the Reachfolk extend beyond the Princes of Oblivion. Like many human cultures, people of the Reach venerate Lorkhan as well. They know him as Lorkh, the Spirit of Man, the Mortal Spirit, or the Sower of Flesh.
According to Reach myths, Lorkh convinced the Spirit Queen, Namira, to grant him a place in the infinite void where he could create a realm for wayward spirits. Rather than a vibrant paradise, Lorkh created a hard and painful place—a realm that taught through suffering. While some resent Lorkh's cruelty, most praise his wisdom. According to the Reachfolk, those who suffer most know best. Hardship is a means to wisdom and glory, and Lorkh provided hardship in ample supply.
Lorkh supposedly still walks among the mortals of Nirn. He appears only once in a great while, braving the pain and sorrow of the cruel world he created to aid the Reachfolk in times of desperate need. My research indicates that the dreaded briarheart ritual may have begun as a reflection of that immortal sacrifice.

Crafting Motif 63: Dremora

Lyranth the Foolkiller

When possible variations in physical appearance are unlimited, it is an act of supreme will and discipline to confine oneself to a uniform semblance. For we proud Dremora, who regard all other Daedra with well-earned disdain, self-expression is nothing but vulgar self-indulgence. Heed these regulations, kynfolk, and don't disgrace your clanmates with unauthorized variations—or it's the scathe-rings for you, and don't think otherwise.


Like all weaponry of those who proudly serve the Prince of Domination, our axes evoke Molag Bal's physical presence, echoing his dread features and extravagant ridged horns. It's said that after the mace, our Prince's favorite weapon is the axe, since it is the tool of the headsman. Perhaps it is so; who would dare ask?


Our belts are layered of several straps and strands, overlapped to provide reliable support for our many tassets, faulds, weapon loops, scabbards, and tool pouches. By preference our cinctures are made of thrice-tanned human hide, but the pelts of other mortals are an acceptable substitute if manskin is unavailable.


Dremora sabatons are tough and soled with thick treads, for we stride the surfaces of worlds uncounted, regardless of the ruggedness of their terrain. Our toes and arches are protected by shields of filigreed dark-metal, but our boots' insteps and uppers are of finest Argonian hide—a lesson learned on Nirn, for not all mortal ideas should be disdained.


The Coldharbour Dremora's bow is a composite weapon assembled from horn from various sources, including the prongs and spurs of our own honored dead. Quivers are adorned with motifs that evoke the Prince of Domination.


Our many-layered dark-metal cuirasses are embossed with the swirling curlicues that represent the flow of chaotic creatia, shown in its state before it is hardened into martial permanence by the sheer willpower of the Daedra. Thus we honor the Prince of Domination, who makes every reality submit to his insatiable desires.


The daggers of Coldharbour Dremora have triangular blades designed for both parrying and punch-stabbing, leaving wounds that close poorly in the flesh of mortals unless they are particularly skilled with Restoration magic.


We wear the gauntlets of warriors, battle gloves of mortalhide under curved plates and lames of metal, all embossed with symbols of chaotic creatia, to protect our forearms and weapon-gripping hands from the ill-aimed blows of our pathetic opponents. Dread Lord, with these we raise our fists to salute you!


We wear, forged in metal, horrific horned visages of resolution and terror, designed to paralyze our enemies into fear and indecision. Frozen, they gasp, "What nightmare is this that confronts me?" as our weapons, unheeded, scythe them down, a harvest of death we offer to the Prince of Domination.


Greaves of grievance, we craft our cuisses from the tanned skins of our defeated foes, defending our hides with the hides that did not defend them. Fine-worked poleyns protect our knees, not for kneeling in submission, but to enhance sudden, vicious blows in close combat.


The mace, of course, is the symbol of our Dread Lord Molag Bal, and so the martial mace of the Coldharbour Dremora must pay homage to that symbol without crossing the line into blasphemous imitation. Therefore, follow our guidelines without deviation, kynworms!


Dremora shields are of heavy metal, for we are strong, and replete with sharp points, for we are dangerous. Embossed symbols depict the flow of chaotic creatia as it appears before Daedric will imposes order upon it.


The Xivilai think our flaring and pointed pauldrons are ostentatious and extreme—and they're right, for thus do we achieve the distinctive angular silhouette that evokes the concept of "skeir-gallyn," or discorporation-by-geometry. For what is a Dremora if not a belligerent collision of acute hyper-angles?


As proud servants of the Prince of Domination, the heads of our spellcasters' staves symbolically evoke our Dread Lord's ridged horns, with his awe-inspiring features depicted expressionistically beneath. The staff's haft ends in a point like a curved metal talon.


If, as you were trained, you impale our enemies so that they die slowly, their long final moments will be spent staring in horrified disbelief at the intricate scrollwork on your sword's upper tang and crossbar. It behooves you to follow our forging designs closely so that our Dread Lord will be honored by his enemies' dying contemplations.


Epistle on the Spirits of Amun-dro Vol 2


Thava-ko sings now a song of Riddle'Thar. Let its sweetest truth rest upon Thava-ko's tongue.

One of our people's greatest strengths lies in our flexibility. We do not jail free-thinkers as Dark Elves do. We do not decry salads as a blasphemy like the stubby acorn-worshipers of Valenwood. We do not pledge our souls only to eight dusty myths like the furless litters of long-dead Alessia. To be a Khajiit is to be free—free of cruel dogma, and free of bitter self-denial. Riddle'Thar does not kneel and mumble, it dances and sings! Ours is a faith rooted in joy, and faithful indulgence, and grinning charity. Alas, this strength often slides into shrugging disregard. We let our claws slip from the truth and wonder if "truth" even matters. Worship and transaction fall into eclipse. Well-earned relaxation gives way to a kitten's indolence. Our spirits grow poor. And a spirit so afflicted makes itself the perfect prey for the dro-m'Athra.

Amun-dro's catalogue of spirits preys on the worst aspects of our carefree natures. Take the inclusion of Mafala, the Eight-Clawed. Were the bloody horrors of the Sinner Suicides not proof enough of her dark nature? Consider also the Tide-King, Hermorah. This document would have us believe that Azurah walks the dampened halls of his dark library as friend. If our distant mother does this, should we not do the same? No! For Khajiit who call on Hermorah's counsel risk a fate worse than death. Mumbles from the sea will tear a mind asunder as surely as the most potent skooma. His briny "truths" shred our sense of reality and set us adrift—far from ja-Kha'jay.

We must also consider who this catalog of spirits excludes. These books offer the rosiest descriptions of malevolent beings, but what of loving Mara and noble S'rendarr? This ancient zealot, Amun-dro, fails even to mention their names. And why? Because his aged theology offers no refuge for simple virtues like charity, humility, and love. Our beloved Rid-Thar-ri'Datta offered us more than Clan Mother tales—he offered us grace. In a world so crowded by great spirits and grand cosmic plans, where does the simple Khajiit rest his weary paws? The Two-Moons Dance speaks plainly. It has no need for ancient conflicts—only simple precepts that lead to a life well-lived. In the end, a joyful life is the greatest gift of the Riddle'Thar.

The Insatiable


Daedra are creatures of purpose. They embody a need to be fulfilled. Why? Only the Princes know for certain, but to those who would wield these beings' power as their own, understanding their purpose is paramount. One does not conjure a clannfear to aid in ritual matters or a scamp to slay a giant.

It is no different with the creature known as the Insatiable. One does not call upon an embodiment of ceaseless hunger without understanding that its purpose is to consume. It has no other. Once unleashed it will obey no command and offer no council, its only desire is to stalk and devour the living. It will snatch away prey to its den and savor their innards in an excruciatingly slow feast through which its victims survive far longer than anyone would imagine. Some believe it enjoys the taste of fear, as it tends to leave the remains of its victims among the herd, leaving little doubt that there is a predator among them.

If your desire is to see a place stripped of life and wracked by terror, knowing that there can be no appeasing the monster once it has been given flesh, this is the offering you must make:

-Lay out the corpse of a Man or Mer who succumbed to starvation.
-Cut out its tongue and place it back in the mouth facing the gullet.
-Wash the tongue down its throat with the blood of a fattened mortal. It may take some doing.
-Burn tallow candles around the prepared corpse, at least a half dozen.
-When the last flame has guttered out the tongue will slither out from the corpse and nest in the melted fat.
-In three days time, the Insatiable will sprout from this bloated cocoon and begin its terrible work. Linger at your own peril.

Ritual of Appeasement


Do not tempt the Daedra Lords with restlessness. Give to them freely as our ancestors did so that their dire gazes do not fall upon our tribe. It is best to offer the Princes their rightful due when the seasons show us their brief favor, lest they call upon us in the lean times. You will know the portents by the fatness of the guar, you will know it by the stench of the sea on the inland, and you will know it by the wanderings of the lost peoples along their false gods' paths.

Lead the tribe to great Almurbalarammi, for that is where the ancestors made their pact and so it will be there that the pact is renewed. Upon arrival, alight a pyre of grain. It must be fed until the ritual has concluded. There will be no full bellies until the Princes have had their fill.

Each day, as the sun crests the distant waves, gather the living sacrifice at our ancient altar in Almurbalarammi. Split their throats over the stone with the black glass blade and invoke the Daedra Lords while the blood is still fresh. Spurn not one, or our suffering will be assured and terrible.

Spread the sacrificial entrails to the far corners of the altar before the sun reaches its true height and leave the offering to the Princes' mercy. When the host of Namira and touch of Peryite have befouled the corpse, you will know the day's feast is concluded.

Attendants may remove the offering and wash the altar with the oils of anointment. On the day of longest dusk, Azura signals that our offerings are satisfactory to the Daedra Lords. Only then may we break our fast and cease our supplication. Do not tarry in Almurbalarammi, for it is their place.

Chamberlain Haskill Answers Your Questions

Chamberlain Haskill

June 6, 2015

“To Haskill,

I have found myself wondering if there is some reason the Mad God is so fond of cheese. Is there a significant reason for this? I mean no disrespect, of course, but I find the taste of cheese to be, well, disgusting. Does the Mad God just like the taste of cheese, or is it something deeper? I apologize if I offend you by saying this, but one must truly be mad to love the foulness of... cheese. I am merely a curious Nord with far too much time on her hands, but I am hoping you will have the extra time to answer my brief - and hopefully not insulting - question."

Sincerely, Aniki Frostward of Windhelm

Chamberlain Haskill says, “I am not, myself, fond of cheese, and cannot explain the Master's predilection for it. Unless he does it just to be irritating. Sometimes he does things just to be irritating."


“Hi! I think I'm not mad, but may you read the following like I am so.

How is it possible to a Daedra Lord, an et'Ada spirit of chaos, to be the Prince of Order like is Jyggalag, the antagonist of Sheogorath?

And another question for you: Have you ever considered that all of us, et'Ada and mortals, are nothing but characters of a game being played by unknown entities from outside the Aurbis? Maybe then that Sheogorath is the amused voice of the game creators.

And another more question for you: Is the cheese a corpse of milk?" - Shanke-Naar Righthorn

Chamberlain Haskill says, “Oh, yes. Very funny. In my position I get a lot of this sort of thing, as you might expect. You might even wonder if I'm tired of it yet. I'd wager that, if you thought hard, you could come up with the answer. Maybe.

“Nonetheless, the Master has given me the task of answering these questions, so I shall duly answer them. In my experience, Daedric Princes are much like cheese: some of them are hard, some of them are soft, and some of them have blue veins running through their substance. Thus: Jyggalag.

“And if we are nothing but characters in an elaborate game played by unknown entities, well, why aren't I having any fun?"


“Dear Haskill (or otherwise servant of Sheggorath, yes?),

I was wondering. In my people's Pantheon - the Khajiit Pantheon, yes, it seems my people believe in Sheogorath, or, well, Sheggorath as we call him as a Mad God, understandably. Do my people even worship Sheggorath? Or is he just labelled as a bad omen, and, why is his name put in unison for the drug addiction that comes with Skooma and Moon Sugar, eh? I do not understand - but this is probably because I am not a very cultured Khajiit. Cultured in my own terms, that is. I am cultured in, like. Stabbing Daedra.

I hope you fade into the Dark Behind the World, Vadanni"

Chamberlain Haskill says, “Ah, the cats. I have never liked cats personally, but the Mad God enjoys their company, I suppose because they're inexplicable and unpredictable. I am told that the Khajiit revere both the Aedra and the Daedra, worshiping whichever Divine seems most applicable to whatever they're praying for or swearing by. But then, to a cat, immediate personal convenience is everything. In fact, you're not even paying attention anymore, are you?"


“Are the mortal inhabitants of the Shivering Isles subject to the effects of Time? Those who have departed Tamriel under Lord Sheogorath's wing seem to live for centuries in between Greymarches if the ravings of madmen are to be believed. Knowledge of their fate might help assuage the grief of certain members of the Mages Guild who have had recent dealings with the Madgod."

Legoless, Doyen of the United Explorers of Scholarly Pursuits

Chamberlain Haskill says, “Oh, of course, 'Doyen,' because assuaging the grief of mortals is so important to me. Let me be clear: inhabitants of the Shivering Isles are affected by Time, but we are not subject to it. We are subjects of Lord Sheogorath, who subjects us to whatever subjects he is in the mood to subjudicate. Because Time is subjective."


“Ah, the transmission worked. Lots of interference in the transliminal barriers today. Haskill, is it? I'm led to believe you're the Chamberlain to Lord Sheogorath himself. I imagine this is an administrative office that handles a wide array of interesting duties. I'm not sure if the following inquiry is within your area of expertise, but I've been curious about some of the inhabitants of Sheogorath's realm for some time. I acquired a tome a while back. (Well, "acquired" is a rather mundane way of describing a book popping out of thin air from a tiny portal and landing on my head hard enough to knock me out for the better part of an hour, but there are a lot of unusual things happening during this Planemeld.)

Getting back to the point, I found the subject matter fascinating. This tome seems to have originated in the realm you administrate for your Lord, and concerns some of the native flora and fauna. Several species were named which are quite alien to my home sphere of Nirn, such as Elytra and Grummites. Interestingly enough, despite inhabiting a Daedric realm, these creatures are said to lay eggs and reproduce in much the same way mortal animals of Mundus do. I found this quite strange, as I've always been taught that only Daedra live in Oblivion realms, and that Daedra do not reproduce as we do. Was my research misleading, or are these creatures not Daedra at all? If not, where do they originate and why do they live within your Lord's sphere?"

- Legate Cyclenophus of the Bretonic Imperial Restoration Society

Chamberlain Haskill says, “You don't know very much about Oblivion realms, 'Legate,' if you don't know that they reflect, and are indeed physical manifestations of, the Princes who rule over them. My master is the Prince of Madness, yet for some reason you expect his realm to follow the same rules that regulate your own bland little world. Do you wonder why I have no interest in visiting Tamriel? It's an act of mad charity that Lord Sheogorath pays it any attention at all.

“What is a Legate, anyway? Is it like a Doyen? I hope not."


“Scribed verbatim by Svarnor Far-Traveled, on request of his brother Svalti of the same clan. Svarnor apologizes for his brother's condition and hopes this letter will not influence his application into the service of Arkay.

Dear Haskill, Chamberlain of He Who Is Seen In Storms, bringer of many fears and destroyer of pleasure, may his name be worshipped above all else,

I find of late a new and all-encompassing fear has encompassed me. This fear is the terror that perhaps my ears only imagine and the Mad God speaks to me not. After pondering this new and beautiful nightmare for thirty-three days, I must ask of you, please answer to me this- with all the thousands of fools in the world, believing themselves insane when they have merely said the wool and offered up words and cabbages whilst eating soul gems, how can one truly be sure they listen to the whispers echoing from the Madhouse? The neighbors whisper to, almost as often as they listen, and the walls are thin.

What, I ask you, Haskill, Secretary of He Who Laughs in Terror, is the method with which I can attain most perfect worry? How can I master and grow in my recognition of the things which are dangerous, and the people whom I must Not Trust? Of all the thousand worships of the Bearded Man, the Mad Star, which is the trustworthy one? There are fools in the world who would think to behave in such ways as would make even the most yellow seem purpled and I will not be one of them. I have searched the libraries, but one cannot trust what is written in books- books even can be traps for the mind even as the nightmares can release them into perfect awareness.

Please, Haskill, Doorman of the Shivering Isles, please answer me. I have searched for so long to become perfect in what others call madness and fully aware of the perils which surround me. I must know- I must must must know if I have been praying and listening and seeing a farce. What of the Khajiit who live beyond the walls? Their Skooma Cat provides for them, and they see him sometimes too. Must I warn them, or watch them? Depart with them, or dispose of them? I know you, Haskill, are not perfect in your awareness. Only He is, but I beg to know things to know things to know things to know things YES THAT IS FOUR, BROTHER DO NOT INTERRUPT back to the letter oh Haskill please inform me of the answers to which I need to know the questions to listen to the dreams more closely while waking and to enter to the entrance without missing and being trapped by the deceivers they are here deceiving me always I hear their whispers in the darkness when the torches burn and in the light when they are silenced.


At this point, my brother collapsed into a furious fit and began to tear at the walls. I am writing this now, several hours later. I hope that it would be healing for my brother to receive a response from one who he evidently holds so close to his heart and, in addition, if this is (as I suspect) a hoax and a scam and this will go no further than some shack outside Bruma, I wish you to know that if my brother does not receive a response, we will personally hunt down those responsible for the lies and punish them severely in honor of the Lord of the Never There, king of the True-Seers and Laughing-Terrors and the Two-Faced Men. I hope that my application to study the service of Arkay is not influenced by this"

Svarnor Far-Traveled, with assistance from Svalti of the same name.

Chamberlain Haskill says, “Here, Svarnor, this never fails. Tell your brother, 'Svalti, you must eat the eggplant. You know which one I mean. You can trust me, because I'm your friend. Not like the Others.'"


“Greetings Haskill, Chamberlain to the Mad God.

Rumors and stories abound regarding the deeds of your master, but there are some hidden things I would dare to inquire about.

Firstly, I have heard whispers of a Daedric Prince of Order, long since lost. As this being must be considered the embodiment of all things abhorred by your lord, I wonder if you have any knowledge of this “Jyggalag"? Has Sheogorath banished him? Or is he perhaps merely uninterested with the disorder that makes Tamriel?

Secondly, I must ask about your own nature. In a realm defined by madness of all sorts, you seem to be a most sane being. Indeed, your nature seems rather opposite to that of your lord. Who and what are you? I have heard some say that you are in fact an aspect of the Mad God, as Barbas is to Clavicus Vile. Personally, I think it more likely that you are simply (if that word applies to anything related to Sheogorath) the steward of the Shivering Isles. Still, the rumor is interesting."

Sincerely as is possible when discussing the Mad God, Takrios the Indomitable

Chamberlain Haskill says, “I have had similar questions about my 'nature' from Alessandra, Legoless, and an Unnamed One, so I suppose I must address the matter. I am a Vestige, all that remains of a mortal from your world who 'mantled' Sheogorath during an event in a previous time. As a fragment, my memory of the event is … fragmentary. I am hazy on the entire concept of 'mantling,' but it had something to do with Lord Sheogorath, myself, and this Jyggalag of whom you speak. I have asked the Mad God to explain it to me, but he just laughs and says maybe he'll tell me about it 'next year,' whatever that means.

“Sometimes the Master irritates even me. I can't remember why I put up with it, actually."


“Most esteemed Haskill,

It is an honour to speak to one who knows the Mad God so intimately. Although I would have preferred an audience with the enigmatic Sheogorath himself, I suppose your deep knowledge of him would suffice. I have heard from many a people how much your Lord delights in the noble taste of cheese, although I have also heard he enjoys flaying his guests first and sipping their blood at later. Chilling. But let us focus on the cheese! What kind of mortal cheese, if any, does your lord enjoy? We Bretons are famous for our cheeses, and I would be most interested to learn if your Master has tasted the delicacies of High Rock. Do tell him of our wonderful La Chèvre Loren and the Langre du Ollere - they are best relished with a cup of blackberry wine! But enough of my ramblings! Please, relay my question to your Lord. If you would like a sample of our cheeses, I would be delighted to send you a batch when I return to my mansion in Gavaudon, provided there is a way to do so."
Yours excitedly, Grand Enchanter Etienne Dumonte, of the Wayrest Mages Guild

Chamberlain Haskill says, “Your application for a position in the Shivering Isles has been accepted, and you will start on Morndas as High Fromage Sommelier to Lord Sheogorath. Bring your own grapefruit spoon, and don't wear too much cologne—he hates that."


“I pen this letter with little patience or love for yourself or the Daedric Prince that you serve, corner of the House of Troubles and purveyor of chaos that he is.

However, I must confess, despite my loyalty to the Three and my boundless disdain for your domain, I do have one question burning in the back of my mind.

Many years ago, in my younger years, I had the gross misfortune of finding myself within the Shivering Isles after a Fredas night involving a shrine of Sheogorath, a copy of the Lusty Argonian Maid and more sujamma than I'd care to admit. Upon awaking back on Tamriel (how or why I was transported away from this dread realm I cannot say), I began studying the various texts and writings that discuss Sheogorath's most foul domain.

While doing so, I discovered that the Shivering Isles are also variously referred to as the Madhouse and the Asylums. I then came to wonder - is the Shivering Isles the name for Sheogorath's entire plane, or could it stretch even farther? Are the Shivering Isles perhaps a mere region, a single territory, of a larger Madhouse, a greater collection of Asylums? And how great a length, exactly, does the bewildering realm of Sheogorath truly span?

I thank you in advice for any reply as I excuse myself to atone for this sinful correspondence by saying my devotions to the Three,"

- Neldam Indrano

Chamberlain Haskill says, “My best advice to you, friend Neldam, is to go on wondering about this, devoting ever more effort to it until it dominates your every waking moment, and everything you do is overshadowed by your need to find the answer. Go do that.

“Because then, one day, you will be in a position to find out for yourself."


“I am but a humble servant of the lady of light and life, blessed Meridia. I ask this of the servant of the madgod: The number of princes is not static, Meridia proves that by her existence as a fallen star child, is the number 16 arbitrary? Are there Daedric princes in Oblivion that are unknown to us mere mortals? Princes who have never felt the need to interact with Mundus?" - Lami Wind-Speaker, Priestess of Meridia

Chamberlain Haskill says, “The best answer to this question is another: How many, Lami Wind-Speaker, are the Accords of Madness?"


“To Haskill, Sheogorath's Chamberlain,

In relation with the repatriation of Eyevea, I have heard recently Sheogorath bargained the ancient Abecean island in a confrontation with the Arch-Mage Shalidor. I have always wondered how could Eyevea disappear...

So, I ask you: is Sheogorath interested in expanding the Shivering Isles with new acquisitions after the loss of Eyevea? I fear my people in Herne or in the rest of the Abecean Archipelago could be in danger as many freemen and most nobles have left our home to fight in Cyrodiil for the Daggerfall Covenant. And I have to know if I have to reinforce Herne's defenses."

Regards, Baron Yashu al-Aydin of Herne

Chamberlain Haskill says, “My dear Baron, I have relayed your real estate proposal to Lord Sheogorath, and he is considering the terms under which he would agree to acquire your island of … what was the name? Herne? However, he would like to know your island's shape, as the Master likes his islands to fit into a nice paisley pattern. He doesn't like shapes that are too regular, and has a particular abhorrence for the rhombus. Herne isn't a rhombus, is it?"

Thwarting the Daedra: Mehrunes Dagon

Flaminius Auctor

Even in peaceful times, Daedric Princes doggedly prod at Tamriel, building power and working toward their vile goals. Now, as war erupts across the provinces, it is certain they’ve doubled their malevolent efforts, and every citizen must be on the lookout for evidence of Daedric activities. As Cyrodiil’s Province General for the Fighters Guild, I take my responsibility to educate and protect seriously. Knowledge, which I offer you here, is a mighty weapon—a population that knows what to look for can stop a cult before it manages any large-scale atrocities.

Mehrunes Dagon is a particularly nasty character among the gallery of horrors from Oblivion. He revels in destruction on a grand scale, from deaths caused by floods or earthquakes to mass murders, and enjoys making a show of any influence he can exert on Nirn. His penchant for flagrant displays of power makes it no surprise that his cults draw more membership than those of the less conspicuous Princes.

What can a regular citizen do, though, in the face of such evil? More than you might think! Everyone can learn to recognize the early signs that a cult might be nearby. Dismantling a cult before it grows to an appreciable size is the most effective way to stamp out Daedric influence and prevent massive summonings, wanton destruction, and other disasters from coming to fruition. This guide will help you recognize the stirrings of Daedric cults, especially those of Mehrunes Dagon:

First, be aware of your neighbors. Watch for unexplained changes in their routines or behavior, strange flashing lights in their fields or homes late at night, eerie chanting, and disappearances of farm animals (or, worse, other neighbors). These can all be signs of a budding cult. Be wary of strangers in town who take special interest in outcasts, criminals, or unruly teenagers—all of these are common recruitment targets.

Cults of Mehrunes Dagon have some unique characteristics. We in the Fighters Guild have identified the end of Sun’s Dusk as a particularly active time for these organizations. If a cult of Dagon operates in your area, you may notice changes in your environment as they attempt to incite disasters—more rain, no rain, or unusual tremors in the ground can all be signs. Dagon cultists also exhibit a sick fascination with setting buildings, animals, and people ablaze and often bear the symbol of a fiery, rising sun.

If you suspect someone you know of cult involvement, proceed with caution. Even someone close to you can be corrupted, and it is difficult to remove the black roots of Daedric filth once they take hold. Do not hesitate to report your suspicions—if they can be reached early enough, it may be possible to reverse the influence of the cult. For your own safety, do not act alone or attempt to confront a possible cult member. Even a once-trustworthy friend involved with a cult may mean you harm. Report immediately to the Fighters Guild, where professionals can assist you!

Armed with this knowledge, you can aid all of Tamriel in preventing Daedric cults from growing and spreading. Pass this book along to a friend or neighbor and we will stop the Daedric threat together.

Glorious Upheavel

Thendaramur Death-Blossom

Listen, you who would renounce the Eight and their lies, you who spurn their mindless doctrines, and know:

Boethiah waits to receive the worthy. He pays no heed to mewling praise and prayers or cries for aid and mercy from his faithful. He delights in the blood of the overthrown, the betrayed and conquered and murdered—those too weak to survive and receive his gifts. Only rebellion and violence, only treachery and aggression and the power you seize can prove you, a mere speck of dust, deserving of notice.

Your prize waits between his dripping fangs, if you dare to claim it. The tested, who stand drenched by the viscera of the pitiful, glimpse secrets held only by the Prince of Plots, who proved the weakness of gods when Trinimac suffered in his stomach. Every power can be dismantled. Demonstrate your will to the Deceiver. Do what you must to sever the grip of all rulers and place the crown on your own brow. In this way, you carve the path to illumination; you recognize your potential.

Turn away from an atrophied life of complacency. Take everything from the undeserving, take what you can and know it always belonged to you. Corrupt what lies within your grasp and turn it to your own purpose, then extend your arm further. Reject the Eyeless Aedra, rotting in Aetherius, that prison realm where flaccid souls languish, useless and drained. Deny their commands and revel in combat, speak heresies as black as the Void, and laugh in the face of the Dragon Ghost Akatosh and his crumbling kin.

Boethiah watches these deeds. She relishes each victory, shivers with euphoria at each moment of resolution, and grants her favor to the strong. If you would be among her champions, if you would destroy everything in your own true path, you will join the endless struggle and bring strife and discord where you tread. Only in this way will you prepare for the greater battle that waits beyond.

Know, you on the path of perpetual conflict, you who refuse to bend the knee: Boethiah waits to receive the worthy.

Rumors of the Spiral Skein

the Derisive Necromite

Mephala! Webspinner! Teacher of the Secret Arts! Queen of the Eight Shadows of Murder! Though others may reign over us, deep in the night we still hear your whisper!

And we do not forget.

In Oblivion you keep your secrets, and the secrets of all those entangled in your webs of subterfuge and semblance. The Spiral Skein is your realm, and like Nirn, in its center is a Tower: the Pillar Palace of Mephala, whose true name is too awful to be uttered.

Spun 'round this pillar, like spokes, are the Eight Strands of the Skein. To each its own space, and to each space its sin.

First is a cavern of plinths and pedestals. Each is a lie, for they pretend to hold up the sky—and the sky is the greatest lie of all.

Second are the chambers of envy, for compared to the cavern above they are cramped and confined, and therefore they hate the cavern.

Third are grottoes alluring and seductive, for their walls and ceilings glow like a million stars that sing a song of love. But the glowing lights are maggots, and the song they sing is decay.

Fourth are the tunnels of fear, for they are eternally dark, and where there is darkness, there is dread.

Fifth are the halls where fair is foul and foul is fair, and every belief is a betrayal.

Sixth is the arena of murder, for ever shall betrayal be followed by murder.

Seventh are the arcades of avarice and appetite, for contained therein are all things mortals would kill or die for.

Eighth is the flaming skein of fury, for as death comes to all mortals, therefore all treasures are lies.

This is the Spiral Skein. The tower is One. The strands are Eight. The lessons are Forever.

Darkest Darkness


In Morrowind, both worshipers and sorcerers summon lesser Daedra and bound Daedra as servants and instruments.

Most Daedric servants can be summoned by sorcerers for very brief periods within the most fragile and tenuous frameworks of command and binding. This fortunately limits their capacity for mischief, although in a few minutes, most of these servants can do terrible harm to their summoners, as well as their enemies.

Worshipers may bind other Daedric servants to this plane through rituals and pacts. Such arrangements result in the Daedric servant remaining on this plane indefinitely, or at least until their bodily manifestations on this plane are destroyed, precipitating the return of their supernatural essences to Oblivion. Whenever Daedra are encountered at Daedric ruins or in tombs, they are almost invariably long-term visitors to our plane.

Likewise, lesser entities bound by their Daedra Lords into weapons and armor may be summoned for brief periods, or they may persist indefinitely, so long as they are not destroyed and banished. The class of bound weapons and bound armors summoned by Temple followers and conjurers are examples of short-term bindings. Daedric artifacts like Mehrunes' Razor and the Masque of Clavicus Vile are examples of long-term bindings.

The Tribunal Temple of Morrowind has incorporated the veneration of Daedra as lesser spirits subservient to the immortal Almsivi, the Triune godhead of Almalexia, Sotha Sil, and Vivec. These subordinate Daedra are divided into the Good Daedra and the Bad Daedra. The Good Daedra have willingly submitted to the authority of Almsivi. The Bad Daedra are rebels who defy Almsivi, treacherous kin who are more often adversaries than allies.

The Good Daedra are Boethiah, Azura, and Mephala. The hunger is a powerful and violent lesser Daedra associated with Boethiah, Father of Plots—a sinuous, long-limbed, long-tailed creature with a beast-skulled head, noted for its paralyzing touch and its ability to disintegrate weapons and armor. The winged twilight is a messenger of Azura, Goddess of Dusk and Dawn. Winged twilights resemble the feral harpies of the West, though the feminine aspects of the winged twilights are more ravishing, and their long, sharp, hooked tails are immeasurably more deadly. Spider Daedra are the servants of Mephala, taking the form of spider-humanoid centaurs, with a naked upper head, torso, and arms of human proportions, mounted on the eight legs and armored carapace of a giant spider. Unfortunately, these Daedra are so fierce and irrational that they cannot be trusted to heed the commands of the Spinner. As a consequence, few sorcerers are willing to either summon or bind such creatures in Morrowind.

The Bad Daedra are Mehrunes Dagon, Malacath, Sheogorath, and Molag Bal. Three lesser Daedra are associated with Mehrunes Dagon: the agile and pesky scamp, the ferocious and beast-like clannfear, and the noble and deadly Dremora. The crocodile-headed humanoid Daedra called the daedroth is a servant of Molag Bal, while the giant but dim-witted ogrim is a servant of Malacath. Sheogorath's lesser Daedra, the golden saint, a half-clothed human female in appearance, is highly resistant to magic and a dangerous spellcaster.

Another type of lesser Daedra often encountered in Morrowind is the atronach, or Elemental Daedra. Atronachs have no binding kinship or alignments with the Daedra Lords, serving one realm or another at whim, shifting sides according to seduction, compulsion, or opportunity.