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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.

With Regards to the Ebony Blade


The following is an intercepted Morag Tong memorandum in full, noted here for conjecture on the Daedric artifact Ebony Blade:

Before I begin, let me preface by stating: the Daedric Prince Mephala and her worshippers value arcanum above all else—you will learn this, in time. To Hermaeus Mora, knowledge is power, but Mephala concerns herself with only the choicest morsels: knowledge secluded, undisclosed.

The various Daedric artifacts associated with Mephala share this disposition, chief among them, the Ebony Blade, of which little is known. The records of the Tong themselves disagree on the properties locked within the Blade's metal. But I'll share what I know about it, and in return, you will complete your first assignment for the guild. I hope you'll find the Flowers of Gold a suitable base of operations. Your room is a favorite of mine. Warm and dry.

First: the Blade initially passed into the Morag Tong's notice (this decade, at least) when our brother Orndras obtained it, taking it from Rivis, another brother. Rivis had the Blade kept in a safehouse for years, hidden from his fellow Morag Tong. How did Orndras find Rivis out? He'll take that secret to his grave, but his handlers whispered that the Web Spinner herself had told him. Even the Tong is unsure how the Blade is connected to Mephala, whether it is an extension of her physical form, or if her essence is bound to it, but it's important to her. And that makes it important to us.

Second: Rivis was an ambitious mage, one of the Tong's most powerful. And he was not about to allow Orndras to leave his safehouse with the Ebony Blade in tow. There was a duel between them, and when Orndras drew first blood with the Blade—and failed to kill—he was surprised Rivis did not engulf him in a fiery spell. It's possible the Blade can silence a mage, stymie the flow of magicka, or simply absorb it.

Third: Rivis was keen with an edge, and better skilled than Orndras. But Orndras wielded the Ebony Blade, and the wounds he suffered stitched themselves together as the battle continued—as Orndras dealt his less-precise cuts. Perhaps a restorative property of the Blade.

Fourth: Rivis' last words were, "The Vampire will be the end of us all." Orndras believed he was referring to the Blade, that Rivis had hidden it out of legitimate fear. I believe that even the most venerable of the Morag Tong will say anything when backed into a corner. I have.

Fifth: Orndras retrieved the Blade, made a detailed report to his handlers—and then attempted to slaughter them. He murdered all but one. His actions had no discernible rhyme or reason or motive, and he was last seen on the third floor of the Flowers of Gold.

Return the Ebony Blade to us, whether Orndras comes with it or not. Look for a Dunmer with a scar under his left eye.

To Posterity


Witches and witch-hunters are, by nature, uncivil to one another, but the witches of Eastmarch and my clan, the Direfrost witch-hunters, have particularly bad blood between us. I cannot say I blame the witches for their hatred—we have clashed often in these mountainous regions, and we Direfrosts have become very good at slaying them. Eastmarch was once infested with the heathens, the landscape dotted with their covens.

Everywhere one turned, one found sordid hovels built in honor of some Daedric Prince. Thanks to the efforts of my family over several generations, that number has dwindled to a scant few. They're there, to be sure—the schemes of Oblivion are myriad—but the witches move in fear, ducking between the narrowing shadows cast by the Flame of Direfrost.

In the days of their abundance, they abducted innocents, murdered children, desecrated corpses. I will not mourn them when finally, and with great, glorious fanfare, we stamp them from the face of Eastmarch forever.
I list below the most infamous leaders of those covens who have committed crimes such that Direfrosts of my generation can never forget them, lest we disrespect the desecrated dead. Daedric Pacts grant these witches long life, and I fear I may not live to see all of this lot rounded up and slain, but when the last of them falls I implore posterity to raise a monument in remembrance of their victims, detailing their crimes and their death at Direfrost hands:

Hranvard Frostfinger. Thirteen known victims sacrificed in flames to Mehrunes Dagon. Fled to the Sea of Ghosts where a final standoff with hunters saw a silver bolt pass through a summoned flesh atronach into Frostfinger herself. Confirmed deceased.*

Henghild of Wittestadr. Twenty known victims sacrificially bled to death to appease an unidentified Daedra Lord. Captured from the mountain passes to the south of Eastmarch and perished under torture. Confirmed deceased.**

Lorgar the Plague. Twenty-seven known victims, causes of death vary, all executed to appease an unidentified Daedra. Search went on in vain for months before Lorgar challenged Odrama, wife of Adegrel Direfrost, and was beheaded on the steps of Direfrost Keep. The stone was clean before supper. Confirmed deceased.***

Drodda of Icereach. One hundred and seven known victims, frozen and soul-trapped to appease Molag Bal. Still at large and incredibly dangerous. She is the oldest of the Eastmarch Coven, and only grows in strength with the passage of time.****

*Revised for total victim count and particulars of death by Lord Logangar
**Revised as above by Lady Stodrir
*** Revised as above by Lord Ogondar
**** Revised for current victim count by Lord Agomar

Dark Ruins

Cyrillo the Deranged

They call me mad and have branded me insane. I accept the title they have given me, and wear it proudly as a badge of honor. For the name I now carry shows that I was willing to enter the dark places, over and over again. To brave the ruins of madness and chaos to bring knowledge to the world. The Three protect me from the things I have discovered, and keep my mind clear long enough to share this knowledge with the world!

I found my first Daedric ruin when I was a very young man. It was a hidden shrine from the past, dedicated to the Anticipations of the Tribunal. I was rounding up a number of kwama scribs that had wandered away from the herd. I followed the scribs into a hidden canyon, when I heard the pathetic cry of a lost scrib emerging from a crack in the canyon wall. I squeezed through the narrow gap to find that it opened into a large depression in the rock. But no simple cave had I wandered into. No, this space was full of carved stone that at once filled me with both wonder and deep fear. For the oppressive blocks of set stone were decorated with patterns of webbing and spider motifs, and the statue at the center of the space depicted none other than the Anticipation of Vivec, the Webspinner Mephala.

Words carved into the base of the statue burned into my memory, never to be forgotten: "Lust is love. Lies are truth. Death is life." They frightened me, but also excited me. The experience set me on a path that led to madness and knowledge, though where one ends and the other begins, I cannot tell.
I returned to my family's kwama mine, escorting the scribs back to the herd. Then I packed a bag, said goodbye to my mother, and started my search for the hidden shrines and dark places where the Daedric ruins wait to be discovered.

Not every ruined shrine waits beneath the ground. Some hide in open places that are far from inhabited lands. These might be overgrown with vegetation or lost within the folds of rolling hills and craggy canyons. I have even visited a shrine that was hidden beneath the sea.

Those shrines located in underground caves and complexes tend to appear more ominous and oppressive than those happened upon in the great outdoors, but that could just be the influence of the ever-present darkness and awareness of the crushing walls of stone. Some of these ancient shrines stand alone in the darkness, but others serve as the focal points of great complexes, many of which are guarded by elaborate traps or vicious monsters—or both.

I have visited more than a dozen of these Daedric ruins, and a few were not as abandoned and unused as the Temple would have you believe. There are still those among us who honor and even worship the Daedric Princes, and I discovered more than a few fresh offerings and sacrifices in these dark places. But the true secret, the knowledge that has earned me my new name? For that, I must ask you to keep an open mind and a firm resolve, because what I am about to reveal may sound unbelievable. It may even sound like the beginning of a campfire story, one intended to frighten before bedtime. But I assure you, this is no story.

What did I find at that first shrine to the Webspinner that I wandered into by luck and accident? What drove me from my parents' home in search of other Daedric ruins? It was the voice. Beautiful and seductive. It whispered to me, told me secrets that I never should have heard. The whispers emanated from the ancient, cracked statue. They echoed from the cavern walls. They reverberated through my mind, building in volume and intensity until they drowned out my own thoughts and memories. They frightened me, these whispers. But they also excited me, and I had to hear more. But the Webspinner was done with me. She imparted her words of wisdom and dark secrets and fell silent. The place was once more abandoned, desolate.

If I wanted to hear more—and I so very much wanted to hear more—I would have to find another shrine. And so my life's work was set before me. I had to find other secret places, other hidden ruins. I had to hear what the other Daedra had to say. Not because I worship them. Not because I had fallen under some dark spell. No, I needed to learn more so that I could share it with the world. It was imperative! It was my duty! But, as I write these words, I find that I can't reveal what the whispers told me. My hand won't put the whispers to paper. It refuses no matter how hard I try!

It seems I have failed in my mission. All I can do is tell you that there are secrets to learn. But it appears that if you want to learn them, you'll have to make the trip yourself. Visit the dark ruins, listen to the whispers. Perhaps you'll fare better than I, and the whispers won't drive you mad.