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lesser daedra

The Gorge


There is a divide between the realms of Boethiah and Clavicus Vile where need and hunger are one. A thin, vestigial place clinging to the skin of Mundus, gnawing in futility to break through. This is the Gorge. A pit of famine and desperation where brutal Daedra spend eternity devouring anything they can, even each other, to feed a boundless hunger that will never be satiated.

Pinnacle among these wretched creatures is the Insatiable, a hunger of great cunning and power. Once summoned into the material world, this Daedra will tirelessly feast on life, using the essence it devours to slip freely between the Gorge and Nirn and ambush its next meal.

With the proper preparation, a sorcerer can similarly move between these realms. If you are prepared to face the dangers of the Gorge, it will prove to be an invaluable means of passing undetected by the mortal world.

At a place where the barrier between Nirn and Oblivion is thinnest, bind an anchor to the material world by offering the Gorge the things it craves the most. The aspects of your own vital essence: Anima, Ego, Incalescence, and Mortality. Prepare braziers to channel these sacrifices and alight them in the proper order.

When complete the anchor will become caught in the throat of the Gorge, leaving its maw forever open to you. Should you desire to move your anchor, you must snuff the sigils of your offerings in the order they were cast. This will return the anchor to the material world, allowing you to employ its power elsewhere.

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.

On the Xivkyn

Pelagius Habor

By Pelagius Habor, Council Daedrologist-in-Residence

Daedrology is a science born of catastrophe. Our greatest discoveries are always written down on charred parchment by an unsteady hand—and so it is with me. The Planemeld has dramatically enhanced our understanding of the Daedra, but at great cost. I can only hope that my work will survive this latest disaster.

I believe that I am the first to write about Molag Bal's elite vanguard, the Xivkyn. The term "Xivkyn" is, of course, heavily Cyrodilicized—a crude portmanteau referencing their resemblance to both Xivilai and Dremora. And in fact, they are a hybrid race "bred" by Molag Bal to be his personal guard. They refer to themselves by many names; Stolavryk, Khimrykif, or Vyrsago depending on the hour. While they detest all mortal races, they reserve a particular hatred for their confederates, the Dremora. Xivkyn appear to place great emphasis on loyalty, making the Dremora's defection from Mehrunes Dagon an unforgivable sin.

Of all the Daedra, Xivkyn are the most like Molag Bal. They share his unquenchable thirst for mortal souls and his obsession with the acquisition of soul gems. This drive to "collect" strikes me as a kind of madness, akin to those suffering from advanced vampirism. While I've never witnessed a physical confrontation between Xivkyn, they routinely scheme against one another in an attempt to gain more soul gems. These plots are commonplace and rarely result in censure from higher ranking Daedra.

Despite the intrigues, the Xivkyn maintain a rigid code of military efficiency. Their fierce loyalty to Molag Bal combined with their physical and arcane might make them the most terrifying arrival since the Daedric Titan. While I'm sure there's much more to learn, I'm ready for this particular study to end.

Ingredient Classification 9: Daedric Husks

Gargrell Sorick

When the souls of the hated but departed Daedra flee back to the realm of Oblvion, it is said that they sometimes leave a trace of their being behind: a thin wispy husk, little more than an ethereal memorial to their wanton destruction and subsequent banishment. The Master theorizes these are the parts of a Daedra's soul that prevent them from being drained by powerful magicians or rival Daedric forces. So say the Master, although I am fortunate to never have seen such a threat (I suppose the unrest across these lands means my luck is certain to change for the worse).

All the husks are found where Daedra have been present, and these are never seen intact, leading to the suggestion that they split apart when the Daedra's soul flees to answer to their keeper. There remains powerful magic within these husks, which makes them so prized by merchants and enchanters alike. Up until Molag Bal started to wrench us closer to his realm, the market for such rare and powerful raw materials meant husks commanded a great price. Now, as the Daedra stalk this land and supplies are plentiful, the price has fallen slightly, but the need for enchantments in time of war balances out the pricing.

Find a noisome husk, but do not mistake it for the skin of a skeever turned inside out; this pink and unpleasant dollop of skin and sinew is excreted from two-legged Daedra. The eldrich husk has the appearance of flayed eel skin, peeled back and almost shiny; it comes from Daedra of high standing. Chthonic husks look like dark purple tentacles, as if Hermaeus Mora had shed a piece of his great, bloated form. These husks are left when an animal Daedra of any size leaves Mundus.


Chthonic Husk

A writing throng of tentacles connected to a strange, eyeless mass. Sticky and unpleasant to see and touch.

Proven Benefits (in Enchanting):

  • Strengthens the essence or energy used when spells are cast, so they do not wane as quickly.
  • Seals wounds and heals illness, regardless of infliction or infection.
  • Banishes weariness quickly, despite any physical exertion.
  • Bestows a benefit surely vampiric in nature: magical harm to the for and occasional curing to the instigator.

Eldritch Husk

Strangely smooth but oddly pockmarked skin, black as deep water eel. Clammy and smelling of sulfur.

Proven Benefits (in Enchanting):

  • Causes an adversary to protest greatly at the might of your strikes, whether with weapon or with fist.
  • Imparts a healthy disregard for heat and flames in all forms.
  • Dismisses the effects of sparks and lighting cast by others, as a cloud of calming rod.
  • Allows you to cover ground at a quicker rate, whether at a walk, canter, or run.


Noisome Husk

A fleshy mound of sinew and skin, as if a skeever was turned inside out. Wet at first, it then dries and cracks.

Proven Benefits (in Enchanting):

  • Tightens the flesh, making it tough as tanned leather.
  • Yields an aptitude for weaving between the strikes of an opponent, as a Khajiit might.
  • Imparts an excellence in marksmanship and piercing ability.
  • Augments the potency of staves imbued with fire, lightning, ice, or restoration properties.

Daedra Dossier: The Titans

Denogorath the Dread Archivist

I have compiled this account at the request of Kkrohziz the Greater Titan, who was peeved to find that the Library of Dusk contained nothing at all related to the origins of our most imposing Coldharbour residents.

Therefore let the tale be told—and it is fitting that this be done, for in our Lord and Master's upcoming Planemeld campaign, the Titans will be released for the first time upon the hated mortals of Tamriel. And fear and doom shall follow in their footsteps.

There are, or have been, or will be a race of beings upon Nirn called Dragons, creatures of almost Daedra-like majesty. They naturally sought domination over the mortals of Nirn, and achieved a measure of success therein.

But upon a time that was and will be the ever-pernicious mortals of Tamriel betrayed these their natural masters, and those who were not slain were driven into hidden refuge. Then one such Dragon, a greater Dov named Boziikkodstrun, exerted his nigh-divine will in an attempt to fly beyond the borders of the Mundus. And though he did not succeed, his effort was valorous and remarkable, and impinged upon the attention of Molag Bal himself.

Our Lord and Master noted this feat of will-force, considered that the race of Dov had achieved dominion over much of Nirn, and thus spake unto this Boziikkodstrun, offering him a place of honor and privilege in his domain of Coldharbour. And the Dragon, his resources all but spent by his efforts, did accept and agree.

So Molag Bal opened a window between worlds to allow the Dragon to pass into our Lord's realm, where Boziikkodstrun was granted the privilege of being bound in chains of cold ebon iron, and set in a place of honor in the nethermost depths of the Tower of Lies. For our Lord and Master desired to know the secrets of the Dragons' dominance over the mortals of Nirn. Long was the Dragon tortured and interrogated. But the dragon was haughty, and indignant at his ill treatment, and no matter what torments were brought to bear, the intransigent Boziikkodstrun refused to utter so much as a single syllable in his abrasive language to reveal the secrets of the Dov.

Vexed by this obstinate defiance—and rightly so—our Lord and Master at length waxed wroth and avenged himself upon Boziikkodstrun by slow consumption of the flesh from his bones, yea, every gobbet. Then Molag Bal regarded the skeleton of the Dov and laughed. "If I cannot have the secrets of the Dragons," he thundered, "then I shall make Dragons of my own—Dragons even mightier than those of Nirn!"

He ordered the skeleton taken to the Vile Laboratory, where it was infused with the blood-of-darkness that reawakened it as a Vestige. During this process Molag Bal ordered that the skeleton be somewhat adjusted and improved to a plan of his own devising, forming a bone-frame even mightier than that of its forebears. Then it was plunged into the deepest pool in the Azure Chasm, there to absorb the blue liquescence that would give our Lord's new servant its body, brain, and brawn.

Within a nanaeon a mighty creature drew itself from the chasm plasm and shook itself free of the primordial slime. In response to the summons of our mutual Lord and Master, it ascended to the plateau and bounded nimbly up the Endless Stair. The first of the Daedric Titans was among us.

From its very first performance in the grueling Test of Fealty it was clear that this new morphotype would be a valuable addition to our Lord and Master's forces of dominion. Its strength was unparalleled, its savagery remarkable even among the war-slaves of Molag Bal, and its native intelligence was impressive (though perhaps not on the level of its forebears).

Most fearsome of all is the Titan's ability to speak a spell of flaming essence-drain that can debilitate an opponent with a single word. Theoretically, if the utterance were interrupted before completion, the spell would recoil upon its caster, but that eventuality is remote.

Daedra Dossier: Cold-Flame Atronach

Denogorath the Dread Archivist

Ordinary flame atronachs have been forbidden in our realm since that cretin Markynaz Zexxil conjured one in the palace and its heat damaged Dilogene's "Ice Fangs No. 4," one of the Master's favorite sculptures. Their banishment, however, left a certain hard-to-define gap in our realm's carefully-balanced esthetic of beautiful pain—an absent voice, if you will, from our chorus of terror and despair.

I admit it: I missed the way their lissome forms curveted and twirled at the edge of vision, their expressions blank of all emotion but for the avid hunger of the arsonist. I thus made it my purpose, when the duties of my office could spare me, to find a substitute for the exiled flame atronachs, some other conjurable entity that would replace the charismatic peril of their presence.

Availing myself of the spare transliminal scanner stored in the Tower of Lies, I set myself the task of reviewing by survey all the Oblivion planes within range of its infralux pseudocortex. I scanned over 37,000 different planes, chaos realms, and pocket realities before I found what I was looking for in DOP 9497.15, known to its curious inhabitants as "The Fourth Sinus of Takubar." I immediately recognized the plane as a sort of decalescent inversion of DOP 6, "Infernace," well known to conjurers of all races as the home plane of the common flame atronach. In place of the extreme heat of Infernace, where molten rock flows like water, in Takubar (as we may call it for the sake of brevity) the bedrock is subjected to a cosmic degree of cold, causing its material bonds to slide apart and the stone to flow like cold lava.

It was there in Takubar that I finally saw, in the insect-eyed lenses of the transliminal scanner, images of gyrating atronachs that burned with cold blue flames. I had found what I sought.

After that, modifying Koron's Peremptory Summons to address Takubar rather than Infernace was a matter of mere routine. Within seven shifts I had succeeded in summoning what we may term a "cold-flame atronach" to Coldharbour. As anticipated, rather than giving off unpleasant waves of heat, this was an elemental of cold fire, and there was a steep drop in ambient temperature in its presence.
This, of course, was all to the good.

In behavior my cold-flame atronach behaved in all ways like an ordinary flame atronach—and was just as irritable, casting blue fireballs at any who threatened it, and conjuring pillars of cold flame at need. This perfectly fills the niche of hovering sentry formerly filled in Coldharbour by their igneous cousins, and that is the main function they now fulfill in our Master's realm.

I was Summoned by a Mortal

Kynval Zzedenkathik

By Kynval Zzedenkathik of Clan Deathbringer

For as long as I can remember—and like all Dremora my memory is keen, especially for grievances—I have faithfully served the officers of my clan, and through them, My Lord Molag Bal. And yet not always: for once, to my shame, I was compelled to serve another.

I was on guard duty at the Endless Stair, an assignment I always enjoy, for I can mock and torment the passing Soul Shriven without being held responsible for them meeting their quotas. Leaping out from behind a claw-pillar while shouting, "There you are, weakling!" just never loses its appeal.

I was lurking behind a Dark Anchor chain link, preparing to terrify an approaching Soul Shriven by suddenly knocking her down and sneering, "No match at all," when I suddenly felt a strange tingling all over, from my horns down to my toes. I grew dizzy as the plane spun around me, nearly fell into a pool of blue plasm, and then suddenly felt myself hurled into an endless black void.

I wasn't alarmed at first, because who hasn't been hurled into an endless black void? It wasn't until I began to materialize at my destination and got a taste of the air that I had my first misgivings. "I smell … weakness," I said to myself—and I couldn't have been more right.

It was then that I first heard the voice of my Conjurer as he said, "Ah, this one looks fairly robust," and the full horror of my situation broke upon me. For I had been summoned to do the bidding … of a mortal.

I turned, aghast, to see who had dared summon me across the infinities to Nirn, and found myself faced with a tall Elf of Summerset. Oh, I recognized the type: I'd abused more than a few Altmeri Soul Shriven in my time, and with gusto, for they evince a haughty arrogance entirely inappropriate in mere mortals. This one gave me a brief, appraising look, and then turned away, saying, "Follow and fight. There are Worm Cultists that need slaying."

Worm Cultists. Can you imagine the ignominy, fellow kyn? Not only had I been conjured away from my duty by one of the hated Elven mortals, but I must serve him by slaying the minions of Mannimarco, our Dread Lord's lieutenant and viceroy-to-be! I tried to resist, flexing my indomitable will, but the mortal mage's binding spell was too strong—all I could do was say, "No one escapes!" and follow him past a pair of torches into a subterranean maze of tunnels.

"You serve the great Vanus Galerion, Dremora," my Conjurer announced, quite unnecessarily—for what need had I to know the name of my slavemaster? But then I reconsidered, and mentally added his name to that long list each of us keeps: the list labeled, "Vengeance."

I followed, not deigning to crouch when my Conjurer hunched over to sneak, merely glaring at him and thinking, "I will feast upon your heart." In truth, however, it was as well that I had this Elf Vanus to follow, for the tunnels were many and twisting, and though we Dremora are fearless, relentless, and unparalleled among warriors throughout Oblivion, our sense of direction is rather poor. When doing courier duty, I've been known to lose my way right in the middle of the Moonless Walk and wind up back at the Lightless Oubliette where I started.

In time this Vanus began to pause frequently, listening, which only increased my irritation and impatience. Finally he stopped, with a "Shh!" to me—which was completely unfair, as I hadn't said a word. But I realized why he'd stopped when I suddenly heard human speech from the tunnel ahead. Hesitating nary an instant, I drew my greatsword and rushed forward, crying "A challenger is near!" The Elf cursed and followed, but he had only himself to blame—I was following his orders exactly.

The next minute passed in the red fury that all true Dremora feel when they enter battle. But my usual enjoyment of bloody slaughter was tainted by the knowledge that I was killing those my Dread Lord would prefer I didn't, and frankly, that just ruined the whole experience for me. As I lopped off the limbs and heads of the Worm Cultists, I was aware of the energies of the Elf's powerful magics crackling past me, incinerating the more distant enemies, but I was too mortified to enjoy the orgy of destruction. The Elf came striding up as I subdivided the final Worm Anchorite, gloating, "So much for them. Take that, Mannimarco!"

"There could be no other end," I replied sourly, then felt the strange tingling again as the conjuration that had brought me to Nirn began to weaken. As the bonds dissolved I took one menacing step toward the Elf, but then the plane spun around me again, and it was back into the endless black void.
When I came to my senses I was lying in a pool of turquoise slime, looking up at the smiling face of my superior, Kynreeve Xalxorkig. "So, Zzedenkathik," he snarled, "straying from your post when on duty, eh? It's the scathe-rings for you, my lad!"

"But, Kynreeve," I cried, leaping to attention, "I couldn't help it! I was conjured, summoned to Nirn—by a mortal!"

Xalxorkig smiled even wider. "And that'll be an extra shift scathing for telling such a hornless lie. Now march, Zzedenkathik," he shouted, thumping me with his truncheon. "Left, right, left, right, left, right …."

I hate it when Xalxorkig smiles. Kynreeve or not, his name's going on my list.

Spirit of the Daedra




We do not die. We do not fear death.

Destroy the Body, and the Animus is cast into The Darkness. But the Animus returns.

But we are not all brave.

We feel pain, and fear it. We feel shame, and fear it. We feel loss, and fear it. We hate the Darkness, and fear it.

The Scamps have small thoughts, and cannot fear greatly.

The Vermai have no thoughts, and cannot fear.

The Dremora have deep thoughts, and must master fear to overcome it.


We are not born; we have not fathers nor mothers, yet we have kin and clans.

The clan-form is strong. It shapes body and thought.

In the clan-form is strength and purpose.


We serve by choice. We serve the strong, so that their strength might shield us.

Clans serve by long-practice, but practice may change.

Dremora have long served Dagon but not always so.

Practice is secure when oath-bonds are secure, and trust is shared.

When oath-bonds are weak, there is pain, and shame, and loss, and Darkness, and great fear.


Perhaps you find Scamps comic, and Vermai brutish.

How then do you imagine we view you humans?

You are the Prey, and we are the Huntsmen.

The Scamps are the Hounds, and the Vermai the Beaters.

Your flesh is sweet, and the chase is diverting.

As you may sometimes praise the fox or hare, admiring its cunning and speed, and lamenting as the hounds tear its flesh, so do we sometimes admire our prey, and secretly applaud when it cheats our snares or eludes pursuit.

But, like all worldly things, you will in time wear, and be used up. You age, grow ugly, weak, and foolish. You are always lost, late or soon.

Sometimes the prey turns upon us and bites. It is a small thing. When wounded or weary, we fly away to restore. Sometimes a precious thing is lost, but that risk makes the chase all the sweeter.


Man is mortal, and doomed to death and failure and loss.

This lies beyond our comprehension - why do you not despair?

Varieties of Daedra

Aranea Drethan

Varieties Of Daedra

Aranea Drethan
Healer and Dissident Priest

There is little chance of our ever understanding the various orders of Daedra and their relationships to the Daedra Lords and their dominions. Of the varieties of Daedra that appear in our world, and the varieties of their relationships to their fellows and their Daedra patrons, there is no end. In one place and time they are seen to be this, and in another place and time they are seen to be the opposite, and in another place and time they are seen to be both this and that, in completely contradictory terms.

What Daedra serves this Prince? What Daedra gives orders, and what Daedra serves, and in what hierarchy, and under what circumstances? What Daedra exist in fellowship with one another, and what Daedra have eternal enmity to one another, and what Daedra are solitary, or social, and by turns solitary or social? There are no limits to the varieties of behaviors that may be observed, and in one place they may be this, and in another place they may that, and all rules describing them are always found to be contradictory and in exception to others.

Further, from whom may we seek answers to our questions about these orders? From mortals, who know little but what they may observe of another world? From the gods, who speak in riddles, of enigmas wrapped in mysteries, and who keep things from us, the better to preserve their dominion over us? From the Daedra themselves, who are never the models of straightforwardness or truthtelling, but rather are famous for misstatements and obfuscations?

And even were the Daedra to speak the truth, how can we know if they know themselves, or that there is any truth about them that is to be known, or are all arrangements among the Daedra protean and ever subject to change?

In short, what is to be known is little, and and what is to be trusted is nothing.

These things being said, I shall venture to relate what I have observed and heard of the relationships of the servants of Lord Dagon in my brief service to the Telvanni Wizard Divayth Fyr, when I sought him out and offered to bring peace to the victims of corprus in his sanitarium, once the Prophecies of the Incarnate had been fulfilled, and Dagoth Ur had been destroyed, and the Blight had been banished from the island of Vvardenfell forever.

Divayth Fyr told me that he, by choice, trafficked only with two Daedra Powers -- Mehrunes Dagon and Azura.

Azura, he said, knew and understood all things, and declined to speak of these things, or only spoke in riddles.

Mehrunes Dagon, on the other hand, out of pride, fixity of purpose, and a predictable lack of subtlety in thought, knew nothing and understood nothing, and was inclined to speak freely and without falsehood.

Divayth Fyr said that Dagon's chief servants, the Dremora, were like him in pride, fixed purpose, and lack of subtlety, with the addition of the peculiar traits of honor and loyalty, both within their class and within their relationship to Lord Dagon.

And Divayth Fyr said that the Dremora were ordered into clans and castes, and these clans and castes were well-defined. Individual Dremora might rise or fall in ranks, or move back and forth among clans, but only when regulated by complex oaths, and only at the will and pleasure of their Lord Dagon.

The Dremora refer to themselves as 'The Kyn' ('the People'), contrasting themselves to other Daedra, whom they consider unthinking animals. The term 'kynaz' refers to a member of the Dremora race ('he of the Kyn').

The least of kyn castes are the Churls, the undistinguished rabble of the lowest rank of Dremora. Churls are obsequeous to superiors but ferociously cruel to humans and other Daedra.

Next in rank are the Caitiffs, creatures of uncalculating zeal, energy without discrimination. Caitiffs are used as irregulars in the faction wars of the Daedra, as berserkers and shock troops, undisciplined and unreliable, but eager and willing.

The highest of the regular rank-and file of Dremora troops are the Kynvals, warrior-knights who have distinguished themselves in battle, and shown the deliberate steadiness of potential war leaders.

Above the rank and file warriors of the Churl, Caitiff, and Kynval castes are the officer castes.

A Kynreeve is a clan sheriff or clan officer. Kynreeves are typically associated either with a clan fighting unit or an administrative office in the order of battle.

The Kynmarcher is the lord and high officer of a Daedric citadel, outpost, or gate. A Kymarcher's command is usually associated both with a unit and with a 'fief' -- a location or territory for which he is responsible.

Above the Kymarcher is the Markynaz, or 'grand duke'. A Markynaz is a lord of lords, and member of the Markyn, Mehrunes Dagon's Council of Lords.

The highest rank of Dremora is the Valkynaz, or 'prince'. This warrior duke is a member of the Valkyn, Mehrunes Dagon's personal guard. The Valkynaz are rarely encountered on Tamriel; normally they remain by Mehrunes Dagon's side, or serve as commanders of operations of particular importance or interest to Dagon.

Of the varieties of other Daedra I encountered while I served in Divayth Fyr's Corprusarium -- Ogrims and Golden Saints, Daedroths and Winged Twilights, Scamps and Clannfear -- there is much that might be said, but little that is helpful or reliable.

I did note, however, that when Divayth Fyr sought a Daedra of a character like unto the Dremora, but of greater power, and greater inclination for independence and initiative, or solely as a master, he summoned Xivilai, who are like the Dremora in personality and temperment, except that they hate subordination, and are liable to disloyalty and betrayal when they feel they have not been treated with the proper deference and respect.

The feral, beastlike Daedra like the Clannfear and the Daedroth appear in the service of many different Daedric Powers, and may represent common creatures existing like wild animals in the wildernesses of Oblivion. Other savage, semi-intelligent creatures like Scamps and Spider Daedra may also be found in the realms of various Daedra Lords.

The case of the Elemental Atronachs, on the other hand, is less certain. Flame and Frost Atronachs, for example, appear to be highly intelligent, but not all varieties of Elemental Atronachs seem to be social or to have the power of speech. Divayth Fyr preferred not to summon or deal with these creatures, had little experience with them, and showed no inclination to speculate upon their nature, so I learned little about them during my time at Tel Fyr.