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Malacath and Trinimac

Author: 
Ugdorga

A Discourse on Faith by Ugdorga, the King's Scribe

For generations, Orcs have believed in three constant truths: the stronghold, the grudge, and the fury of Malacath. But before Malacath, at least according to certain traditions and a few noted scholars, there was Trinimac. Today, the city of Orsinium reverberates with the intellectual debate and reverent faith of both sides of the argument: Who is the true god of the Orcs?

For traditionalists, there is no question. Malacath is lord and god. He personifies the Sworn Oath and the Bloody Curse. His portfolio includes conflict, battle, broken promises, and anguish. Everything an Orc feels concerning his or her place in the world comes from the Furious One. The Orcs see themselves as a people betrayed, and Malacath reinforces this belief. For Malacath, clans must stand powerful but alone in their ancestral strongholds. The strongest rules and weakness is cast out with extreme intolerance.

Clan chiefs such as Chief Bazrag, who oppose the idea of an Orsimer king, hold to the teachings of Malacath.

For the new Orsimer, Trinimac is the culmination of their dreams and desires. The warrior god personifies culture and civilization. He calls for unity, not discord; for strength, not malicious chaos. He stands for unifying the Orsimer. For elevating us above our baser nature and making us equal to the other races.

King Kurog and the Orsimer of Orsinium follow the teachings of Trinimac.

Malacath and the Reach

Author: 
Anonymous

Orcs often say they are Malacath's children. My tribe would argue. Reachmen are taught that Orcs, ogres, and trolls are merely used by Malacath to test his true chosen race - the people of the Reach.

If you ask me, both are wrong. The Lord of Ash and Bone doesn't care for any of us. This worship of him is folly and will be the ruin of us all.

Take this token, for example, this Vengeful Eye my tribe searches so fervently for in dank tombs. The blood that has spilled needlessly for this meaningless trinket is beyond measure. The feud between the Orcs and my tribe has gone on for centuries. Our shamans claim Malacath demands one of us carry the Eye in his name, but the Orcs claim it belongs to them.

Both sides are blind to the strings that make them dance.

That is all we are to the Daedra. Playthings for their amusement. Their gifts are poisoned. To think otherwise is foolish. Yet we live in a world of fools, each thinking they are somehow different. Somehow special. We kill and we die for this belief while the Daedra smile on.

Path of the Faithful

Author: 
Anonymous

The Furious One, the Keeper of the Bloody Curse, the Defender of the Betrayed. These are just a few of the great Malacath's many titles, known to his faithful, known to the children of the Sworn Oath.

Listen, initiate! Hear, o faithful one! The path you must walk is never easy, but if traversed in the correct and devout manner, it will lead you into the Author of the Code's embrace.

The shrine in Fharun Keep hides the path to the sanctuary. Only a gift of life's most precious liquid, freely given by the holy curators, will reveal the way.

In the prayer rooms, those who refuse to follow Malacath's light will forever walk in darkness and never find the Hall of Faith.

In the Hall of Faith, trust that Malacath will catch you, no matter how far you must fall.

Finally, in the Sanctuary of Sacred Words, only a sacrifice will call forth the teachings of the Furious One.

What is Volendrung?

Author: 
Gurour

Volendrung is one of the most notorious mythological artifacts in history. It has cultural ties to the Dwemer as well as the Daedra, though scholars fail to agree on just about every detail that has ever been written about it—including whether or not different accounts are referencing the same object.

Academics recognize one such artifact, called Volendrung, as a Dwemer relic forged by Clan Rourken. It was carried into battle as a family symbol as much as it was the chieftain's weapon, and was made famous when the Rourkens refused to join the First Council of Chimer and Dwemer. The other Dwemer forsook them for the slight, and the Rourkens refused to stay with their people if it meant an alliance with the Chimer—their sworn enemies.

So the Rourken chieftain hurled Volendrung into the sky, declaring that their people would find a home wherever it landed. Volendrung thus served as a guiding light for Clan Rourken in exile as the Hammer roared, beastlike, across the sky. It shone like a second sun during the day, mirrored the moons at night, and led the Rourken to the other side of the continent. There, they supposedly founded the fabled city of Volenfell—which has yet to be discovered in the modern era, if it ever truly existed.

But how did the unidentified Rourken chieftain manage such a tremendous throw? Dwemer armies were known for their engines of war, and their mechanical infantry. If the Dwemer had the capability to project a weapon cross-continent by hand, why did they never utilize such long-range assaults in warfare? Even a modern Arch-Mage would have difficulty concocting a spell to launch an object over such a distance. Unless Volendrung was actually a flying engine, powered by lost Dwemer mechanics, the whole story reeks of a Bosmer tale.

Some skeptics, including this one, believe the Dwemer Volendrung's flight is simply poetic imagery representing the wandering exile of Clan Rourken.

A second hammer called Volendrung, this time a Daedric artifact belonging to the Daedric Prince Malacath, exists in records nearly as old as the Dwemer version. Malacath's relic echoes the Dwemer name, and for this reason, many assume that it is the same legendary weapon. But why would the God of Curses associate himself with an object forged by enemies? To make a mockery of Dwemer work? To take something the Dwemer treasured and use it as an instrument against them? A rather subversive and indirect action—unbecoming of Malacath's historically straightforward mentality.

Angarin's "The Daedric Armory" speculates on the Hammer's magical features: the text cites several Mages Guild papers, claiming the Hammer empowers its wielder, and drains the strength of struck foes—very much in line with a Malacathan design. There is little doubt that the relic described could be tied to the God of Curses. What is in doubt is whether it was named by mortals or by Malacath himself—and whether the Rourken Clan wielded the same Hammer in centuries past.

What is Volendrung? Tamriel may never know.

The Fall of Trinimac

Author: 
The Faithless One

To truly know Mauloch, we must recall the story of Trinimac's fall from grace, and the events leading up to his torturous dishonor.

During the Merethic Era, a cult of Aldmeri dissidents abandoned the commonly accepted worship of Summerset Isle and began following a young prophet, Veloth. Boethiah had been speaking to Veloth in dreams and visions, guiding him to lead a new sect of Aldmeri with the belief that mortals could ascend to become gods. Trinimac's priests condemned the new sect for blasphemy and threatened exile, should they not abandon Veloth. When the priests were to pass judgement, Boethiah appeared, having swallowed Trinimac, and revealed the lies of Trinimac's teachings with Trinimac's own voice. Content the priests were shamed and broken from his revelation, Boethiah relieved himself of Trinimac in front of the assembly to complete his shame.

We know not how Trinimac had been defeated, but it is said that after his defeat Boethiah had consumed him and tortured his spirit in her belly. When Boethiah grew bored of Trinimac's torture, she released him from his prison and later exiled him to a plane of choking ash. This torture and dishonor left Trinimac twisted and enraged. Trinimac faded and was reborn as Mauloch, the God of Curses. With his mind bent on revenge, his most devout followers changed to match him and became the Orsimer, cursed to wander in exile, a people without a place.

The Book of Daedra

Author: 
Anonymous

Azura, whose sphere is dusk and dawn, the magic in-between realms of twilight, known as Moonshadow, Mother of the Rose, and Queen of the Night Sky.

Boethiah, whose sphere is deceit and conspiracy, and the secret plots of murder, assassination, treason, and unlawful overthrow of authority.

Clavicus Vile, whose sphere is the granting of power and wishes through ritual invocations and pact.

Hermaeus Mora, whose sphere is scrying of the tides of Fate, of the past and future as read in the stars and heavens, and in whose dominion are the treasures of knowledge and memory.

Hircine, whose sphere is the Hunt, the Sport of Daedra, the Great Game, the Chase, known as the Huntsman and the Father of Manbeasts.

Malacath, whose sphere is the patronage of the spurned and ostracized, the keeper of the Sworn Oath, and the Bloody Curse.

Mehrunes Dagon, whose sphere is Destruction, Change, Revolution, Energy, and Ambition.

Mephala, whose sphere is obscured to mortals; known by the names Webspinner, Spinner, and Spider; whose only consistent theme seems to be interference in the affairs of mortals for her amusement.

Meridia, whose sphere is obscured to mortals; who is associated with the energies of living things.

Molag Bal, whose sphere is the domination and enslavement of mortals; whose desire is to harvest the souls of mortals and to bring mortal souls within his sway by spreading seeds of strife and discord in the mortal realms.

Namira, whose sphere is the ancient Darkness; known as the Spirit Daedra, ruler of sundry dark and shadowy spirits; associated with spiders, insects, slugs, and other repulsive creatures which inspire mortals with an instinctive revulsion.

Nocturnal, whose sphere is the night and darkness; who is known as the Night Mistress.

Peryite, whose sphere is the ordering of the lowest orders of Oblivion, known as the Taskmaster.

Sanguine, whose sphere is hedonistic revelry and debauchery, and passionate indulgences of darker natures.

Sheogorath, whose sphere is Madness, and whose motives are unknowable.

Vaernima, whose sphere is the realm of dreams and nightmares, and from whose realm issues forth evil omens.

[Especially marked for special interest under the heading "Malacath" you find a reference to SCOURGE, blessed by Malacath, and dedicated to the use of mortals. In short, the reference suggests that any Daedra attempting to invoke the weapon's powers will be expelled into the voidstreams of Oblivion.]

"Of the legendary artifacts of the Daedra, many are well known, like Azura's Star, and Sheogorath's Wabbajack. Others are less well known, like Scourge, Mackkan's Hammer, Bane of Daedra...."

"...yet though Malacath blessed Scourge to be potent against his Daedra kin, he thought not that it should fall into Daedric hands, then to serve as a tool for private war among caitiff and forsaken. Thus did Malacath curse the device such that, should any dark kin seek to invoke its powers, that a void should open and swallow that Daedra, and purge him into Oblivion's voidstreams, from thence to pathfind back to the Real and Unreal Worlds in the full order of time."  

The Doors of Oblivion

Author: 
Seif-ij Hidja

"When thou enterest into Oblivion, Oblivion entereth into thee." -- Nai Tyrol-Llar

 

The greatest mage who ever lived was my master Morian Zenas. You have heard of him as the author of the book 'On Oblivion,' the standard text for all on matters Daedric. Despite many entreaties over the years, he refused to update his classic book with his new discoveries and theories because he found that the more one delves into these realms, the less certain one is. He did not want conjecture, he wanted facts.

For decades before and after the publication of 'On Oblivion,' Zenas compiled a vast personal library on the subject of Oblivion, the home of the Daedra. He divided his time between this research and personal magickal growth, on the assumption that should he succeed in finding a way into the dangerous world beyond and behind ours, he would need much power to wander its dark paths.

Twelve years before Zenas began the journey he had prepared his life to make, he hired me as his assistant. I possessed the three attributes he required for the position: I was young and eager to help without question; I could read any book once and memorize its contents; and, despite my youth, I was already a Master of Conjuration.

Zenas too was a Master of Conjuration - indeed, a Master at all the known and unknown Schools - but he did not want to rely on his ability alone in the most perilous of his research. In an underground vault, he summoned Daedra to interview them on their native land, and for that he needed another Conjurer to make certain they came, were bound, and were sent away again without incident.

I will never forget that vault, not for its look which was plain and unadorned, but for what you couldn't see. There were scents that lingered long after the summoned creatures had left, flowers and sulfur, sex and decay, power and madness. They haunt me still to this very day.

Conjuration, for the layman unacquainted with its workings, connects the caster's mind with that of the summoned. It is a tenuous link, meant only to lure, hold, and dismiss, but in the hands of a Master, it can be much stronger. The Psijics and Dwemer can (in the Dwemer's case, perhaps I should say, could) connect with the minds of others, and converse miles apart - a skill that is sometimes called telepathy.

Over the course of my employment, Zenas and I developed such a link between one another. It was accidental, a result of two powerful Conjurers working closely together, but we decided that it would be invaluable should he succeed in traveling to Oblivion. Since the denizens of that land could be touched even by the skills of an amateur Conjurer, it was possible we could continue to communicate while he was there, so I could record his discoveries.

The 'Doors to Oblivion,' to use Morian Zenas's phrase, are not easily found, and we exhausted many possibilities before we found one where we held the key.

The Psijics of Artaeum have a place they call The Dreaming Cave, where it is said one can enter into the Daedric realms and return. Iachesis, Sotha Sil, Nematigh, and many others have been recorded as using this means, but despite many entreaties to the Order, we were denied its use. Celarus, the leader of the Order, has told us it has been sealed off for the safety of all.

We had hopes of using the ruins of the Battlespire to access Oblivion. The Weir Gate still stands, though the old proving grounds of the Imperial Battlemages itself was shattered some years ago in Jagar Tharn's time. Sadly, after an exhaustive search through the detritus, we had to conclude that when it was destroyed, all access to the realms beyond, the Soul Cairn, the Shade Perilous, and the Havoc Wellhead, had been broken. It was probably for the good, but it frustrated our goal.

The reader may have heard of other Doors, and he may be assured we attempted to find them all.

Some are pure legend, or at any rate, not traceable based on the information left behind. There are references in lore to Marukh's Abyss, the Corryngton Mirror, the Mantellan Crux, the Crossroads, the Mouth, a riddle of an alchemical formula called Jacinth and Rising Sun, and many other places and objects that are said to be Doors, but we could not find.

Some exist, but cannot be entered safely. The whirlpool in the Abecean called the Maelstrom of Bal can make ships disappear, and may be a portal into Oblivion, but the trauma of riding its waters would surely slay any who tried. Likewise, we did not consider it worth the risk to leap from the Pillar of Thras, a thousand foot tall spiral of coral, though we witnessed the sacrifices the sloads made there. Some victims were killed by the fall, but some, indeed, seemed to vanish before being dashed on the rocks. Since the sload did not seem certain why some were taken and some died, we did not favor the odds of the plunge.

The simplest and most maddeningly complex way to go to Oblivion was simply to cease to be here, and begin to be there. Throughout history, there are examples of mages who seemed to travel to the realms beyond ours seemingly at will. Many of these voyagers are long dead, if they ever existed, but we were able to find one still living. In a tower off Zafirbel Bay on the island of Vvardenfell in the province of Morrowind there exists a very old, very reclusive wizard named Divayth Fyr.

He was not easy to reach, and he was reluctant to share with Morian Zenas the secret Door to Oblivion. Fortunately, my master's knowledge of lore impressed Fyr, and he taught him the way. I would be breaking my promise to Zenas and Fyr to explain the procedure here, and I would not divulge it even if I could. If there is dangerous knowledge to be had, that is it. But I do not reveal too much to say that Fyr's scheme relied on exploiting a series of portals to various realms created by a Telvanni wizard long missing and presumed dead. Against the disadvantage of this limited number of access points, we weighed the relative reliability and security of passage, and considered ourselves fortunate in our informant.

Morian Zenas then left this world to begin his exploration. I stayed at the library to transcribe his information and help him with any research he needed.

'Dust,' he whispered to me on the first day of his voyage. Despite the inherent dreariness of the word, I could hear his excitement in his voice, echoing in my mind. 'I can see from one end of the world to the other in a million shades of gray. There is no sky or ground or air, only particles, floating, falling, whirling about me. I must levitate and breathe by magickal means...'

Zenas explored the nebulous land for some time, encountering vaporous creatures and palaces of smoke. Though he never met the Prince, we concluded that he was in Ashpit, said to be the home of Malacath, where anguish, betrayal, and broken promises like ash filled the bitter air.

'The sky is on fire,' I heard him say as he moved on to the next realm. 'The ground is sludge, but traversable. I see blackened ruins all around me, like a war was fought here in the distant past. The air is freezing. I cast blooms of warmth all around me, but it still feels like daggers of ice stabbing me in all directions.'

This was Coldharbour, where Molag Bal was Prince. It appeared to Zenas as if it were a future Nirn, under the King of Rape, desolate and barren, filled with suffering. I could hear Morian Zenas weep at the images he saw, and shiver at the sight of the Imperial Palace, spattered with blood and excrement.

'Too much beauty,' Zenas gasped when he went to the next realm. 'I am half blind. I see flowers and waterfalls, majestic trees, a city of silver, but it is all a blur. The colors run like water. It's raining now, and the wind smells like perfume. This surely is Moonshadow, where Azura dwells.'

Zenas was right, and astonishingly, he even had audience with the Queen of Dusk and Dawn in her rose palace. She listened to his tale with a smile, and told him of the coming of the Nevevarine. My master found Moonshadow so lovely, he wished to stay there, half-blind, forever, but he knew he must move on and complete his journey of discovery.

'I am in a storm,' he told me as he entered the next realm. He described the landscape of dark twisted trees, howling spirits, and billowing mist, and I thought he might have entered the Deadlands of Mehrunes Dagon. But then he said quickly, 'No, I am no longer in a forest. There was a flash of lightning, and now I am on a ship. The mast is tattered. The crew is slaughtered. Something is coming through the waves ... oh, gods ... Wait, now, I am in a dank dungeon, in a cell ...'

He was not in the Deadlands, but Quagmire, the nightmare realm of Vaernima. Every few minutes, there was a flash of lightning and reality shifted, always to something more horrible and horrifying. A dark castle one moment, a den of ravening beasts the next, a moonlit swamp, a coffin where he was buried alive. Fear got the better of my master, and he quickly passed to the next realm.

I heard him laugh, 'I feel like I'm home now.'

Morian Zenas described to me an endless library, shelves stretching on in every direction, stacks on top of stacks. Pages floated on a mystical wind that he could not feel. Every book had a black cover with no title. He could see no one, but felt the presence of ghosts moving through the stacks, rifling through books, ever searching.

It was Apocrypha. The home of Hermaeus-Mora, where all forbidden knowledge can be found. I felt a shudder in my mind, but I could not tell if it was my master's or mine.

Morian Zenas never traveled to another realm that I know of.

Throughout his visits to the first four realms, my master spoke to me constantly. Upon entering the Apocrypha, he became quieter, as he was lured into the world of research and study, the passions that had controlled his heart while on Nirn. I would frantically try to call to him, but he closed his mind to me.

Then he would whisper, 'This cannot be...'

'No one would ever guess the truth...'

'I must learn more...'

'I see the world, a last illusion's shimmer, it is crumbling all around us...'

I would cry back to him, begging him to tell me what was happening, what he was seeing, what he was learning. I even tried using Conjuration to summon him as if he were a Daedra himself, but he refused to leave. Morian Zenas was lost.

I last received a whisper from him six months ago. Before then, it had been five years, and three before that. His thoughts are no longer intelligible in any language. Perhaps he is still in Apocrypha, lost but happy, in a trap he refuses to escape.

Perhaps he slipped between the stacks and passed into the Madhouse of Sheogorath, losing his sanity forever.

I would save him if I could.

I would silence his whispers if I could.

The Legendary Scourge

Author: 
Anonymous

"Not till the very evening they came," answered he, and then told of his dealings with Mehrunes Dagon's thralls, saying that Mackkan would find it easier to whistle on the wind's tracks and go on a fool's errand than to fight his toads. Then said Mackkan:

"Now see to thy safety henceforward,
And stick to thy parts and thy pride;
Or this mallet of mine, Malacath's Scourge,
Will meet with thine ear of a surety.
For quick as I can cry "Equality,"
Though eight arms thou couldst boast of,
Such bumps thou shalt comb on thy brainpan,
Thou that breakest the howes of the dead.

EXPLICATION: The mace Scourge, Blessed of Malacath, Mackkan's legendary weapon, forged from sacred ebony in the Fountains of Fickledire, has ever been the bane of the Dark Kin, and many a black spirit has been hurled back into Oblivion with a single blow of this bold defender of the friendless. Scourge now hangs within the armory of Battlespire, ready to take up in the name of the Emperor against the Daedric Lords.

 

16 Accords of Madness, v. XII

Author: 
Anonymous

Malacath's Tale

In the days before the Orsinium's founding, the spurned Orc-folk were subjected to ostracism and persecutions even more numerous and harsh than their progeny are accustomed to in our own age. So it was that many champions of the Orsimer traveled, enforcing what borders they could for the proliferation of their own people. Many of these champions are spoken of yet today, among them the Cursed Legion, Gromma the Hairless, and the noble Emmeg Gro-Kayra. This latter crusader would have certainly risen to legendary status throughout Tamriel, had he not been subject to the attention of certain Daedric Princes.

Emmeg Gro-Kayra was the bastard son of a young maiden who was killed in childbirth. He was raised by the shaman of his tribe, the Grilikamaug in the peaks of what we now call Normar Heights. Late in his fifteenth year, Emmeg forged by hand an ornate suit of scaled armor, a rite of ascension among his tribe. On a blustery day, he pounded the final rivet, and draping a heavy cloak over the bulky mantle, Emmeg set out from his village for the last time. Word of his exploits always returned home, whether defending merchant caravans from brigands or liberating enslaved beast folk. News of the noble Orc crusader began to grace even the lips of Bretons, often with a tinge of fear.

Less than two years after ascending to maturity, Gro-Kayra was making camp when a thin voice called out from the thickening night. He was surprised to hear the language of his people spoken by a tongue that obviously did not belong to an Orc.

'Lord Kayra', said the voice, 'tales of your deeds have crossed the lips of many, and have reached my ears.' Peering into the murk, Emmeg made out the silhouette of a cloaked figure, made wavy and ephemeral by the hazy campfire. From the voice alone he had thought the interloper an old hag, but he now decided that he was in the presence of a man of slight and lanky build, though he could discern no further detail.

'Perhaps,' the wary Orc began, 'but I seek no glory. Who are you?'

Ignoring the question, the stranger continued, 'Despite that, Orsimer, glory finds you, and I bear a gift worthy of it.' The visitor's cloak parted slightly, revealing nothing but faintly glinting buttons in the pale moonlight, and a bundle was withdrawn and tossed to the side of the fire between the two. Emmeg cautiously removed the rags in which the object was swathed, and was dazzled to discover the item to be a wide, curved blade with ornately decorated handle. The weapon had heft, and Emmeg realized on brandishing it that the elaborate pommel disguised the more practical purpose of balancing the considerable weight of the blade itself. It was nothing much to look at in its present condition, thought the Orc, but once the tarnish was cleaned away and a few missing jewels restored, it would indeed be a blade worthy of a champion ten times his own worth.

'Her name is Neb-Crescen' spoke the thin stranger, seeing the appreciation lighting Gro-Kayra's face. 'I got her for a horse and a secret in warmer climes, but in my old age I'd be lucky to even lift such a weapon. It's only proper that I pass her on to one such as yourself. To possess her is to change your life, forever.' Overcoming his initial infatuation with the arc of honed steel, Emmeg turned his attention back to the visitor.

'Your words are fine, old man,' Emmeg said, not masking his suspicion, 'but I'm no fool. You traded for this blade once, and you'll trade for it again tonight. What is it that you want?' The stranger's shoulders slumped, and Emmeg was glad to have unveiled the true purpose of this twilight visit. He sat with him a while, eventually offering a stack of furs, warm food, and a handful of coins in exchange for the exotic weapon. By morning, the stranger was gone.

In the week following Emmeg's encounter with the stranger, Neb-Crescen had not left its scabbard. He had encountered no enemy in the woods, and his meals consisted of fowl and small game caught with bow and arrow. The peace suited him fine, but on the seventh morning, while fog still crept between the low-hanging boughs, Emmeg's ears pricked up at the telltale crunch of a nearby footfall in the dense snow and forest debris.

Emmeg's nostrils flared, but he was upwind. Being unable to see or smell his guest, and knowing that the breeze carried his scent in that direction, Emmeg's guard was up, and he cautiously drew Neb-Crescen from its sheath. Emmeg himself was not entirely sure of all that happened next.

The first moment of conscious memory in Emmeg Gro-Kayra's mind after drawing Neb-Crescen was the image of the curved blade sweeping through the air in front of him, spattering blood over the virginal powder coating the forest floor. The second memory was a feeling of frenzied bloodlust creeping over him, but it was then that he saw for the first time his victim, an Orc woman perhaps a few years younger than himself, her body a canvas of grisly wounds, enough to kill a strong man ten times over.

Emmeg's disgust overwhelmed the madness that had overtaken him, and with all his will enlisted, he released Neb-Crescen from his grip and let the blade sail. With a discordant ringing it spun through the air and was buried in a snowdrift. Emmeg fled the scene in shame and horror, drawing the hood of his cloak up to hide himself from the judging eyes of the rising sun.

The scene where Emmeg Gro-Kayra had murdered one of his own kind was a macabre one. Below the neck, the body was flayed and mutilated almost beyond recognition, but the untouched face was frozen in a permanent expression of abject terror.

It was here that Sheogorath performed certain rites that summoned Malacath, and the two Daedric Lords held court in the presence of the disfigured corpse.

'Why show me this, Mad One?' began Malacath, once he recovered from his initial, wordless outrage. 'Do you take such pleasure in watching me grieve the murder of my children?' His guttural voice rumbled, and the patron of the Orismer looked upon his counterpart with accusing eyes.

'By birth, she was yours, brother outcast,' began Sheogorath, solemn in aspect and demeanor. 'But she was a daughter of mine by her own habits. My mourning here is no less than your own, my outrage no less great.'

'I am not so sure,' grumbled Malacath, 'but rest assured that vengeance for this crime is mine to reap. I expect no contest from you. Stand aside.' As the fearsome Prince began to push past him, Lord Sheogorath spoke again.

'I have no intention of standing between you and vengeance. In fact, I mean to help you. I have servants in this wilderness, and can tell you just where to find our mutual foe. I ask only that you use a weapon of my choosing. Wound the criminal with my blade, and banish him to my plane, where I can exact my own punishment. The rights of honor-killing here belong to you.'

With that, Malacath agreed, took the wide blade from Sheogorath, and was gone.

Malacath materialized in the path of the murderer, the cloaked figure obscured through a blizzard haze. Bellowing a curse so foul as to wilt the surrounding trees, the blade was drawn and Malacath crossed the distance more quickly than a wild fox. Frothing with rage, he swung the blade in a smooth arc which lopped the head of his foe cleanly off, then plunged the blade up to its hilt in his chest, choking off the spurts of blood into a steady, growing stain of red bubbling from beneath the scaled armor and heavy cloak.

Panting from the unexpected immediacy and fury of his own kill, Malacath rested on a knee as the body before him collapsed heavily backwards and the head landed roughly upon a broad, flat stone. The next sound broke the silence like a bolt.

'I - I'm sorry...' sputtered the voice of Emmeg Gro-Kayra. Malacath's eyes went wide as he looked upon the severed head, seeping blood from its wound, but somehow kept alive. Its eyes wavered about wildly, trying to focus on the aspect of Malacath before it. The once-proud eyes of the champion were choked with tears of grief, pain, and confused recognition.

To his horror, Malacath recognized only now that the man he had killed was not only one of his Orismer children, but very literally a son he had blessed an Orc maiden with years hence. For achingly long moments the two looked upon each other, despondent and shocked.

Then, silent as oiled steel, Sheogorath strode into the clearing. He hefted Emmeg Gro-Kayra's disembodied head and bundled it into a small, grey sack. Sheogorath reclaimed Neb-Crescen from the corpse and turned to walk away. Malacath began to stand, but kneeled again, knowing he had irreversibly damned his own offspring to the realm of Sheogorath, and mourned his failure as the sound of his son's hoarse pleas faded into the frozen horizon.

Malacath

Author: 
Xan

Malacath, whose sphere is the patronage of the spurned and ostracized, and the sworn oath, and the bloody curse.

Malacath (God of Curses): Malacath is the reanimated dung that was Trinimac. A somewhat weak but vengeful Daedra, the Dark Elves say he is also Malak, the god-king of the orcs. He always tests the Dunmer for physical weakness.
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Varieties of Faith in the Empire

As recorded in "The Doors of Oblivion", Malacath maintains a realm called Ashpit; an ash-grayed realm without sky or ground, only particles or ashes that floating, falling and whirling, it is where anguish, betrayal, and broken promises like ash filled the bitter air.

The summoning date of Malacath is 8th of Frost Fall. Malacath can also be summoned in his shrine, if the summoner offered Troll Fat.

According to "Darkest Darkness", the giant but dim-witted Ogrim is a servant of Malacath. And recently we noted that Ogre is also one of Malacath's creatures.

Malacath in DaggerfallMalacath's statue in Morrowind

Malacath's statue in Oblivion

During the exodus of the Chimer in the Merethic Era, one of the most powerful Aldmeri heroes, Trinimac, tried to stop the movement. Daedric Prince Boethiah as the mastermind behind of the movement confronted Trinimac. It was a legendary battle. It is said that Trinimac was eaten by Boethiah, then Boethiah spoke with Trinimac's voice, in order to increase the morale of the Chimer while in the same time mocking the opposed Aldmer. The remain of Trinimac was transformed to Daedric Prince Malacath, and Trinimac's followers were changed as well. They are now known as the Orcs, and they worship Malacath as their god. This is recorded in the "Changed Ones."

This information is also written in "The True Nature of Orcs": 

"Orcs were born during the latter days of the Dawn Era. History has mislabeled them beastfolk, related to the goblin races, but the Orcs are actually the children of Trinimac, strongest of the Altmeri ancestor spirits. When Trinimac was eaten by the Daedroth Prince Boethiah, and transformed in that foul god's insides, the Orcs were transformed as well. The ancient name for the Orcs is 'Orsimer,' which means 'The Pariah Folk.' They now follow Malauch, the remains of Trinimac."

Malacath is also one of the Dunmeri Four Corners of the House of Troubles. Four Corner of the House of Trouble consists of Molag Bal, Mehrunes Dagon, Malacath and Sheogorath. These Daedric Princes rebelled against the counsel and admonition of the Tribunal, causing great kin strife and confusion among the clans and Great Houses. They are holy in that they serve the role of obstacles during the Testing. Through time they have sometimes become associated with local enemies, like the Nords, Akaviri, or Mountain Orcs. As written in the "The House of Troubles" and "Varieties of Faith in the Empire", Malacath is the reanimated dung that was Trinimac, Malacath is a weak but vengeful god. The Dunmer say he is Malak, the god-king of the orcs. He tests the Dunmer for physical weakness.

An interesting record in the "Varieties of Faith in the Empire" says:

"Mauloch (Malacath): An Orcish god, Mauloch troubled the heirs of King Harald for a long time. Fled east after his defeat at the Battle of Dragon Wall, ca. 1E660. His rage was said to fill the sky with his sulphurous hatred, later called the "Year of Winter in Summer"."

We know the year is the time when the Red Mountain erupted that brought disasters throughout Tamriel, so I think the claim that says that his rage fill the sky with sulphurous hatred is rather exaggerated.

During the time of the Nerevarine, Malacath was summoned by the Nerevarine in his shrine of Assurdirapal. The Prince of Curses asked the Nerevarine to track and kill the last of the Oreyn Bearclaw family line. He was upset that Oreyn Bearclaw took all the glory to be a hero while in fact all the deeds were done by Kharag gro-Khar, Oreyn's Orcish companion. The target person was finally killed by the Nerevarine and Malacath rewarded the Helm of Oreyn Bearclaw. However Malacath was wrong believing that the Oreyn Bearclaw's family line has ended, while in fact one of the family members is still alive. This person, named Modryn Oreyn, became a rather important person in the Fighters Guild after his role in the quest to eliminate the dangerous competitor of the guild, the Blackwood Company. Detail conversation of the event in Morrowind can be read here.

Malacath is also reported quite upset when certain minor lord enslaved some Ogres. It seems that the Ogres are one of his creations. He calls the Ogre as "little brother." Malacath tasked the Champion of Cyrodiil to free the Ogres and punish the minor lord. The champion did as he asked and Malacath was pleased. He rewarded the champion the famous dwarven hammer, Volendrung. Detail conversation of the event can be read here. On the side note, Volendrung was also rewarded by Malacath to the hero of Daggerfall. It is unknown to us, why the famous hammer of the Rourken Clan came to Malacath's possession.

Rourken Clan is one of the Dwemer factions that refused to peace with the Chimer. They decided to exile themselves out of Resdayn (now Morrowind). The chief of Rourken Clan was said threw his hammer Volendrung and then he and his fellow clan members took a long march following the hammer's flight. Where it landed, the Rourken would create a new kingdom. It was landed in Hammerfell.

The Hero of Daggerfall received this hammer, decades before, after he did a service for Malacath, which had asked the Hero of Daggerfall to slay a troublesome Daedra Seducer. After wandering throughout Tamriel, the hammer returned to Morrowind and came to be in the possesion of Yagrum Bagarn, the Last Living Dwarf, who had the hammer in his closet. At that time all the enchantment of the hammer vanished, with no apparent reason. It was just a mundane hammer. However, in 3E 433 the hammer came into the possession of Malacath again, and all its powerful enchantment returned. As written above, it was eventually rewarded to the Champion of Cyrodiil. Volendrung is best known for the paralyzing and strength leeching effects it has when hit an enemy.

There is a less well-known artifact of Malacath, named Scourge. The "Requisite Book of Daedra" (under the heading of Malacath) says:

"...yet though Malacath blessed Scourge to be potent against his daedra kin, he thought not that it should fall into daedric hands, then to serve as a tool for private war among caitiff and forsaken. Thus did Malacath curse the device such that should any dark kin seek to invoke its powers, that a voidhole should open and swallow that daedra, and purge him into Oblivion's voidstreams, from thence to pathfind back to the Real and Unreal Worlds in the full order of time."

and "Legendary Scourge" states:

"EXPLICATION: The mace Scourge, Blessed of Malacath, Macckan's legendary weapon, forged from sacred ebony in the Fountains of Fickleire, has ever been the bane of the Dark Kin, and many a black spirit has been hurled back into Oblivion with a single blow of this bold defender of the friendless."

This mace was found in the Battlespire by the unnamed hero of the Battlespire. It changed owners, and finally the mace came to the possession of the Telvanni lord, Divayth Fyr. As any Fyr's artifacts, it was free for the thieves to steal - if they could. Most likely it is in the possession of the Nerevarine today.