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Picnic at Pelin (A Horror Story)

Author: 
DeWitte Bourbois

"Come on, Falinne," I said. "It'll be fun."

"I don't know, Jacques," Falinne replied, her gamine's face betraying embarrassment, unusual for her. "I just don't think—it doesn't sound like a good idea to me."

"What, going for a picnic? It's Sovereignty Day, celebrating High Rock's independence from the First Empire. Everybody goes for a picnic on Sovereignty Day!"

"Yes, but not to Pelin Graveyard. And the weather isn't looking very good for a picnic—it's so gloomy." She shivered.

"Not to worry," I said, leading the way past through the wrought-iron fences and into the great cemetery. "We'll have a roof over our heads. We're going to eat inside this old mausoleum here."

"Wh-what?" Falinne said. "But this is the crypt of …."

"Of your namesake, Baroness Falinne Guimard, who commanded the troops of Bangkorai on Sovereignty Day? The very same." I smiled, bowed, and waved her in to the dark mausoleum.

Falinne looked inside and gulped, then said, "All right, Jacques. You can't scare me." And, hunching her head a bit into her shoulders, she ducked into the Baroness' last resting place.

I followed, unfolding the picnic blanket with a flourish. "Here we are! No need to sit directly on the clammy, strangely-stained flagstones of the dark and dismal charnel vault. Comfort and elegance are my watchwords!"

"Very funny, Jacques." She smiled gamely and folded her legs beneath her as I put the picnic basket in the center of the blanket. "So what did you bring?"

"Chef Artoine's deluxe picnic collation from the Anchor's Point inn! A brace of rock pigeons, grilled and deboned, with combwort chutney, ballom pudding, and a jug of syllabub. Unless for pigeon…."

"…Less … egion…" a voice whispered from the back of the vault.

"Er… an echo, by Mara! Did—did you hear that, Falinne?"

"…Falinne … Aless … Legion …!" came the whisper, louder this time.

"I certainly heard that!" Falinne said, leaping up. "Jacques, what kind of trick are you playing here?"

"Alessian Legion! Where?" said the voice, quite distinctly. And before our widening eyes, a blue phantasm came drifting up from a steep and narrow stairwell.

With a shriek, Falinne backed flat against the far wall and froze, seemingly paralyzed. I felt cold stones at my own back and realized I'd done the same.

The translucent blue phantasm, clad in armor of antique design, drifted between us, halted at the entrance, and turned. "This is the day, isn't it?" she demanded in hollow tones. "The day of the attack!"

"Y-yes, Countess," I said, surprised at my ability to speak. "Right d-day, but wrong century."

"What?" She flew at me, spectral hands raised like claws. Somehow, I shrank even further into the wall. "What? Not … again."

"That's right!" Falinne piped up. "Wrong century, wrong year! Go back to sleep, Grandmother."

"Wrong … year," the spectre said slowly. "Back … to sleep."

And to our immense relief, the Countess' ghost began drifting back down the stairs, fading as it went.
"Gales of Kynareth!" Falinne said, sinking to the floor. "I need a drink. You?"

"Oh, yes. At least one," I said, as she poured the syllabub. "What's taking so long?"

"My hands are shaking. Here."

I drained the milk-and-cider to the dregs and passed the mug back for more. Then I took a deep breath and began, "Falinne, I'm really, really sorry. I never thought…."

"Don't worry about it," she said. "Here, have some more. Think what a great story it'll make back at the Anchor's Point."

"You're not angry? Really?"

"No, Jacques. Not angry."

"Well then, let me carve the … huh, that's funny." As I reached for the plate of pigeons, I felt a wave of cold pass over my body, and my hand fell short. "By Arkay, what …?" I tried to stand, got as far as my knees and then fell over onto the blanket. "Falinne, something's … something's wrong."

"It's nothing, dearest," she said, smiling sweetly. "I just drugged your syllabub with a paralyzing potion."
"D-drugged?" I mumbled. "Why?"

"Because there's this really exclusive club I want to join. Namira's Forgotten? But to be admitted, you have to consume human flesh. It's quite thrilling, Jacques!" She drew a slender, razor-sharp blade from her bodice.

"Now, let's see—where shall I begin?"

 

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."  

Namira

Author: 
Xan

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.

The summoning date of Namira is 9th of Second Seed. Namira can also be summoned in her shrine by someone repulsive, she does not like attractive person.

Namira in DaggerfallNamira's statue in Oblivion

There is a tale about a person who had dealt with the Prince sometime in the First Era. His name is Wheedle, somehow he was the 13th child of a king in Valenwood. As such Wheedle was in no position to take the throne or even inherit much property or wealth. So when he met Namira, he begged her to be her apprentice (obviously for power) until finally Namira gave up. She gave him three "blessings"; disease, pity and disregard. He became a beggar, a terrible beggar. However, with those "blessings", his name became legendary among the beggars and with the disregard power, Wheedle discovered that the power gave great access to the secrets of the realms. People unknowingly said important things where Wheedle could hear them. Wheedle grew to know the comings and goings of every citizen in the city. To this day, it is said that if you really want to know something, go ask the beggars. They have eyes and ears throughout the cities. They know all the little secrets of the daily lives of its citizens. The complete tale is recorded in the book "Beggar Prince."

When summoned by the Champion of Cyrodiil, Namira spoke to the champion about the Forgotten, a group of fanatical worshippers that lives in the darkness of Anga. Some priests of Arkay were planning to bring light to Anga and "save" the Forgotten Ones. The champion was asked by Namira to use the spell that Namira has given me on the priests, and let the Forgotten Ones finish them off. No need to tell that eventually those priests of Arkay met their unfortunate end in Anga. Namira rewarded her ring. The Ring of Namira has a strange enchantment; while the ring is being worn, any damage the bearer takes is suffered by the attacker as well. Detail conversation of the event can be read here.