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The Dark Spirits

Author: 
Amun-dro

by Amun-dro, the Silent Priest

Lorkhaj. The Moon Beast. Born of the dark heart of Lorkhaj, which overcame him after he suffered a great betrayal. In his wisdom, Lorkhaj sought his sister Azurah, who tore the darkness from him before it consumed him and cast it into the Void. We know this shade of Lorkhaj as the first of the Dro-m'Athra, who serve the Ur-Dra Namiira, our enemy. The Moon Beast prowls the edges of the Lattice and pounces on Khajiit who stray too far off the Path. Know that on nights of the Ghost Moon, Azurah has opened the Void Gate and the Moon Beast will challenge mortals until banished. We accept this burden as part of the Path, and for the sake of our Lost Kin.

Namiira. The Eldest Spirit. The Great Darkness. The Void. All creatures who feed on rotten flesh are her spies and the prey of Cats. The Lunar Lattice protects us from her hunger, but not our own. Know that to name her aloud is to invite the Dark, so you must never do so, as Namiira is the sound of her true name. She is a spirit of infinite realms, of which only Azurah knows all. Mortals who become ensnared by this spirit are tortured until they forget who they were and know only Namiira. This is eternal suffering for all souls but the ja-Kha'jay, whom Azurah will not abandon to the Dark.

Noctra. The Shadow Thief. Daughter of Twilight. Born from the black blood of Lorkhaj at the steps of the Void Gate. In the songs, Boethra battled this spirit until it knew it was not Namiira. When this was done, Noctra was brought before Azurah to be judged. Azurah showed mercy and allowed Noctra to live, so long as she served Azurah and the ja-Kha'jay. But Noctra is rebellious by nature, so she stole one of Azurah's keys and fled back into the Void. It is written that Azurah sent the true spirit of Lorkhaj to find her, and ever since Noctra has aided the Khajiit when called. Tribes may whisper to Noctra for silence, shade, and luck. Do not summon her to perform vile deeds, for this will bring the Dark with her/

Varmiina. Queen of Nightmares. The Lost Daughter. This spirit was not of any litter, but was born from Fadomai's fear of losing her children. Azurah killed this dark spirit in the Underworld, and now Varmiina only haunts Khajiit when they dream. Know she will test you and make you want to turn from the Path in fear, but she cannot truly harm the ja-Kha'jay in dreams.

[?????] A spirit of vengeance. It has no will of its own, as it was born from Azurah's grief after the death of Fadomai and Lorkhaj. None can summon this spirit save Azurah, Boethra, and Mafala, for only they know its true name. It sometimes appears in songs as a black panther, a warrior in ebony armor, or as a hidden sword.

A Sky of Dusk

Author: 
Romien Garvette

By Romien Garvette of the Whispering Shadows

They said it was beautiful. Like a children's storybook steeped in nightmare. This realm of Oblivion, bathed in a purple sky. Stars splattered like flecks of paint. Falling, streaking across my eyes. A dark forest encroaches, filled with Her creatures. Wolves of shadows. Spirits haunting. Her Shrikes which sing, sing just for me. A melody which I cannot hum.

Blue lights fill Her land. Mesmerizing. Blue flowers that glow in the darkness with a kind light. Deceptive light. Yellow fires burn, burning against the blues and purples. Crypts lie, submerged in murky waters. Cold, cold, as cold as my hands.

Her land is decay, bloated and purple. The trees cast long, dark shadows. The path is winding, branching. There's a castle in the distance, broken apart. This world is broken apart. Crumbling, crumbling. The stone is crumbling, like my mind is crumbling. Tumbling, tumbling, into decay. Into Her shadow.

I walk within this shadow world into a counterfeit one. The realm of a Prince to the creation of a god. From soaking green to burning sand. The sun is blinding, weakening. I am a shadow, banished with the light. I crave it, but it hurts. I cannot have it. I cling to darkness as the darkness clings to me.

I sleep but find no rest, no night to come, no morning after. Just dusk, endless and gloomy. No rest for us wicked souls. Nightmares swarm, swarm like her crows. Endless eyes watching me. Singing which lures me in. The darkness seeps beneath my fingernails, under my eyelids, between my guts. Like tar, I'll fall apart if I rip it out.

My Mistress lulls me into this slumber, into this nightmare. I cannot awaken for I have become the nightmare. I am one of Her shadow creatures. I am the wolf that howls, the spider that crawls. The spirits which haunt this plane.

I will feel nothing as I strike. I have nothing left to feel, save Her.

The Interrogation of Henghild

Author: 
Anonymous

The following is an account of the events encountered during the interrogation of the witch Henghild of Wittestadr by Garmath, Witchhunter of Direfrost.

The interrogation was unremarkable for a time, and the crone had no unusual reaction to the various implements of torture beyond the expected screaming and pleading. It was when her blood first spilled that the manifestation began.

The witch grew suddenly still, as if in a trance. At once, a chill wind filled the chamber, and the flame of the braziers turned an unearthly shade of green. Echoing all about, yet seemingly coming from no discernable source, all present heard a guttural, but unmistakably cogent chant, almost like a religious invocation. Upon reflection, I suspect that this was the language of Oblivion; the obscene tongue of the Daedric Princes.

The iron chains that bound Henghild to the slab crumbled, impossibly, and fell away. Her back arched and her eyes rolled back in her head. Slowly, her body rose with no visible means of levitation, suddenly hovering several feet above the slab.

After a moment, her mouth opened and she began to speak. But it was not the voice of the crone that issued forth, but rather the voice of a Daedric abomination. Her words were transcribed by no fewer than three witnesses. I record them here, in their entirety:

"Pain unto innocence. Screams in the dark. Nocturnal is here.

"My loyal servant is tortured and burned, bound and tormented, bereft of her life.

"The clan called Direfrost think themselves righteous, but Nocturnal has seen their wickedness.

"My curse be upon you, and your descendants.

"Your judgement will first be rendered in the form of an Ice Queen who comes in the guise of a pauper.

"Your blood shall be frozen. Your torment long and painful.

"And when your savior comes to release you, know that your true suffering has only just begun.

"There will be a reckoning between past and present, and the name Direfrost will lie in tatters before the end.

"A new Ice Queen will bring unto Direfrost all the anguish of Oblivion, and you shall know true suffering."

At this moment, the crone's body burst into green flame, and crumbled to ash.

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 Nightingales, Volume I: Who We Are

Author: 
Gallus Desidenius

The Nightingales
Volume I:
Who We Are

By
Gallus Desidenius 

As a Nightingale, I feel compelled to place quill to parchment and record my thoughts regarding my knowledge of our order. If one day the Nightingales should vanish from Tamriel, then let this tome serve as a reminder of what we once were and to dispel any rumor or hearsay about our purposes and our motivations.

Our trinity serves the Lady Nocturnal, the Empress of Murk and the Daughter of Twilight. We believe her to be our patron, if not the patron of all thieves worldwide. We serve her without prayer, without charity and without celebration. Our bond with Nocturnal is in the form of a business transaction we strike known as the Oath. Her terms are simple and binding. As Nightingales we are required to guard the Twilight Sepulcher, the Temple of Nocturnal, against those perceived as a threat. In return, we are allowed to use our abilities as Nightingales to further our own means and the means of the Thieves Guild.

Upon our death, we are bound to the Twilight Sepulcher as guardian spirits until such time as Nocturnal feels our contract has been fulfilled. Our ultimate fate lies within the Evergloam, Nocturnal's realm. There, our spirits become one with shadow itself and we become the cloak which envelops all of our fellow thieves in their endeavors. This is the true origin of the phrase "walk with the shadows" uttered within the Thieves Guild.

The Twilight Sepulcher is more than a temple, it contains a conduit from our world to the Evergloam, a swirling pool of liquid midnight we call the Ebonmere. This is the heart of the Sepulcher, and the source of Nocturnal's influence throughout the world. The Ebonmere can only be sealed by removing a unique key from its lock. This key, which occasionally finds its way beyond the walls of the Sepulcher, is widely known as the Skeleton Key of Nocturnal.

The Skeleton Key is an often misunderstood artifact. Those that seek to possess it tend to use only a fraction of its potential. Most mistake it for a unique and unbreakable lockpick. While this is true, the wonder of this device can only be appreciated once the owner is willing to expand his mind and abstract what defines "unlocking." This action refers to more than simple doors and portals. In the proper hands, the Skeleton Key has the capability to unlock hidden potential and untapped abilities. The extent of this power has yet to be discovered, which is a frightening thought if it ever fell into the wrong hands.

As a member of the trinity of Nightingales, it is incumbent upon us to recover the Skeleton Key if it strays from the Twilight Sepulcher. Why Nocturnal allows the Key to be stolen in the first place is a mystery. Some say she revels in the chaos this artifact causes, others feel she simply does not care, that the petty squabbles of men and mer are beyond her attention. Whatever the case may be, it is our duty to ensure it remains safely within the confines of the Sepulcher.

To say that the Nightingales are a holy order would be doing us a disservice. In our hearts, we are thieves. We enjoy the hunt and delight in the spoils. We might swear our loyalty to Nocturnal and hold some influence within the Thieves Guild, but the greatest allegiance a Nightingale holds is to himself.

The Nightingales

Author: 
Gallus Desidenius

The Nightingales
Volume I:
Who We Are

By
Gallus Desidenius 

As a Nightingale, I feel compelled to place quill to parchment and record my thoughts regarding my knowledge of our order. If one day the Nightingales should vanish from Tamriel, then let this tome serve as a reminder of what we once were and to dispel any rumor or hearsay about our purposes and our motivations.

Our trinity serves the Lady Nocturnal, the Empress of Murk and the Daughter of Twilight. We believe her to be our patron, if not the patron of all thieves worldwide. We serve her without prayer, without charity and without celebration. Our bond with Nocturnal is in the form of a business transaction we strike known as the Oath. Her terms are simple and binding. As Nightingales we are required to guard the Twilight Sepulcher, the Temple of Nocturnal, against those perceived as a threat. In return, we are allowed to use our abilities as Nightingales to further our own means and the means of the Thieves Guild.

Upon our death, we are bound to the Twilight Sepulcher as guardian spirits until such time as Nocturnal feels our contract has been fulfilled. Our ultimate fate lies within the Evergloam, Nocturnal's realm. There, our spirits become one with shadow itself and we become the cloak which envelops all of our fellow thieves in their endeavors. This is the true origin of the phrase "walk with the shadows" uttered within the Thieves Guild.

The Twilight Sepulcher is more than a temple, it contains a conduit from our world to the Evergloam, a swirling pool of liquid midnight we call the Ebonmere. This is the heart of the Sepulcher, and the source of Nocturnal's influence throughout the world. The Ebonmere can only be sealed by removing a unique key from its lock. This key, which occasionally finds its way beyond the walls of the Sepulcher, is widely known as the Skeleton Key of Nocturnal.

The Skeleton Key is an often misunderstood artifact. Those that seek to possess it tend to use only a fraction of its potential. Most mistake it for a unique and unbreakable lockpick. While this is true, the wonder of this device can only be appreciated once the owner is willing to expand his mind and abstract what defines "unlocking." This action refers to more than simple doors and portals. In the proper hands, the Skeleton Key has the capability to unlock hidden potential and untapped abilities. The extent of this power has yet to be discovered, which is a frightening thought if it ever fell into the wrong hands.

As a member of the trinity of Nightingales, it is incumbent upon us to recover the Skeleton Key if it strays from the Twilight Sepulcher. Why Nocturnal allows the Key to be stolen in the first place is a mystery. Some say she revels in the chaos this artifact causes, others feel she simply does not care, that the petty squabbles of men and mer are beyond her attention. Whatever the case may be, it is our duty to ensure it remains safely within the confines of the Sepulcher.

To say that the Nightingales are a holy order would be doing us a disservice. In our hearts, we are thieves. We enjoy the hunt and delight in the spoils. We might swear our loyalty to Nocturnal and hold some influence within the Thieves Guild, but the greatest allegiance a Nightingale holds is to himself.

The Nightingales
Volume II:
What We Were

By
Gallus Desidenius 

As a Nightingale, I feel compelled to place quill to parchment and record my thoughts regarding my knowledge of our order. If one day the Nightingales should vanish from Tamriel, then let this tome serve as a reminder of what we once were and to dispel any rumor or hearsay about our purposes and our motivations.

I will attempt to relate the scant bit of knowledge I have of our history to the best of my ability. It is my hope that in the future, someone else may happen upon this writing and amend it in order to expand the record of our existence.

Our history begins with a well-known tale. The tome "The Real Barenziah IX" mentions that a bard named "Nightingale" tricked Queen Barenziah into revealing the location of an artifact called the Staff of Chaos which he later claimed for his own. The story goes on to reveal that "Nightingale" was a powerful Imperial Battlemage named Jagar Tharn in disguise and that he used the Staff to imprison Emperor Uriel Septim VIII. His ultimate goal was to assume the form of the banished emperor and sit upon the throne in his stead.

In actuality, the individual identified as "the bard Nightingale" was not Jagar Tharn at all. This master of disguise was a Nightingale thief named Drayven Indoril. Jagar Tharn hired Drayven, one of the greatest master thieves in Skyrim, to seduce Barenziah and coerce her into revealing the location of the Staff of Chaos. After the Staff was given to Jagar Tharn, he attempted to eradicate Drayven, but his Nightingale abilities aided his escape. Jagar Tharn searched for Drayven but eventually had to abandon the pursuit in order to enact his plans involving the emperor.

It is interesting to note that history refers to Jagar Tharn as "Nightingale" well after the point Drayven would have vanished from the story. The distortion of actual events is very typical of Barenziah's manipulation. With the pressure of blame falling squarely on her shoulders for Uriel Septim VII's imprisonment, she twisted the truth and created the notion that the "bard" named Nightingale was Jagar Tharn himself. She felt the tale of being enthralled by the master sorcerer held more of a forgiving if not romantic notion than simply being seduced by a master rogue. Some also further speculate that eliminating Drayven from history was her attempt at protecting the reputation of Jagar Tharn, whom she was rumored to have been quite fond of.

Drayven had escaped into Morrowind after Jagar Tharn's pursuit and rejoined the Indoril family who held an estate quite close to the border of Skyrim which allowed him to perform his Nightingale duties at the Sepulcher if the need arose. He remained there for many years until the Indoril family began to lose its power and a war between the houses erupted. Not wanting any part of it, and feeling that Jagar Tharn was no longer a threat, Drayven left his homeland behind and settled in The Rift under the guise of a miner.

Co-currently with Drayven's history, born out of Dravyen's seduction of Barenziah, the Dunmer Queen eventually bore a child. This child, whom Barenziah abandoned with a midwife in an attempt to keep her Nightingale story valid, eventually grew into adulthood and struck out on her own to find her father. Calling herself Dralsi, she overturned every stone in Skyrim looking for any traces of Drayven. After an unknown number of years passed,  she finally located him in a small mining community called Shor's Stone. He was quite elderly now... no longer the spry rogue that had seduced Barenziah, but nevertheless he was still Dralsi's father and he treated her as such. In the remaining years of Drayven's life, he imparted the ways of the Nightingale to Dralsi until he finally succumbed to his age.

Dralsi willingly struck the Oath of the Nightingales and performed her duties well in the service of Nocturnal. She eventually took a husband and together they had a child whom they named Karliah. Like Dralsi's father did for her, Dralsi taught Karliah the art of thievery and how to survive in Skyrim living as a rogue. She intended to pass the Nightingale mantle on to Karliah, but had to wait until the time was right to reveal it. When she was old enough, Karliah struck out on her own wanting to ply her trade in a larger city. She eventually found her way to Riften and joined the Thieves Guild under my own leadership at the time.

As Karliah slowly climbed the ranks in the Guild, I watched her progress and saw much of her mother in her methods. After several years passed, I received word that Dralsi had been killed defending the Twilight Sepulcher from a band of mercenaries and so it became time for the mantle to be passed. I traveled to Nightingale Hall with Mercer Frey and together, we inducted Karliah into the Nightingales.

I will relate my own history in my next volume and perhaps, as I uncover more information, the history of Mercer Frey as well

Purloined Shadows

Author: 
Waughin Jarth

 

* Chapter One *

The candle was lit, and the thief was standing there, blinking, caught. She was young, rather dirty, wearing ragged black clothes that were surely quite smart and expensive weeks ago when she had stolen them from one of the city's best tailors. The look of surprise slipped from her face, and she took on a blank expression as she put the gold back on the table.

"What are you doing here?" the man with the candle asked, stepping from the shadows.

"That's a stupid question," the girl replied, frowning. "I'm obviously robbing you."

"Since nothing I have is missing," the man smiled, glancing at the gold on the table. "I would have to say that you're not robbing me. Attempting to rob me perhaps. The question I have is, why? You know who I am, I assume. You didn't just come in through an unlocked door."

"I've stolen from everyone else. I've taken soul gems from the Mages Guild, I've robbed the treasury of the most secure fortress, I cheated the Archbishop of Julianos... I even pickpocketed the Emperor Pelagius at his coronation. I thought it was your turn."

"I'm flattered," the man nodded. "Now that your ambition has been thwarted, what will you do? Flee? Perhaps retire?"

"Teach me," the girl replied, a little grin finding its way unconsciously on her face. "I picked all your locks, I slipped past all your wards... You designed them, you know how difficult that was for someone without training. I didn't come here for six gold pieces. I came here to prove myself. Make me your student."

The Master of Stealth looked at the little girl burglar. "Your skill is not in need of training. Your planning is adequate, but I can help you with that. What is without hope is your ambition. You are past stealing for your livelihood, now you steal for the pleasure of it, for the challenge. That's a personality trait which is incurable, and will lead you to an early grave."

"Haven't you ever wanted to steal that which can't be stolen?" the girl asked. "Something that would make your name known forever?"

The Master did not answer: he only frowned.

"Clearly I was fooled by your reputation," she shrugged, and opened a window. "I thought you might want a willing accomplice on some great act of thievery which would go down in history. Like you said, my skill at planning is only adequate. I didn't have in mind an escape route, but this will have to do."

The burglar slipped down the sheer wall, dashed across the shadowy courtyard, and within a few minutes was back at her room in the run-down tavern. The Master was waiting for her there, in the dark.

"I didn't see you go past me," she gasped.

"You turned on the street when you heard the owl call," he replied. "The most important tool in the thieves' repertoire is distraction, either planned or improvised. I suppose your lessons have begun."

"And what is the final test?" the girl smiled.

When he told her, she could only stare. She had, it seemed, not misunderstood his reputation for daring. Not at all.

 

* Chapter Two *

For the week leading up to the Eighth of Hearthfire, the skies above Rindale were dark and alive as clouds of crows blotted out the sun. Their guttural squawks and groans deafened all. The peasants wisely bolted their doors and windows, praying to survival that most unholy of days.

On the night of the summoning, the birds fell silent, their black unblinking eyes following the witches' march into the glen. There were no moons to light the way, only the leader's single torch in the gloom. Their white robes appeared as indistinct shapes, like the faintest of ghosts.

A single tall tree stood in the middle of the clearing, every branch thick with crows, watching the procession without moving. The lead witch placed the torch at the base of the tree, and her seventeen followers formed a circle and began their slow, strange, wailing chant.

As they sang, the glow of the torch began to change. It did not diminish at all, but its color became more and more grey, so it seemed a pulsating wave of ash had fallen on the witches. Then it grew darker still, so that for a moment, though the fire yet burned, it was darkest night in the forest. The penumbra continued until the torch was burning with a color without a name, emptiness beyond mere blackness. It cast a glow, but it was an unnatural scintillation falling on the witches. Their robes of white became black. The Dunmer among them had eyes of green, and ivory white flesh. The Nords appeared black as coal. The crows watching overhead were as pure white as the witches' cloaks.

The Daedra Princess Nocturnal stepped out of the pit of uncolor.

She stood in the center of the circle, the tree of pallid crows her throne, aloof, as the witches continued their chanting, dropping their robes to prostrate themselves naked before their great mistress. Wrapping her night cloak around her, she smiled at their song. It spoke of her mystery, of veiled beauty, of eternal shadows and a divine future when the sun burns no more.

Nocturnal let her cloak slide from her shoulders and was naked. Her witches did not raise their head from the ground, but continued their hymn of darkness.

"Now," said the girl to herself.

She had been up in the tree all day, dressed in a ridiculous suit of mock crows. It was uncomfortable, but when the witches had arrived, she forgot all her aches, and concentrated on being perfectly still, like the other crows in the tree. It had taken considerable planning and study between her and the Master of Stealth to find the glen, and to learn what to expect in the summoning of Nocturnal.

Gently, silently, the burglar eased herself down the branches of the tree, coming closer and closer to the Daedra Princess. She let herself break her concentration for just a moment, and wondered where the Master was. He had been confident in the plan. He said that when Nocturnal dropped her cloak, there would be a distraction, and it could be quickly taken in that instant provided the girl was in position at the precise right moment.

The girl climbed along the lowest of the branches, carefully pushing aside the crows that were, as the Master said, transfixed by the Princess in her naked beauty.  The girl was now close enough, if she only reached out her arm, to touch Nocturnal's back.

The song was rising to a crescendo, and the girl knew that the ceremony would soon be over. Nocturnal would clothe herself before the witches ended the chant, and the chance to take the cloak would be over. The girl gripped the tree branch tightly as her mind raced. Could it be that the Master was not here at all? Was this, was this conceivably the entire test? Was it only to show that it could be done, not to do it?

The girl was furious. She had done everything perfectly, but the so-called Master of Stealth had proven himself a coward. Perhaps he had taught her a little in the months that it took to plan this, but what was it worth? Only one thing made her smile. On that night when she had stolen into his stronghold, she had kept one single gold piece, and he had never suspected it. It was symbolic, as symbolic as stealing the cloak of Nocturnal in its way, proving that the Master Thief could be robbed.

The girl was so lost on her mind that she thought she imagined it for a moment when a man's voice yelled out from the darkness, "Mistress!"

The next words she knew she didn't imagine: "Mistress! A thief! Behind you!"

The witches raised their heads, and screamed, ruining the sanctity of the ceremony, as they charged forward. The crows awoke and burst from the tree in an explosion of feathers and toad-like cries. Nocturnal herself whirled around, affixing the girl with her black eyes.

"Who art thee who dares profane?" The Princess hissed, as the pitch shadows flew from her body enveloping the girl in their lethal chill.

In the last instant before she was swallowed alive by darkness, the girl looked to the ground and saw that the cloak was gone, and she answered, as she understood, "Oh, who am I? I'm the distraction."

Nocturnal

Author: 
Xan

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

Nocturnal is accorded the title Ur-dra by nearly all the Royalty of Oblivion. As the mother of night, she claims to be an aspect of the original Void itself, and it is generally deemed best to fortify this declaration in one's evening prayers.

The summoning date of Nocturnal is 3rd of Hearthfire.

Nocturnal in DaggerfallNocturnal's statue in Oblivion

Nocturnal more-less is thieves deity, although she does not ask for worshippers, nor does she necessarily give blessings to those that do recognize her. It is quite an irony that the mistress of the Thieves had problem with the stealing of some of her artifacts. The Cowl of Nocturnal (Waughin Jarth's "Purloined Shadows" says it's her cloak) is one of the prized possessions of the Thieves Guild. The master thief of the Cyrodiil Thieves Guild is known as the Gray Fox and he always recognized by his Cowl of Nocturnal. The cowl was stolen by the first Gray Fox, Emer Dareloth. Nocturnal cursed the cowl and its user, "Whoever wears Nocturnal's cowl shall have his name stricken from history."

Circa 3E 433, the latest Gray Fox, Corvus Umbranox, used The Elder Scrolls to undo the curse. The cowl now does not erase the name of its wielder from history, and the tradition of Gray Fox as the leader is still preserved by the Cyrodiil Thieves Guild.

The cowl was also told stolen in one amusing song called "Song of Hrormir." Nocturnal was tricked by Hrormir in order to save his old companion Darfang. She traded Darfang's soul for the service (by keeping his soul) of Hrormir, so that he would assist her followers dividing the kingdom of Aelfendor, but in the end the kingdom was left intact while Nocturnal's followers were divided. And the Gray Cowl of Nocturnal was also taken by Hrormir. To get the cowl back, Nocturnal was forced to release Hrormir's soul and left with nothing to gain.

Nocturnal lose another of her artifacts, the Eye of Nocturnal. It was stolen by some Leyawiin thieves and hidden in Tidewater Cave. The artifact was finally recovered by the Champion of Cyrodiil, and for the deed, the champion was rewarded with the Skeleton Key. Detail conversation of the event can be read here.

The Skeleton's Key was reported, owned for the first time by an obscured person named Arrovan. Many years later, the Eternal Champion during the Imperial Simulacrum, found a map in a dungeon in Valenwood that pointed to the location of the Skeleton's Key somewhere in Summerset Isle. Using the map, the Eternal Champion found and claimed the key. Then sometime in 3E 397, the Hero of the Azra's Crossing found the Skeleton Key in one of the chests in the Citadel of Broken Wing. Indeed the artifact travels between heroes and locations, as the legend says, it would never be the property of one thief for too long.

 

Hiding with the Shadow

Author: 
Anonymous

There are few professions that require the practitioner to be more self-reliant than that of thief. A thief is by nature a loner. He trusts no one and is trusted by few. He cannot go to a master and become an apprentice. He has no guild to collect and codify how to ply his craft. He does his crimes alone, and in the dark of night. He must hide by day to avoid capture by the authorities.

The only known deity recognized by thieves is Nocturnal. Not truly a goddess, this Daedric lord is none-the-less a potent figure. She is the Mistress of Shadows, holding sway over secrets and stealth. She does not ask for worshippers, nor does she necessarily give blessings to those that do recognize her. In fact there are no known temples to her in Cyrodiil, although there are rumors of a forgotten shrine. In other words, she is perfectly suited to the criminal mind of the thief.

By and large, thieves are a godless lot. They believe only in their own skills and cunning. However, since the existence and influence of the gods and Daedric lords is undeniable, they have an uneasy relationship with Nocturnal. Though some thieves truly worship her, most choose to offer their respect and reverence without fealty.

These criminals recognize that should they offend the Mistress of Shadows, it might go poorly for them. However, true worship and fealty does not have any known benefit. The classic blessing between thieves is "shadow hide you." This is an oblique reference to Nocturnal. However it can also be interpreted to be a non-theistic statement of actual shadows hiding the thief.

Thieves tend to dress in black clothes or dark clothing. While this is a practical thing for their criminal endeavors, it is unnecessary during the daylight hours. Yet many thieves still don these shadowy colors in silent recognition of Nocturnal.

The most shocking link between the nebulous culture of thieves and Nocturnal, is the tale of the Gray Fox. He is the mythical king of thieves. The legend states that he stole the hood off of Nocturnal's cloak. Obviously this is just a story invented centuries ago to bolster their feelings of self-worth. However, it is indicative of the continued link between the Daedric lord and the criminals of the Empire. 

Imperial Census of Daedra Lords

Author: 
Michael Kirkbride

Hey kids,

Still working on the sword-meeting, so in lieu of its presence and in honor of Propitiation Day, I give you "The Imperial Census of Daedra Lords" by the Imperial Geographic Survey. This version of the Census was written before Uriel VII's demise, and is contemporary with the current Pocketguide.

Enjoy.

-MK

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The Imperial Census of Daedra Lords
Azura, Lord of Dusk and Dawn, maintains the domain of Moonshadow, a twilight country of shades and half-thoughts. Visitors to this isle have historically come mainly from the Dunmer of eastern Morrowind and the catfolk of Elsweyr, whose people both hold a great affection for the mother of immanence, though by separate roads. At the time of this writing, regular gateways to Moonshadow have been inaccessible for the last several years. Whether this has to do with the unlawful incidents at Hogithum Hall in the Capital City or mere whim of Azura herself, no one can say. Of course, Azura’s most famous acts of recent times is the Incarnation of the Nerevarine, a subject that while far beyond the scope of this pamphlet has been felt to the present day.

Boethiah, the so-called Prince of Plots, has renamed his country of labyrinthine policy and betrayals yet again. Formerly “Snake Mount”, Prince Boethiah’s maze gardens and twisted towers is called “Attribution’s Share”, a realm best avoided by those that live outside the arcano-politic. Boethiah, like his cohort Azura, is much revered by the followers of the former Tribunal Temple, but sub-cults of his are entrenched in nearly every terrestrial seat of governance. His traditional festival date is the 2nd of Sun’s Dusk, when many contracts are writ between kings and commoners alike.

Clavicus Vile, child-god of the Morningstar, bestows a strange tranquility to his lands that seem concordant to his spheres of mockery and oath breaking, though what shape such concepts might take is admittedly unfathomable. Perhaps by rendering his domains as idyllic countryside the Prince exemplifies his greatest aspect, and that which ingratiates him to his many followers, the power of serenity through wish fulfillment. Only the strongest of the Emperor’s servants are advised to make covenant with Prince Clavicus, and even then are warned against sipping from the Bitter Cup.

Hermaeus Mora, “the Gardener of Men”, claims that he is one of the oldest Princes, born of thrown-away ideas used during the creation of mortality in the Mundus. Imperial Mananauts have verified that his influence on fate and time is real and unfeigned, implications of which tie this Prince directly with Akatosh, chief of the Nine Divines. Since Akatosh is the prime temporal spirit whose appearance led to the formation of the world, perhaps Hermaeus Mora speaks the truth. Nevertheless, it is the will of His Majesty Uriel VII that only on the official holiday of 5th First Seed should any propitiation to this Daedric Prince be delivered. “All else is mutation.”

Hircine’s Hunting Grounds have been closed by consensus of the Elder Council until further notice. It is mentioned here only for the sake of completeness.

Malacath holds the hardest to access of Oblivion’s extant lands, the Ashpit. As Prince Patron of the disenfranchised and cast out, it is only reasonable that the pathways to his domain take on a characteristic level of concealment. Orsinium, kingdom of the Orcs, gives Malacath its highest esteem, which is surprising when one considers the normal Orcish revilement of Daedric spirits. One might conjecture then that the rumors of Malacath not being a true Daedroth but an imprisoned aetherial spirit are true. It would certainly fit the Prince of Exile that he be one himself.

Mehrunes Dagon, Lord of Razors, has proven himself time and again the enemy of the Empire. Of terrible aspect and crowned in beaten copper, the four-armed Prince of Destruction has troubled the borders of the Mundus with warfare, foul rumor, and force of arms. Banished to dissolution during the Weir Gate massacre and again at Kvatch by battlemages of the 33rd, Mehrunes Dagon is returned to Oblivion once more, and the stars have foretold that his tenacity has known no forfeiture. All heroes of Cyrodiil are called upon to stand vigil against his hidden agencies.

Mephala’s domains in Oblivion are numerous and obscured, collected together by vast strands of magical ghostweb. All of them are devoted to her spheres of sex and secret murder. Echoing this same structure are the various esoteric cults devoted to her across Tamriel, many of which are forbidden by Imperial law. Her aspect is shrouded and manifold, even when she appears in the crowds that gather within her temples during Frost Fall.

Meridia’s holdings in Oblivion are collectively known as “The Colored Rooms”. Another Prince whose origins may not entirely be outside of the aetherial, Meridia has at several times been linked to Magnus the Sun. The most famous account of this association is the Tract of Merid-nunda, which overtly casts Meridia in the role of a wayward solar daughter, cast from the heavens for consorting with illicit spectra.

Molag Bal, King of Strife, is second only to his brother Prince Mehrunes Dagon in the enmity of our Emperor. His lands are the charnel houses the slave pens of Coldharbour, which hold no contrition for those travelers that visit them in error or purpose. That Molag Bal is allowed his holiday at all hearkens back to a treaty of ancient times, when he reputedly lent his infernal power to the creation of the first soulgems.

Namira’s Scuttling Void has been closed by consensus of the Elder Council until further notice. It is mentioned here only for the sake of completeness.

Nocturnal is accorded the title Ur-dra by nearly all the Royalty of Oblivion. As the mother of night, she claims to be an aspect of the original Void itself, and it is generally deemed best to fortify this declaration in one’s evening prayers.

Peryite’s pits have always been inaccessible to mortals. Our only real knowledge of them comes from reports of the other diabolical Princes. It is said that Peryite guards the lowest orders of Oblivion and that his summoners are to regard his likeness to Akatosh as some primordial and curious jest.

Sanguine, Prince of Hedonism, lords over no less than ten times ten thousand pleasure pockets of the Void. As revelry and drunken stupor fall under this Prince’s influence, he has been a favorite of many Emperors since the first foundation. Records even indicate that he resided in White-Gold Tower during the reign of Reman Cyrodiil and helped in the somewhat dubious draftsmanship of the Crendali Festivals, whose vulgarities did little to help Imperial expansion into Alinor and the other Summersets.

Sheogorath’s Asylums have been closed by consensus of the Elder Council until further notice. It is mentioned here only for the sake of completeness.

Vaernima, Prince of Omen and Dream, shares a special mageographic connection with the Mundus, since mortal sleepers often slip into her realm without any help at all. Traditional sacrifice to Vaernima is held on the 10th of Suns Height, but as with most luck spirits, prayers to this Daedric Prince occur quite frequently, and not always before bedtime.