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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 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.

Lord Hollowjack's Dread Realm

Cuilean Darnizhaan

By Cuilean Darnizhaan, Psijic Proctor of Abyssal Fragments

When there are so many urgent matters, both mundane and metaphysical, pressing upon the land of Tamriel, its governments, and their people, some decry as wasteful the expenditure of scholastic resources upon a subject like the myriad sub-planes of Oblivion and their rulers, the so-called Daedra Lords and Demiprinces. They are deemed to be trivial and inconsequential in the greater scheme of things, a subject unsuited to Psijic study when there is still so much we don't understand about our immediate Aurbic surroundings. But it seems to this poor scholar that "the greater scheme of things" is a broad tapestry woven of threads uncounted, and in the warp and weft of reality who is to say with certainty what is consequential and what is trivial? I believe no subject is unsuited to Psijic study, as all things are bound together. The power of knowledge is infinite: the power of ignorance can shatter Ebony like glass.

Perhaps you find that an unnecessary and rather pompous preamble, but withhold judgment on that, because by the time this course is complete, I believe you will agree it is accurate. To illustrate the average Psijic's ignorance of these matters, I will commence with a lecture about the little-known plane of Detritus and its enigmatic Daedra Lord Hha-Lugh-Zhek, which you have probably heard spoken in common parlance as Hollowjack. Though many regard Lord Hollowjack as a fictional bogey invoked during the Witches Festival to frighten superstitious peasants, he is all too real, and tales of him appearing in cemeteries under the Harvest Moons to terrify the unwary have a basis in objective fact.

Let me introduce you to the reality behind the legends: Hollowjack is a unique Greater Daedra who bears the title Lord of Mortal Fears, and takes as his province the placatory worship of all Men and Mer who are driven by fear to pray for divine intervention. According to Hollowjack, such worshipers belong to him, in heart if not in soul, and he derives supernatural power by feeding on their terror. The metaphysical mechanism of this "fear feeding" is a mystery, as it doesn't fall into any of the mystical categories of the Old Ways as we Psijics understand them. But just as we can't deny the existence of Flame spells just because we don't study Destruction magic, we can't discount Daedric fear feeding just because we can't explain it—there are too many verified accounts that attest to it.

Now, I said, "According to Hollowjack," as if we had the Daedra Lord's personal testimony or interviews to draw upon, but such is not the case: Hollowjack is an elusive fellow who appears to mortals only long enough to make their most dreaded fears come true. However, there are many folk tales of the fearful being driven mad by their fears in the form of repeated visitations by Lord Hollowjack, a class I refer to as "Hollowjack's Haunted," who provide us with a long (though fragmentary) literary tradition of personal accounts of the Fear Daedra, and we can draw upon these for glimpses of their persecutor. Consider this excerpt from the archived journal in our library filed as "Haunting #427":

"Sometimes Petra has multi-day shifts where she has to spend several nights deep in the mine, and then He comes and to tell me softly that the ceiling will collapse, as it did on me, and Petra will never return. He steeples his long, long fingers as he speaks, talons tapping against one another, tip-tip-tap, except when he points at my eye for emphasis."

Another excerpt, from Haunting #112:

"... his teeth oh mara his teeth how can HE have so many so long so sharp no one should ever smile because HE smiles and when he does oh mara preserve me..."

And finally, this one from Haunting #4:

"He told me then of his realm, Detritus, and how he frivols there among his collection of shattered memories, categorizing and classing them as this or that, replaying them from different angles to find new vulnerabilities in the mortal mind, new chinks in the armor of strength and sanity that protect us from succumbing to fear. There is no outside on Detritus, he said, only inside, only room after room of recurring nightmares and internal torments. 'For mortals fear most what is inside themselves,' he whispered. 'And most of the time I need only remind them of who they really are within. That's enough, and more than enough.'"

This gives a sample, but if you spend some time in the library this session to read the Hauntings yourself, you'll find that they're remarkably consistent in their descriptions of Lord Hollowjack: he speaks softly or in whispers from a mouth full of long, sharp teeth, and he has long, slender, and agile fingers tipped with sharp nails, "talons" that can slash or puncture, but most often just gently emphasize what the voice behind them is saying. Accounts of his Oblivion realm are also consistent, describing a claustrophobic series of small spaces cluttered and jammed with piles of mortals' lost and broken personal items.

So, when the Witches Festival comes 'round again, and you hear merchants and mountebanks jesting about Lord Hollowjack, and frightening children by waving long fingers in their faces, think about the truth behind the jokes. Have some compassion for the terrified, and try to believe the stories they tell. Most importantly, when it's night and you're afraid, make no desperate prayers for succor. You might not like how they're answered.

The New Lord


Today there was a wind—a fiery wind, above Red-Zeal Keep. I thought it was more of the Deadlands' wretched weather, but a massive form emerged from it, much taller than man or even mer, its great form trailing ash. It hung from nothing in the air.

Some kind of procession followed, of all kinds of Daedric creatures, towards the Keep. They walked straight through pools of lava. Some couldn't survive the heat, but they marched on, burning and crackling as they went, prostrating themselves at the feet of that celestial object. There, they smoldered like a hundred miniature suns until they were no longer there. Days ago, this would have pleased me, but I believe these creatures do not wholly perish. I have seen too many of the same faces after I have smashed them, over and over again.

Then came the Titan, landing in a crushing mass, and with it a rain of fire so fierce I swear the cave mouth, where I stood watching above, burned wider. I withdrew into darkness for a desperate pause, thinking my end had come. When it didn't, I emerged to find the Titan hunched to the ground, the ruby carbuncles on its hide flaring an angry red. It stared up, almost defiantly, at the being of ash and fire and slag, and a plume of smoke issued from the holes in its skull.

I thought a blazing spell was coming, but the Titan only raised its head to lower it again. In deference? Begrudging respect? It was only then that the molten god—whatever it was—touched the dirt with its feet.

Chamberlain Haskill Answers Your Questions

Chamberlain Haskill

June 6, 2015

“To Haskill,

I have found myself wondering if there is some reason the Mad God is so fond of cheese. Is there a significant reason for this? I mean no disrespect, of course, but I find the taste of cheese to be, well, disgusting. Does the Mad God just like the taste of cheese, or is it something deeper? I apologize if I offend you by saying this, but one must truly be mad to love the foulness of... cheese. I am merely a curious Nord with far too much time on her hands, but I am hoping you will have the extra time to answer my brief - and hopefully not insulting - question."

Sincerely, Aniki Frostward of Windhelm

Chamberlain Haskill says, “I am not, myself, fond of cheese, and cannot explain the Master's predilection for it. Unless he does it just to be irritating. Sometimes he does things just to be irritating."


“Hi! I think I'm not mad, but may you read the following like I am so.

How is it possible to a Daedra Lord, an et'Ada spirit of chaos, to be the Prince of Order like is Jyggalag, the antagonist of Sheogorath?

And another question for you: Have you ever considered that all of us, et'Ada and mortals, are nothing but characters of a game being played by unknown entities from outside the Aurbis? Maybe then that Sheogorath is the amused voice of the game creators.

And another more question for you: Is the cheese a corpse of milk?" - Shanke-Naar Righthorn

Chamberlain Haskill says, “Oh, yes. Very funny. In my position I get a lot of this sort of thing, as you might expect. You might even wonder if I'm tired of it yet. I'd wager that, if you thought hard, you could come up with the answer. Maybe.

“Nonetheless, the Master has given me the task of answering these questions, so I shall duly answer them. In my experience, Daedric Princes are much like cheese: some of them are hard, some of them are soft, and some of them have blue veins running through their substance. Thus: Jyggalag.

“And if we are nothing but characters in an elaborate game played by unknown entities, well, why aren't I having any fun?"


“Dear Haskill (or otherwise servant of Sheggorath, yes?),

I was wondering. In my people's Pantheon - the Khajiit Pantheon, yes, it seems my people believe in Sheogorath, or, well, Sheggorath as we call him as a Mad God, understandably. Do my people even worship Sheggorath? Or is he just labelled as a bad omen, and, why is his name put in unison for the drug addiction that comes with Skooma and Moon Sugar, eh? I do not understand - but this is probably because I am not a very cultured Khajiit. Cultured in my own terms, that is. I am cultured in, like. Stabbing Daedra.

I hope you fade into the Dark Behind the World, Vadanni"

Chamberlain Haskill says, “Ah, the cats. I have never liked cats personally, but the Mad God enjoys their company, I suppose because they're inexplicable and unpredictable. I am told that the Khajiit revere both the Aedra and the Daedra, worshiping whichever Divine seems most applicable to whatever they're praying for or swearing by. But then, to a cat, immediate personal convenience is everything. In fact, you're not even paying attention anymore, are you?"


“Are the mortal inhabitants of the Shivering Isles subject to the effects of Time? Those who have departed Tamriel under Lord Sheogorath's wing seem to live for centuries in between Greymarches if the ravings of madmen are to be believed. Knowledge of their fate might help assuage the grief of certain members of the Mages Guild who have had recent dealings with the Madgod."

Legoless, Doyen of the United Explorers of Scholarly Pursuits

Chamberlain Haskill says, “Oh, of course, 'Doyen,' because assuaging the grief of mortals is so important to me. Let me be clear: inhabitants of the Shivering Isles are affected by Time, but we are not subject to it. We are subjects of Lord Sheogorath, who subjects us to whatever subjects he is in the mood to subjudicate. Because Time is subjective."


“Ah, the transmission worked. Lots of interference in the transliminal barriers today. Haskill, is it? I'm led to believe you're the Chamberlain to Lord Sheogorath himself. I imagine this is an administrative office that handles a wide array of interesting duties. I'm not sure if the following inquiry is within your area of expertise, but I've been curious about some of the inhabitants of Sheogorath's realm for some time. I acquired a tome a while back. (Well, "acquired" is a rather mundane way of describing a book popping out of thin air from a tiny portal and landing on my head hard enough to knock me out for the better part of an hour, but there are a lot of unusual things happening during this Planemeld.)

Getting back to the point, I found the subject matter fascinating. This tome seems to have originated in the realm you administrate for your Lord, and concerns some of the native flora and fauna. Several species were named which are quite alien to my home sphere of Nirn, such as Elytra and Grummites. Interestingly enough, despite inhabiting a Daedric realm, these creatures are said to lay eggs and reproduce in much the same way mortal animals of Mundus do. I found this quite strange, as I've always been taught that only Daedra live in Oblivion realms, and that Daedra do not reproduce as we do. Was my research misleading, or are these creatures not Daedra at all? If not, where do they originate and why do they live within your Lord's sphere?"

- Legate Cyclenophus of the Bretonic Imperial Restoration Society

Chamberlain Haskill says, “You don't know very much about Oblivion realms, 'Legate,' if you don't know that they reflect, and are indeed physical manifestations of, the Princes who rule over them. My master is the Prince of Madness, yet for some reason you expect his realm to follow the same rules that regulate your own bland little world. Do you wonder why I have no interest in visiting Tamriel? It's an act of mad charity that Lord Sheogorath pays it any attention at all.

“What is a Legate, anyway? Is it like a Doyen? I hope not."


“Scribed verbatim by Svarnor Far-Traveled, on request of his brother Svalti of the same clan. Svarnor apologizes for his brother's condition and hopes this letter will not influence his application into the service of Arkay.

Dear Haskill, Chamberlain of He Who Is Seen In Storms, bringer of many fears and destroyer of pleasure, may his name be worshipped above all else,

I find of late a new and all-encompassing fear has encompassed me. This fear is the terror that perhaps my ears only imagine and the Mad God speaks to me not. After pondering this new and beautiful nightmare for thirty-three days, I must ask of you, please answer to me this- with all the thousands of fools in the world, believing themselves insane when they have merely said the wool and offered up words and cabbages whilst eating soul gems, how can one truly be sure they listen to the whispers echoing from the Madhouse? The neighbors whisper to, almost as often as they listen, and the walls are thin.

What, I ask you, Haskill, Secretary of He Who Laughs in Terror, is the method with which I can attain most perfect worry? How can I master and grow in my recognition of the things which are dangerous, and the people whom I must Not Trust? Of all the thousand worships of the Bearded Man, the Mad Star, which is the trustworthy one? There are fools in the world who would think to behave in such ways as would make even the most yellow seem purpled and I will not be one of them. I have searched the libraries, but one cannot trust what is written in books- books even can be traps for the mind even as the nightmares can release them into perfect awareness.

Please, Haskill, Doorman of the Shivering Isles, please answer me. I have searched for so long to become perfect in what others call madness and fully aware of the perils which surround me. I must know- I must must must know if I have been praying and listening and seeing a farce. What of the Khajiit who live beyond the walls? Their Skooma Cat provides for them, and they see him sometimes too. Must I warn them, or watch them? Depart with them, or dispose of them? I know you, Haskill, are not perfect in your awareness. Only He is, but I beg to know things to know things to know things to know things YES THAT IS FOUR, BROTHER DO NOT INTERRUPT back to the letter oh Haskill please inform me of the answers to which I need to know the questions to listen to the dreams more closely while waking and to enter to the entrance without missing and being trapped by the deceivers they are here deceiving me always I hear their whispers in the darkness when the torches burn and in the light when they are silenced.


At this point, my brother collapsed into a furious fit and began to tear at the walls. I am writing this now, several hours later. I hope that it would be healing for my brother to receive a response from one who he evidently holds so close to his heart and, in addition, if this is (as I suspect) a hoax and a scam and this will go no further than some shack outside Bruma, I wish you to know that if my brother does not receive a response, we will personally hunt down those responsible for the lies and punish them severely in honor of the Lord of the Never There, king of the True-Seers and Laughing-Terrors and the Two-Faced Men. I hope that my application to study the service of Arkay is not influenced by this"

Svarnor Far-Traveled, with assistance from Svalti of the same name.

Chamberlain Haskill says, “Here, Svarnor, this never fails. Tell your brother, 'Svalti, you must eat the eggplant. You know which one I mean. You can trust me, because I'm your friend. Not like the Others.'"


“Greetings Haskill, Chamberlain to the Mad God.

Rumors and stories abound regarding the deeds of your master, but there are some hidden things I would dare to inquire about.

Firstly, I have heard whispers of a Daedric Prince of Order, long since lost. As this being must be considered the embodiment of all things abhorred by your lord, I wonder if you have any knowledge of this “Jyggalag"? Has Sheogorath banished him? Or is he perhaps merely uninterested with the disorder that makes Tamriel?

Secondly, I must ask about your own nature. In a realm defined by madness of all sorts, you seem to be a most sane being. Indeed, your nature seems rather opposite to that of your lord. Who and what are you? I have heard some say that you are in fact an aspect of the Mad God, as Barbas is to Clavicus Vile. Personally, I think it more likely that you are simply (if that word applies to anything related to Sheogorath) the steward of the Shivering Isles. Still, the rumor is interesting."

Sincerely as is possible when discussing the Mad God, Takrios the Indomitable

Chamberlain Haskill says, “I have had similar questions about my 'nature' from Alessandra, Legoless, and an Unnamed One, so I suppose I must address the matter. I am a Vestige, all that remains of a mortal from your world who 'mantled' Sheogorath during an event in a previous time. As a fragment, my memory of the event is … fragmentary. I am hazy on the entire concept of 'mantling,' but it had something to do with Lord Sheogorath, myself, and this Jyggalag of whom you speak. I have asked the Mad God to explain it to me, but he just laughs and says maybe he'll tell me about it 'next year,' whatever that means.

“Sometimes the Master irritates even me. I can't remember why I put up with it, actually."


“Most esteemed Haskill,

It is an honour to speak to one who knows the Mad God so intimately. Although I would have preferred an audience with the enigmatic Sheogorath himself, I suppose your deep knowledge of him would suffice. I have heard from many a people how much your Lord delights in the noble taste of cheese, although I have also heard he enjoys flaying his guests first and sipping their blood at later. Chilling. But let us focus on the cheese! What kind of mortal cheese, if any, does your lord enjoy? We Bretons are famous for our cheeses, and I would be most interested to learn if your Master has tasted the delicacies of High Rock. Do tell him of our wonderful La Chèvre Loren and the Langre du Ollere - they are best relished with a cup of blackberry wine! But enough of my ramblings! Please, relay my question to your Lord. If you would like a sample of our cheeses, I would be delighted to send you a batch when I return to my mansion in Gavaudon, provided there is a way to do so."
Yours excitedly, Grand Enchanter Etienne Dumonte, of the Wayrest Mages Guild

Chamberlain Haskill says, “Your application for a position in the Shivering Isles has been accepted, and you will start on Morndas as High Fromage Sommelier to Lord Sheogorath. Bring your own grapefruit spoon, and don't wear too much cologne—he hates that."


“I pen this letter with little patience or love for yourself or the Daedric Prince that you serve, corner of the House of Troubles and purveyor of chaos that he is.

However, I must confess, despite my loyalty to the Three and my boundless disdain for your domain, I do have one question burning in the back of my mind.

Many years ago, in my younger years, I had the gross misfortune of finding myself within the Shivering Isles after a Fredas night involving a shrine of Sheogorath, a copy of the Lusty Argonian Maid and more sujamma than I'd care to admit. Upon awaking back on Tamriel (how or why I was transported away from this dread realm I cannot say), I began studying the various texts and writings that discuss Sheogorath's most foul domain.

While doing so, I discovered that the Shivering Isles are also variously referred to as the Madhouse and the Asylums. I then came to wonder - is the Shivering Isles the name for Sheogorath's entire plane, or could it stretch even farther? Are the Shivering Isles perhaps a mere region, a single territory, of a larger Madhouse, a greater collection of Asylums? And how great a length, exactly, does the bewildering realm of Sheogorath truly span?

I thank you in advice for any reply as I excuse myself to atone for this sinful correspondence by saying my devotions to the Three,"

- Neldam Indrano

Chamberlain Haskill says, “My best advice to you, friend Neldam, is to go on wondering about this, devoting ever more effort to it until it dominates your every waking moment, and everything you do is overshadowed by your need to find the answer. Go do that.

“Because then, one day, you will be in a position to find out for yourself."


“I am but a humble servant of the lady of light and life, blessed Meridia. I ask this of the servant of the madgod: The number of princes is not static, Meridia proves that by her existence as a fallen star child, is the number 16 arbitrary? Are there Daedric princes in Oblivion that are unknown to us mere mortals? Princes who have never felt the need to interact with Mundus?" - Lami Wind-Speaker, Priestess of Meridia

Chamberlain Haskill says, “The best answer to this question is another: How many, Lami Wind-Speaker, are the Accords of Madness?"


“To Haskill, Sheogorath's Chamberlain,

In relation with the repatriation of Eyevea, I have heard recently Sheogorath bargained the ancient Abecean island in a confrontation with the Arch-Mage Shalidor. I have always wondered how could Eyevea disappear...

So, I ask you: is Sheogorath interested in expanding the Shivering Isles with new acquisitions after the loss of Eyevea? I fear my people in Herne or in the rest of the Abecean Archipelago could be in danger as many freemen and most nobles have left our home to fight in Cyrodiil for the Daggerfall Covenant. And I have to know if I have to reinforce Herne's defenses."

Regards, Baron Yashu al-Aydin of Herne

Chamberlain Haskill says, “My dear Baron, I have relayed your real estate proposal to Lord Sheogorath, and he is considering the terms under which he would agree to acquire your island of … what was the name? Herne? However, he would like to know your island's shape, as the Master likes his islands to fit into a nice paisley pattern. He doesn't like shapes that are too regular, and has a particular abhorrence for the rhombus. Herne isn't a rhombus, is it?"

Ancient Tome


<This ancient tome details a method of creating Daedric anchors that draw Daedra to a given area. It also mentions a method of keying anchors to a runestone.>

<Runestones keyed in this manner can be used to detect and destroy the anchors.>

Rumors of the Spiral Skein

the Derisive Necromite

Mephala! Webspinner! Teacher of the Secret Arts! Queen of the Eight Shadows of Murder! Though others may reign over us, deep in the night we still hear your whisper!

And we do not forget.

In Oblivion you keep your secrets, and the secrets of all those entangled in your webs of subterfuge and semblance. The Spiral Skein is your realm, and like Nirn, in its center is a Tower: the Pillar Palace of Mephala, whose true name is too awful to be uttered.

Spun 'round this pillar, like spokes, are the Eight Strands of the Skein. To each its own space, and to each space its sin.

First is a cavern of plinths and pedestals. Each is a lie, for they pretend to hold up the sky—and the sky is the greatest lie of all.

Second are the chambers of envy, for compared to the cavern above they are cramped and confined, and therefore they hate the cavern.

Third are grottoes alluring and seductive, for their walls and ceilings glow like a million stars that sing a song of love. But the glowing lights are maggots, and the song they sing is decay.

Fourth are the tunnels of fear, for they are eternally dark, and where there is darkness, there is dread.

Fifth are the halls where fair is foul and foul is fair, and every belief is a betrayal.

Sixth is the arena of murder, for ever shall betrayal be followed by murder.

Seventh are the arcades of avarice and appetite, for contained therein are all things mortals would kill or die for.

Eighth is the flaming skein of fury, for as death comes to all mortals, therefore all treasures are lies.

This is the Spiral Skein. The tower is One. The strands are Eight. The lessons are Forever.

Rulantaril's Notes

Rulantaril Oran

I write this in the hope that my son, Telbaril, someday understands why I did what I did.

Learning proper magic is something they teach you here at the guild, but it is not the only way. There is so much knowledge that is traditionally forbidden by the decrees of those who fear true power and those who wield it.

Know that there are places beyond Tamriel where the cunning and the wary can go to learn forgotten spells. I speak of the planes of Oblivion. The sea of limitless dimensions contains an endless series of islands. Some are controlled by the mighty Daedric Princes; others are loosely connected to one minor Daedra Lord or another. On these islands, creatures dwell who possess secrets out of time. Some are there of their own volition, but others are banished there for crimes either heinous or imagined.

If you are reading this, Telbaril, know that I found one such place long ago. Know that it is not far from the city in which you now sit within a tiny cave by the docks. It is called the Crow's Wood.

And son, if you decide to follow me, bring all of your cunning with you.

Tome of Daedric Portals

the Sinistral Apprentice

Note to self: Remember, the most important thing is to pay homage to the flames of the Deadlands first.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
As discussed in Liminal Bridges, the transpontine circumpenetration of the limen requires the cooperation—implicit or otherwise—of a Daedra Lord.

Unfortunately for the conjurer of modest means, the process described is costly, highly esoteric, and impossibly dangerous. Fortunately for the practically-minded practitioner of conjurational studies, there is another option.

Dregs of the Deadlands have been known to offer the use of existing Sigil Stones in crossing the traverse. Though the purposes of said beings are must be regarded with the wary suspicion, it is frequently possible to engage in transliminal studies with minimal risk to one's person, especially if one's go-between is supplied with sufficient motive.

The Deadlands, of course, are filled with searing heat and suffocating ash. But if you find a way to quench these things, their secrets—and those of Oblivion itself—lie at your fingertips.

Take heed, then, and read well of what fates befell those who first attempted contact with these domains.

First, there was the scholar Daron, who thought the sheer power of elemental flame would be enough to initiate contact with the Dremora of the Deadlands. Though his attempt was impressive—indeed, the fire instilled in the walls of his hovel would go on to spark one of the worst wildfires in Valenwood history—it ultimately proved futile. His ashes were never recovered.

Believing Daron was on to something, Olpion of Firsthold sought to insulate the flames with compacted earth. By all accounts he nearly succeeded, but when his chambers burst from the walls of the Crystal Tower, his apparatus lost focus, collapsing the gateway upon itself.

In the end, it was the Naga, Avumar, whose multifarious approach led to the final revelation. Once the flames were ignited, it was Avumar who thought to use an earthen vessel to convert the immense energy into steam. Once her boiler reached sufficient temperature, she was able to converse with a Dremora of some power on the other side.

Relieved, no doubt, at her success in the face of her predecessors' failure, Avumar quickly agreed to the terms of the Dremora's contract. An ominous decision, it turns out, that ultimately led to the fall of Thorn.
Take care, therefore, in your attempts to contact the Deadlands, for good seldom comes out of agreements made in haste with the creatures who call it home.

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.