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Xal's letter - Day of the Counted Hours


Day of the Counted Hours
The Ruins of Kemel-Ze
Port Telvanis

Ach, Gosleigh, what you may have cost us both! Burnt or not, what was written was written in tibrol-oil, annointed by the Mephalites, and you know what that means. All of Nicrythe will have to be warded against poetronachs. I send my luck.

Here is the brunt of it (my fellow Maruhkati have been summoned to the Cacophany at Sil and we leave at dawn):

Divayth Fyr, who you may recall from our days at Gwylim, has the whole of the Inner Sea interested in the varied guises of PSJJJJ again. One of his cohorts, who signs only 'B', has pulled all manner of pamphlets to the fore in an effort to get at the heart of the matter. And, though they know it not, the Aurbis is trembling as they near themselves to truth. (Incidentally, I have petitioned the Murder House for a Dram simulacrum, sixth-measure, in case Fyr or 'B'-- a Borgite, perhaps?-- come too close to waking the Sleepers.)

Though the Selective and Artaeum diverge on many matters of the Endeavour, I implore you to release to me the Scroll of Adompha; at the very least, have one of your scribes make me a copy (with all the requisite Direnni text-protections) and send it at haste.

After I return to Kemel-Ze, I shall send another letter detailing my purpose, but do not let its absence hinder your favor. As forward compensation, perhaps you might take a visit to Master Frel on your way to the archives, and see what Eastern demon I have sent to visit his face.



Gosleigh's letter - 5th Rain Hand


5 Rain’s Hand
Nicrythe Tower,

My Dear Xal,

What a day. What a ghastly, ghastly day.

I got up before dawn to see the sun rise over the mist banks, and inspect my garden (someone has been sampling the best leaves from my orlinber vines, and I don’t know whether the thief be man, mer, beast, or spirit. At least the burglar left tracks behind this time, and apparently it has a tail. Unfortunately, that scarcely narrows things down.) Stichael Direnni met me at the arbor gates, and the expression on his face, while not necessarily disgruntled, was far from gruntled.

I don’t know if I told you about the latest debates in our particular college, but the lines have been drawn between my students and those of that ridiculous cretin, that slave to pre-Camoran dogma, “Master” Balec Frel. Direnni was somewhat caught in between and tried to remain neutral, for which I respected him, but Frel did everything he could to lure him into his camp. Not surprisingly, Direnni saw through all the flattery, but today I’ve learned the depths of Frel’s mendacity. Worse yet, Direnni believed him.

Of course I was outraged by the suggestion that I would have plagiarized my friend’s work and left in flash, literally.

Back in my tower room, I felt the chill of a mid-morning breeze (you know how drafty these three thousand year old towers can be better than anyone) and I set about making a fire. I decide to use as kindling some papers that were lying around and as I was shoving them into the fireplace, who should knock on the door but Direnni and Frel? They assumed the absolute worst when they noticed that the papers that were in the fireplace were copies of Direnni’s thesis about Oblivion being Being, that I was attempting to mask my “crime.” Preposterous. Over the course of the day, I convinced Direnni, at least, of my relative innocence, but clearly the fight is heating up.

When I returned home to read your latest letter, I realized that I must have accidentally dropped it into the fire in my haste for warmth.

Would you mind writing back and telling me what you had to say? It sounded very interesting from the few scraps I was able to retrieve from the coals.

Master Gosleigh Horlington.


Redguard Forum Madness


It all began during the first week of February 1999, some time after the release of TESA:Resguard but long before Morrowind was a reality... the Bethesda designers let the cat out of the bag. Many details of Morrowind were spilled on the TESA: Redguard forum (no longer online).

Well, not quite, actually!

As we are all well aware, the people who bring us the Elder Scrolls are a talented and creative bunch. Apparently they were very excited about the progress of Morrowind, the third installment of the Elder Scrolls series. Not willing to drop hints and clues as to the direction of the game's development in the conventional way, the designers instead opted to assume a variety of characters, all of whom were assumedly pivotal NPCs in the upcoming game. This page serves as a collection of the havoc they have wrought in the event you missed it.

Please note that I personally haven't a clue as to the discussion that took place here. In reading the following, you may notice a few passages written by "82 Crodo". At this time I can only speculate what that means. A few individuals who read the original posts on the Elder Scrolls Forum wrote to ask me what my relationship is with Bethesda, if I was the person who wrote those posts, and whether or not the name Crodo will appear in the game. Well, I just happen to be a fan of the series that happens to run a website dedicated to the creativity of other fans. Please believe me when I say that I haven't a clue and I'm as much in the dark as the rest of you. As it stands, we can only wait it out.

I now give you shades of things to come...

Compilation and color commentary 02/05/99 by Qwerty
Intro by Andel Crodo
Revised 02/10/99 by Qwerty
Revised for The Imperial Library Sept. 2003 by Qwerty
Reformatted for readability 12/30/11, by Lady Nerevar

It began quite innocently...

Andel Crodo: Pronunciation of terms in the Pocket Guide...

There are a handful of things mentioned in the Pocket Guide to Tamriel and I'm curious about how to pronunciate them. The elven races in particular, how to say the word, "Aldmeri," specifically. Hey, If I'm going to roleplay as one, I'd like to know how the heck to say what it is that I am! ;o)

Am I wrong to think that it sounds like, "(Sc)ald Merry," or, "Old Mary"? Hmm... sounds to me like she's having too much fun with the coffee pot. ::chuckle::

Honestly now, the following is what I've been using.

"Ald" - AHHLD

"Mer" - murr

"i" - EEE

AHHLD-murr-EEE. Is this right?

Why, do you ask, that I ask? Well, I assure you all that there is indeed a method to my madness. I asked my wife what she thought upon pointing to the word, and she said, "uld-MARR-eye", with the emphasis on only the center syllable... quite the opposite of what I thought it was.


Qwerty: Re: Question still open to discussion...

I thought it's more like "uld-mEry". One thing I'm absolutely sure about - the final "i" should NOT be pronounced as "eye". The "Old Mary" thing from "The Pocket Guide" suggests that. Also, I would question your "mur" syllable - "mury" would hardly ever, IMHO, evolve into "Mary". OK, whatever.

Besides, there's a way to know the rules. Turn the subtitles on, replay Redguard to the prison quest, and, when fighting with Dram, watch the lines of text appearing in the bottom of the screen, and listen carefully to what Dram is yelling. This may give a clue. He is Elf, after all, and knows better how to pronounce that. On the other hand, Andel Crodo is Elf, too...

Andel Crodo: You mean it is indeed mentioned in the Guide itself? D'oh! Talk about egg on my face. Perhaps I should have RTFM before asking! ;o)


It became slighty more interesting when a Bethesda employee came forward:

** GT@Bethsoft (GT Noonan): Darn'it Andel, are you always so difficult....hahahahaha? WHo really knows how its pronounced? Tell ya what though, when I take my vacation this spring to Vvardenfell, and visit Gnisis, Vivec, Sadrith Mora, and Bal Ur, I'll be sure to grab a few "Hooked on Morrowind Ebonics" brochures. I'll even see if I can get a few of the limited edition "Tongues of the Morag Tong" tapes. Perhaps the key is to try to sound like Chris Tucker doing his best Middle Eastern impression of a Brooklyn landlord?


Andel Crodo:

Darn'it Andel, are you always so difficult....hahahahaha? WHo really knows how its pronounced?

Oh, fuss and bother! Run it past the PG idea-maker, by cracky!

I suppose I'll blend Qwerty's suggestion with my own and stick with "UHHLD-mer-EE" for the time being.

I'll be sure to grab a few "Hooked on Morrowind Ebonics" brochures.

And from the Dark Elves, no less. Ooof! Should this be classified as "on-color humor"? ::chuckle::

Perhaps the key is to try to sound like Chris Tucker doing his best Middle Eastern impression of a Brooklyn landlord?

That would be Lakheen. ;o)


Here - lo and behold! - came the post that started it all!

** Michael (Michael Kirkbride): How to Say it All

Pronounced AHLD-Mary. Means 'of the First Folk.' 'Old Mary' is a Colovian corruption, and joke.

Dwemer (the Dwarves) is DWAY-mare. Means 'Deep Folk.'

Dunmer (the Dark Elves) is doon-MARE. Means 'Dark Folk.' Colovian hicks say DUHN-merh, but the Dark Elves laugh at them or strike at them, depending upon the number of hicks present.

Chimer (precursor to Dunmer) is KY-mare. Means 'Changed Folk.' Oops! This is a secret..!

Altmer (High Elves) is AHLT-mare. Means 'High Folk.'

Bosmer (Wood Elves) is BO-mare. Means 'Green Folk.'

And, finally, Daedra is EITHER DAY-druh OR DEE-druh, depending upon your inclination. DEE-druh is the Dunmeri preference and, since they made up the word, will be more acceptable come TESIII. Means 'Our Stronger, Better Ancestors.'

This is the first ever mention, to the best of my knowledge, of Chimer. Also, Dark Elves considering Daedra their ancestors was a new fact at that time.

Matter of fact, Michael made the matters clear later, on the Storyboard, in the most straightforward way:

** Michael: First, the place was Velothi, a bunch of squabbling Chimeri and Dwemeri tribes.
Then, the Nords came, conquered, and named it 'Dunmereth.'
The Chimer and Dwemer finally got smart, joined up, kicked the Nords out, and created 'Resdayn.'
Then the Dwemer vanished, the Volcano erupted, the Tribunal showed up, everybody's skin changed, and things got _really weird_. Now the lovely place is called 'Morrowind.'

But at that time, on Redguard Forum, no one knew it's that simple. The linguistic discussion continues a litle bit...

Qwerty: Re: Thanks a great lot, Michael!

Julian LeFay was much more cryptic concerning the dragons issue...

Pronounced AHLD-Mary. Means 'of the First Folk.' 'Old Mary' is a Colovian corruption, and joke.

I meant that the very fact that Aldmeri evolved into "Old Mary" in vulgar Colovian suggests certain resemblance. Nothing serious, of course.

Dwemer (the Dwarves) is DWAY-mare. Means 'Deep Folk.'

Some character of Redguard (was it J'ffer?) was actually using this word in the game. He pronounced it like "DWEE-mare".

And Michael... As soon as thee bestoweth thy phonetic wisdom upon unworthy ones... Please... What's the plural for Daedra? I'm sure it's "Daedra" too, not "Daedras"...

** Michael: You're right. "Daedra" is the plural form of "Daedroth."

PS. J'ffer was just being a silly ignorant beast-man. He's never even read Marobul Sul's "Ancient Tales of the Dwemer."

Qwerty: Re: Daedra

I've seen the form "Daedras" only once, in "Fools' Ebony", part 3. Scribe's mistake, I guess. Or author's intentional imitation of commons' speech.

Ancalagorn: Excuse me but...

I kind of remember(maybe I am mistaking...) that Frost/Fire daedra(s?) didnt prounounced it as DAY-druh OR DEE-druh...

** Michael: The Daedra-bound elementals cannot be held accountable for their queer pronunciations. Speech is the realm of better beasts.

... but the clouds already gathered thick above the unsuspecting Michael the phoneticist's head! And here came the first "correction".

** Antabolis Hasphat (Kurt Kuhlmann): I would not take the ravings of this "Michael" too seriously. He has never been published in the Journal of Ancient Tamrielic History, and was dismissed from the his position at the University of Gwylim for persisting in reading aloud portions of the long-debunked "Monkey Truth" during faculty meetings.

Chimer (precursor to Dunmer) is KY-mare. Means 'Changed Folk.' Oops! This is a secret..!

All modern scholars agree that Chimer means "Crafty Folk". "Changed Folk" is rank speculation based on early reports from the excavation of Dagon Fell (which I supervised), and has been resoundingly disproven in my recently published article, "Dunmer and Chimer in the Mythic Era: A Social History" (JATH 5897.3).

This post had two continuations - linguistic and ... the other.

** Chavana Emalur (Ken Rolston): Antabolis Hasphat's transcription of the Aldmeri particle "chi" as "crafty" or "of the craftsman class" is based on mistaken analogies with the "ki" or "xi" particles common to 1st Era literary Aldmeri. Literary Aldmeri diverged in form and function from formal Aldmeri before the First Era. Hasphat's overlooking the more modern ascription of "chi" as "changed", or "corrupted", or "accursed," seems peculiar from a scholar aspiring to modernity. I note that Hasphat's "Dunmer and Chimer in the Mythic Era: A Social History" is dedicated to his patron, His Excellency, Muthser Romori Sedur Norilnor, Dunmeri of House Hlaalu, a prosperous and bloated plutocrat grown fat at the tables of the Imperial monopolists, whose interests in the whitewashing of the Dark Elven Curse must be obvious to even the most casual observer.

Chavana Emalur humble scribe, initiate of the Shrine of the Hidden Saints, Narsis, Morrowind

** Mophar Grandalk (GT Noonan): My goodness, my old friend Chavana, so-called "celebrated historian and scholar" of Tamrielic literature. I've not seen you seen or heard the likes of you since you were ousted from the Guild of Scholars, and you dare intervene in such a public posting? Such insouciant actions can result in an unfortunate, unexpected visit from the Morag Tong. Please, show respect and know your rank amidst these grounds. Such an ashlander as yourself should not pretend to be a literate citizen of this "fine" kingdom known as Tamriel.


And the other, definitely referencing Marukh the Seer:

** Mophar Grandalk: Let us not use the "Great Ape Man's" preachings in vain. As was taught to me by an elderly priest from the Temple Zero who had much wisdom of the "Monkey Truth", we blunt ears and pointy ears all have much to learn from this great primate, Maruhk. Alas, I can only hope to read more of these grand preachings. By the way Antabolis, Speak lightly of the one called "Michael". For I am now his new understudy, hahaha.


"Tam! Rugh!"

Strangely enough, Bethesda Softworks obviously provides e-mail hosting service to certain Elder Peoples. Mophar Grandalk's address is that of Gary "WormGod" Noonan.

3 argor: rising?

is the time then at hand?

"Tam! Rugh!"

res markady : NO

hold your tongue fool

Luvalis Indoval: Why must a philosophies of the Great Ape be taken in vain? Such tomfoolery is unjust in the name of the Temple Zero. For, not let us forget the Archives as a whole. May Maruhk shine his wisdom down on us all.


Here came Luvalis Indoval, the enfant terrible of all Dunmereth... But mentioning of the Prophet in vain brought the orthodox ones in:

** Muthser Mengi Anekwa (Ken Rolston): You know not what you speak.

We, the undersigned, do protest the facetious sport made of the Received Word of the Perfect Master, Lord Maruhk. May his words be inscribed upon the eyelids of those who would be wise.

Muthser Mengi Anekwa Sedura Chavana Komala Sedur Venrish Verz Sedura Ginaya Urish Ser Sedur Hals Vazra Sera Sedura Tehja Tima Muthser Pamur Arni Ser Jap Charz Nemer Ullor Kenopa Ser Sera Gellom Emalur Netum Vehmi Ser Euren Alom Ser Sera Alor Domali Memur Inawa Muthser Vedor Hilor Nemer Pettur Busha Ser Anagen Etidum Sera Tinshi Vena Nekwa Tarma Termali Ganri Ser Ogilur Nawa Muthser Sera Tidas Besha Sera Sorma Kasti Ser Pelm Tenip Muthsera Jelsa Nattur

Judging by the address, Mengi Anekwa receives e-mail care of Ken Rolston.

Luvalis Indoval: So sayeth the infidel, so sayeth Anekwa!! Your hideous remarks concerning the Great Ape, Lord of all material and imaterial wisdom are foreshortened by your lack of comprehension of His word. Your insidious tongue could surely land you crucified alongh the roadside of my fine land. Dont think that speaking in tongue will hide your intentions. If any inscribing is to be done here, it will be the blade of a hired Morag Tong on your throat. Then, the Recieved Word shall show its strength in your flesh. Good day to you.


And here we see the first sign of the Unnamed Ones, known as Morag "The Dark Brotherhood" Tong!

Morag Sithil: Be warned, the Tong will not have its name be invoked lightly, especially by one who panders to the foreigners as you do. The Indoval clan has been dragged through the mud by such as you, "Luvalis". We marked many for your great-uncle Indoval Ros, a mer worthy of respect. But Sithis may feed on your life's breath as a boon if ye cease not your prating. Be warned.

Ros Indoval: Please, Mighty Sithil, hear my plea. Do not invoke any great punishment on my nephew for his looseness of tongue, for he is ignorant in his knowlege and suffers greatly from lack of respect. I have sworn to his father, Becher Jus Luvalis, that I would take this youth under my wing and produce a worthy man of him. Let not his petty breath offend thee. Please mark him not. For after my schoolings, if the child continues his harboring of childishness, I shall mark him myself and ask that I myself be marked for my failure. My word is my bond, and I am good for that much.


Not very much forgivefulness here...

Morag Sultha: Free Mark: Indoval

Morag Sithil, see how the Indovals have been tainted. They reverse their surnames, man-fashion. "Ros Indoval." "Luvalis Indoval." And further, he speaks of the goal of his whelp-rearing to

produce a worthy man of him.

The mer we knew as Indoval Ros is now in the business of producing men. Their House should fall as quickly as House Dram's, when lo those heirs trafficked in the affairs of the Cyrodiils. Let us not forget PSJJJJ's yearly Free Marks we are alotted this math-murder span-- if you will not, I may act, for my rank is well enough.

Sleep if you can, House Indoval.

Morag Sultha

Luvalis Indoval: Hear my plea

Sultha, for let my words not brand my house. I alone, speak as an individual, and not as my house. My actions and words shall shadow my house for no longer. My Great Uncle Ros is a dear, and kind man, and does not deserve to suffer under my sophomoric attitude. I am yet a child, a boy who needs to learn the ways of the world. Morrowind may be of my origin, but it does not seem to be my place of mind. I am tainted by the influence of "blunt ears" and wish I were only strong enough in my youth to break free. Mark me if you will, I accept the consequeces, but House Indoval is innocent of my personality and my character. I am guilty of only my youth and non understanding of the world, and if a mark is just, then so be it. Long live House Indoval.

Luvalis Indoval of the House Indoval, West Vivec

Molag Sultha:

Luvalis the Mouse,

Lord Boethiah to the exodus: "Divide ye like your enemies, in Houses, and lay your laws in set sequence from the center, again like the enemy Corners of the House of Troubles, and see yourself thence as timber, or mud-slats, or sheets of resin. Then do not divide, for yet is the stride of Sithis quicker than the rush of enemies, and He will sunder the whole for the sake of a shingle."

Morag Sultha

morag tal: be it known

I bear the mark of Luvalis Indoval under 30 day law. Let none hinder on pain of sharing.

Morag Tal

And here came the conclusion:

The Tamriel Crier: Hear ye, hear ye

[Article posted on a board just outside of a local tavern]

At 168 (no human can possibly live this long) years of age, Wise Old Ros Indoval was found dead. His wife found his corpse soon after nightfall this past eve. His throat had been slit from ear to ear. His nephew, Luvalis Indoval, a young 22 (now thats young for an elven child) year old boy, was found dead just outside of the same house. Luvalis had been an understudy of his Great Uncle Ros for 2 short months. Imperial officials were sent in to examine this strange, yet gruesome massacre on the child and his elderly uncle. The only thing that officials had to say was that after finding strange carvings on the foreheads of the slayn, this case is closed. Who could have committed such a cowardly act on such a young, innocent child and this widely known, sincere elderly man? A man of great wisdom and importance to the populace. Perhaps the carvings could tell us more, or better yet, perhaps we are better off not knowing.

Andel, could you ever expect it will end up like this?..

Andel Crodo:

Perhaps the carvings could tell us more, or better yet, perhaps we are better off not knowing.

And perhaps a weighty bounty is ripe for the claiming?

Luvalis had displayed himself as an insolent Dunmer who generously catered to the Primates - most foul and pungent beasts, who dare claim evolutionary ties in their wild arrogance. Most Cyrodils bear at least the fairest of common courtesies by virtue of sporting minutely shaven chins out of the welcome respect for those Elders able to stomach their often unwelcome company.

Treachery is a fetid rotting husk that emits a most acrid yet distinct odor. Methinks this is a case of dissention in the ranks, that which urged a silence upon they who should have been content to be lambs. Keep a wary eye to your backside, my brothers... for these are quite unsettling times indeed.


3 argor: Thus

So perish those who hasten the time unreadily.

And we'll never see these two Mer again.

But the scholars thoughtfully continue their explorations! As if nothing happened.

82 Crodo: The "Chi" Prefix Fixation

Though I will probably be excommunicated for pointing this out during the flamestorm of "Era's End," it perhaps is not too unreasonable that the "Chi" in "Chimer" does indeed denote "Changed Folk." The "kai" in "Stros M'kai" means "thought," as in the Yokudan translation of that isle's name, "Sister of Thought." Everyone knows that Yokuda suffered Aldmeri rule as much as any human land during the Mythic Era, and that Elven loan-words may have found their way into the Yokudan language.

At any rate, kai-as-thought can also be read kai-as-canny, thus illuminated thus fundamentally _changed_.

Any doubts as to the Aldmeri influence on Yokuda are surely shed (pun intended)once one studies the skin-archives of the Satakals. Therein is the legend of Tall Papa's war with the Dark Elven Boethiah, and the roots of the long-standing hostilities that resulted when Hunding beat Boethiah's son in a game of limb-riddles.

82 Crodo Office of Provincial Studies, Alinor

** Antabolis Hasphat: Ah, the great 82 Crodo stoops from his rarefied perch in the archives of Alinor to dabble in the mundane.

Your coy inferences to the Dark Elven Curse do you no credit. Cite your sources, sir! There is not a shred of evidence that the Dunmer were ever other than they are now, despite centuries of research and speculation. You call yourself a scholar, sir, yet you provide fodder for the ever-multiplying array of quacks and lunatics that infest the Empire.

82 Crodo: As ever, you misread me, Antabolis. I never painted a portrait of Dunmeri in the Orichalc Kingdoms of the Ebony Men; merely, I pointed out larger Aldmeri influences in Yokuda that could be useful to modern (or, in your case, armchair) etymologists.

For sources (though I need no evidence for your suddenly empty charge, now, do I?), I have already mentioned the Satakal skin-archives, but, then, you are probably not aware of these faraway and guarded treasures, as the ever-vigilant Redguards still do not lay maiden-fashion before the Empire as your cohorts do. Furthering your education, you might try Julan's "Cyrus, Maverick-King of the Alik'r," or, with the right precautions, the Direnni apologist Humo Cordelon's "Migrations of the Blude Divide in the Days of Darkest Travis." Both are alive with Aldmeri presence in Volenfell and Lost Yokuda.

You hold onto the "crafty" translation as if your life depended upon it, sir. Then again, when one must betray his own people to lick the whipping man-boots, craftiness is doubtless _not_ a character flaw.

82 Crodo Office of Provincial Studies, Alinor

BTW, did you notice something about "Cyrus the Maverick-King"? Looks familiar...

Temple of the One: Apologies to the 82nd Crodo...

... but he obviously, in his zest to strut his enmity-feathers, did not read your reply carefully. You did not challenge him on Dunmeri/Yokudan relations, but the Chimeri/Dunmeri metamorphosis.

You, Hasphat, are closer to the source than most of us, but you only need to look at the bronze faces of your Trio Pretenders, or the bronze daughter pawned to the ailing throne of Wayrest, or the bronze depictions of ancient HAIHTEOB in ancient Morrowind sites to see truth of the Chimeric past.

You will not believe me. But you will believe Sul-matuul and the memory blood-edge of his sword. Pray, Dunmer.

Temple of the One, Cyrodiil City

And one more thing that I have found suitable for this summary. On the ancestry of Tiber Septim. Just in case.

Moomoo: Where was Tiber Septim born?

In Daggerfall Chronicles it was Alcaire, in High Rock. In Redguard, it is Atmora. Wherever that is. What is going on?

Qwerty: Re: He's more legend than a man...

... and therefore the theories may vary. But would rather believe "The Pocket Guide" - after all, it's been written when Tiber Septim was still alive, and reigned.

** Antabolis Hasphat: The notion that Tiber Septim was born in High Rock is a lie spread by proponents of the so-called "Arcturian Heresy". Pay no attention to them.

Julianos Cennan: ANUMIDUM!

My colleagues have already pointed out Hasphat's Imperial loyalties. And, of course, it is in the best interests of the Septim Regime to scorn the Two Tiber Theory of our Heresy. Or, rather, to fear the notion that the One True Tiber Septim is of a blood that would render theirs illegitimate.

The Warp continues in the West, and not even the Blades can help their precious Empire of lies. Era's end awaits.

All hail Arctus Underking! All hail the Brass God!


** Mophar Grandalk:

the notion that the One True Tiber Septim is of a blood that would render theirs illegitimate.

True enough and spoken like one who wishes he knew the God's honest truth, but alas, the true bloodline of Tiber Septim renders even most immortal blood illegitimate. There is more than meets the eye in Septim's blood, and any Daedra Lord will tell you, if he himself weren't afraid of the truth. Believe in my word, for I am one who knows, and one who follows the Wise Word of the Ape Man, the all knowing, the word of truth.


And one more thread worth posting. I am not sure who's this Julianos the Chamberlain, but they've mentioned Arctus, Brass God and other cryptic subjects. Let the knowledgeable ponder!

Xerxes Two-Balls: The Chamberlain is Mad!

Julianos Cennan, former Chamberlain to Our Emperor Uriel Septim VII, has left the Nibenay, it seems, quite insane. Known for years of loyal service and for his part in the archiving of the Battlespire fiasco (Commission Compendium X.#1987874621876-NA109201 "Dagon Dismissals (Recent)"), Cennan's imposture was discovered by his wife this last Hearth Fire.

"Julianos has always had a passion for brass," the grieving wife told the visiting Red Templars, "I did not know that indicated Arcturian allegiance."

Cennan's present whereabouts are unknown.

He will not get far.

Beware the Brass God!

Anumidum Nil!

Xerxes Two-Balls Head Red of the Blood Dome Temple in Lesser West Sutch

"Battlespire fiasco"? Hmmm...

Brother Guatan: Julianos Cennan is quite the sick man. I can confirm this by proof of mine own eyes. His wife, a very fair and kind Cyrodiilian herself, begged of me to perhaps heal him of his ailment. I, at first, believed it to be a mere curse or even the Flu, or plague from the home of those accursed Argonian beastmen. But, I was sadly mistaken. It proved to be more than that. It was shear madness that drove him. He stood in the corner of his room, with a sack full of clattering metals, and a brass candle holder in hand, threatening to bludgeon me with it if I came any closer. Perhaps the works of the Daedric tyrants, I do not know for sure. But I can attest to his madness. I am sorry I did not address this earlier, for his caring wife begged of me not to. By Stendarr, what have I done?

Brother Drue Guatan of the High Temple Moth

Casco Mens: Sighting

We have word that Cennan has crossed the boundary of Balmora. I, Casco, swear on the Voice that he shall never leave.

Casco Mens 14th Blood. Balmora Temple.

Gallo: Julianos Cennan believed travelling west. The Dragon at Sutch have been informed. The filth shall be taken.


Are you tired yet?

Nohept dir'Kamal: Source of Chaos- Serious Scholars Only

My dear General Warhaft,

I found this particular passage among the papers of the Tharnatos.

"...appropriately, Padomay is just as ineffable an entity as Anu. This is how the Psijiic Order treats him, at least. His original (Aldmeris? Ehlnofex?) name is PSJJJJ, which is and was meant to be unpronounceable. The Order was founded and organized to divine Padomay's eternal and ever-changing mystery. "Sithis" is a corruption of "Psijii" which, in turn, was a derivation of the high concept PSJJJJ. Sithis was born when a nihilist sect of the already doom-ridden Chimeri merged (under Mephala’s tutelage) Daedric elements with the Inexpressible Action that was Padomay. In essence they began to revere Padomay's Chaos nature (as opposed to that of Anu, who is Order), and over the years degenerated into a thuggish mystery-cult which wanted to "murder the world." The Dark Brotherhood was born in these times-- which, in Morrowind, is known as the Morag Tong. Some of the higher-level Morag Tong maintain that they predate the Dark Brotherhood (more evidence of this later). That, in fact, they are an organization devoted to playing out the eternal interplay of Nir. Assassination, they say, is the purest celebration of joy or living. Whatever the case, the Padomay of Morrowind (and isolated Dark Brotherhood sects) is not the Padomay of Artaeum...."

Does this help your investigation at all? Are all the simulacra accounted for?

Ever your servant, Nd'K Cult of the Ancestor-Moth

Lady Enigma: Information taking in, routed, and distributed to nearly any sector that could make anything of it. I cant believe that I understood most of it. The main lesson learned is that the Morag Tong, are some BAD mothers, and you should kiss their boot anytime you can, tee hee hee.

Lady Enigma

General Warhaft:

Elder Nohept,

These scholarly conundrums are outside my expertise, I'm afraid. I have uncovered nothing explicitly tying the Morag Tong to Tharnatos, but my suspicions grow stonger. They have long been given wide latitude here, rationalized as "non-interference in local customs". You would be amazed at what is permitted here. But I digress. The Tong are difficult to infiltrate or investigate quietly, as they are insular and extremely paranoid. Beyond the obvious link of the Staff to House Redoran (which has turned out to be nothing more than local scheming -- they knew nothing of the larger picture, as I thought), my agents have turned up only rumor and hearsay.

As for the simulacra, at last report the Blades were on the trail of the last three. I continue to hope that one of the nephews may have avoided the fate, and flees now from rumor of a purge. But I must say that Andrial is less optimistic, and knowing Tharnatos' thoroughness in other matters, I fear she is right. There is also the possibility that some may have been secreted like we were, as pawns for some future play we have not yet uncovered. You would be more up-to-date on those matters, however.

It is vital that you learn his true identity. We cannot fight enemies we do not know, and even he may yet prove only one actor in a great conspiracy against us. Reply soonest.


The End

...for now...


Mad God's Masque and Bellicose Ball

Ted Peterson

Welcome to the Mad God's Masque and Bellicose Ball. I am Hlireni Indavel. I am an incredibly famous witch because of our dance in Ald Daedroth with those of gold-hats, hee hee... Here I am honored to bring you the mad poems of our Lord, the Mad God Sheogorath. The Imperial librarians are nice enough to let me give an introductory speech for the works of our Lord. It is strange enough that our Lord is also known outside of Nirn as Ted Peterson or Tedders. He is widely known as one of the conspirators of the trouble in Iliac Bay. Well, that is far from us here in Ald Daedroth. I don't know much about this trouble, but I heard it was messy, hee hee... Ah anyway, enjoy the poems and the gibberish words here, hee hee...

-Hlireni Indavel

Drow, drow, drow your canoe
The stream provides flotation
Hysterically, hysterically, hysterically, hysterically
Existence is hallucination

2nd of Sun's Dawn

Aye, I can often be beckoned
Popping from my golden sphere,
During Sun's Dawn, day the second,
My favorite day of all the year
As time on Nirn is chiefly reckoned.
Still, my daily schedule is always clear.

Sheogorath: A Case Study

I agree
To think to study me
Is the mark of a mind delirious
Beyond the pale
And quite doomed to fail
Ye who tries to take me serious
In your world,
Sick minds have unfurled
Psychiatrist’s careers do embark
But in the real
Empire of Tamriel
Madness grows strong in the dark.

Queen Alessia

Alessia, O Alessiiiiaaaa
O Slave Queen in the White Gold Spire
My question will beeee aaaa
Quick one as on your throne you expire.
Was it, o, diarrheeeeaaaa
You birthed instead of the First Empire?
Alessia, O Alessiiiiiaaaaa?
O Slave Queen in the White Gold Spire?

Would You Mate?

The darkling and the dabbling duck
In salacious mind he’s stuck
On the mortal questions
Of hot coital sessions
Wondering whether spirits ... mate ...

Tit for Tat with Hermaeus Mora

This poem was posted by Hermaeus Mora:

Sheogorath's a merry drink
Both matured and refined
A colour rich and deep as ink
And flavour that blows your mind.

Sheogorath's response:

And Hermaeus Mora is a filthy stew
Rotten glyphs and moldering scrolls
Burbling layers of green, red, and blue,
One cup is enough to fill two bowls

Ode to Azura

Oh, Azura, Azura, the dust and the dawn,
My guts fill with worms, my body their pawn,
Oh, death cometh to stop my immortal dance,
Alas, alackaday, and, aye, what an annoyance
But weep for me not, we soon will laugh and laugh hearty
Don’t dawdle, in the stone wood to the Ear-Clipper’s party

Sanguine's Realm

Mind aflame, loin afire, illicit pleasure to seek
From under the bed, Lord Sanguine doth peek
To inspire perversions in the wild and meek
Tales of taboos of which virgins blush to speak
The wild rose blooms, perfumes in the burbling creek
The petals, the stem, and the thorns’ painful preek

Having No Lips Must Suck

Lips can be equipt if you'll pardon my quips to be ships, can be flips, can be drips, can be cracked whips, can be teasy strips, can be firm hips ... oh, dear, better keep from getting naughty ... can be salty chips, can be cheese dips ... oh, now I'm hungry ...

Let's Put a God on Trial

Ot tup eht eslaf dog no lairt
Si nosaer, dna ton nosaert
Tub rof slatrom ot egduj eht enivid
Neve fi no reH ym noinipo sedivid
Si eht yrev tsehgieh fo ssendam
Hcihw I nac ekamnu sa ti si edam.

It’s a funhouse, a madhouse, a palace of magical sin
But beware you leave nothing behind
For if you go back through the way you came in
The Dam Dog will swallow your mind.

Oh, Oblivion is full of games to make you scream and chortle,
Like, Guess the Disaster’s Path, or Pin The Madness on the Mortal.
And there’s always poetry involved, for it is the Princes’ duty
To take the ugly in your world and give it our own beauty
The marble jaws of Oblivion forever opening and shutting
Like poetry, you let Mundus run, and then do a lot of cutting.
A plague here, pestilence there, it’s so difficult choosing,
But when we’re not doing that, we trying to be amusing.

Mehrunes Dagon

There once was a Prince named Mehrunes
Whose buttocks sounded sonorous tunes
‘Twas an odiferous song
People sang before long
They had enough of his full crescent moons.

Hermaeus Mora

There once was a Prince named Hermaeus,
Whose voice was a thundering bray, thus
People harkened to his call
Til they discovered that all
He was, was just withershin chaos.

I evah enod esoht semyhr ni eht tsap
Uoy loof, lla lluf fo everv dna echanap
Tub sa a dlihc erofeb a denmad tsaredeap
Ym dnim gnihguols htiw noitirted
I t’nahs od erom rof ym niotatsetsed
Snalp ylno ruoy s’dlrow niotcurtsed

That's Not Prose

"A tib fo esorp" uoy reffo eht noitalupop
Tub daetsni tahw ouy evig ot su si yrteop
Gnivorp ecno niaga eht noinu ecrovid
Neewteb ruo serehps, ton os ralimissid
Eht elat uoy llet si gnisuma, tub on elims
Si no ym spil ni ym tnerruc doom ot etims
Ni ym nettor doom, D’i ekat eht dnim
Fo sudnum dna htiw a efink D’i ecnim . . .

Sheogorath The Banker

it’s nice to think you’d easily recognize
a raving lunatic with your myopic eyes
his hair is all askew, possessions in bags,
he’s draped in chains or festooned in rags
peering in too clearly is a dangerous task
you don’t know what is behind the mask

the smiling man on the street moving in your direction
might be wanting your teeth for his molar collection
you trust your spare key to the sweet lady next door
never suspecting a thing ‘til your blood’s on the floor
the fine merchant, those cute kids, that pair of newlyweds,
you’d be filled with pure horror if you looked in their heads

so, some say i choose this form to put you at ease
with middle class formalities, thank you and please,
others say it’s symbolic, though my bank has no walls
and there’s no penalty for early mental withdrawals

On Writing Poetry

the meter’s quite appalling
like bad fruit from out of season
the witless wit rather galling
and i’ve got no rhyme or reason

don’t think i’m being modest
per the bad verbs and noun declension
i’m proud as a pillow bout my oddest
poems of extradimensional demention

more insane than all those psijics
read my words and feel the curse
boil the brains of all my critics
who say i’ve gone from bad to verse

Sewing With Hearsay

When sewing a garment using thread coarse
To create a gown of some beautiful art
You might find that without a primary source
One tug on the thread, and it all falls apart.


Thither thin Sithis did slither the plinth
So she supped and she sipped on thick absinthe
Thus sated she waited, her sick thoughts with pith
Lisping sibilant hisses does this Sithis writhe

"Amusing sport," insolent Sithis doth say,
"This hundredth pastime in ether’s sweet sway.
The assassin’s soul, his carcass is a myth that I miss
Sailing insane into the teeth of the ceaseless abyss."

Whither Sithis withered, this they seldom say,
A rancid kiss of passing sin, sagging death doth sway,
On a starry isthmus soaked by thick salinic slime,
Whisper thelemic solipsisms on supple flesh sublime

On The Misspelling Of His Name

Part I

You left out an O, my jobbernowled brother
The name's Sheogorath, Sheograth is another
A herder who lives with his family and his flock
In an adorable little cottage in north High Rock
His wife is fair and portly, still girlish for her age,
His older son lives elsewhere, an actor on the stage,
They get loving letters from him every single week
Which proud Sheograth reads though his literacy's weak.
A middle daughter and infant son complete the brood.
She is sweet and shy, with a talent for cooking food,
And though the tot is too young to have much personality
He's the cutest, mildest child in the High Rock principality.
They're happy if not rich in their modest little hovel,
'Til Sheograth, mad, bludgeons them all with a shovel.

Part II

Don't worry, young gascleramp, I don't care about the spelling,
'Twas an excuse to tell a bloody tale that's worth bloody telling
Many hiss my name in incoherent gibberings and squeaks,
Or wild-eyed tongueless faces who voicelessly speaks
Plenty screech my name in terror or croak it like a frog
I'll even come politely when people call for the daM doG.

And the greatest trick I ever pulled since light came to my brain
Was holding Mundus in my jaw and slowly biting down

It has absolutely nothing to do with feeling like it or not. It is not what I say but what you hear. The entirety of Mundus is staring at a handkerchief and calling it a hacksaw.

As the poet Ithijjithi wrote before the Marukh tied rocks to his feet so he sunk from the clouds into the waves:
Yclept the world is only light
nO darkness, no, in man's eyesight
laUghter joyless echoes perforce
ariA of terror that there is no source
natuRal law is neither word
aversE to flight is the airborne bird
amnesiAtic dreams of a disunioned marriage
hyperboLic words but they disparage
phenomenA you call what seems rare
membershiP revoked of fire and air
lively deaD rotting in the dirt, grin
claw skin tO rip, pull back the curtain
idiot knowinG is no way to be certain

First thing in the morning, M. Bal likes to slay
A random principality, that's how he starts his day.
Then he does his stretches, and if he's feeling wrath,
He'll make someone's guts explode, then he has his bath.
For breakfast, he has tea and jam, listening for the news
Of the temple that collapsed, people kneeling in the pews.
After lightning strikes in Elsweyr and floods in Daggerfall,
An inferno in Solitude, why, then, does Molag Bal
Take a break before smashing more with a deafening crunch?
No, he's a busy Daedroth, so he takes a working lunch.
All afternoon and evening, it's kill and kill and kill
And kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill, until
He finds the day's last victim, it's always good to view
The last one to annihilate today, and today that one is you.

i Myself hAve Never visiTEd aetherius, nor have any of you, but Legend has it that it’s a LANd where logiC and Reason reign Under a Xiphoid sky.

O'er the treetops, the worm takes flight,
'Tis no dragon, it is Peryite.
Like a shadow over country and city,
Comes the harbinger, Peryite.
Pestilence blooms with each wing beat.
For whom doth seek Peryite?

Who would bet with me not expecting a cheat?
To play the game fairly is the worst kind of deceit.
You wish to dance 'til the floor burns with white heat.
Your last waltz with Vivec, he stepped on your feet.

Oh, yes, the path is very crowded,
But it is smooth and the skies unclouded,
Those who think it's steep and twisted
Which you can't move on unassisted
Don't know you walk it without any strain
Much easier than the rocks of the sane.
Oh, yes, your fellow walkers may be odd
As you stroll on the lunatic promenade.
They stare and dribble and screech shrill
Some move faster yet while standing still
So, join the march, move fast, no slowing,
No promises where this boulevard's going
Run free cross the bridge that span the gaps
(And, oh, steer clear of all the tourist traps.)

Ah, the hot topic is soul possessing
The subject I'm always sharp addressing
What is it like, you're no doubt guessing
A wound that festers, clot abscessing
The force on your head now harder pressing
A spice-laden breeze the wind caressing
In your body, a darker soul oppressing,
Til yourself, your own self acquiescing
Then ceases to fight, it's not distressing.
When I'm gone, this is what I'm stressing,
You'll find yourself always obsessing
How sweet is Sheogorath's blessing

Shiogorath is a word a lambling might bleat
While choking on a particularly thorny thistle
His blood raw throat, breath dry like a whistle.
But a ruse by any name would smell as sweet.

Impossibility, probability, likelihood, and odds
When one is considering the killing of gods
As the recipe says, firstly, when making a pie
Create a new world, the old one must die
When fourteen have come, then comes the Insider
To stoke the hearth's flame, and thou, deicider,
Can slaughter us all, cut our throats like mere swine,
And drink deep of the blood of that which was divine.

Retem dna emyhr eht fo esuaceb yrteop od tonnac dam eht
Tub eht dam era dnuob yb selur llits, siht yeht reven llet
Nylnial fo sgnisselb eht etarbelec yam yrnezitic lacipyt
Dna eht yad nehw s'nerdlihc doolb saw cinoteb edit
Htarogoehs dlo fo modsiw eht raeh ohw uoy fo esoht tub
Wonk taht yltcaxe neewt' meht si nehw eht dlrow si tliub.

You can sometimes tell I'm coming
Swiftly and surely as black death
Other times you are succumbing
With no time to catch your breath

While I have you in my chill grip
It's a spasmodic, frenzied event
Sometimes I grab and let you slip
And sometimes I like long torment

My brutality always overwhelms
Though every guard has caught me,
I move freely through the realms
Dust to dust, I humble the haughty.

Amidst the mists and coldest frosts
With barest wrists and stoutest boasts
He thrusts his fists against the posts
And still insists he sees the ghosts.


Caius Cosades' Visit to Uriel VII's Tomb

Caius Cosades

A spry, trim, clean-faced Imperial in vigorous middle age, dressed in a brown robe, sits cross-legged before a large patch of freshly-disturbed ground in the palace district near the statue of Tiber Septim, peeling, coring, and slicing an apple, and alternately eating one slice, then laying down a slice in a pinwheel pattern on the dark earth.

"Well, fancy meeting you here," the Imperial said in the rounded tones and bland irony of an educated gentleman. He paused for a second, rearranged several slices more perfectly to suit himself, then quietly tucked another slice into his mouth and chewed patiently, deliberately.

"it's been a few years, Your Majesty, hasn't it. And, I suppose, under the solemn circumstances, I oughtn't address you as 'Uncle' or 'Sly Uri' as I used to... though never to your face, of course.

"Sorry. I've taken my time about it, Your Majesty, but I'm here at last, to pay my respects. Tell them upstairs that Caius Cosades has buried his black pennies on the spot, and placed a wreath at your grave.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here to dance at your tucking-in, Sire, as I promised, but with one thing and another, I was keeping quite busy in the East, and since you'd no need of me back here, I wasn't handy when the day of reckoning came.

"I hear it wasn't a pretty time. I can't say I'm sorry to lose your three sons. None of them worth a fig, as I've told you many times... not to your face, of course... but nonetheless, I know it must have hurt bitter-hard, harder than the Dawnman's daggers, I expect.

"But in the end, you'd got Martin well-hidden away... you sly dog, I never guessed... and he turned out to be worth twice the lot of those preening fools you got on the scheming witch, Caula Voria, may she die again tomorrow. Who was his mother? Was it that Gemile girl you had put out of the way, right after the Warp in the West?"

He added another slice of apple to his wreath, tucked a last slice into his mouth, then cleaned his knife on the worn-smooth wool of his robe. He made as if to tuck the knife back into his pouch, then, thinking again, he took the knife and buried it up to the handle in the dirt, right in the center of the ring of apple slices.

"There you are, your Majesty. My Blade, ever and always at your service. It was a pleasure to know you, and be your rough tool, in this and every other thing. I hope they find a nice spot for you up there with Lord Tiber and the rest of your sainted kin."

The Imperial unfolded his legs and rose in a smooth motion, dusting the dirt from his backside. "And I hope they hurry up and put a proper stone on the spot, too. Like all Council work, I imagine it's still a piece of patronage buried under some pile of papers in a clerk's ratnest. Fair enough. No stone could ever do you justice. Better the common ground above you, walked on by your precious citizens, beggar, noble, sage and fool alike."

He looked at the sky, smiled, liking what he saw there. "Indeed. No more fitting monument than Cyrodiil's open air and fertile soil... and you to sweeten it."

Rubbing the back of his close-cropped head, he looked around with wry, pursed lips. "And now what? Maybe a visit to that symposium the Geographical fellows are putting up. See what sort of prickly bickering and posturing they can work up. Maybe stick in my crooked oar, just to stir the pot."

He'd barely left the spot before the first fat black ant had arrived, tugged first with curiosity, then dogged enthusiasm at a slice of apple, then scanned the horizon for others of his kind to help him harvest his golden hoard.


Caius Cosades' Letter

Caius Cosades

Right worthy and worshipful Olana,

I trust this finds you in better health than last you wrote. I am much concerned for you. You do too much, and think too little of your own comforts. This does you credit, but is a great source of worry for your friends.

Thank you for the enclosed Black Horse Courier. It is hard to think of Kvatch and all the good friends I have lost there. Has Father Ilav shown any signs of recovery? He was ever so patient with me when first I came to Kvatch. I know I was not an obedient or diligent novice.

I cannot say for certain, but I believe I may be able to return to Cyrodiil for the fair. The Courier is not quite clear about the dates or locations; please let me know when you have details. I presume the fair will be held in the city or thereabouts, and I trust I may depend on your hospitality.

There is little to report from Kragenmoor. As you may well imagine, interest in our Akatosh shrine has increased ten-fold since His miraculous intervention. We experienced little of the Gate disruptions you saw in Cyrodiil, but what we did see wonderfully focused the minds of skeptics, back-sliders, and old-guard Tribunal worshipers on the manifold glories and powers of the Nine. As I have told you, House Hlaalu has always been but a lukewarm guest to the feast of the Nine, but I am seeing more heart-felt interest in divine counsel and prayer than in years past. It is unfortunate that only such a terrible calamity can awaken the mind and spirit to the comforts of the Faith.

As always, I look forward to your next letter with enthusiasm, and even more to seeing you and visiting the fair. I enclosed a pressed mountain bluebell, the first of the season. I hope it brings you pleasure.

yr. obt. srvt.,
Brother Caius

Why were the Dwemer Considered a Great House?

Divayth Fyr

It is said that the Dwemer were indeed a Great House, although, not recognised as a House at all. Perhaps the Tribunal had a strong opinion that disregarded them? They were thought to have been rebels and Unbelievers. Their motives were quite unthought of by fellow pointed ears, and even feared. The Dwemer, however careless their ideals were, simply saught "understanding", much as myself and many other fellow researchers. Had I been a walking soul in the time of the Dwemer, I myself may have found and adopted their Way and become one of their own. Alas, I am in the present and they are of the past. In many regards, I live my days much as the Dwemer did in their time.

I am but one Dunmer. Imagine if you will, thousands of Dunmer with my intentions of research and intention. Should We be feared? Perhaps not with the passing of time. In the days of long ago, the Dwemer were made out to be an enemy for their beliefs.

With the Dwemer gone and the Tribunal no longer acting overseer, speculation is the only tool at our disposal.


The Dragon's Chilled Blood

Divayth Fyr

Friends, scholars, students....

Grave news recently reached my Tower in the far east. I received a letter from a Master Blade that Uriel Septim, Emperor of Imperial conquered Tamriel, has been assasinated. I must render his name secret, as he is a shadow agent of the Blades.

Master Fyr,

Your presence is much needed in Cyrodiil once again! Emperor Uriel Septim has been assasinated. I have been secretly stationed in Cyrodiil these past many years. Upon hearing word of this horrible event, I began to gather all information possible from the sparse resources available. The Blades have only been able to share what little information known to them. This news has been spread throughout Tamriel publications. Truth and gossip can both be found amongst the information in these publications. Tread lightly on the words that the snake will scrawl for your enjoyment. For now, order is still maintained through Imperial chapters. I pray that is enough until we find proper order for the grave situation.

Speaking indepth with the Emperor's remaining Blade bodyguard, I was able to gather some valuable, first-hand information. A handful of the Emperor's loyal Blades/bodyguards led him through a prisoner's cell in the Imperial City's prison. This cell harbored a secret passage in which they needed to access in order to aid the Emperor with his escape. It worries me that the Blades and the Emperor found themselves escaping from their own stronghold. Many questions arise and I find myself wondering, in great confusion, just who can these assasins be?! To have gained access to such a heavily garrisoned stronghold.... it worries me greatly. These foes are certainly worthy adversaries.

According to the remaining Blade, they were cut down, slowly, one by one, as they ventured on through the secret, ruined passageway. In the end, it would only be this final Blade accompanying the Emperor, and it proved to be one too few. The Emperor met his fate in that very passageway which would have been his only hope of escapaing this fateful plot.

Ironically, there have been reports of various Daedra ravaging the countryside. Can these sightings and incidents be a coincidence with the timing of the Emperor's death? It can not be!

The Blade appeared to be holding back on some information. I was able to pry out of him, what could be the most surprising news as of yet. The Emperor has a secret, living heir! His known heirs to the throne were also assasinated during the same, sweeping attack that took his life. Of this living heir, we do not know a single thing. The Blade mentioned that the Emperor had shared some information with the prisoner of the cell, which housed access to the secret escape passage. It is unknown to the Blade why, but he claims the Emperor entrusted this prisoner, for one reason or another. I do not question his trust, as he has much faith in The Nine, and The Nine guide him thoughtfully.

This prisoner was last seen in that passageway with the Emperor. The Blade allowed the prisoner to continue on with the Emperor's final request. The heir must be found. It is thought that the Emperor entrusted this prisoner with the duty to find this heir. The Blade would share no more on the matter. He is finding it difficult to trust anyone, which I am understanding of. He is to be commissioned back to the Blades Fortress to await further orders.

Can it be that the myth behind the Dragonfires trully exists as reality? I must take this matter up with the Imperial Archmage as soon as I am able to gain audience, but I fear he will not see me regarding the subject matter. Time is running short Master Fyr! Your assistance is greatly needed in Cyrodiil! I fear for what is to become of Tamriel's future.

Master Blade

To my disappointment, I have been instructed not to journey to Cyrodiil by the Elder Council. If there are indeed great troubles in the West, then I will be needed in my lands, were that trouble to spread like a wildfire. I fear I would be of little help were I to travel there. It sounds as though they are need of petty politicals, masters of weaponry, and weavers of blaze. I am but an old, weary wizard. My days of adventure are over.

I urge you however, if you find yourself worthy of offering aid to the Empire in this time of need, by all means, travel to Cyrodiil and lend your talents. I, as well as my dear friend whom sent me the grave letter, fear for the future of the Empire, and the whole of Tamriel. May The Nine watch over us.

Divayth Fyr


Return of a Fellow Scholar

Divayth Fyr

My journey home was pleasant. I chose to travel by natural means, not by the wizard's will. It has been many long years since I have laid mine eyes upon the western lands of Tamriel. The ever weary Emperor bid me farewell after a year of service. I do admit my previous disregard and distrust to the politics and leadership of the west, but I have grown to find a care in the blood of this Septim. He is a good and honorable man and has shown me that the Empire is not an oppressive tool of fear and power. I do wish I could have made his aquaintance under less pressing of circumstances, as this ordeal appears to have aged the already old man many years in just a blink of time.

His Lordship offered escort by 2 of his finset Blades to see my safe passage to the borders of east Cyrodil. Two fine, young and extremely loyal and disciplined soldiers they were. Their presence alone could send hairs on end on even the mightiest of wizards. Time spent traveling those few days with these gentlemen was satisfying. They have become good friends in those few short days and I do wish them well in their careers as Arms of the Throne.

Once at the border, they bid me farewell and left me with bread and dried meats. A flask of a very well aged Cyrodilic wine was presented to me as a gift from the both of them to keep me in good spirits for the remainder of my journey. Hearty handshakes were swapped and I continued on.

The King, not knowing very well of the Dunmer traditions and culture, offered one of his finest steeds to me when I began my service in Cyrodil. Had this grand beast been found in Vvardenfel, it may very well have been on a spit above a well tendered firepit. However, having been in the service and presence of the Empire these past couple of years, I have grown to appreciate and respect these beasts which are so foreign to me, other than on a plate with fine herbs. I respectfully accepted this gift and promised a good life for it. This "horse", which I titled Xyldan, has since become more than a tool. Xyldan and I have bonded and I am honored to have such a friend as he. I have known many Dunmer who have befriended guar, and for this, I thought them silly. I now understand this bond and it is far from silly. I may be older than many pines of the north, but it is never too late for an old Dunmer to learn and find sense in that of which he never thought so. So then, Xyldan and I now traveled together west, home.

With the recent troubles sprouting about, I had to keep a watchful eye of my surroundings. It is quite hard to concentrate and keep a meditative thought of a defensive spell ready when you are taking in the beauty of the lands which you have not lain eyes upon in quite some time. As luck would have it, I was granted safe passage to the One True Ebonheart. Ah, I did have .... one, small encounter that you may find a pleasure in. A young masked gentleman thought it a good idea to attempt to rob a traveling old Dunmer, knowing not that the traveling old Dunmer was I. He lept from his perch in a tree, nearly impaling his own self upon his rusted dagger. Upon getting to his feet, he demanded my mount and any coinage I had on me. I admit, this was a sad sight indeed and I actually felt pity for this soul. Alas, I offered him safe passage and my fine silk cloak. He accepted the cloak but did not hold to his word. He still blocked passage and demanded more. Not wishing for bloodshed and still harboring pity for this clearly poor man, I waved my hand and watched as his ancient, rusted armor disintegrated to dust upon the ground where he stood. I then let out an unexpected roar of laughter, for the poor bandit wore not any clothing beneath. He covered himself as well he could and shivered in the chill morning air. My pity grew and I threw a small pouch of coinage to him and a pair of knickers. I do hope that fellow is well and out of the cold air by now.

Where was I.... ah, yes.... arriving at the One True Ebonheart. There is much confusion of the "two" Ebonhearts, of which I shall explain at another time. I found stable for Xyldan and took rest in a small village outside of the great Fort. The hospitality was less than grand, but I imagine the rumour of great trouble looming caused distrust among the peoples of the village. As many of you know, I am not much of a conversationalist, unless it concerns matters of intellectual curiosities. The folk of the tavern that eve seemed quite curious of me and many thought me to be an agent or spy of sorts. A select few attempted audience with me, and I gladly accepted, even though I am not one to speak of weather, fishery, or farm. How I did enjoy "small talk" again. My many years of continuous work has left me a secluded old buffoon. It was wonderful having average folk, knowing not of my identity, speak with me of matters which I knew nothing of. The simplest of topics that eve taught me that there is much in the world that I know not of, yet, it is in front of me at all times. I trully must stop to smell more flowers and watch the ever changing patterns of the grass as the soft winds sift through it.

That night I slept as deep and content as a Nord on a 5 day ale binge. Fully replenished and eager to move on, I chartered passage to Seyda Neen. The waters were as calm as any sailor could wish for. The subtle breeze allowed for a smooth, steady push to the sails. I took great interest in watching the ship hands maintain and work about the vessel. Such hard working folk taking a great pride in their hard work and service. I tipped the entire crew upon arrival in Seyda Neen and bid them a farewell.

Xyldan and I paid a visit to the local outfitter and stocked up on goods for the remainder of our journey. Xyldan seemed uneasy as he glanced over this new land. I am quite sure the worry was fueled by the hungry look in the eyes of my fellow Dunmer. I am home however, and these are my peoples. They know of me and would not dare make a meal utensil visible in the sights of Xyldan, knowing full well, he is my loyal friend.

Passage to Tel Fyr from the western shore of Vvardenfell would be a hard and slow one indeed. I had nearly forgotten how mighty the thunderstorms and sandstorms could be. Had I passed further south, I could have avoided the pesky sandstorms. Ah yes, had I even remembered them. And to make matters worse, the cursed cliffracers do not appear to have dwindled in their numbers with my absence. I do believe that I should find a way of making their existence all but present. Perhaps I shall bring back some mighty dragons to reclaim the skies of Vvardenfell. That would surely be a treat, were that a possibility within in my power. A day of passing and I am greeted by the door of my abode. I spent my first eve at home loving my sister-wives and telling them of my journey. They, in turn, spoke to me of the many travelers whom visited the Tower in hopes of gaining audience with me. Indeed, some things never change. My friends, I am very pleased to be home and hope you found some pleasure in the story of my journey from Cyrodil. In short, and not to bring the mood to a halt, but do know that trouble is indeed coming in the very near future. I urge you to enjoy my story while you may, for the Empire may soon need your services.


The Soft Doctrines of Magnus Invisible

Douglas Goodall

"The Dragon is bound with noble sighs.
The Serpent is bound with shifting tones.
The Sun is bound with metal flames.
The Earth is bound with secret knots."