Skip navigation
Library

Eastmarch

Author: 
Anonymous

Stretches from the frozen, jagged northern coastline into southern Skyrim's volcanic tundra.

Now on to one of my favorite subjects—troll fat! Certainly one of the more expensive ingredients, assuming you can’t wrestle down a troll or two on your own, but well worth it in versatility. It makes a perfect base for a variety of salves, of course, and can be used in the creation of long-burning candles (though some are put off by the musky smell). 
 
Combined with certain other ingredients, it can create a poisonous weapon coating, and in the right doses it can grant temporary resistance to poison, though the latter is a delicate process and should not be attempted by novices. One thing I cannot recommend is cooking with the fat, as it invariably adds an unpleasant flavor that recalls the smell of unwashed feet.
We Dunmer may share more in common with our Nord allies than most of us care to admit. As I study their heroes, I see some parallels emerge between the Nords’ near-worship of them and of our own culture of ancestor veneration. The Nords tend to exaggerate and often focus on “heroic” deeds, such as driving the early Elves from Skyrim, but some of our own Saints are memorialized for their feats in combat, as well. 
 
The Nords do not share the mindfulness of their immediate ancestors in the same way my fellow Dunmer do, but they love to brag of their relation to heroes of old. They may be a bit on the brutish side, but if we find these common grounds, perhaps we can better educate and guide them, seeing as we are to be allies.
“He laughed at me when I went to bow and clapped me on the back. I couldn’t believe he just walked right into my shop like that! Told his entourage to wait outside; he did look a little annoyed at them, all scrambling around to get his attention.
 
Said one o’ my axes caught his eye. One o’ my own axes! Wouldn’t even take it as a gift. I’ll admit it, maybe I’ve been skeptical of the Pact in the past, but the Skald-King, he’s a true Nord; I don’t care what anyone says. He’s one of us, and he wouldn’t do anything to hurt Skyrim; you can just tell.”
The day’s left me beaten, I can’t stand no more
My barn caught on fire, my good breeches tore
My lady love left me, walked right out the door
But I know a secret to fix me for sure!
 
What is the thing that an ailing Nord needs?
Just one more mead!
 
I’ll head to the tavern and buy me a drink
I’ll cloud up my head until I can’t think
All warm by the fire I’ll sigh and I’ll sink
And, oh, all the problems are gone in a blink
 
I’ll drink 'til my head hurts, I’ll shout and I’ll sing: 
Just one more mead!
“I never saw an Argonian look happier. I swear I saw him smile as soon as we crested the ridge and he laid eyes on the mineral pools. I can’t stand the smell of them, much less the heat, but he walked as fast as he could without breaking into a run and practically hopped right in.
 
It was I who asked the Commander if we could set up nearby overnight, since we’d been making good time and all. Guess I felt bad for Counts-His-Teeth, so far away from his swamp and having to tromp around in the snow. Everyone misses home when they’re away, and I think the Argonians might miss it more than anyone.”
Mother of Men, who steels us with her icy breath
 
Warrior-Wife, who sanctifies every axe-edge
 
Goddess of the Storm, who gifted us with voice
 
Bless us, Kyne; may we serve you with every word
In days long past, Vikalar and his hunting party celebrated a successful hunt around their campfire, drinking their fill and telling tales. The mead was strong, as it always was in those days, and the spoils many, but no mammoth-hides were among them, though Vikalar had sorely hoped to challenge one that day. 
 
“I could fight it with my bare hands!” he boasted, roaring his battle-cry into the dark beyond the fire’s light. To the party’s shock, a trumpeting blast sounded in answer. The ground shook, and out of the darkness charged a massive mammoth! The beast trampled straight for Vikalar. As the others dove aside, he charged it head-on, leapt into the air, and crashed his skull against the mammoth’s. To the great surprise of the party, the creature wavered, stumbled, and fell to the ground, stunned. To this day, none has boasted a skull the likes of Vikalar Skull-Shatterer.