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Other Games => ... and all the other things floating around out there => Topic started by: Umbra on September 19, 2014, 10:56:34 am

Title: Random TES lore thread
Post by: Umbra on September 19, 2014, 10:56:34 am

Hi, i like TES lore. Lets share some lore

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Title: Re: Random TES lore thread
Post by: IR_Kuoin on September 19, 2014, 11:33:39 am

Every hero has been in a prison or a boat.

Title: Re: Random TES lore thread
Post by: Kafein on September 19, 2014, 11:42:11 am

The evidence of the PC being one of those with ChIM is overwhelming. In fact the others use the ChIM powers extremely conservatively as they are programmed to follow a script, while the PC can do absolutely everything. Vivec's Sermons points to superpowers such as modifying reality and manipulating time using very obvious references to loading/saving and modding the game. This is also the justification of why all endings of Daggerfall are recorded to happen (read books in Morrowind and sequels to find out) even though they are mutually exclusive when you play Daggerfall normally.

In fact there are five idiot adventurers with reality-bending powers running around. A short look at Youtube will show that Tamriel can get infinitely more weird with the input of modders.

Title: Re: Random TES lore thread
Post by: Vibe on September 19, 2014, 01:36:02 pm

khajiit has wares

Title: Re: Random TES lore thread
Post by: Tibe on September 19, 2014, 02:11:34 pm

"M'aiq knows much, and tells some. M'aiq knows many things others do not."

―M'aiq the Liar

Title: Re: Random TES lore thread
Post by: Angantyr on September 19, 2014, 03:58:53 pm

http://www.imperial-library.info/content/forum-archives-michael-kirkbride (former designer and lore writer at Bethesda)

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Quote

Author:  Michael Kirkbride
Librarian Comment:
Many of these are in-character snippets taken from various forum posts.  A significant portion of them remains undated. If you know when and in what context they were written, please post in the thread. Michael Kirkbride is known as Merry Eyesore the Elk on the Bethesda forums, once went by the name of MK, Michael Kirkbride, and Vehk, and assumes roleplay accounts as needed.

 

Vehkship: in character fragment:

Belief-engines, properly called the “Auxiliary Semi-Shockpoint Nilgularity”, provide energy for short dream-sleeve jumps in case a Vehkship’s main ego is damaged, allowing the C0DA Paravant to potentially get to the safety of a voidyard orbital.

By creating the equivalent of an Nu-class Mnemolic, shrinking it instantaneously via a creatia tesseract array, and then projecting the resulting moth-talk well to a nil-point just outside the ego’s hull, an ASSN can slingshot the Paravant into era-streams without the needed energies of nearby aetheric bodies or shockpoint application.

The ASSN is strictly Last Ditch technology, however. It’s often deemed as too dangerous for its own good, because it works on the rarified principles of Phynaster’s Inversion, a set of mathematics that doesn’t exist in our own dimension. Vehkships have vanished in nil-space trying to make an ASSN jump—indeed, the celestial irregularity known as the M4bV Legerity, in which the C0DA Oblivion Vanquisher appears and implodes in perpetuity, is the belief system’s most famous cautionary tale.

What appears to be an Altmeri commentary on Talos:

To kill Man is to reach Heaven, from where we came before the Doom Drum's iniquity. When we accomplish this, we can escape the mockery and long shame of the Material Prison.

To achieve this goal, we must:

1) Erase the Upstart Talos from the mythic. His presence fortifies the Wheel of the Convention, and binds our souls to this plane.

2) Remove Man not just from the world, but from the Pattern of Possibility, so that the very idea of them can be forgotten and thereby never again repeated.

3) With Talos and the Sons of Talos removed, the Dragon will become ours to unbind. The world of mortals will be over. The Dragon will uncoil his hold on the stagnancy of linear time and move as Free Serpent again, moving through the Aether without measure or burden, spilling time along the innumerable roads we once travelled. And with that we will regain the mantle of the imperishable spirit.

On the Redguards:

No, I was actually referring to The Black Panthers and their radicalism.

As some people know I'm not really a fan of the United Colors of Beneton approach to Tamrielicreation, which smacks of white guilt and offensery rather than some holistic form of beautiful inclusion. Thus, it's my fault that the Asian analogues got eaten. Oops. Looks like others are bringing 'em back, though. But I promise my choice had nothing to do with Yellow Peril, it had to do with co-opting "coolness of color" without thinking about it intelligently and compassionately.

(Hunkers down for the flame.)

That said, when I started writing Redguard I really thought about how unique the black people of Tamriel were: they came in and kicked ass and slaughtered the indigenes while doing so. They invaded. It was the first time I had encountered the idea of "black imperialism"...and it struck me big time, as something 1) new, 2) potentially dangerous if taken as commentary, and 3) potentially rad if taken as commentary.

Who knows. AVault did say it had a story worthy of being on stage, and Michael Mack (Cyrus) once thanked me for giving him words that "Black folks don't get to say" (referring to Cyrus' speech and the reversal of Son to the Father)... which broke my heart and made me puff my chest all at the same time.

Which is a long way of saying: panther-love.

Numidium's siege of Alinor:

It's not the Brass God that wrecks everything so much as it is all the plane(t)s and timelines that orbit it, singing world-refusals.

The Surrender of Alinor happened in one hour, but Numidium's siege lasted from the Mythic Era until long into the Fifth. Some Mirror Logicians of the Altmer fight it still in chrysalis shells that phase in and out of Tamrielic Prime, and their brethren know nothing of their purpose unless they stare too long and break their own possipoints.

Monotheism in Tamriel:

The Skaal are animistic, not monotheistic. Huge difference there.

As for the lists of cultural pantheons, they are not exhaustive - Dagon, it seems, plays a larger role in Nordic myths than the author (me) of Varieties of Faith was aware of.

The Alessian Order was the most successful attempt at monotheism in Tamrielic history-- and even they knew better than refute other religions in their entirety, only co-opt and lessen them.

The Dwemer are special in their views. If one could misinterpret the name of their religion (they were said to be 'pious'), one might name it negalithic refusatronic world-navel-gazinism.

Historically, the magical nature Nirn frowns on monotheism. With a hammer this big. That kind of Maruhkati-talk gets you erased.

Mythic relationships:

As far as the Anuad:

Nirn (Female/Land/Freedom catalyst for birth-death of enantiomorph)/ Anu-Padomay (enantiomorph with requisite betrayal)/ ?* (Witnessing Shield-thane who goes blind or is maimed and thus solidifies the wave-form; blind/maimed = = final decision)

*Seek and you shall find. I hid it.

Bonus:

King Hrol (seeker/Healer of Kingdom), "from the lands beyond lost Twil". Twil as Twilight. Grey Maybe. Aurbis. His knights numbered "eighteen less one," the number of the Hurling Disk.

SPACE GODS BEGAT REMAN! NEWS AT ZERO-SUM, PACIFIC STANDARD GRADIENT!

On the plausibility of Mankar Camoran's claims:

Also in all fairness, there's enough evidence to support the Mankar's claims that I was happy that it went in. The idea really flips the idea of Tamriel on its head.

Imagine the Oblivion realm of Attribution's Share, for example, with eight powerful daedra (one of which is Boethiah) wielding divine power over their realm, and all their subjects bound to the whims of that power; now imagine it under an ur-theology and creation myth(s) as complicated as anything on Tamriel, where the myriad mortals of Nirn were, to the denizens of the Eight Divines of Attribution's Share, in fact, "daedra".

This realm would be surrounded by the Void, just like Tamriel, in turn surrounded by Aetherius, and who's to say that the big hole known as the Sun doesn't hit their shores, as well?

Lorkhan the Padomaic could be exactly what the Mankar says he is: the dead Lord of a lost daedric realm whose "gods" are powerful Liars.

On the different time-dragons:

Don't forget that gods can be shaped by the mythopoeic forces of the mantlers-- so Tosh Raka could be an Akaviri avatar of Akatosh with a grudge against his mirror-brother in Cyrodiil.

Just like Akatosh-as-we-usually-know-him could time-scheme against his mirror-brother of the Nords, Alduin, to keep the present kalpa-- perhaps his favorite-- from being eaten.

Notice all the coulds.

On Nerevar's face being the Indoril helm:

The Indoril masks were official, and they each depicted his true visage. There was also a special Daedric helmet version in the Morrowind Art Book, but its look depicted his more terrible aspect as Hortator and Padomaic champion.

I may say lots of things, but Lord Indoril Nerevar the Hortator was my beloved from the get go during my tenure as MW's Art Director.

Edit: to Lorus, that's his bonewalker version, lost to the annals of most Tribune histories. Nerevar, while betrayed or not, was still dear to ALMSIVI after death.

On the "most powerful" being:

Talos.

The HoonDing.

Trinimac.

Vivec.

Leki.

Reman.

Auri-El.

Wulfharth.

Morihaus.

Pelinal.

That's my list, and pretty much in that order. Though Vivec did kill Tiber Septim once...but I mentioned Talos, not the Emperor.

Another Altmeri in-character snippet:

"Or the number could be more Lorkhanic nonsense; that is, convenient for Man.

"The Ysmir line is dead and so is His stranglehold on the mythic.

"A single Wheel? More like a Telescope that stretches all the way back to the Eye of the Anui-El, with Padomaics innumerable along its infinite walls.

"We're coming for you in every one of your quarters, Sons of Talos. None shall survive."

"The Prophet of Landfall," a birthday gift for Kurt Kuhlmann:

He has come down from the mountains, the chitin of his belly segments freshly painted in Faith. The suns shine overhead, each uttering his name in their way. The barrens before him distort in the blur of their heat as he climbs the last hill, but his vision is clear. It always has been. His fifth and second arms encircle his staff as his mandibles click out a small prayer. Beyond the barrens lay the Crescent of the Eighty and One Thrones, and all the villages that hang from it like a jeweled belt. They do not know it yet, those millions that work, rule, and commit their countless sins out there in the cradle of all written history, but he will save them. In ones and twos, then in droves, and then their own priests and their own kings will throw down their false idols and take up the New Faith. He would permit himself some pride if that emotion occurred to him; instead, he tests his locust wings on the wind, permitting himself to glide into the first steps of Salvation.

Description of an Altmer ship:

Made of crystal and solidified sunlight, with wings though they do not fly, and prows that elongate into swirling Sun-Birds, and gem-encrusted mini-trebuchets fit for sailing which fire pure aetheric fire, and banners, banners, banners, listing their ancestors all the way back to the Dawn.

This is Old Mary at Water.

On the Mnemoli:

Mnemolic magic is related to the "Star Orphans", gods and heroes and demons that live between creations, which can include those reality-bending burps known as Dragon Breaks. Think of them as the all-stars between kalpas, if that helps. (That probably doesn't help at all, really.)

What's up with the Blue Star itself? That's a good little hidden bit that I don't want to ruin. Someone go find it.

On Vivec and Morrowind:

I can safely say that Vivec is the most realized character in videogame fiction. Period.

If a hermaphroditic, bug-armored, bipolar god-king existing in multiple universes who has his very own bible with *actual* magic strewn throughout it is your idea of a cliche, then I really would like to live in your world. It sounds fun and new.

But, wait, then I'd have to inexplicably make snarky and insulting comments in a forum where creators often tread. And that would quickly make me boorish and prone to cliched Angry Youngster Angst. That's the interwebs for you and good luck with it.

I can also say that Morrowind is the finest novel written in videogame fiction. A 40 hour narrative whose main character is only ever referenced is almost Nabokovian in aspiration, and prophecies whose truth is determined only by the player is akin to Borges if he only had been born with a USB port in the back of his beloved neck.

There is a fine line between celebrated tradition tuned to masterstrokes by its crafters and cliche'd demons underneath volcanos. Morrowind is the former, Selbeth, and nowhere near the latter. Except, again, when wrapped 'round electric peanuts tossed from the back row with bright'n'shiny underscores for effect.

On Ruma Camoran:

Ruma gave birth to herself, and her father was the father. She also gave birth to her brother, but he is not her son.

Story behind Alandro-Sul (09/19/06):

Hey now, I even gave him a fair shake at the Trial, so you know I'm down.

There were nice plans for Sul that never made it in the game, like the "Thousand Ringlets of Alandro Sul," where his mind was blasted into his chainmail headpiece by either A) madness or B) Tribunal-Gun. Then the ashlanders got hold of it and Sul could possess their minds when they wore it, making them see what he did, or thought he did. And then, of course, this thing got scattered and spread among the tribes, so that eventually ashlander tribesmer would all be wearing earrings made out of the chainmail ringlets, each one hearing the profane whisper of Truth.

That's where the name Sul-Matuul came from. Hardest of the hardcore.

Lorkhan and his avatars:

1. Wulfharth L
2. Hjalti O
3. Ysmir R
4. Talos K
5. Arctus H
6. Septim A
N

From Totemic Traditions in Atmoran Culture:

....the accounts of the origins of Men differ from culture to culture. Note how the somewhat dubious scholarship of the 3rd Edition Pocket Guide to the Empire asserted that Nedics were the progenitors to the Nords, having come to Tamriel from the cold and bitter wastes of the Atmoran continent sometime during the Merethic (Mythic) Era, flying in the face of previous studies. The most famous of these, of course, is Gwylim Press’ own “Frontier, Conquest, and Accomodation,” which portrays the Nedics as a Mannish race indigenous to Tamriel, extant and flourishing long before the arrival of Ysgramor’s ancestors. In any case, the truth of prehistoric Man is most likely lost in the god-time impossibilities of the Dawn, where no absolute answers will ever come on any subject at all.

Part of the fabled Numinatus!

[First shape] was untranslatable, which was good to us, but difficult (which was also good to us). Best descriptions came from the edges, kaleidocules dancing myriadetada to the song of Nil. They spoke of [first shape] in side-language, mad by having to speak at all, for word is meat...[text lost]... and [they] told us that if we did not hurry and make up neganyms for our whole language then they would remove the Remover, for that is what we wanted to call [first shape]. So we did that. We went to the [Giants] and brought them painted cows, for they love them and it is tradition, and what better way to destroy that concept than by issuing its [death] with one? From the [Giants] we learned wind, and in wind we learned vacuum, and in vacuum we found the Not Talk of Ooghama, shield-wife of the Debris, [who had] written everything on her that will ever be and we took all the spaces between the words and talked that way in secret. It was difficult to do that.

ONTOLOGICA CHIMERA (a homage to Jorge Luis Borges' Argumentum Ornithologicum. In essence, it is simply Borges' text rewritten with Morrowind terms.)

“I stood on the Deshaan, leaning on my balance pole, my stilts covered in the muck that runs in love to Necrom, and stared at the sky. There I saw a number of cliff-racers soar by in haphazard fashion, and yet I failed to be able to count them. Perhaps I was mudcrab-tired. Then, for some reason, I was reminded of the apocryphal teachings I learned at Temple about the Tower. Well, that’s not true, I knew the reason this memory returned to me there in my leaning, but I was afraid to realize it into words until now.

“If the ultimate tower were to really exist, then that means that the exact number of cliff-racers that flew by has been recorded by the stars that support it. If it did not exist, then their number will forever be forgotten, as I forgot it; rather, as I ignored the bother to count. Now let us say that I saw a number of cliff-racers that was more than three but less than ten. Since I do not recall how many there were, I did not see four or five or six or seven or eight or nine cliff-racers. Instead, I saw not-four, not-five, not-six, not-seven, not-eight, and not-nine cliff-racers. Since not-five can never be a true integer, what I saw was impossible. And since I know what I saw was possible—what is more common in Veloth than a flock of cliff-racers?—I knew my answer: not-five exists, therefore so does CHIM.”

On the nature of Pelinal (09/23/07):

Re: Pelinal, his closest mythical model would be Gilgamesh, with a dash of a T-800 thrown in, and a full-serving of brain-fracture slaughterhouse antinomial (Kill)3 functions stuck in his hand or head. We tend to forgive those heroes.

And thousands of years of Good Coming From Bad, and/or whitewash, ignorance, shame, his Song being read by the Knights merely as fancy rather than right record, etc, might explain the Order's reluctance to villify or apologize for him. Plus, no one wants to gets smothered in their sleep by moths.

That said, I sure would like to read the story of Alkosh whooping Pelinal's ass back to Cyrod when the Whitestrake's pogroms strayed too far into the Dragon-Cat's land.

On Pelinal, again (04/01/08):

Pelinal was and is an insane collective swarmfoam war-fractal from the future, you betcha.

Out of Atmora (07/10/08):

And for the last time (uh huh), Nedes != Atmorans. That's just shoddy scholarship from a bygone regime.

On hyperbole in lore (10/22/08):

"It's difficult to accuse someone of being wrong for asking the theoretical question "Is it possible, as is the case throughout this game, that some of the writings we find are exaggerated"?"

I prefer, "It is very possible, as is the case throughout this magical world, that some of the exaggerated claims made about some subjects pale in comparison to the Monkey Truth. ZOMGWTFGIANTFEATHEREDFLUTYRANTS."

On "Tam! RUGH!" (09/09/09):

In any case, it's the True name of the world.

Imagine an ape (Marukh) struggling to say "Tamriel" and you get "Tam! RUGH!"

On the Dunmer going to Solstheim after the destruction of Morrowind (12/06/09):

The largesse of the Nords towards their ancient enemies is one of my favorite ideas coming out of Red Year.

Clarifying the nature of CHIM (01/15/10):

2) M'Aiq, don't forget the hypnogogic part spun along the nature of Tamriel with an admixture of the love of parenthood that would follow. Not the "power"-- the cherishing.

3) To the close dreamers, don't forget the Amaranth. There *is* one step beyond CHIM, but you're right in that it is not godhood. It's the flowering of a statehood where the images you give birth to in your dream-- stolen (?) from first dreamer-- wakes up. Wails knowing free will. And begins to dream in the same way. Children of liberty without end, and then the music lives forever as a pirate radio tuned against the rules of Heaven and the vulgarities of Hell.

Yeah, like that, but, crap, it just shattered and now I need my morning coffee because I have to work.

Still, no wonder some called Him the Doom Drum.

The Sunbirds of Alinor (02/01/10):

They're not ships, they're actual birds.

Well, okay, really big birds made out of the sun.

On Cyrus (06/27/10):

The weirdest thing-- and this is no joke-- I inexplicably pulled out the PGE Thursday night to read it. FOR NO REASON. I got all nostalgic and went, Hmm, the reason Cyrus is so fun is that he actually inhabits this world as the common man with an uncommon profession, i.e. adventuring. He doesn't question the world's weirdness, as that notion would never occur to him. It's just his world and he works with it. And not in the Doctor Who fashion, where of course he works with it, no matter how crazy, because Doctor Who is a Chaotic Fun crazy junkie who actively seeks out such situations (and God bless him for it). Cyrus "just" lives in Tamriel and, while he can get confused, baffled, angry at, or one-upped by its magical nature, he's not adventuring to test those boundaries or, hell, even find them. Where's the money in that?

Yes, Cyrus' level-headedness is a useful cypher, but I was there when he was created, and his character wasn't consciously infused with that literary device in mind. (At least not towards the magical hijinx; he was definitely used that way for the political stuff.) So then I went, Hmm, all future stories told about Cyrus need to be careful not to use him solely for that utility, or risk him becoming a gimmick.

So, of course, the next thought was: "Screw that, what if Cyrus just fought everyone in Tamrielic history?" which completely ran contrary to all my analysis. Cuz it just works like that.

The Direnni Tower (07/11/10)

Start here:

"A recent archaelogical study [of Direnni Tower], using the latest techniques of divination and sorcery, has pushed the Tower's construction date back to around ME2500, making it by far the oldest known structure in Tamriel. Although it has been much modified and added on to over the years, its core is a smooth cylinder of shining metal; the Tower is believed to extend at least as far beneath the surface as is now visible above, although its deepest bowels have never been systematically explored."

Sounds like a scroll case. A big one, mind you, but maybe that's because a spaceship, too.

Writing the Elder Scrolls (08/27/10)

You misinterpret the meaning of what Elder Scrolls are in the colloquial Tamrielic. When taken in this context, to "write an Elder Scroll" is "to make history".

A deeper meaning is meant, too, but not very many laymen bother with that. Until a prophecy is fulfilled, the true contents of an Elder Scoll are malleable, hazy, uncertain. Only by the Hero's action does it become True. The Hero is literally the scribe of the next Elder Scroll, the one in which the prophecy has been fulfilled into a fixed point, negating its precursor.

Also, Martin mantled Akatosh and dragon-[censored] Dagon silly, so his outlook on time in quite unlike our own. In fact, he said those words during the dragon-[censored] fight and you only remembered them later, a comforting memory that the Jills mended back into your timeline.

Yes.

How does one eat the world? (01/18/11)

When you consider a place like Tamriel, sometimes it's best to take titles literally. Alduin is the World-Eater. It's not going to be "the end of all *life* as we know it," leaving a barren wasteland of Earthbone dirt... it's going to be the whole of Nirn inside his mighty gullet.

"None shall survive" has been a calling card for awhile, but that was only a hint to the more extensive "Nothing will survive."

Unless, of course, there's a loophole. Say, something like the someone called the Dovakhiin happening to show up..."born under uncertain stars to uncertain parents." (An aside for extra credit: what in the Aurbis makes the Prisoner such a powerful mythic figure?)

The Eight Limbs (and their Missing Ninth) have always, always made sure there was a loophole. Sometimes to their detriment, sure, but more often a hedged bet to ensure the survival of the current kalpa.

Then again:

Alduin's shadow was cast like carpetflame on east, west, south, and north...[he was] epoch eater. For as far as any man's eyes, only High Hrothgar remained above the churning coils of dragon stop.

And Alduin said, "Ho ha ho."

It's obviously happened before, so sabers sharp, and may your varliance shine bright.

Landfall and the Infernal City (01/25/11)

The Landfall != the associated events of The Infernal City.

Totally different thing. When Landfall happens, you guys will do a spit-take like Bail Organa did when the Death Star showed up above Alderaan.

Amaranth (02/16/11)

We haven't seen a fleshed-out alternative to CHIM to support something more preferable, but I promised a long while back to provide one. We'll see.

I will say that, CHIM or not, there is no evidence that either Talos nor Vehk achieved Amaranth. If they did, Tamriel would be in their rearview mirror. The Amaranth deserves its own topic, really. Its core concept is the most divisive among the mystics, in my opinion.

A Yoku god (04/28/11)

N'awyadin-It - Yokudan God of Expression Alarm. Revered in word frequently among the funnier-masked castes.

Is Tall Papa Magnus? - nope (04/28/11)

Tall Papa as Magnus?

Syrsly?

Think raga. Then think of the various ways the Sun would affect the Weather/Eyeball/BodyClock/Agriculture/TheShineOfASingleDewdropBeforeAnImportantDuel.

Just how many gods would you have to govern acknowledge those?

The origin of Minotaurs (02/26/12)

Minotaurs are the issue of Alessia and Mor Breath-of-Kyne.

What were the Void Nights? (03/02/12)

Eugenics experiment. With a side dish of "don't [censored] with us."

 

Title: Re: Random TES lore thread
Post by: Umbra on September 19, 2014, 05:23:30 pm

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Almalexia had changed. Those few who still saw her noticed that she had begun to act more like a warrior queen than the Lady of Mercy. Those closest to her knew that she had turned into a whole different person, one who was obsessed with maintaining power at the expense of everything else.

In lieu of divine power, Almalexia exploited her knowledge of ancient and powerful relics to inflict terrible punishments on her people for what she perceived as their lack of faith, such as by using Dwemeri machinery to cover her capital city in ash storms. But in her madness, she concocted a new goal: to become the one true god of the Dunmer, uniting all of her people under one faith and authority - and destroying any who interfered.

When the Nerevarine came to Mournhold after Dagoth Ur's fall in 3E 427, Almalexia sought to trick, entrap, and destroy him as part of this plot. She first turned on Sotha Sil and slew him in his Clockwork City, then unleashed its mechanical inhabitants into her own city in order to frame her old friend. Her ruse lured the Nerevarine to Sotha Sil's legendary home, where she hoped that the reincarnation of her husband would be killed by the inhabitants. When the Nerevarine persevered, Almalexia tried to finish the job herself. But her powers failed her, and she died at the Nerevarine's hand in the Clockwork City.

Though Almalexia would call Vivec a fool in her final hours, Vivec, the last remaining Tribune, only held pity for his fallen, deranged lover.
By 4E 201, the last vestiges of Almalexia's marks were gone from Mournhold. The Dunmer returned to the veneration of Boethiah, now called one of the "Reclamations", and managed to make their way without their Healing Mother watching over them. Almalexia is still remembered and honored as one of the greater saints of the Dunmeri faith, but not one who was ever supposed to be one of the cornerstones of the religion.

According to Azura, the death of Almalexia was a boon for all of Morrowind, even if the people didn't understand it at the time. The Daedric Prince professed that the Lady of Mercy would have betrayed the Dunmer as surely as she had betrayed all those she loved, for this was her true curse.

Title: Re: Random TES lore thread
Post by: Angantyr on September 19, 2014, 05:38:33 pm

Death of the Mother Goddess, Face-Snaked, mourned by the Nerevarine, once his queen and spouse:

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Title: Re: Random TES lore thread
Post by: Digglez on September 19, 2014, 06:52:29 pm

Between betas and waiting for release I watched these to get my EOS fix, quite good actually.  Definitely made many of the quest lines more interesting since I knew the backstory.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d0Od2lbw9N4&list=PL7pGJQV-jlzCPBUy9uAXQUXZ4UBaDLKS5  Season 1
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uZjneISs-vA&list=PL7pGJQV-jlzB-qocScD0wPA5twwi1IM5p   Season 2

Title: Re: Random TES lore thread
Post by: Angantyr on September 19, 2014, 07:03:28 pm

The Elder Scrolls Lore Series are of acceptable quality but ShoddyCast's presentation of (and use of Skyrim models for) Morrowind lore doesn't do the source material justice.

Title: Re: Random TES lore thread
Post by: Oberyn on September 19, 2014, 07:42:18 pm

http://elderscrolls.wikia.com/wiki/The_Lusty_Argonian_Maid

Title: Re: Random TES lore thread
Post by: Umbra on September 20, 2014, 12:05:41 pm

Lymdrenn Telvanni's Journal (The extent of Telvanni destruction is disputed)

Brandyl,
I hope this text of your father's last words finds its way to your hands. I served House Telvanni as a wet nurse during your first months of life and wanted to repay your father's kindness. I've done all I can to locate you, but I regret that we'll never meet face-to-face. Hidyra Olen.

4E 6 Second Seed, Middas

Is this the end of all things? Are we to die by the cruel barbed blades of the Argonian invasion force? After surviving the Red Year, struggling to dig from the ash and the rubble, and burying the thousands that died, is this to be our epitaph? The irony of our demise glows brighter than Masser on the summer solstice. We brought this upon ourselves; the Argonians simply answering a rallying cry incited by a millennia of suffrage imposed by my kind. And so here I sit, in the crumbling basement of our family home while a thousand booted feet echo above me and the screams of the dying find their way to my ears. So falls House Telvanni.

But then I look into the eyes of this child, this blessing given to us the very year that Vvardenfell spouted its fiery death across the land; this gift I hold my grasp. Is it too much to wish he be given the chance to survive and keep our memories alive? This small boy born in the midst of chaos and destruction must carry on. If nothing else, as a reminder to the other dunmer that the Telvanni were once a proud and noble people.

Since the death of my wife, I haven't been able to bring myself to give my son a proper name. It never felt right without her. But my own life reaches its final hours as the luxury of time is escapes my embrace. I name him now: Brandyl, son of Lymdrenn and sole living heir to House Telvanni. I will wrap him in his t'lonya, his birthing swaddle and leave his fate to Azura's will.

Live with virtue and pride, sera.



In The Elder Scrolls V: Dragonborn, it is revealed that members of House Telvanni have settled on the island of Solstheim, led by Neloth from The Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind. This contradicts Lymdrenn Telvanni who said that the house is destroyed. Neloth also states that the Telvanni still have their holdings, which is also a contradiction to what Lymdrenn said about the house being destroyed.

Title: Re: Random TES lore thread
Post by: Leesin on September 21, 2014, 02:44:02 pm

Steal everything

Title: Re: Random TES lore thread
Post by: Gnjus on September 21, 2014, 03:49:57 pm

visitors can't see pics , please register or login

Title: Re: Random TES lore thread
Post by: Umbra on September 22, 2014, 10:24:16 pm

The Alik'r
by Enric Milres
A description of time spent in the Alik'r Desert


visitors can't see pics , please register or login


I might never have gone to the Alik'r Desert had I not met Weltan in a little tavern in Sentinel. Weltan is a Redguard poet whose verse I had read, but only in translation. He chooses to write in the old language of the Redguards, not in Tamrielic. I once asked him why.

"The Tamrielic word for the divinely rich child of rot, silky, pressed sour milk is ... cheese," said Weltan, a huge smile spreading like a tide over his lampblack face. "The Old Redguard word for it is mluo. Tell me, if you were a poet fluent in both languages, which word would you use?"

I am a child of the cities, and I would tell him tales of the noise and corruption, wild nights and energy, culture and decadence. He listened with awed appreciation of the city of my birth: white-marbled Imperial City where all the citizenry are convinced of their importance because of the proximity of the Emperor and the lustration of the streets. They say that a beggar on the boulevards of the Imperial City is a man living in a palace. Over spiced ale, I regaled Weltan with descriptions of the swarming marketplace of Riverhold; of dark, brooding Mournhold; of the mold-encrusted villas of Lilmoth; the wonderful, dangerous alleys of Helstrom; the stately avenues of grand old Solitude. For all this, he marvelled, inquired, and commented.

"I feel as if I know your home, the Alik'r Desert, from your poems even though I've never been there." I told him.
"Oh, but you don't. No poem can express the Alik'r. It may prepare you for a visit far better than the best guide book can. But if you want to know Tamriel and be a true citizen of the planet, you must go and feel the desert yourself."
It took me a little over a year to break off engagements, save money (my greatest challenge), and leave the urban life for the Alik'r Desert. I brought several books of Weltan's poems as my travel guide.

"A sacred flame rises above the fire, The ghosts of great men and women without names, Cities long dead rise and fall in the flame, The Dioscori Song of Revelation, Bursting walls and deathless rock, Fiery sand that heals and destroys."
These first six lines from my friend's "On the Immortality of Dust" prepared me for my first image of the Alik'r Desert, though they hardly do it justice. My poor pen cannot duplicate the severity, grandeur, ephemera and permanence of the Alik'r.
All the principalities and boundaries the nations have placed on the land dissolve under the moving sand in the desert. I could never tell if I was in Antiphyllos or Bergama, and few of the inhabitants could tell me. For them, and so it came to me, we were simply in the Alik'r. No. We are part of the Alik'r. That is closer to the philosophy of the desert people.

I saw the sacred flame of which Weltan wrote on my first morning in the desert: a vast, red mist that seemed to come from the deep mystery of Tamriel. Long before the noon sun, the mist had disappeared. Then I saw the cities of Weltan. The ruins of the Alik'r rise from the sand by one blast of the unbounded wind and are covered by the next. Nothing in the desert lasts, but nothing dies forever.

At daylight, I hid myself in tents, and thought about the central character of the Redguards that would cause them to adopt this savage, eternal land. They are warriors by nature. As a group, there are none better. Nothing for them has worth unless they have struggled for it. No one fought them for the desert, but the Alik'r is a great foe. The battle goes on. It is a war without rancor, a holy war in the sense the phrase should always imply.
By night, I could contemplate the land itself in its relative serenity. But the serenity was superficial. The stones themselves burned with a heat and a light that comes not from the sun, nor the moons Jone and Jode. The power of the stones comes from the beat of the heart of Tamriel itself.
Two years I spent in the Alik'r.

As write this, I am back in Sentinel. We are at war with the kingdom of Daggerfall for the possession of a grass-covered rock that belongs to the water of the Iliac Bay. All my fellow poets, writers, and artists are despondent for the greed and pride that brought these people into battle. It is a low point, a tragedy. In the words of Old Redguard, an ajcea, a spiral down.

Yet, I cannot be sorrowful. In the years I spent in the glories of the Alik'r, I have seen the eternal stones that live on while men go dead. I have found my inner eye in the tractless, formless, changeless and changeable land. Inspiration and hope, like the stones of the desert, are eternal though men be not.

Title: Re: Random TES lore thread
Post by: Umbra on November 14, 2014, 10:12:12 am

Bone
by Tavi Dromio
Tale told of the invention of bonemold armor

Part 1:

“It seems to me,” said Garaz, thoughtfully looking into the depths of his flin. “That all great ideas come from pure happenstance. Take for instance, the story I told you last night about my cousin. If he hadn't fallen off that horse, he never would have become one of the Empire's foremost alchemists.”
It was late one Middas night at the King's Ham, and the regulars were always especially inclined toward philosophy.

“I disagree,” replied Xiomara, firmly but politely. “Great ideas and inventions are most often formed slowly over time by diligence and hard work. If you'll recall my tale from last month, the young lady -- who I assure you is based on a real person -- only recognized her one true love after she had slept with practically everyone in Northpoint.”
“I put it to you that neither is the case,” said Hallgerd, pouring a topper on his mug of greef. “The greatest inventions are created by extraordinary need. Must I remind you of the story I told some time ago about Arslic Oan and the invention of bonemold?”

“The problem with your theory is that your example is entirely fictional,” sniffed Xiomara.

“I don't believe I remember the story of Arslic Oan and the invention of bonemold,” frowned Garaz. “Are you sure you told us?”

“Well, this happened many, many, many years ago, when Vvardenfell was a beauteous green land, when Dunmer were Chimer and Dwemer and Nord lived together in relative peace when they weren't trying to kill one another,” Hallgerd relaxed in his chair, warming to his theme. “When the sun and moons all hung in the sky together--“

“Lord, Mother, and Wizard!” grumbled Xiomara. “If I'm going to be forced to hear your ridiculous story again, pray don't embellish and make it any longer than it has to be.”
This all happened in Vvardenfell quite some time ago (said Hallgerd, ignoring Xiomara's interruption with admirable restraint) during an era of a king you would never have heard of. Arslic Oan was one of this king's nobles and very, very disagreeable fellow. Because of his allegiance to the crown, the king had felt the need to grant him a castle and land, but he didn't necessarily want him as a neighbor so the land he granted was far from civilization. Right in an area of Vvardenfell that is, even today, not quite civilized to this day. Arslic Oan built a walled stronghold and settled down with his unhappy slaves to enjoy a quiet if somewhat grim life.

It was not long before his stronghold's integrity was tested. A tribe of cannibalistic Nords had been living in the valley for some time, mostly dining on one another, but occasionally foraging what they liked to call dark meat, the Dunmer.

Xiomara laughed with appreciation. “Marvelous! I don't remember that from before. It's funny how you don't hear much about the Nords' rampant cannibalism nowadays.”
This was obviously, as I've said, quite some time ago (said Hallgerd, glaring at part of his audience with civil malevolence) and things were in many ways quite different. These cannibalistic Nords began attacking Arslic Oan's slaves in the fields, and then slowly grew bolder, until they held the very stronghold itself under siege. They were quite a fearsome sight you can imagine: a horde of wild-eyed men and women with dagger-like teeth filed to tear flesh, wielding massive clubs, cloaked only in the skins of their victims.

Arslic Oan assumed that if he ignored them, they'd go away.

Unfortunately, the first thing that the Nords did was to poison the stream that carried water into the walled stronghold. All the livestock and most of the slaves died very quickly before this was discovered. There was no hope of rescue, at least for several months when the king's emissaries would come reluctantly to visit the disagreeable vassal. The next closest source of water was on the other side of the hill, so Arslic Oan sent three of his slaves with empty jugs to bring some back.

They were beaten with clubs and eaten before they were a few feet outside the stronghold gates. The next group he sent through he gave sticks to defend themselves. They made it a few feet farther, but were also overwhelmed, beaten, and devoured. It was obvious that better personal defensive was required. Arslic Oan went to talk to his armorer, one of his few slaves with specific talents and duties.

“The slaves need armor if they're going to make it to the river and back,” he said. “Collect every scrap of steel and iron you can find, every hinge, knife, ring, cup, everything that isn't needed to keep the walls sturdy, smelt it, and give me the most and the best armor you can, very, very quickly.”

The armorer, whose name was Gorkith, was used to Arslic Oan's demands, and knew that there could be no compromise on the quality and quantity of the armor, or the speed at which he worked. He labored for thirty hours without a break - and, recall, without any water to slake his thirst as he struggled with the kiln and anvil - until finally, he had six suits of mixed-metal armor.

Six slaves were chosen, clad in the armor, and sent with jars to collect river water. At first, the mission progressed well. The Nord attacked the armored slaves with their clubs, but they continued their march forward, warding off the blows. Gradually, however, the slaves seemed to be walking uncertainly, dazed by the endless barrage. Eventually, one by one, they fell, the armor was peeled from their bodies, and they were eaten.

“The slaves couldn't move quickly enough in that heavy armor you made,” said Arslic Oan to Gorkith. “I need you to collect all the cadavers of the poisoned livestock, strip their skin, and give me the most and the best leather armor you can, very, very quickly.”

Gorklith did as he was told, though it was a particularly repulsive task given the rancid state of the livestock. Normally it takes quite a time to treat and cure leather, so I understand, but Gorklith worked at it tirelessly, and in a half a day he had twelve suits of leather armor.

Twelve slaves were chosen, clad in the armor, and sent with jars to collect river water. They progressed, at first, much better than the earlier expedition. Two fell almost immediately, but the others had some luck out-maneuvering their assailants while deflecting an occasional blow of the club. Several got to the river, three were able to fill up their jars, and one fellow very nearly made it back to the stronghold gates. Alas, he fell and was eaten. The Nords possessed a remarkably healthy appetite.

“What we need before I completely run out of slaves,” said Arslic Oan thoughtfully to Gorkith. “Is an armor sturdier than leather but lighter than metal.”

The armorer had already considered that and taken stock of the materials available. He had thought about doing something with stone or wood, but there were practical problems with demolishing more of the stronghold. The next most prevalent stuff present in the stronghold was skinned dead bodies, hunks of muscle, fat, blood, and bone. For six hours, he toiled relentlessly until he produced eighteen suits of bonemold, the first ones ever created. Arslic Oan was somewhat dubious at the sight (and smell) but he was very thirsty, and willing to sacrifice another eighteen slaves if necessary.
“Might I suggest,” Gorklith queried tremulously, “Having the slaves practice moving about in the armor, here in the courtyard, before sending them to face the Nords?”

Arslic Oan coolly allowed it, and for a few hours, the slaves wandered about the stronghold courtyard in their suits of bonemold. They grew used to the give of the joints, the rigidity of the backplate, the weight pushed onto their shoulders and hips. They discovered how to plant their feet slightly askew to keep their balance steady; how to quickly turn, pivoting without falling down; how to break into a run and stop quickly. By the time they were sent out of the castle gates, they were easily very nearly almost amateurs in the use of their medium weight armor.
Seventeen of them were killed and eaten, but one made it back with a jar of water.

“It's perfect nonsense,” said Xiomara. “But my point is still valid even so. Like all great inventors, even in fiction, the armorer worked diligently to create the bonemold.”
“I think there was a good deal of happenstance as well,” frowned Garaz. “But it is an appalling story. I wish you hadn't told me.”
“If you think that's appalling,” grinned Hallgerd. “You should hear what happened next.”

Title: Re: Random TES lore thread
Post by: Umbra on November 14, 2014, 10:13:47 am

Part 2:

“What do you mean the story gets more appalling?” Garaz was incredulous. “How in Boethiah's name could it get more appalling?”
“It's a ruse,” Xiomara scoffed, ordering two more mugs of greef and a glass of flin for Garaz. “How much worse can a tale get which prominently features cannibalism, abuse of slaves, and the regular placement of rotting animal carcasses?”

“Don't you dare dare me,” growled Hallgerd, annoyed by his listeners' lack of appreciation of his prose styling. “Remind me where we were?”

“Arslic Oan is the owner of a stronghold under siege by savage, cannibalistic Nords,” said Xiomara, keeping a straight face. “After a lot of deaths and several unsuccessful attempts to get water, he had his armorer with the unlikely name of Gorkith outfit his slaves with the first ever bonemold armor. One of them finally makes it back with some water.”

It was only one jarful of water (said Hallgerd, pulling back in his chair and continuing the tale), and Arslic Oan drank most of it, passing the remains to his dear armorer Gorkith and the last dribbles to the few dozen slaves who still lived. It was hardly enough to sustain health and well-being. Another expedition was necessary, but they had only one suit of bonemold left, as there was only one survivor of the trip.
“One out of eighteen slaves made it through the gauntlet of Nords wearing that marvelous bonemold armor of yours,” said Arslic Oan to Gorkith. “And one can only carry back enough water for one.

 Therefore, mathematically, as we have, counting you and me, fifty-six remaining people at the stronghold, we need armor for fifty-four. Since we already have one, you only need to make fifty-three to make the total. That way, three will make it back, with enough water for you and me and whoever's in the best condition to partake. I don't know what we'll do after that, but if we wait, we won't have enough slaves to fetch even a couple days' worth of water.”

“I understand,” whimpered Gorkith. “But how am I going to make the armor? I used all the livestock bones to make the first batch of bonemold.”

Arslic Oan gave an order which Gorkith fearfully complied with. In eighteen hours -
“What do you mean 'Arslic Oan gave an order which Gorkith fearfully complied with'?” asked Xiomara. “What was the order?”

“All will be clear,” smiled Hallgerd. “I have to chose what to reveal and what to conceal. Such is the way of the tale teller.”

In eighteen hours, Gorkith had fifty-three suits of bonemail (said Hallgerd, continuing, not really minding the interruption) prepared for the slaves. Without prompting, he ordered the slaves to practice using the armor, and even allowed them more training time than their predecessors. They not only learned how to move and stop quickly in bonemold, but how to adjust their peripheral vision to see a blow before it came, and to sway to dodge, and where the sturdiest reinforcement points on the arm were -- the center of the chest and the abdomen -- and how to position themselves to take blows there, against their natural instincts. The slaves even had time for a mock battle before being sent out among the cannibals.

The slaves handled themselves admirably. Very few, just fifteen slaves, were killed and eaten out right. Only ten were killed and eaten when they reached the river. That was when things did not go according to Arslic Oan's plans. Twenty-one slaves with jars of water took off for the hills. Only eight returned to the castle, largely because they were blocked by the cannibal Nords. It was a larger percentage than he had anticipated surviving, but Arslic Oan felt righteous indignation at the paucity of loyalty.

“Are you absolutely certain you wouldn't rather flee?” he hollered from the battlements.

Finally, he allowed the survivors in. Three had been killed waiting for the gate to open. Two more died almost upon stepping into the courtyard. One was delirious, walking around in circles, laughing and dancing before suddenly collapsing. That meant five jars of water for four people, the two surviving slaves, Arslic Oan, and Gorkith. As the lord of the manor, Arslic Oan took the extra jar, but he was democratic with the others.

“You're quite correct,” frowned Garaz. “This story is getting more and more appalling.”
“Just wait,” smiled Hallgerd.

The next morning (Hallgerd continued) Arslic Oan awoke to a perfectly still and quiet stronghold. There was no murmuring in the corridors, no sound of hard labor in the courtyard. He dressed and surveyed the scene. It appeared that the fortress was utterly deserted. Arslic Oan walked down to the armorer's quarters, but the door was locked.

“Open up,” said Arslic Oan, patiently. “We need to speak. Thirty out of fifty-four slaves successfully made it to the river and gathered water. Admittedly, some then fled, and a couple didn't survive because I needed to correct their fickleness, but mathematically, that's a fifty-five percent survival rate. If you and I and the two remaining slaves made the next run to the river, we two should survive.”
“Zilian and Gelo left last night with their armor,” cried Gorklith through the door.

“Who are Zilian and Gelo?”
“The two remaining slaves! They don't remain anymore!”
“Well, that's vexing,” said Arslic Oan. “Still we must continue on. Mathematically--“
“I heard something last night,” whimpered Gorklith in a funny voice. “Like footsteps, only different, and they were moving through the walls. And there were voices too. They sounded strange, like they couldn't move their jaws very well, but I knew one.”
Arslic Oan sighed, humoring his poor armorer: “And who was it?”
“Ponik.”
“And who is Ponik?”

“One of the slaves that died when the Nords poisoned our water. One of the many, many slaves that died, and we made use of. He was always a nice, uncomplaining fellow, that's why I noticed his voice above all the others,” Gorklith began to sob. “I understood what he was saying.”
“Which was what?” asked Arslic Oan with a sigh.

“'Give me back my bones!'” Gorklith's voice shrieked. There was silence for a moment, and then more hysterical sobbing.
“I saw that coming,” laughed Xiomara.
There was nothing more to be done with the armorer for the time being (said Hallgerd, a trifle annoyed at the regular interruptions), so Arslic Oan stripped one of the dead slaves of his suit of bonemold and put it on. He practiced in the courtyard, impressing himself with his natural comfortably with medium weight armor. For hours, he boxed, feinted, dodged, sprinted, skipped, jumped, and generally cavorted about.

 When he felt tired, he retired to the shade and took a nap.

The sound of the king's trumpet woke him with a start. Night had fallen, and for a moment, he thought he had been dreaming. Then the alarum sounded again, far in the distance, but clear. Arslic Oan leapt to his feet and ran to the ramparts. Several miles away, he could see the emissaries and their vast and well-armed escort approach. They were there early! The cannibal Nords below looked at one another with consternation. Savages they might be, but they knew when a superior force was approaching.
Arslic Oan joyously dashed down the stairs to Gorklith's chamber. The door was still locked. He beat on it, cajoling, demanding, threatening. Finally, he found a key, one of the few scraps of metal that had not been smelted days before.
Gorklith appeared to be sleeping, but as Arslic Oan approached, he noticed that the armorer's mouth and eyes were wide open and his arms were folded unnaturally behind his back. On closer inspection, the armorer was obviously dead. What was more, his face and whole body were sunken, like an empty pig's bladder.

Something moved through the walls, like a footfall only... squishy. Arslic Oan expertly and gracefully turned to face it, completely in balance.

At first, it seemed like nothing more than a bubble expanding through one of the cracks in the stone. As more of the flesh-colored gelatinous matter emerged, it more clearly resembled part of a face. A flaccid, almost shapeless face with a low brow and a slack, toothless jaw. The rest of the body oozed out of the crack, a soft bag of muscle and blood. Behind Arslic Oan and to the side, there was more movement, more slaves welling up through the cracks in the stone. They were all around him, reaching out.

“Give us,” moaned Ponik, his tongue rolling about his hanging jaw. “Give us back our bones.”
Arslic Oan began to rip off his bonemold, throwing it to the floor. A hundred figures, more, pooled into the small chamber.
“That's not enough.”

The cannibals had cleared away by the time the king's emissaries arrived at Arslic Oan's gates. They had not been looking forward to this visit. It was best, they though [sic] philosophically, to begin with the worst of the king's noblemen, so to end their trip well. They sounded the alarum once again, but the gates did not open. There was no sound from Arslic Oan's stronghold.
It took a few hours to gain access. If the emissaries had not brought a professional acrobat with them for entertainment, it might have taken longer. The place seemed to be abandoned. They searched every room, until finally they came to the armorer's.

There they found the master of the manor, folded neatly, legs behind his head, arms behind the legs, like a fine gown. Not a bone in his body.
“The first part of your story was complete nonsense,” cried Xiomara. “But now it doesn't hold true on any level. How could bonemold be made again if the armorer who invented it died before he could tell anyone how he did it?”

“I said that this was the first time it was created, not the first time people learned the craft.”

“And when did someone first teach someone else the craft?” asked Garaz.

“That, my friends,” replied Hallgerd with a sinister smile. “Is a tale for another night.”

Title: Re: Random TES lore thread
Post by: Latvian on November 14, 2014, 10:14:29 am

tl dr

Title: Re: Random TES lore thread
Post by: lombardsoup on November 14, 2014, 10:14:55 am

in b4 the lusty argonian maid and the sultry argonian bard

Title: Re: Random TES lore thread
Post by: Umbra on November 14, 2014, 10:56:02 am

Quote from: lombardsoup on November 14, 2014, 10:14:55 am

in b4 the lusty argonian maid and the sultry argonian bard

Quote from: Oberyn on September 19, 2014, 07:42:18 pm

http://elderscrolls.wikia.com/wiki/The_Lusty_Argonian_Maid

You are too late

Title: Re: Random TES lore thread
Post by: Dezilagel on November 14, 2014, 04:51:51 pm

Quote from: HESKEYTIME on November 14, 2014, 12:58:39 pm

TES lore of mystery, if children cannot die why are the lands so sparsely populated? A land of zero infant mortality.

Thye cannot die, but can still be launched into orbit. Duh.

Ez pz lemon squeezy

Title: Re: Random TES lore thread
Post by: Clockworkkiller on November 14, 2014, 08:51:53 pm

Quote from: Oberyn on September 19, 2014, 07:42:18 pm

http://elderscrolls.wikia.com/wiki/The_Lusty_Argonian_Maid

Ain't got nuffin on the stuff found in the first two games:


"What sort of test?"
"Ah," Therris said. "Payment first, sweet thing." He put an arm around her, leaned over and kissed her, thrusting his tongue deep into her mouth and his free hand into her shirt.
"Nice," he said presently, withdrawing his tongue, but not his hand. His other hand slid down inside her waistband and fondled her buttocks.
"Let's go upstairs. We can use my room," Barenziah felt both embarassed and excited by his boldness.
Therris grinned insolently. "Why bother? You want me, don't you? I'll bet you'd pay me, wouldn't you?"
"No," Barenziah said. She did want him, but not that badly.
"No? Well, a bargain's a bargain and Therris keeps his word. But here. Now." He hiked her skirt up and pulled her onto his lap so she sat astride, facing him. He opened her shirt and pulled it down on her shoulders so that her breasts were exposed.
"Nice pair, kid." She was facing the wall but she could feel the stares of the other patrons. A hush had fallen over the place. Even the bard had stilled. She felt both nausea and a hot burning desire. Her hands released his turgid penis and then it was inside her and she was screaming in both pain and ecstasy. Then everything went black.
When she came to herself again she was sitting beside Therris, who was buttoning her shirt.
"That hurt!" she said indignantly.
"Always does, kid. Didn't anyone ever tell you about Khajiit men? It hurts good though, now doesn't it?"
Barenziah scowled at him. She was still smarting. His penis had tiny little barbs on it.
"Well, the deal's off, if you like," he shrugged.
"No, I didn't say that. Only I prefer privacy, and I want to wait awhile, like a day or so before the next time."
Therris laughed. "You're OK, kid."
Straw was going to kill her, and maybe Therris too. What in Tamriel had possessed her to do such a thing? She cast an anxious look around the room, but the other patrons had lost interest and gone back to their own business. She did not recognize any of them; this wasn't the inn where she lived. With luck it'd be awhile, or never, before Straw found out. But Therris was by far the most exciting and attractive man she'd yet met.

Title: Re: Random TES lore thread
Post by: Umbra on November 19, 2014, 11:54:02 am

The true nature of the orcs

Orcs were born during the latter days of the Dawn Era. History has mislabeled them beastfolk, related to the goblin races, but the Orcs are actually the children of Trinimac, strongest of the Altmeri ancestor spirits. When Trinimac was eaten by the Daedroth Prince Boethiah, and transformed in that foul god's insides, the Orcs were transformed as well.

The ancient name for the Orcs is 'Orsimer,' which means 'The Pariah Folk.' They now follow Malauch, the remains of Trinimac.

Who is Malauch?

He is more commonly know as the Daedroth Prince Malacath, 'whose sphere is the patronage of the spurned and ostracized, the sworn oath, and the bloody curse.' He is not technically a Daedra Lord, nor do the other Daedra recognize him as such, but this is fitting for his sphere. Of old he was Trinimac, the champion of the High Elven pantheon, in some places more popular than Auri-El, who protected them against enemies without and within. When Trinimac and his followers attempted to halt the Velothi dissident movement, Boethiah ate him

. Trinimac's body and spirit were corrupted, and he emerged as Malacath. His followers were likewise changed for the worse. Despised by everyone, especially the inviolate Auri-El, they quickly fled to the northern wastes, near Saarthal. They fought Nords and Chimer for a place in the world, but did not get much. In Skyrim, Malacath is called Orkey, or Old Knocker, and his battles with Ysmir are legendary.

 

Title: Re: Random TES lore thread
Post by: Casimir on November 19, 2014, 01:33:53 pm

What's the matter umbra, someone steal your sweet roll?

Title: Re: Random TES lore thread
Post by: Umbra on November 19, 2014, 01:36:57 pm

No lollygagging

Title: Re: Random TES lore thread
Post by: Casimir on November 19, 2014, 01:50:22 pm

I have, as a matter of fact, fought mudcrabs more fearsome than you.

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Title: Re: Random TES lore thread
Post by: Umbra on November 19, 2014, 03:52:05 pm

What do you want outlander? Lazy fetcher....

Title: Re: Random TES lore thread
Post by: Umbra on December 16, 2014, 10:01:39 am

Was Torygg as bad a king as was claimed? - from Madoradus

One of the main events prior to the Stormcloak Rebellion is Ulfric's murder of High King Torygg. He claimed Torygg was an ineffectual and weak king. But how true is that?

We don't know much about Torygg, but we do know that he is in Sovngarde. Only good warriors and rulers go to Sovngarde, which implies that he is not a bad ruler.

We also know that he worshipped Talos, likely in secret. Elisif, his widow, asks you to deliver his war horn to a shrine of Talos.

Additionally, in Sovngarde, he states that he knew Ulfric would defeat him, but his honour did not allow him to refuse the duel. Would a weakling and a coward truly have faced a powerful combatant like Ulfric?


Lastly, though the Stormcloaks say he was an Imperial lapdog, those who actually knew him, like his court wizard, say he respected Ulfric and would have sided with them if they had so much as asked.

Everything we know about Torygg paints him in a different light than Ulfric would cast him. Not only that, but this last tidbit shows that Ulfric was truly only fighting for his own interests and his own ambition.

In summary- I believe Torygg was a good and brave king who stayed true to his people, but was slandered and murdered by Ulfric Stormcloak, who knew he would not turn down a duel.

Title: Re: Random TES lore thread
Post by: Gnjus on December 16, 2014, 11:00:46 am

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