Do you have five children, Mother?
I’ve heard that you do.
Five children? No, tonight I have four!
Four children, sweet and pure.
Four and no more!

Do you have four children, Mother?
I’ve heard that you do.
Four children? No, tonight I have three!
Three children abed late today.
Three and no more!

Do you have three children, Mother?
I’ve heard that you do.
Three children? No, tonight I have two!
Two children, quiet and shy.
Two and no more!

Do you have two children, Mother?
I’ve heard that you do.
Two children? No, tonight I have one!
One child, singing a song.
One and no more!

Do you have one child, Mother?
I’ve heard that you do.
One child? Please, I have none!
They’re with their father now
And live here no more.

A shallow pool is all I ask
Water for roots
Mist and shadow
Leaves lifting toward the sky

Gentle rain is all I need
Cloak of night
Warmth and rain
Murmurs in the darkness

A shallow pool is all I want
Memories held
Old stories told
Surrounded by children
Who call me their Hist

by Archivist Neleminduure

Background:
How this disease began and spread is a mystery. By gathering information, I hope to resolve the issue.

Argonians appear immune to the flu. This has caused conjecture that they actually introduced the flu to retaliate for years of slavery at the hands of the Dark Elves. These claims have never been proven or disproven, and they require more research.

Mitigation:
Methods that slowed the rapid spread of the flu included burning the belongings of infected people (which, unfortunately, sometimes including burning remaining family members); segregating the sick into ghettos (or walling them up); or putting the diseased onto ships and setting them adrift. Normal curative spells and elixirs were inconsistent in their ability to cure the flu.

Symptoms and Course:
General malaise, loss of appetite, and fatigue begins several hours before an afflicted victim develops other symptoms. The afflicted person’s eyes water constantly. Skin develops a bright red granular rash that does not itch.

Within twenty-four to thirty-six hours, victims suffer nosebleeds, their tears contain blood, and a granular rash spreads over their bodies. At this point, victims develop a deep, raspy cough. Within thirty-six to forty-eight hours, the victims’ coughs produce bloody phlegm.

In most cases, death takes place in as little as seventy-two hours after the initial onset, but some victims have lingered for five to seven days.

Treatment:
When the Knahaten Flu first spread, it seemed unstoppable. No reliable treatment against it has ever been proven.

Ten years ago, a young Redguard named Perizada claimed she’d had a vision from the Divines. She replicated the cure from this dream, testing it on a village scheduled to be razed (together with its inhabitants). Her cure worked, and the village was saved.

The cure required clannfear claws boiled in salt water. The patient would then drink the liquid. The increased trade of actual and purported clannfear claws on the black market caused prices to soar wildly. So many false cures had proven fatal that Perizada’s cure was never officially sanctioned. As Perizada later died of the flu herself, its efficacy was eventually considered dubious at best.

The "Clannfear Cure" has given rise to many other supposed cures, all of which involve boiling something in a liquid and then drinking the result. For the poorest of the population, chicken broth proved not only cheap, but easily obtained. It typically soothed their coughs, which in turn allowed patients to breathe more easily.

Chicken broth is definitely not a guaranteed cure, but it is certainly the most accessible. It is recommended, should this dread disease ever return.

As the granular skin rash was non-irritating, many left it untreated. Those whose rash remained covered—whether in bandages, poultices, or simply clothing—seemed less likely to infect those who attended them. This also accounts for the much slower spread of the disease in colder climates and during winter months.

Have you heard of other cures? If so, please submit your reports directly to me for further investigation.

— 4th of Sun’s Dawn
My latest research project involves plants. What destination is better than Shadowfen? There’s something about this place. The moisture hanging in the air encourages so much growth. I’m sure I’ll find a new species to study.

— 8th of First Seed
I hate rain. It’s rained every day for the past month. The ground is saturated, making it impossible to do any meaningful field studies. Clearly, I chose the wrong time of year to come to Stormhold.

On the bright side, I’ve had time to rearrange the guildhall to suit myself … well, one room of it, at least. I’ve never had this much time or space to myself, especially after the incident at Davon’s Watch. I was so sure. Well, every researcher makes mistakes now and then. It’s part of the process.

— 22nd of First Seed
It’s stopped raining at last.

— 1st of Rain’s Hand
I’ve discovered a remarkable lichen specimen. It’s on the spine of my "Lexicon of Black Marsh Flora."

— 3rd of Rain’s Hand
Wrote to the arch-mage. Requested a new assignment, preferably one in the Alik’r.

By Nalana, Advisor to House Tamrith

I have been tasked with learning everything that I can about the bloodfiends that have been appearing throughout Rivenspire of late. These creatures appear to be exactly the same as other bloodfiends we have examined in the past. But for all their similarities, they have one telling and significant difference—they appear at the beginning of the vampiric cycle instead of at the end.

Instead of appearing at the end of an otherwise long and grueling vampiric gestation period, this process changes ordinary citizens into feral monsters in a frighteningly short amount of time. It’s almost like a fevered blood affliction that burns through individuals at an alarming rate. While not everyone who comes in contact with the catalyst becomes afflicted, those who do either turn into a vampire (rarely) or quickly spiral into the frenzied madness that characterizes all bloodfiends (the most likely outcome).

My investigations suggest that these bloodfiends have a connection to the Argonian Reezal-Jul and Lady Lleraya Montclair. The court magician of House Montclair and the daughter of Baron Wylon Montclair have been leading Montclair troops across Rivenspire—troops that include vampires. There have been rumors of a blood-curse, some sort of foul magic that allows Reezal-Jul and Lleraya to turn ordinary citizens into bloodfiends with nothing but a glance, a wave of a hand, and a few muttered words. Eyewitness reports have been confused, at best, and these claims have yet to be fully verified.

As with other bloodfiends dealt with in the past, the Rivenspire bloodfiends are vampires that have gone insane. Their minds have degraded beyond recovery, and they attack anything that moves with no regard for their own wellbeing. They are feral, violent creatures driven by their carnal lust for bones and blood. This strain of the blood-curse runs its course at an alarmingly rapid pace. I have documented instances of citizens being afflicted and turning feral in mere moments. How Reezal-Jul and Lleraya came by this terrible power is unknown. What is known is that they seem to be Oblivion-bent on helping Baron Montclair conquer the entirety of Rivenspire.

This unusual blood-curse notwithstanding, the bloodfiends operate as all others of their ilk. These wild, ferocious savages can and often do pass their affliction on to their victims. Anyone wounded or killed by a Rivenspire bloodfiend has a significant chance of becoming a bloodfiend, and in a remarkably short period of time.

Until I can gather more information, I can only recommend one course of action concerning the bloodfiends of Rivenspire—they must be destroyed.

By Nalana, Advisor to House Tamrith

In the distant past, the dark and foreboding pinnacle of stone known as the Doomcrag was a place of learning and worship for the Ayleid people. But in recent memory, the place has been known as a haunted peak beyond a treacherous pass of fog and shadow.

Due to the current interest in the often ignored location, Countess Tamrith has asked me to chronicle a few of the legends concerning this forbidden place.

* * *

One dark tale concerns the hero of House Dorell, Brianna the Bold, who traveled to the Shrouded Pass to chase down the bandit lord, Red Rob. Brianna and her troop of knights chased Red Rob all along the northern shore, intent on capturing him and bringing him to justice for his many crimes—including his most recent exploit, the pillaging of a Dorell cargo ship. Unfortunately for Red Rob, the House Baron of the period’s daughter was traveling on the ship when Red Rob and his cohorts attacked it. For injuries and insults, she demanded the head of the brigand and dispatched Brianna the Bold to hunt him down.

By the time Brianna reached the entrance to the Shrouded Pass, all of her knights had been killed or wounded. She was on her own. Luckily for her, Red Rob had not fared any better. He was alone when he plunged into the dense fog to avoid her. Not to be deterred, Brianna was true to her name and boldly charged in after him. It was the last time either Brianna or Red Rob were ever seen again.

But locals claim that on clear, cold nights, when a thin, red mist decorates the jutting shard of rock, you can hear the clash of steel on steel as Brianna and Red Rob continue their epic struggle into eternity.

* * *

Another popular, if somewhat disturbing, legend concerning the Doomcrag tells the tale of the spurned Ayleid lover who pines away at the very apex of the mountain. Rejected by a handsome butler in the service of a noble house, the spurned lover climbed to the top of the Doomcrag and refused to come down. Her friends and family tried everything to cheer her up and make her leave the tower. Distraught and sick at heart, she ignored every plea and word of comfort. And when her pain became unbearable, she leaped from the Doomcrag and crashed into the sea far below.

That, however, was not the end of her sad story, People believe that to this very day, handsome travelers who wander too close to the Doomcrag risk attracting the attention of the spurned Ayleid. They say that her restless spirit swoops down and—pardon the wordplay—spirits away the hapless traveler, carrying him to the top of the mountain to keep him as a pet and plaything. Ultimately, however, even the most-patient captive does something to reject and spurn the Ayleid spirit. On lonely nights, or so the story goes, you can hear the intermingled screams as the Ayleid spirit once again hurls herself into the sea, carrying her latest lover with her to a watery grave.

* * *

But perhaps the most common tale told about the Doomcrag describes the Death That Walks. This particular legend is more a cautionary tale than a scary story with a beginning, a middle, and an end. It says that any who attempt to climb the Shrouded Pass inevitably climb to their deaths. With every step, a year of life is lost. Depending on your age and relative level of health, death might overtake you after only a few steps up into the dense fog. Or, if you’re particularly lucky, you might ascend all the way to the very top—into the rumored relic chamber—before the Death That Walks catches up with you.

Whichever the case, every step brings with it a measure of pain and weakness as you march to your inevitable demise. This legend, more than any other, has kept the Doomcrag shrouded in mystery, for few have been brave enough to test the veracity of this story.

Reveiwing my notes, I can see why Countess Tamrith was frightened of the Doomcrag when she was a young girl. If truth be told, even at my advanced age, these legends frighten me.

To those who seek to understand:

One would surmise that such an elusive and ancient noble house would be averse to publishing its goals in such an accessible manner. However, with the advent of strife upon our homes and allies, I thought it best to clarify our standing for the small-minded.

The first and foremost goal of House Ravenwatch is the destruction of the ancient evil which lies within Rivenspire. It is known by many names: Abagandra, Loradabal, and in contemporary times, the Lightless Remnant. Countless generations of scholars have sought to understand this artifact. There is no understanding to be had—it is a blight upon Mundus and must be cast out.

Secondly, House Ravenwatch seeks to foil the plans of those who wish to make use of the power of the Lightless Remnant. Do not be deceived by Baron Montclair’s rhetoric and so-called patriotic zeal. He has succumbed to the power of the Remnant and seeks to destroy the beautiful land of Rivenspire. We know this because we were with him when the power possessed him.

We prefer the shadows. We prefer to let others lead. But these are desperate times. They call for desperate measures. Know that no matter what Rivenspire must face, you will not face it alone. House Ravenwatch will be by your side. House Ravenwatch stands with Emeric and the good people of Rivenspire.

Verandis, Count of House Ravenwatch

By Lord Wylon, 39th Baron Montclair

The Breton people of the Markwasten Moor and Shornhelm heights have a long and storied history, with much to be proud of: the Trammeling of the Giants in the time of legends; the Purge of the Wyrd-Hags in the Year of Sun’s-Death (which restored Magnus to the skies of the Mundus); and the Charge of the Montclair Knights (often erroneously referred to as the Charge of the Shornhelm Knights) at the Battle of Glenumbria Moors.

Through all this tumultuous history, the people of Rivenspire are fortunate to have been ably led, through times of terror and triumph, by the noble lords of the House of Montclair.

It is true that the Barons of House Montclair have not always been selected by fate to also reign as King of Shornhelm. But the Montclairs count humility among their many virtues, and have often been willing to defer to pretenders with weaker claims to royalty in the interest of peace. That this humility has sometimes been tragically over-indulged was sadly proven in the case of my father—Phylgeon, 38th Baron Montclair.

As all students of Breton history know, the greatest post-Reman monarch of Shornhelm was King Hurlburt, who led our army at the Battle of Granden Tor and ruled the North from 2E 522 until his death in 546. Hurlburt was of House Branquette, 21st Count of the Name, and had taken as his queen Countess Iphilia of Montclair. When King Hurlburt died his legitimate son, Prince Phylgeon, was only fourteen years of age, and though his inheritance was championed by House Montclair, Houses Branquette and Tamrith supported his elder half-brother, Prince Ranser, who had been born out of wedlock to a poor Tamrith cousin. (House Dorell, typically aloof, declined to endorse either candidate.)

What is less well known is the behind-the-scenes maneuvering that led to Ranser being crowned King of Shornhelm rather than Phylgeon. The advisors of the young Baron Montclair (his mother had predeceased King Hurlbut by a mere two years) contended that he, as the legitimate son, was the proper heir to the throne—a claim further buttressed by language in a codicil to the famous "Bretonnick Natalitie" that declared "Howse Mount Clayre" the royal house of Shornhelm. The Council of the North met to consider the various claimants, but during their deliberations the Montclair advisors found that the Bretonnick codicil had gone missing, while Prince Ranser brought forth a suspiciously long-lost Direnni decree that named House Branquette their "Breton Royal Delegates" in Rivenspire.

The vote of the Council was a narrow victory for Prince Ranser, thereafter King Ranser of Shornhelm. Some of Prince Phylgeon’s advisors urged him to fight for the crown, but the young prince declined, preferring to become simply the Baron of Montclair.

Oh, fateful humility! We all know where Phylgeon’s deference led—to the tragic events of 566 and the insurrection against the First Daggerfall Covenant in what is known (to our shame) as Ranser’s War. According to the standard histories, all the noble houses—Montclair, Tamrith, even Dorell—answered King Ranser’s call to muster and marched behind his banner in his fatal war against High King Emeric and the South. What is not generally known is that Count Phylgeon of Montclair was uncertain of the rightness of Ranser’s cause, and offered to both Kings Ranser and Emeric to serve as a peace envoy between the two sides. High King Emeric’s reply has been lost to history, but Ranser’s angry refusal is well known. Once again my father deferred to his elder half-brother, and the Montclair Knights joined Ranser’s doomed army.

In the immediate aftermath of King Ranser’s fall, Rivenspire fell into chaos. The Crown of Shornhelm went missing during the Battle of Traitor’s Tor, and the fateful "Direnni decree" that elevated Ranser to the throne has likewise not been seen since. The death of Ranser was the end of the line of House Branquette, and since then there has been no King of Shornhelm, Rivenspire having been jointly ruled by the triumvirate Council of the North. That body has tried, with the best of intentions, to keep peace and order in the northern counties, but nobody, if they were speaking honestly, would say the Council’s efforts have sufficed. Shornhelm—and the North—need a King.

And why shouldn’t they have one? If I may speak frankly, setting aside, however regretfully, the traditional Montclair mantle of humility, then I must confess that I, Baron Wylon of Montclair, am certainly the legitimate heir to the throne of Shornhelm. My grandfather was King Hurlburt, and I descend from him in the direct and legitimate line of succession, a claim no one else in the North can make. (That also makes me the sole living heir to the domain of the Branquettes, much of which was unfairly parceled out to the Tamriths and Dorells, but no—humility, always humility!)

Furthermore, at this critical juncture I am fortunate to be able to announce that the long-missing Bretonnick Codicil has been found by the Montclair house historian, the operative clause of which I shall quote here:

"… seeing all in order then in Sharn Helm and its Lands Contyguous, the most royale and high … (unintelligible) … appointeth in Perpetuitie sayde Howse Mount Clayre in rulership over … (unintelligible) … and Sharn Helm. So mote it bee."

People of Rivenspire, Baron Wylon of Montclair is prepared to do his duty.

By Sathyr Longleat the Elder

The burial grounds of Westmark Moor, known to many as the Sanguine Barrows, have developed an unsavory reputation among locals over the course of their history. The nobles of Rivenspire have buried their departed beneath the gnarled trees here for as long as anyone alive today remembers, laying relatives to rest among centuries-old crypts that have borne witness to corruption, disputes, theft, and worse.

Many prominent northern nobles inter their dead in Westmark’s cold earth, including the Dorell, Tamrith, and Montclair families. Though some of these houses have produced Kings and Queens of Shornhelm, those deceased do not rest with their relatives here. Instead, they are transported to join the other monarchs of High Rock in the great cemetery of Cath Bedraud in Glenumbra, per long-standing tradition.

Feuds between the houses over the titles to gravesites in the Sanguine Barrows are common. One incident in Mid Year of 2E 551 earned the burial grounds their unfortunate common name. As I recall, it so happened that the Tamrith and Montclair houses both suffered the loss of a family member on the same day. The houses’ claims in the barrows bordered one another and had been a source of strife between them for many years. When both funeral processions arrived one morning on the same hill in front of the same gravesite (a highly desirable one with a view of the river), conflict was inevitable.

The nobles quarreled for hours and sent servants back and forth for documents, titles, and maps with official claims laid out, but neither house could be convinced to step down. As sunset approached, patience was in short supply. The Montclairs and the Tamriths each blame the other, unsurprisingly, for hurling the insult that provoked the houses into drawing steel, and the Bloody Funeral (as it came to be called) that ensued left a black mark on each house’s legacy in the eyes of Rivenspire’s people.

Looting and desecration are likewise common among the Sanguine Barrows. Though the responsibility of patrolling them belongs to the constabulary of Hoarfrost Downs, the lure of riches is sometimes enough to turn a protector into a criminal, or at least enough to turn his head and allow entry to the tombs. More than once, a King or Queen of Shornhelm has ordered a hanging to set an example against such behavior.

Despite these harsh consequences, a new defacement or theft still seems to follow nearly every noble burial. In fact, it has only been a few years since the Tamriths were scandalized when an entire crypt was found empty one morning of everything—bodies and all. The thieves were never found, and as to why they’d take the bodies with their loot, well, we’d all prefer not to think of it.

The Sanguine Barrows have seen more than their share of villainy and conflict throughout the years, and earned their name many times over. I sincerely hope that no more tales of violence or robbery shall need to be added to this record, and that the nobles still buried there may rest peacefully for ages to come.

By Doctor Nabeth al-Gilane, Khefrem Academy of Yokudan Heritage

I scoffed, of course, when I heard the rumors. A lost colony of Redguards on the northern coast of High Rock? Patently absurd. But the rumors were so persistent, so consistent, that eventually I was moved to take a sabbatical from my pedagogic duties at the Academy and travel north to see for myself.

And behold, by the tears of Morwha, it was so! All of the scholarly details will be found in my forthcoming paper "Sevenfold Truths of the Tribe of the Herd-Mother," but I shall summarize the main points here, as I feel this tale is too wondrous to wait upon the slow march of scholarship.

On the northwest coast of the High Rock region of Rivenspire, some leagues west of the city of Shornhelm, is a pastoral basin known as the Vale of Silverhoof. Abiding there, as they have for the past three thousand years, is a tribe of Redguards who go by the simple name of the Horsemen.

How did they get there, and when, and why? Unfortunately the Horsemen have no written records, but their oral traditions are strong, and I have recorded those that have been passed down from one generation to the next. The elders of the tribe were generous with their time, particularly two named Muzar and Yalaida, and from their tales I have been able to piece together the following tentative history.

The Horsemen originally came from Yokuda, of this there can be no doubt. Though they have become unavoidably "Bretonized" over the centuries by contact with the Nedic folk who surround them, they retain a number of Yokudan words in daily speech, all spoken with that drawl in the vowels we associate with the steppes of old Akos Kasaz. A few examples will suffice from their riding terminology: to tell a horse to turn left, the Horsemen say "Netu;" to turn right, "Netu Hu;" and to halt, they say "Selim." Of course, "netu" is Old Yokudan for "turn," while "anselim" means to stop or to cease.

So the Horsemen are of Yokudan descent, most probably from the herding clans of northern Akos Kasaz. The elders of the tribe maintain detailed oral accounts of their genealogy, and from the number of generations they record, it is possible to date their arrival on the shores of Tamriel to the early sixth century of the First Era. This was a period of upheaval in High Rock, when the Direnni Hegemony was in its death throes and the Breton kingdoms were just establishing themselves, a time when a colony of determined settlers could find a niche and establish itself before it could be driven out or absorbed by the indigenes. And according to the tales I heard from Muzar and Yalaida, this is exactly what happened in the Vale of Silverhoof, nearly two centuries before the Ra Gada came to Hammerfell.

Why the Horsemen came to this land is harder to determine, for on that subject their tales veer into the legendary or even mythical. Here I must speak about the tribe’s unorthodox religious beliefs, for they are central to their traditions and identity. For the Horsemen do not worship any of the Old Yokudan gods as we know them, instead venerating a sort of divine animist spirit they call the Herd Mother. This equine entity acts as the tribe’s guiding and protective deity; young Horsemen must commune with her on a vision journey they must partake by themselves that acts as a rite of passage to adulthood (similar to our own tradition of Walkabout). This "Herd Mother" is otherwise unknown to modern scholarship, but of course the vast majority of our cultural records were lost in the cataclysm that swallowed the Old Isles.

The Horsemen’s tradition is that the tribe left lost Yokuda in order to preserve their worship of this Herd Mother, which was somehow endangered in the Old Isles. Their stories describe the journey from Akos Kasaz in a flotilla of "swimming horse-ships" given them by the Herd Mother, in which they "crossed seventeen seas" before reaching Tamriel. We may discount this tale as somewhat fanciful, but the Horsemen claim to have brought their eponymous mounts with them from the Isles, and this I do not doubt. For to the eye of this connoisseur of horseflesh, the steeds of the Horsemen are unmistakably identical to that breed we call the Yokudan Charger, and could have come directly from the Aswala Stables in the Alik’r.