In the Deep Halls, Far from Men

Forsaken Red Mountain, Twisted Kin

Hail the Mind, Hail the Stone

Dwarven Pride, Stronger than Bone

My studies, and this text, have focused heavily on the fact that Dwemer archaeological sites west of Vvardenfell seem to be built at much greater depths than their counterparts near the Red Mountain. I believe there was a specific threshold to which Dwarven excavators would dig before the construction of vital structures began.

I have referred to this threshold as the "geocline," but I have found that to be redundant with the Deep Venue of a colony. Still, there is some variation in the actual depth of a Deep Venue, whereas the geocline is always the marker where I reason the city proper begins.

Tunnels and chambers at more shallow depths, while often grand in their architectural style, appear to have served little in the way of critical civic purpose. Above the geocline, surplus stores of food, warehouse chambers that may have been used in trading with nearby surface settlements, and barracks for topside patrols are common.

These tunnels, I have observed, can meander in a seemingly more random pattern than those planned structures beneath. I hypothesize that this may be due to the unpredictable nature of any excavation, even to a race as clever as the Dwemer. Surely unexpected deposits of stone or geological events could make the effort difficult. I think that these haphazard tunnels are often the result of the search for suitable substratum to build within.

I have found in a small number of ruins referencing a geological anomaly or place known as "Fal’Zhardum Din." This is intriguing because the term not only appears in a few tablet fragments, but also very specifically on ornate metal frames in the deepest reaches of the Alftand, Irkgnthand, and Mzinchaleft strongholds of Skyrim. I have yet to decipher the meaning of these elaborate carvings, but consider it highly strange that they occur in the deepest part of each of these ruin.

The most reasonable translation of "Fal’Zhardum Din" I have managed to decipher is "Blackest Kingdom Reaches," but I cannot imagine what that means.

I suspect there may be some pattern I am failing to notice. This creeping doubt has haunted my career in recent years, and I have begun to doubt if I will unravel some grand secret of the Dwarves in my lifetime, though it lies just under my nose … or under my feet.

Chimarvamidium

By Marobar Sul

After many battles, it was clear who would win the war. The Chimer had great skills in magic and swordplay, but against the armored battalions of the Dwemer clad in the finest shielding wrought by Jnaggo, there was little hope of their ever winning. In the interests of keeping some measure of peace in the Land, Sthovin the Warlord agreed to a truce with Karenithil Barif the Beast. In exchange for the Disputed Lands, Sthovin gave Barif a mighty golem that would protect the Chimer’s territory from the excursions of the Northern Barbarians.

Barif was delighted with his gift and brought it back to his camp, where all his warriors gaped in awe at it. Sparkling gold in hue, it resembled a Dwemer cavalier with a proud aspect. To test its strength, they placed the golem in the center of an arena and flung magical bolts of lightning at it. Its agility was such that few of the bolts struck it. It had the wherewithal to pivot on its hips to avoid the brunt of the attacks without losing its balance, feet firmly planted on the ground. A volley of fireballs followed, which the golem ably dodged, bending its knees and its legs to spin around the blasts. The few times it was struck, it made certain to be hit in the chest and waist, the strongest parts of its body.

The troops cheered at the sight of such an agile and powerful creation. With it leading the defense, the Barbarians of Skyrim would never again successfully raid their villages. They named it Chimarvamidium, the Hope of the Chimer.

Barif had the golem brought to his chambers with all his housethanes. There they tested Chimarvamidium further, its strength, its speed, its resiliency. They could find no flaw with its design.

"Imagine when the naked barbarians first meet this on one of their raids," laughed one of the housethanes.

"It is only unfortunate that it resembles a Dwemer instead of one of our own," mused Karenithil Barif. "It is revolting to think that they will have a greater respect for our other enemies than us."

"I think we should never accepted the peace terms that we did," said another, one of the most aggressive of the housethanes. "Is it too late to surprise the warlord Sthovin with an attack?"

"It is never too late to attack," said Barif, "but what of his great armored warriors?"

"I understand," said Barif’s spymaster, "that his soldiers always wake at dawn. If we strike an hour before, we can catch them defenseless before they’ve had a chance to bathe, let alone don their armor."

"If we capture their armorer Jnaggo, then we too would know the secrets of blacksmith," said Barif. "Let it be done. We will attack tomorrow, an hour before dawn."

So it was settled. The Chimer army marched at night and swarmed into the Dwemer camp. They were relying on Chimarvamidium to lead the first wave, but it malfunctioned and began attacking the Chimer’s own troops. Added to that, the Dwemer were fully armored, well-rested, and eager for battle. The surprise was turned, and most of the high-ranking Chimer, including Karenithil Barif the Beast, were captured.

Though they were too proud to ask, Sthovin explained to them that he had been warned of their attack by a Calling from one of his men.

"What man of yours is in our camp?" sneered Barif.

Chimarvamidium, standing erect by the side of the captured, removed its head. Within its metal body was Jnaggo, the armorer.

"A Dwemer child of eight can create a golem," he explained, "but only a truly great warrior and armorer can pretend to be one."

Little boys shouldn’t summon up the forces of eternal darkness unless they have an adult supervising, I know, I know. But on that sunny night on the 5th of First Seed, I didn’t want an adult. I wanted Hermaeus Mora, the Daedra of knowledge, learning, gums, and varnishes. You see, I was told by a beautiful, large-breasted man who lived under the library in my home town that the 5th of First Seed was Hermaeus Mora’s night. And if I wanted the Oghma Infinium, the Book of Knowledge, I had to summon him. When you’re the new King of Solitude, every bit of knowledge helps.

Normally, you need a witches coven, or a mages guild, or at least matching pillow case and sheets to invoke a prince of Oblivion. The Man Under the Library showed me how to do it myself. He told me to wait until the storm was at its height before shaving the cat. I’ve forgotten the rest of the ceremony. It doesn’t matter.

Someone appeared who I thought was Hermaeus Mora. The only thing that made me somewhat suspicious was Hermaeus Mora, from what I read, was a big blobby multi-eyed clawed monstrosity, and this guy looked like a waistcoated banker. Also, he kept calling himself Sheogorath, not Hermaeus Mora. Still, I was so happy to have successfully summoned Hermaeus Mora, these inconsistencies did not bother me. He had me do some things that didn’t make any sense to me (beyond the mortal scope, breadth, and ken, I suppose), and then his servant happily gave me something he called the Wabbajack. Wabbajack. Wabbajack.

Wabbajack.

Wabbajack. Wabbajack. Wabbajack. Wabbajack. Wabbajack. Wabbajack.

Maybe the Wabbajack is the Book of Knowledge. Maybe I’m smarter because I know cats can be bats can be rats can be hats can be gnats can be thats can be thises. And that doors can be boars can be snores can be floors can be roars can be spores can be yours can be mine. I must be smart, for the interconnective system is very clear to me. Then why or wherefore do people keep calling me mad?

Wabbajack. Wabbajack. Wabbajack.

Fifty Nights from home I last awoke
Upon a sky-flung cliff in Hjaalmarch Hold

Though my flesh had died and gone to ground
My Vision went on, from body unbound

Winking there in the vale whence I came
This dead man’s eyes saw pale flame

Where men the same who took life away
Sung high their battle-glory and praise

Wafting went I, a shade or a wight
Through stoic pines, pitched ink of night

Ere I came upon the pyre-burning throng
I heard carried on wind’s wing their song

"Sing high and clear, bandsmen born of sky
Let Sovngarde hear and join our cry"

"These honored dead shed blood upon the fen
Ending Orc and Elf and traitor Men."

"Your spirit went unto and filled their heart
You sped them to glory, Hail Spirit Wulfharth"

Then oil from urns fed greedy flames
Burning what few my legion and I slayed

Wordlessy they chanted then until dawn
Every flake of ash gathered ere they marched on

Swept along unseen, so too went I
Meekly haunting these Children of the Sky

Tireless they went, over hearth and hill
Exhaustion seemed only to spur them still

Unflagging they went, a whorl of rage
Soon finding our camp, bloated with prey

My dead heart ached for I knew men within
Doomed, never knowing how close was their end

Again the Nord chests swelled up in refrain
I screamed unheard. I wept with horror plain

"Hear us, our ancestor, Ash King, Ysmir
Honor this warband as we to glory repair"

"Those dead to whom you spoke and heard
We bear them upon us, Your valor conferred"

And so it was, to the man each was smeared
With ash of a Brother’s bone, blood and beard

These ashen brutes, the Askelde Men
Set to a gruesome task, each bowstring bent

I bellowed then, a cry of desperate rage
A futile howl among those men, an empty page

Yet one elder turned and unblinking, stared
Into the vapor-soul of me, his nostrils flared

He bellowed ancient words, his beard aflame
And my vision fell away, Peace at last came

And the star sung far-flung tales
Wreathed in the silver of Yokuda fair,
Of a Warrior who, arrayed in hue sails
His charges through the serpent’s snare

And the Lord of runes, so bored so soon,
Leaves the ship for an evening’s dare,
Perchance to wake, the coiled snake,
To take its shirt of scales to wear

And the Lady East, who e’ery beast,
Asleep or a’prowl can rouse a scare,
Screams as her eye, alight in the sky
A worm no goodly sight can bear

And the mailed Steed, ajoins the deed
Not to be undone from his worthy share,
Rides the night, towards scale bright,
Leaving the seasoned Warrior’s care

Then the serpent rose, and made stead to close,
The targets lay plain and there,
But the Warrior’s blade the Snake unmade,
And the charges wander no more, they swear

(a fragment)

– Act IV, Scene III, Continued –

Lifts-Her-Tail: Certainly not, kind sir! I am here but to clean your chambers.

Crantius Colto: Is that all you have come here for, little one? My chambers?

Lifts-Her-Tail: I have no idea what it is you imply, master. I am but a poor Argonian maid.

Crantius Colto: So you are, my dumpling. And a good one at that. Such strong legs and shapely tail.

Lifts-Her-Tail: You embarrass me, sir!

Crantius Colto: Fear not. You are safe here with me.

Lifts-Her-Tail: I must finish my cleaning, sir. The mistress will have my head if I do not!

Crantius Colto: Cleaning, eh? I have something for you. Here, polish my spear.

Lifts-Her-Tail: But it is huge! It could take me all night!

Crantius Colto: Plenty of time, my sweet. Plenty of time.

– End of Act IV, Scene III –

By Quintus Nerevelus
Former Imperial Librarian

After the supposed theft of an Elder Scroll from our Imperial Library, I endeavored to find any sort of index or catalogue of the Scrolls in our possession so that such situations may be avoided (or at least properly verified) in the future. To my dismay, I discovered that the Moth Priests are notoriously inexact when it comes to the actual physical manifestations of the Scrolls, and had no idea how many they held, or how they were organized. Merely asking the question evoked chuckles, as if a child was asking why dogs cannot talk.

I will confess, my jealousy of the ones who can read the Scrolls grows, but I am not yet willing to sacrifice my sight to alleged knowledge. The older Moth Priests I attempt to engage in conversation seem as batty as any other elder who has lost their mind, so I fail to see what wisdom is imparted from the reading.

In any case, I set out to create my own index of the Elder Scrolls, in cooperation with the monks. Day by day, we went through the tower halls, with them telling me the general nature of each Elder Scroll so that I might record its location. Always careful never to glimpse the writings myself, I had only their word to go on. I meticulously drew out a map of the chambers, where Scrolls relating to various specific prophecies were located, where particular periods of history were housed. In all, it took nearly a year of plodding, but at last I had rough notes on the entirety of the library to begin my collation.

It was here that things began to go amiss. In studying my notes, I found many areas of overlap and outright contradiction. In some cases different monks would claim the same scroll to be at opposite ends of the tower. I know they have no taste for jesting, or else I would suspect I was being made the fool in some game of theirs.

I spoke to one of the older monks to relate my concerns, and he hung his head in sorrow for my wasted time. "Did I not tell you," he coughed, "when you started this that all efforts would be futile? The Scrolls do not exist in countable form."

"I had thought you meant there were too many to be counted."

"There are, but that is not the least of their complexities. Turn to the repository behind you, and tell me how many Scrolls are locked therein."

I ran my fingers over the metal casings, tallying each rounded edge that they encountered. I turned back — "Fourteen," I said.

"Hand me the eighth one," he said, reaching out his hand.

I guided the cylinder into his palm, and he gave a slight nod to acknowledge it. "Now, count again."

Humoring him, I again passed my hands over the Scrolls, but could not believe what I was feeling.

"Now … now there are eighteen!" I gasped.

The old monk chuckled, his cheeks pushing up his blindfold until it folded over itself. "And in fact," he said, "there always were."

It was then that I enrolled as the oldest novice ever accepted into the Cult of the Ancestor Moth.

This is a volume of verse collected from wise women of the Urshilaku Ashlanders. It consists of verses composed by Ashlander warriors, champions, and ashkhans, committed to memory by the wise women and transmitted down the generations. "May I shrink to dust" is attributed to the long-dead poet and warrior Zershishi Mus-Manul.

Rise from darkness, Red Mountain!

Spread your dark clouds and green vapors!

Birth earthquakes, shatter stones!

Feed the winds with fire!

Flay the tents of the tribes from the land!

Feed the burned earth with our souls!

Yet never shall you have your rule over me.

Never shall I tremble or flinch from your power.

Never shall I yield my home and hearth.

And from my tears shall spring forth

The flowers of grassland springs.

The following are notes gathered, over the past centuries, of items of unimaginable significance. All have been seen, owned, and lost, again and again throughout Tamriel. Some may be myth, others may be hoax, but regardless, many have lost their lives attempting to find or protect these very coveted items.

Skull Crusher

The Skull Crusher is an amazingly large and powerful weapon. This warhammer was created in a fire, magically fueled by the Wizard, Dorach Gusal, and was forged by the great weaponsmith, Hilbongard Rolamus. The steel is magically hardened and the weight of the weapon is amazingly light, which makes for more powerful swings and deadly blows. The warhammer was to be put on display for a festival, but thieves got it first. The Skull Crusher still travels Tamriel in search of its creators.

Spear of Bitter Mercy

One of the more mysterious artifacts is the Spear of Bitter Mercy. Little to nothing is known about the Spear. There are no recorded histories but many believe it to be of Daedric origin.

Spell Breaker

Spell Breaker, superficially a Dwemer tower shield, is one of the most ancient relics of Tamriel. Aside from its historical importance in the Battle of Rourken-Shalidor, the Spell Breaker protects its wielder almost completely from any spell caster, either by reflecting magics or silencing any mage about to cast a spell. It is said that Spell Breaker still searches for its original owner, and will not remain the property of anyone else for long. For most, possessing Spell Breaker for any length of time is power enough.

Staff of Hasedoki

Hasedoki was said to have been a very competitive wizard. He wandered the land in search for a wizard who was greater than he. To the best of all knowledge, he never found a wizard who could meet up to his challenge. It is said that he felt so lonely and isolated because so many feared his power, that he bonded his life-force into his very own staff, where his soul remains to this very day. Magic users all over Tamriel have been searching for this magical staff. Granting its wielder a protection of magicka, it is a sure prize for any magic user.

Staff of Magnus

The Staff of Magnus, one of the elder artifacts of Tamriel, was a metaphysical battery of sorts for its creator, Magnus. When used, it absorbs an enemy’s health and mystical energy. In time, the Staff will abandon the mage who wields it before he becomes too powerful and upsets the mystical balance it is sworn to protect.

Umbra Sword

The Umbra Sword was enchanted by the ancient witch Naenra Waerr, and its sole purpose was the entrapment of souls. Used in conjunction with a soul gem, the Sword allows the wielder the opportunity to imprison an enemy’s soul in the gem. Naenra was executed for her evil creation, but not before she was able to hide the Sword. The Umbra Sword is very choosy when it comes to owners and therefore remains hidden until a worthy one is found.

Vampiric Ring

One of the more deadly and rare artifacts in Tamriel is the Vampiric Ring. It is said that the Ring has the power to steal its victim’s health and grant it to the wearer. The exact nature and origin of the Ring is wholly unknown, but many elders speak of its evil creation in Morrowind long, long ago by a cult of Vampire followers. The Vampiric Ring is an extremely rare artifact and is only seen every few hundred cycles of the moons.

Warlock’s Ring

The Warlock’s Ring of the Archmage Syrabane is one of the most popular relics of myth and fable. In Tamriel’s ancient history, Syrabane saved all of the continent by judicious use of his Ring, and ever since, it has helped adventurers with less lofty goals. It is best known for its ability to reflect spells cast at its wearer and to improve his or her speed and to restore health. No adventurer can wear the Warlock’s Ring for long, for it is said that the Ring is Syrabane’s alone to command.