Chapter 6: Ranser’s War—Wayrest Besieged

Ever since my accession to the throne of Wayrest in that momentous year of 2E 563, the question of who should become my queen consort was ever on my—and my advisors’—minds. King Ranser of Shornhelm had a goodly daughter, Princess Rayelle, and her hand was offered to me by my brother of Shornhelm both early and often. Indeed, my mind was almost made up to accept the Princess of Shornhelm when, on a visit to Sentinel, my eyes first beheld the Princess Maraya, daughter of King Fahara’jad. From that moment, I swore that Wayrest would have no queen but Maraya. Of course, there was another unexpected benefit: as her dowry, she brought a trade agreement between our two states that resulted in great prosperity for all.

King Ranser, alas, was wroth that I had not accepted the hand of his daughter, and he withdrew his ambassador from the court of Wayrest. Although Ranser was invited to my wedding to Maraya in the spring of 566, like the other kings of the Covenant, he stayed, seething, in Shornhelm.

I should perhaps have paid more attention to Ranser’s choler, but I was so taken with my new bride and trade issues around the Iliac Bay that mountainous Shornhelm seemed distant and irrelevant. That mistake almost cost me my throne.

For over a year, Ranser had been quietly mustering his troops and emptying his treasury to hire mercenaries. In Last Seed of 2E 566, he led his army out of Shornhelm in a lightning strike to the south. Ranser had marched through Alcaire and Menevia almost before we were aware of his approach. The Shornhelm advance guard reached the gates of Wayrest while the local militias we had quickly mustered were still filing through them. This was a moment when history trembled upon a cusp: if the attacking Oldgate Lancers scattered our militia and took the gate, Wayrest could fall to her attackers within the hour.

Fortunately, I was personally present at the gate, along with my Cumberland Guard. Recognizing the gravity of the situation, I had my bannerman sound the charge. I led the gate guards and my household troops out against the Oldgate Lancers. My men wore full armor, and I, though unarmored, bore at my side the mighty Orichalc Scalpel, an enchanted broadsword of many virtues. The Scalpel, drawn for the first time in anger, flashed and hummed like a blade in a sawmill as we hurled ourselves upon the Lancers. Our enemies, who suddenly found themselves opposed by armored veterans rather than panicky irregulars, were further confounded by the sudden onset of a thunderstorm. Lashed by hail, their horses terrified by lightning, faced with the Orichalc Scalpel scything through their necks and limbs, the vaunted Oldgate Lancers hesitated, then broke and ran, pell-mell, from the gate.

By the time Ranser’s main forces arrived on the scene, our troops were all within the walls. The gates were shut up tight, but the King of Shornhelm was undeterred. The city of Wayrest found itself once more under siege, and Ranser, with more craft and foresight than the Reachman Durcorach, had come with siege engines in his train.

Chapter 10: The Summons of Destiny

And that, dear reader, is my story. You have read now of my carefree youth in Cumberland House, how my father Lord Pierric saw to my training in the crafts of trade, of war, and of state, of my first great victory over Durcorach at the gates of Daggerfall, and of the vast Orichalcum lode our family struck in the Cumberland Mine. You have heard of the tragic coming of the Knahaten Flu, how it took both my father and the entire royal family of Wayrest, leaving our kingdom leaderless in a time of chaos. You now know with what reluctance I was persuaded to assume the throne of Wayrest. You know of the Halo of Gold that outlined the Sun on the day of my coronation. That omen of approval by the Divines dispelled all my doubts and converted even my most envious rivals into heartfelt allies.

You have now learned the true history of Ranser’s War, and how it led to the Second, or Greater, Daggerfall Covenant, embracing the Redguards of Hammerfell as well as the Orcs of Orsinium, who came to our aid in our hour of direst need. The free peoples of northwest Tamriel vowed to stand together against all threats, be they from within or without.

We were soon tested: in 2E 578 the Emperor Varen, with whom I had concluded a treaty, disappeared from the Imperial City, and Cyrodiil once again fell under the pall of the Daedric Cabal. In Varen’s unexplained absence the "Empress" Clivia—a descendant of the savage Reachmen—assumed the Ruby Throne. Since then, the heart of the Empire has fallen into madness, murder, and decay. It is fortunate for our peoples—indeed, for all the peoples of Tamriel—that the true flame of the Empire of Man still burns in the Daggerfall Covenant. These are terrible times, but our destiny lies before us as straight and true as the Reman roads: we must march on Cyrodiil, overthrow the false empress and all her brood, and restore the Empire of Tamriel. Then once more peace and justice will rule the provinces, rather than blood and fire.

by Fal Droon

I will not go into the varying accounts of what happened at Adamantine Tower, nor will I relate the War of Manifest Metaphors that rendered those stories unable to support most qualities of what is commonly known as "narrative." We all have our favorite Lorkhan story and our favorite Lorkhan motivation for the creation of Nirn, as well as our favorite story of what happened to His Heart, but the Theory of the Lunar Lorkhan is of special note.

In short, the Moons were and are the two halves of Lorkhan’s "flesh-divinity." Like the rest of the Gods, Lorkhan was a plane(t) that participated in the Great Construction … except where the Eight lent portions of their heavenly bodies to create the mortal plane(t), Lorkhan’s was cracked asunder and his divine spark fell to Nirn as a shooting star "to impregnate it with the measure of its existence and a reasonable amount of selfishness."

Masser and Secunda therefore are the personifications of the dichotomy—the "Cloven Duality," according to Artaeum—that Lorkhan legends often rail against: ideas of the anima/animus, good/evil, being/nothingness, the poetry of the body, throat, and moan/silence-as-the-abortive, and so on, all set in the night sky as Lorkhan’s constant reminder to his mortal issue of their duty.

Followers of this theory hold that all other "Heart Stories" are mythical degradations of the true origin of the moons (and it needn’t be said that they observe the "hollow crescent theory" as well).

By Helgreir Lute-Voice, Bard of Windhelm

Born in 2E 546 to Queen Mabjaarn Flame-Hair, Prince Jorunn grew up knowing that his elder sister, Nurnhilde, was fated to take the throne. A singer of rare talent in a culture that reveres the power of the human voice, Jorunn studied at Skald’s Retreat on the Isle of Gold outside Riften. There he learned all that could be taught by the most renowned bards of the Eastern Kingdom. He was dubbed the "Skald-Prince" of Skyrim.

Jorunn spent most of his youth in artistic and philosophical pursuits, cultivating a broad array of artists, artisans, and performers throughout Eastern Skyrim and beyond. He spent time in Mournhold, Stormhold, Sutch, Elinhir, and is even reputed to have visited Solitude, the capital of Western Skyrim, in disguise. Though he claimed to have no interest in politics or the business of rule, his natural leadership qualities made him the unofficial leader of the creative community wherever he found himself. Though he received little formal schooling in the arts of arms and warfare—as little as a prince of the Nords could manage, anyway—traveling across Tamriel was always a dangerous activity. His travels taught him less orthodox ways of dealing with trouble.

Jorunn was in Riften when the Akaviri of Dir-Kamal assaulted the northeast coast of Skyrim in 2E 572. Jorunn and his closest comrades, the "Pack of Bards," fought their way up the coast to Windhelm, arriving just in time to see its gates breached by the Akaviri. Jorunn hurled himself into the fray, street-fighting being something he had experience with, but was unable to prevent the fall of the city and the slaying of Queen Mabjaarn and Nurnhilde, the "Brief Queen," who both went down fighting.

Wounded and devastated, Jorunn barely escaped the sack of Windhelm alive. Feeling for the first time the responsibility of his royal birth, he decided to appeal to the Greybeards for aid, and so made his way, stealthily but quickly, to High Hrothgar. For reasons that have not been divulged, the Greybeards decided to teach the Skald-Prince a thu’um, one that summons a hero from Sovngarde to fight for the Tongue who uses it. But in Jorunn’s voice the thu’um became a royal call of valor, and the summoned hero was none other than Wulfharth the Ash-King.

Together Wulfharth and Jorunn, now claiming the title Skald-King, rallied the Nords of Eastern Skyrim, mustering an army from the Rift and the outer regions of Eastmarch, then fortifying Riften. Dir-Kamal, moving south from Windhelm, found Riften defended by angry Nords inspired by the presence of Wulfharth and eager to fight. So Dir-Kamal bypassed Riften and marched on Mournhold, the Akaviri leader assuming that the Nords would be glad to see him go.

That choice was a fatal mistake. Jorunn and Wulfharth led their army in pursuit of the Akaviri force, and a Nord army entered Morrowind for the first time since the Battle of Red Mountain. The Akaviri army was caught at Stonefalls between the Nords and a Dunmer legion led by Almalexia, but the outcome of the great battle hung in the balance—until a surprise intervention from a phalanx of Argonian shellbacks, led by a trio of reptilian battlemages. The Akaviri line was broken and they were driven into the sea, where they drowned by the thousands.

The Ash King, his purpose fulfilled, returned to Sovngarde. In Windhelm, three weeks later, Jorunn was crowned High King in the throne room of the Palace of Kings.

[Fragment]

… then, because he had toyed with the ape-maiden Dulsa, did Maruhk spend his Century of Penance upon the Stonemeadows, and his sight was seared, and his tongue was swollen, and his pelt was mottled, and his left thumb pointed ever at the stars of the Tower. And ever did the shade of Al-Esh speak to him, serrated words that rasped his concept-organ and brought him to wisdom through affliction.

And he recorded her words in his simian gore with glyphs on the Beseeching Scarp, and the fire in his blood did etch the lithic face with the Seventy-Seven Inflexible Doctrines. And though the labor depleted, yea, even consumed his very substance, he stinted not, for he knew that death is an illusion. For did not Al-Esh persist, speaking knives, though dead? And had not Pelin-Al been witness to her death, although dead himself at the death of Umar-Il? Then did Maruhk know a Right Reaching, that one devoted to Proper-Life and Ehlnofic Annulment shall persist beyond the illusion of death—for indeed, the drive to expunge corruption can conquer even the Arkayn Cycle.

Good mer, you know why to don the Veil. You know in your heart the danger facing the Isles. We have been betrayed.

Our leaders now bend knee to a wastrel child. A Queen of cats and midgets. An adventurer given the throne by an accident of blood. A wench more fit for a cup house than a throne room.

These are our lands! The High Elf, the legacy of the Aldmeri people, now must sit idle beneath the blooms. We must watch as flea-bitten mongrels from the steppes cavort in public like mer. We must listen as the animal tongue of the wood is spoken in our streets.

We did not seek, nor did we provoke, this assault on our way of life. We did not expect, nor did we invite this confrontation. The true measure of a people’s strength is how they rise to master the moment when it comes upon them.

Master the moment, mer of Auridon. Don the Veil! Rise up against this Queen, against her Dominion. And retake the Summerset Isles!

This history is recorded by Swyk the Long-Sighted, of the Circle of Jorrvaskr in the Second Era. While I am not gifted with a sharp gift of words, I have learned the stories of the Companions before me, and set to record them that they might not be lost when I am. Hereafter is the list of notable Harbingers of the Companions, those who lead us through the darkness to glories in Sovngarde.

Notes on the Harbinger: the Companions have never had a true leader since Ysgramor—none have been mighty enough to corral the great hearts that beat within Jorrvaskr. While others like mages and thieves need the blessings of their hierarchy to know how to dress, we Companions are capable of leading our own destinies to glory. The Harbinger advises, resolves disputes, and helps to clarify when questions arise of the nature of honor. In the thousands of years the Companions have held at Jorrvaskr, there have been Harbingers both terrible and brilliant, those known for their arm, those for their hearts, and those for their minds. Here are listed some of the most gloried Harbingers, who inspire song and deed.

Ysgramor: the first Harbinger, the first Man, the bringer of Words, and the one who first bound the Companions to honor in that far off land of long ago. Better people have written of him, so I will not attempt to meet their words.

Jeek of the River: Captain of the Jorrvaskr during the Return, discoverer of the Skyforge, founder of Whiterun, and keeper of the original oath of the Companions, now lost to time. While other crews sought glory in conquest, his was the first to settle and serve as protector for the less war-gifted in the land as they came behind.

Mryfwiil the Withdrawn: Several hundred years after the death of Ysgramor, the Companions as we now know them were soldiers for hire, little better than mercenaries. Our services could be purchased for the fighting of wars, but the commitment to individual honor meant that often Shield-Brothers would be forced to face each other on the field of battle. The bonds of honor which bind the Companions threatened to break, until Mryfwiil, in his wisdom, decreed that we would no longer be party to any war or political conflict of any kind. Because of his steady hand, the Companions today are known as impartial arbiters of honor, in addition to their glories on the field of battle.

Cirroc the Lofty: The first Harbinger to not be of ancestral Atmoran blood. This was around the time that the Nords began to think of themselves as such, and there were great disputes about purity and the legacy of Ysgramor. Cirroc first came to Jorrvaskr as a servant, but the Redguard quickly proved his mettle when treated disrespectfully by one of the less honor-bound warriors of the time. Granted the stature of an honorary Companion after saving the life of Harbinger Tulvar the Unmentioned, he became known as the most capable of Shield-Brothers in the hall, with speed and cunning surpassing any of the old Atmoran stock. His time as Harbinger was short-lived, but it is said that his field knowledge of bladework continues to pass to every new Companion through their training.

Henantier the Outsider: The first Elven Harbinger. Like Cirroc before him, he was initially subject to ridicule when arriving at Jorrvaskr, for this was the time (near the closing of the First Era) when Elves were not permitted to be full Companions, and few were even allowed to see the inside of the hall. Henantier was humble in the daylight hours, performing any task asked of him. At night, he trained fiercely in the outside yard, allowing himself only minutes of sleep before resuming his servant duties the next day. So he toiled through several Harbingers, never resting, never complaining, and always keeping his mind and body sharp. Given his long life, he came to be trusted by the new Companions as the one who helped them learn the ways of honor.

When one such pupil had aged into an old man and become Harbinger himself, Henantier was the one at his deathbed. With all Companions assembled, he named Henantier as his successor, saying "even an Elf can be born with the heart of a Nord sometimes." There were some number of Companions who laid down their weapons that day, but those who remained knew the truth of honor, and it is their legacy we continue to bear.

Macke of the Piercing Eyes: A Harbinger known for her great beauty, but any who underestimated her on account of it would never make the mistake again. She was said to have once stared down half an opposing army, then slaughtered the remainder single-handedly. Her disappearance in her eighth year as Harbinger has never been explained, though many slanderous lies claim to make accountings for it.

Kyrnil Long-Nose: After the dark periods of the Second Era, when a string of false and dishonorable Harbingers laid claim to Jorrvaskr, it was Kyrnil Long-Nose who gathered the true hearts of the Companions in the wilds and stormed Jorrvaskr itself, killing the usurpers and returning honor through blood, in the old ways. He began the tradition of trusted advisors called the Circle (after our great lord Ysgramor’s council of captains) who would serve as examples to the younger, newer Companions.

By ensuring that the notions of honor can have an unbroken string of tradition, he steadied the course of the Companions and restored our destinies to that of Ysgramor’s, pressing ever onwards to Sovngarde.

During the early bloody years of the Second Era, Vanus Galerion was born under the name Trechtus, a serf on the estate of a minor nobleman named Lord Gyrnasse of Sollicich-on-Ker. Trechtus’ father and mother were common laborers, but his father had secretly, against the law of Lord Gyrnasse, taught himself and Trechtus to read. Lord Gyrnasse had been advised that literate serfs were an abomination of nature and dangerous to themselves and their lords. All bookstalls within Sollicich-on-Ker had been closed. All booksellers, poets, and teachers were forbidden, except within Gyrnasse’s keep. Nevertheless, a small scale smuggling operation kept a number of books and scrolls in circulation under Gyrnasse’s shadow.

When Trechtus was eight, the smugglers were found and imprisoned. Some said that Trechtus’ mother, an ignorant and religious woman fearful of her husband, betrayed the smugglers, but there were other rumors as well. The trial of the smugglers was nonexistent, and the punishment swift. The body of Trechtus’ father was kept hanging for weeks during the hottest summer Sollicich-on-Ker had seen in centuries.

Three months later, Trechtus ran away from Lord Gyrnasse’s estate. He made it as far as Alinor, half-way across Summerset Isle. A band of troubadours found him nearly dead, curled up in a ditch by the side of the road. They nursed him to health and employed him as an errand boy in return for food and shelter. One of the troubadours, a soothsayer named Heliand, began testing Trechtus’ mind and found the boy, though shy, to be preternaturally intelligent and sophisticated, given his circumstances. Heliand recognized in the boy a commonality, for Heliand had been trained on the Isle of Artaeum as a mystic.

When the troupe was performing in the village of Potansa on the far eastern end of Summerset, Heliand took Trechtus, then a boy of eleven, to the Isle of Artaeum. The Magister of the Isle, Iachesis, recognized potential in Trechtus and took him on as pupil, giving him the name of Vanus Galerion. Vanus trained his mind on the Isle of Artaeum, as well as his body.

Thus was the first Archmagister of the Mages Guild trained. From the Psijics of the Isle of Artaeum, he received his training. From his childhood of want and injustice, he received his philosophy of sharing knowledge.

The designations of Gods, Demons, Aedra, and Daedra, are universally confusing to the layman. They are often used interchangeably.

"Aedra" and "Daedra" are not relative terms. They are Elvish and exact. Azura is a Daedra both in Skyrim and Morrowind. "Aedra" is usually translated as "ancestor," which is as close as Cyrodilic can come to this Elven concept. "Daedra" means, roughly, "not our ancestors." This distinction was crucial to the Dunmer, whose fundamental split in ideology is represented in their mythical genealogy.

Aedra are associated with stasis. Daedra represent change.

Aedra created the mortal world and are bound to the Earth Bones. Daedra, who cannot create, have the power to change.

As part of the divine contract of creation, the Aedra can be killed. Witness Lorkhan and the moons.

The protean Daedra, for whom the rules do not apply, can only be banished.

1st Morning Star:
A new year, and a new start. Sirune agreed to be my betrothed last night! I’m the luckiest mer in Mathiisen. I’ve already made arrangements with Yondin to use the forge. I’m going to melt down my father’s old blade and use it as the base for a Ring of Mara. Mathiisen steel is good enough for the troops, right? It will be good enough for my true heart.

3rd Sun’s Dawn:
The Heralds are shouting in every square across the island. There’s a new Queen! And we’re now part of some kind of Alliance—with the Wood Elves and the Khajiit, of all people. "The Aldmeri Dominion", they’re calling it. I couldn’t be prouder, but father has done nothing but grumble. He says letting "those kind of folk" onto the island will be bad for business.

10th Sun’s Dawn:
Sirune and I sneaked out in the middle of the night and made for Skywatch. It was so exciting, bedding down by the side of the road. Like we’re in the Fighters Guild! The handbills telling of the parade have been all over the island, and we decided we couldn’t let something like this pass us by. I’ll be thrice-cursed by the old mer, I know it. But damn him for a fool. Miss a chance to see the Queen, the Mane, and the Bosmer Treethanes? Not on your life.

11th Sun’s Dawn:
If today was any indication, Father was right. The parade was amazing, with Her Majesty leading a phalanx of Marines up the path to the gates. Then came the Treethanes, with their wily jungle rangers. Vinedusk, I think someone said? And then the Mane, with those braids! Amazing to see the Khajiiti warriors on display.

Much more pleasing than the furry sneak-thief I caught with his hand in my coin-purse. I tried to catch him before he made off, but he dove between some of those damned dock workers who were so obsessed with their frog races they didn’t even look up. And then he was gone. Sirune said it was all right, that we’d just leave earlier than we’d planned. Damn it. Just hate to let her down.

17th Sun’s Dawn:
Damn them all! Everything has been a mess since Sirune and I came back from Skywatch. Father was furious that we’d left, and when I told him how many coins that cat took … old bastard hasn’t beaten me like that I was learning the forge.

Then, a few days ago, they pulled all of us into the forgemaster’s office. Condalin had gotten word that, with the new alliance, tradesmer can start hiring some of "those folk." Tossing a certain number of jobs to "them" would net you extra coin from the Thalmor.

And so he dropped father’s contract! Been with the forge for decades, and now cat-men and cannibals are doing the job. All because of this damned alliance. Father’s beside himself, about the steel more than anything. Says they won’t know how to cure it right. Stars above, what’s happening?

2nd First Seed:
My life is ruined. I’m on the run, and everyone I knew and loved hates me. Damn the "Dominion" and our smiling Queen to boot!

It all started when that recruiter for the Battlereeve came to town. He was looking for volunteers for the Dominion military. When no one came forward, he said he’d been empowered to take conscripts. He tapped me and Sirune’s brother. He also grabbed the twins, Taleril and Tanaril. Shoved us into a line with a gang of others and started us down the road.

We weren’t a mile before Tanaril snapped. Went crazy, screaming about how he couldn’t fight Dark Elves, that they use your body to hatch spiders in. He made a break for it, and a bunch of us used the chance to run as well.

I’m holed up in a cave near Silsailen. My father is penniless. My bride-to-be will soon think me a traitor. The damned cats and runty Elves are taking over the island, and the military is putting children on the front lines. This isn’t the homeland I grew up in!

5th First Seed:
I was reduced to trying to steal something for my evening meal, and—of course—I was caught. I slipped into Silsailen after dusk, the smell of some delicious whitefish wafting on the breeze. I hadn’t eaten anything worthwhile since the morning the recruiter came into town, when I had that delicious spiced bread Sirune’s mother made.

I slipped into town and tracked the smell to the local inn. I was trying to figure out how to get into the kitchen when a big beefy hand fell on my shoulder. One of the Canonreeve’s men. He knew exactly what I was doing, almost like he’d been watching me since I got into town. Now I’m sitting in a cell underneath the reeve’s manse, waiting his justice. At least they let me keep the journal here.

Damn you, Ayrenn! Damn you, Dominion!

10th First Seed:
My old life is over. And my new life under the Veil has begun. It turns out the Canonreeve himself, an honorable man named Valano, has experienced his own doubts about his future under the Dominion. He used to be a good friend to the Queen, even, but worries now the years have changed her.

Valano is a member of a group called the Veiled Heritance. They’re a group of freedom fighters, willing to do what has to be done. They’re willing to make the hard choices, and stop the spread of foreign influence on our soil.

I was brought up out of that cellar below Silsailen thinking I was going to do hard labor. Instead, I found a new family. Valano said he knew all about my problems, even knew that I’d been taken by a Dominion recruiter. Said that he was willing to help, and help me help myself.

And I will.