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 Tamriel. Dawn’s Beauty in Ehlnofex, seat of Convention, where the dutiful divines drove an adamantine nail to hold spirits to flesh and Earth to Bones. Here the first Enantiomorph was played out and, history and myth being rhyming couplets, has played out again and again ever since. The Saliache despots went to war in vibrant feathers, long after the Cyrod Betmeri had been plucked of their last plume. They were long-lived folk and warred even longer, over ancestors and not-ancestors. While their masters breathed fire and hurled mountains at each other the Nedes plotted from their slave pits. El-Estia prayed in vigor to Akatosh, who was so moved that he betrayed the superficial division he had performed at Convention. With long claw he fished his Brother’s blood from out of a deep well, now made crystal by the cold of starlight, and fashioned it into a Covenant which she wore next to her heart. Blood of the Dragon, Paravant and mother of manbulls, she forged empire onto the Starry Heart of Nirn and established the faith of the Eight Divines among the hundred-and-one tribes of Cyrod. In time, measured in the hundred or the thousands, whichever one prefers, the blood became thin and the Chim-el Adabal became heavy with chattering ghosts. The acolytes of the simian Marukh offended the stoics of Colovia in their god-madness and the Ruby Throne sat empty some four hundred long years. In those days a king of the Colovian West was troubled with dreams of a flood of serpents, which flowed west from the Dragon lands to drink the Names of all Tamriel. In desperation King Hrol summoned his trusted warriors and searched long for the hope of mankind. The spirit of Al-Esh made herself known to them and chided the sons of men for turning from her, saying that they would have to suffer as Cyrod had at the foolish hands of man. In every place did the company of Hrol look, til at last in the graveyard of emperors did Al-Esh appear to Hrol and his shieldthane. Before his eyes the thane beheld Hrol make love unto the hill, carving into the bare stone his account, before the mystery took his life. From his exertions King Hrol too passed and the other knights who found their lord went mad or returned home in shame, for their king had perspired with his manhood in a gopher hole. Nine months followed and the shepherds noted strange signs in the heavens. The hill of Hrol’s shame became a mountain and pilgrims from far afield named it Sancre Tor, the Golden Hill. One day, in the valley below, the shepherdess Sed-Yenna heard a cry from atop the mountain. She left her flock and journeyed to the summit of Sancre Tor to find the infant Reman Cyrodiil with the long missing Chim-el Adabal embedded in his forehead. To White Gold she traveled and placed the babe upon the Ruby Throne, which had not seen a worthy soul since the extinguishing of the dragonborn bloodline. The infant spoke then with the voice of a man, saying I AM CYRODIIL COME. King Hrol’s snakedreams came to pass in the days of Reman and the Light of Man called upon the hundred-and-one kings of mankind to his banner. In rare alliance with the Dark Elves of the Ashlands, Reman struck hard the snakemen invaders and shouted them down in terror. The survivors surrendered to him and declared Reman true blood of dragons. Long did the snakemen serve their new emperor and all of Tamriel came under his dominion, excepting the Ashlands whose three gods held back any army sent by mountain, swamp or sea. Blood of dragons was Reman, Light of Man, and the fires of Akatosh burned without end so long as his children sat the Ruby Throne. But again the blood became thin and the amulet burdened with voices. Long wars and moon colonies strained the strength of White Gold and the heirs of Reman numbers only 200 years before they were devoured by snake kings. The betrayer Versidue-Shaie seized the Ruby Throne for himself, but rejected the title of emperor, knowing himself not worthy. He declared the birth of a new era and spent long years at war against the loyal vassals of Reman, who rejected his rule. The Potentate forced submission upon the west, east and north, but at great cost. The golden age ended and the decades beheld slow ruin. Now the Potentate Savirien-Chorak has fallen to an assassins’ blade like his father before him. His grandson, Aixnieras-Ves, is little more than a puppet propped up by a council of Nibenese mage-lords and prominent merchant families. His reach does not extend beyond the shores of Lake Rumare and the vengeful lords of Colovia now seek to extinguish even that trace of Akaviri rule. The empire is dead in all but name and chaos stalks the eight corners of the world. In the frozen north the throne of Ysmir is sundered and the children of spurned Malacath invade the forests of Falkreath. Witches and savage tribesmen roam the crags and spires of the Reach, dreaming of uniting their petty mountain fastnesses into a true kingdom. The Breton lands are as rife with dynastic intrigue as ever and the loss of even perfunctory imperial oversight means that what was once achieved through dagger and marriage is now carried out upon the field of battle. In Hammerfell the long stoked feuding of the Crown and Forebear spills into open combat. In Valenwood the heirs of Camoran vie for the throne of Y’ffre, blind to the dangers of encroaching men, mer and betmer. In the lands of moons and sugar the Mane struggles to rein in errant kings and the men of the rim. In the land of ash, where Lorkhan’s heart dwells, the Tribunal have long warred with the empire of Cyrodiil. After six hundred years the old foe is no more and the Great Houses of Morrowind eye the territory and populace of neighboring regions with avarice. The tribes of Argonia are especially threatened, as the slaving ships of houses Dres and Telvanni now dominate the Padomaic coast. Even isolationist Summerset is not as serene as it may appear. All now is chaos, a time of great striving and struggle. The age of Interregnum dawns upon Tamriel and even the Elder Scrolls are blind to what the future may hold. 2920, The Last Year of the First Era by Carlovac Townway posted:Ebonheart, Morrowind A Brief History of the Empire by Stronach k'Thojj III posted:Before the day of Tiber Septim, all Tamriel was chaos. The poet Tracizis called that era "the days and nights of blood and venom." Character Creation A Children's Anuad Wet Wilds of Black Marsh The Seasons of Argonia Updates A Pit of Vipers (2E 440 - 2E 453) The Many Husbands of Martul Rantee (2E 453 - 2E 464) The Protector of the Kothringi and the Lady Gray Eyes (2E 464 - 2E 480) Taking the Throne and Holding it Down (2E 480 - 2E 493) - State of the World - - Council Meeting - The Raider Queen and the Turbulent Priest (2E 493 - 2E 516) The Conqueror and Fate’s Cruel Design (2E 516 - 2E 541) - Council Meeting - Clayren fucked around with this message at 22:39 on Mar 20, 2023 |
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Jan 22, 2023 22:12
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| # ? May 3, 2024 16:04 |
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 These days the prisoner increasingly felt that they had become a shapeshifter, their form determined by proximity to other matter. At night they slept upon a thin blanket and a pile of loose straw. In the morning they felt thin and scattered. By day they paced the cold stone floor of the long abandoned fort and by nightfall they felt dull, cold and stiff. On days when rain fell and the walls wept brackish moisture they felt muddied and shed a few spare tears. When the sun shone harshly in through narrow slit windows and the cell heated up so too did the prisoner and they would mutter bitter curses and complex revenge upon their captors. The face of the guard changed regularly, though not in a recognizable pattern. From their observations over these three months the prisoner surmised that the bandits cast dice to decide who would be assigned guard duty for the day. Frequently they would come into the hall cursing about missing out on a game of dice or cards or a fresh cask of ale. It was a surprising level of security for a band of illiterate highwaymen, but their chief knew well the value of noble blood. The prisoner was no king, but a close relative of a duke was worth a few weeks of meager rations and guard duty. Weeks had become months, however, and no word of reply had come. Three copies of the chieftain’s demands had been sent and even in a time of war one should have made it through. The grumbling of their captors had grown louder in recent days, their patience thinner by the hour. The time to attempt something was not yet, however. The captive knew that time was not on their side, but patience was. But the minutes of the day wore upon them. When there was no plan time they were able to lose track of the time and let one hour slip into the next. But now the anxiety of those first days returned, the tedium of minutes and tyranny of hours. They sought to clear their mind and returned to a hazy, yet cherished memory. It is the first duty of every child to seek understanding. The world is complex and each action must be paired with its reaction before a mortal can hope to navigate Nirn. A smile prompts a smile in return, a cry prompts the removal of discomforts. The latter is a first love, but it is soon replaced by “why?”. “Why?” is a seemingly magical action, for it conjures a million different reactions, all of which fill in some piece of a great dark universe. At some point, among a million why’s, the prisoner had asked their mother why the world existed. Glad to at last have a question with a readymade answer on hand, she retrieved a slim volume from a shelf and told them: Please choose one of the following options.  A. Long ago the universe was without form and only stasis and change existed. The interplay of the two created existence, which they fought over. After long battles the two were both forced outside of the universe and the blood they had spilt formed the et’Ada. These spirits changed and flittered between reality and oblivion, their forms weak and ill-defined. The dragon spirit Akatosh created time, which helped some, but still many suffered short existences. One spirit, Shezzar, conceived of a world where weak spirits might come to know themselves and learn to be. He convinced several powerful spirits to lend parts of themselves to the construction and the great designer Magnus drew up the plans. But when the world, Nirn, came to be, Magnus was disgusted at what he saw. He left, taking many spirits with him and punched a hole in reality on the way, creating the sun. Eight of the powerful spirits; Akatosh, Zenithar, Arkay, Dibella, Julianos, Kynareth, Mara and Zenithar, saw that the world was imperfect, but out of mercy to the lesser spirits, remained. The spirits found that on Nirn their lives were full of limits and their forms corruptible. They blamed Shezarr and accused him of deception, the war spirit Trinimac slew him under the command of Akatosh and tore out his heart. But the heart could not be destroyed, for it was the yearning of Shezarr’s heart which had made Nirn and one could not exist without the other. So the heart was flung to Nirn, where it impregnated the land with his spirit and his body, torn in two, became the moons.  B. Long ago the universe was without form and only order and chaos existed. The interplay of the two created existence, which they fought over. After long battles the two were both forced outside of the universe and the blood they had spilt formed the et’Ada. These spirits were crystalline perfection, beings without death or limit. But a spirit, born of chaos, came to the greatest of these and tricked them into creating a universe bounded by limits. He tricked Auri-El, monarch of the spirits, telling him that he would be king of this new world. So, in his singular moment of weakness, the great king assented and Mundus, the mortal plane, was made. But in creating Mundus the spirits were forever sundered from the spirit world of eternity and became a shadow of their former glory. Auri-El and the other gods were disgusted by their enfeebled selves and what they had created, they knew then the treachery of Lorkhan. He fled from their anger and raised armies from the most debased and weakened spirits which now populated Nirn. Auri-El raised armies of his own from the strongest spirits and waged a long war against the betrayer. After an age his war captain Trinimac at last slew the foul spirit and the kingly Auri-El hid it in a far corner of Nirn, attaching it to an arrow which sailed past the horizon. In this way it was ensured that spiteful Lorkhan would never be able to reform. His mistake corrected, Auri-El ascended back to the lost spirit world using the Path of Alaxon, so that his children might see his path and know the way home.  C. Long ago the universe was without form and only stasis and change existed. The interplay of the two created existence, which they fought over. After long battles the two were both forced outside of the universe and the blood they had spilt formed the gods. One chief god was Shor the Fox, who convinced the others to create Nirn. Upon the highest mountain Shor’s wife Kyne the Hawk breathed and the first men and animals were formed. Shor was a good king to the gods and first men, but foreign gods soon came with the elves and made war upon man. Shor fought long and lost his blood brother Tsun the Bear to battle, which he wept bitterly over. But however much he lost Shor was always invincible in battle and the elven devils could not make their arrows stick. In desperation they made strange pacts and Shor was felled by betrayal. He became the king of the underworld and prepared a place for all who died in battle.  D. Long ago the universe was without form and only order and chaos existed. The interplay of the two created existence, which they fought over. After long battles the two were both forced outside of the universe and the blood they had spilt formed the et’Ada. These spirits were crystalline perfection, beings without death or limit. But a spirit, born of chaos, came to the greatest of these and tricked them into creating a universe bounded by limits. He tricked Auri-El, monarch of the spirits, telling him that he would be king of this new world. So, in his singular moment of weakness, the great king assented and Mundus, the mortal plane, was made. But in creating Mundus the spirits were forever sundered from the spirit world of eternity and became a shadow of their former glory. Auri-El and the other gods were disgusted by their enfeebled selves and what they had created, they knew then the treachery of Lorkhan. While Magnus and some lesser spirits fled Mundus, creating the Sun and stars, others stayed behind. Strong spirits pitied their weak brothers and sacrificed themselves to form Nirn, becoming the Earthbones and giving the world shape. The lesser spirits were an ooze then, without shape or understanding. Y’ffre the storyteller told them a story of themselves and gave them the forms of plants, animals and mer. The Bosmer were weak then and cried out for his help, so he instituted the Green Pact between them and their older brothers, the plants of the forest. He taught them to sing to the trees and make gentle requests of the green.  E. Life originated with two litter-mates, Ahnurr and Fadomai, who gave birth to the first cat, Alkosh. Alkosh was made guardian of time and soon he was joined by more. After the birth of many children Ahnurr decided to stop, since further offspring would dilute their happiness. However, Fadomai was persuaded by her daughter Khenarthi - who had grown lonely in the realm of the winds - to give birth to further children, and this she did, bringing forth Nirni, the majestic sands and lush forests, and Azurah, the dusk and dawn, as well as the Moons and their Motions. It was at the time of her birthing that Fadomai was caught by Ahnurr who, angered at her trickery and disobedience, struck her. She, fearing for her life and children, fled with them to the Great Darkness and hid, giving birth to her final child, Lorkhaj. Having been born amidst the Great Darkness, Lorkhaj's heart was filled with such, and thus was made aware of itself and then known as Namiira. Amidst the darkness, surrounded by her children, Fadomai realized her death was near and set the moons, Jone and Jode, in the skies to guide her children and protect them from Ahnurr's wrath. She gave Nirni her "greatest gift", proclaiming that she would give birth to as many children as Fadomai had. Nirni was pleased because Azurah, with whom she routinely squabbled, had been left with nothing. Protected by the Lunar Lattice, the children of Fadomai left, save for Azurah, who approached her mother and was then given her gifts in the form of three secrets. She was told to take one of Nirni's children and change them, making them the fastest, cleverest, and most beautiful of creatures, naming them the Khajiit; second, that they must be fashioned as the best climbers, to climb upon the winds of Khenarthi's breath and set Masser and Secunda aright, lest they fail; lastly, that the Khajiit must be the best deceivers, able to hide their true nature from others. Then Fadomai died, and Azurah left to join her kin. Nirni approached Lorkhaj, whom she asked to create for her children a dwelling; he did so, and yet the Great Darkness in his heart influenced him to deceive his siblings so that they would be trapped in the new place with Nirni. Some managed to escape death and become the stars, and those who remained punished Lorkhaj by tearing out his heart and hiding it deep within Nirni, so that he would be with her, whom he had done the most harm to.  F. In the beginning there was Atak, the Great Root. As Atak grew, its roots formed new roots, and those roots took names, and they wanted space of their own to grow. Soon, it discovered the serpent spirit, Kota, who had been born from the Nothing and hungered. Atak and Kota fought and ate at each other until they became something new and indistinguishable, Atakota. They shed their skin and Shadow and went to sleep. The Shadow ate the roots and was changed by them, keeping them safe and telling them the secrets before releasing them instead of devouring them, letting itself sleep as well. The secrets changed the roots, making them realize they were now temporary and could change. Many of the spirits learned to fear this change, calling it Death. The chaos that ensued awoke Atakota and split them once more, leading to Atak and Kota and their roots going to war over the existence of Death. Some of the roots drank of Atakota's blood and sap until they grew scales, fangs, and wings. Other roots were protected by a Forest Spirit, singing with her and becoming one with the forest. In the chaos of the war, the Shadow awoke and ate both Atak and Kota, shedding the skin of Atakota and covering all of the roots, promising to keep them safe. When Atakota shed its skin all the roots were changed, but the Hist traveled along strange angles and arrived upon the new skin intact. The Saxhleel fed upon the sap of the Hist and were changed, given thought and form. The Saxhleel in those days feared the Shadow, knowing that someday Atakota would awaken once more and the Shadow would shed the skin on which they lived. They built great Xanmeers, nests of stone on which they offered heartblood to appease the Shadow and hold off the day of change. But change came nonetheless and the Hist led the Saxhleel to embrace impermanence and know peace.  G. Long ago the universe was without form and only stasis and change existed. The interplay of the two created existence, which they fought over. After long battles the two were both forced outside of the universe and the blood they had spilt formed the gods. Lorkhan pitied the lesser spirits and used deception to create the hard and imperfect world of Nirn as a testing ground wherein mortal mer could achieve perfection and overcome their limits. For his acts the Aedra killed him, flyinging his heart to Vvardenfell where it formed the Red Mountain. But while the Aedra cursed his name and erased all traces of the true purpose of Nirn, the good Daedra Boethiah, Azura, and Mephala kept the secret of Lorkhan’s purpose alive. This they taught to the prophet Veloth, who led his people away to a place where they might seek transcendence.  H. Long ago there existed two forces; light and dark. These forces have fought and will fight forever, for they are equally matched. Their jostling disrupts the universe and allowed the first spirits to be born. These spirits changed and flittered between reality and oblivion, their forms weak and ill-defined. The dragon spirit Akatosh created time, which helped some, but still many suffered short existences. One spirit, Sheor the Bad Man, conceived of a world where weak spirits might come to know themselves and learn to be. He convinced several powerful spirits to lend parts of themselves to the construction and the great designer Magnus drew up the plans. But when the world, Nirn, came to be, Magnus was disgusted at what he saw. He left, taking many spirits with him and punched a hole in reality on the way, creating the sun. Eight of the powerful spirits; Akatosh, Zenithar, Arkay, Dibella, Julianos, Kynareth, Mara and Zenithar, saw that the world was imperfect, but out of mercy to the lesser spirits, remained. The spirits found that on Nirn their lives were full of limits and their forms corruptible. In vengeance they slew Sheor atop the Adamantine Tower and cast his heart far away.  I. Long ago there existed two forces; Satak and Akel. The warring of these two forces gave rise to Satakal, the World-Snake. Again and again Satakal has been driven by hunger to eat the world and, in so doing, give rise to a new world. As Satakal ate itself over and over, the strongest spirits learned to bypass the cycle by moving at strange angles. They called this process the Walkabout, a way of striding between the worldskins. Ruptga was so big that he was able to place the stars in the sky so that weaker spirits might find their way easier. This practice became so easy for the spirits that it became a place, called the Far Shores, a time of waiting until the next skin. Ruptga was able to sire many children through the cycles and so he became known as the Tall Papa. He continued to place stars to map out the void for others, but after so many cycles there were almost too many spirits to help out. He made himself a helper from the detritus of past skins and this was Sep, or Second Serpent. Sep had much of the Hungry Stomach still left in him, multiple hungers from multiple skins. He was so hungry he could not think straight. Sometimes he would just eat the spirits he was supposed to help, but Tall Papa would always reach in and take them back out. Finally, tired of helping Tall Papa, Sep went and gathered the rest of the old skins and balled them up, tricking spirits to help him, promising them this was how you reached the new world, by making one out of the old. These spirits loved this way of living, as it was easier. No more jumping from place to place. Many spirits joined in, believing this was good thinking. Tall Papa just shook his head. Pretty soon the spirits on the skin-ball started to die, because they were very far from the real world of Satakal. And they found that it was too far to jump into the Far Shores now. The spirits that were left pleaded with Tall Papa to take them back. But grim Ruptga would not, and he told the spirits that they must learn new ways to follow the stars to the Far Shores now. If they could not, then they must live on through their children, which was not the same as before. Sep, however, needed more punishment, and so Tall Papa squashed the Snake with a big stick. The hunger fell out of Sep's dead mouth and was the only thing left of the Second Serpent. While the rest of the new world was allowed to strive back to godhood, Sep could only slink around in a dead skin, or swim about in the sky, a hungry void that jealously tried to eat the stars. Clayren fucked around with this message at 22:20 on Jan 22, 2023 |
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Jan 22, 2023 22:12
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E Khajit likes this one
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Jan 23, 2023 00:13
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G Let's see if we can find a way to jumpstart the Numidium we have sitting around in the basement and use ol' Walk-Brass to conquer Tamriel before Talos gets a chance. Who says there can be only one Shezzarine at a time? 
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Jan 23, 2023 15:51
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F It's about time the children of the Hist got their long-due reckoning.
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Jan 23, 2023 17:08
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Nissin Cup Nudist posted:E 
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Jan 24, 2023 01:30
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F Love me an argonian
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Jan 24, 2023 02:42
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F seems like fun.
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Jan 24, 2023 02:49
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I did previously vote G, but I would be quite happy with the consolation prize of F and us going with Abolitionist Lizardmen
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Jan 24, 2023 02:55
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Voting F
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Jan 24, 2023 18:16
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F - if the lore has taught me anything it's don't gently caress with the Black Marsh.
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Jan 25, 2023 18:06
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The prisoner is roused from their reverie by the squealing of old hinges and the changing of the guard. The one-eyed Khajiit that had been idly carving a block of wood stood from his position in the corner and exchanged some whispered words with the new guard. The bandits rarely whispered in front of them, powerless as they were to escape, they didn’t bother unless it was something which might lead guards to their den. The prisoner pretended to pay no attention, but strained their ears as best they could. A few words; “patience”, “boss” , “tomorrow”, could be made out. The grin of the Bosmer guard who replaced the Khajiit confirmed the inmate’s growing suspicions. The time to act was soon. “Gonna be glad to be rid of your scaly hide,” the Mer said, lowering himself to the rough chair in the corner, “I’m missing out on a bottle of jagga thanks to you. First I’ve had since coming to this rotten province.” The prisoner knew better than to engage and turned his back on the guard, looking out the thin slit window at the rapidly setting sun. Somewhere out there was home and their actions tomorrow would be the deciding factor on whether they saw it again or not. Home… Please choose one of the following options. Do read closely, as this will determine both religion and location.  A. Home is in Murkwood, among the thousand shifting islets of the Thlaxit. A forest of bamboo stilts supported wooden walkways and open, breezy thatch-roof huts in the tribal capital of the prisoner’s uncle, Raj-kaal Wud-Neeus. Though only half-siblings, the prisoner’s father is great friends with Wud-Neeus and the Raj-kaal frequently seeks his council. The two are of one mind that the Cyrodilic presence in Black Marsh has long ceased to be beneficial and that the human outpost in Lilmoth must be destroyed. When they had been stopped by bandits on the road the prisoner had at first assumed them agents of the Potentate, seeking to use them as a bargaining chip against Wud-Neeus. But now the captive knows that they were simply unlucky, a member of an under-armed group of travelers in a shallow part of a river perfectly suited for ambush. Raj-kaal Wud-Neeus is a staunchly traditional Agaceph; loyal to his family and the Hist, he will be glad to see his nibling returned.  B. Home is among the mangrove swamps which crowd the coastline of the Topal Bay. Kaal Asum was born to a poor family in the Imperial-occupied region of Xi-Tsei, a far southern part of the Imperial County of Leyawiin. He was great friends with the mother of the prisoner and when Asum’s parents passed in his early teens he was adopted by her family. Some years after the prisoner’s mother had married, but before they were born, Asum led a peasant revolt against the imperial governor and chased the miniscule human presence from Xi-Tsei. His fellow revolters declared him Kaal of Xi-Tsei and he, in the throes of victory, declared his intent to restore the Saxhleel to the glory days before the Duskfall. He had the towering stone xanmeer of Xi-Tsei cleared of overgrowth and wild animals and wetted the long-dry stone altar with the blood of the human governor he had captured in the revolution. Kaal Asum shall surely praise Sithis when his beloved nibling returns home.  C. In the dark humidness of Shadowfen, home waits for the prisoner. The sixth child of their father, the great sap-speaker Kaal Suka-Tel, the prisoner was never expected to rule. As such they were free to explore the shaded jungle floor of Mazzatun and speak with the many holy hleel and sap-speakers who came to talk and debate with Suka-Tel. It was Suka-Tel who had first come to know the doctrine of the Amber Hist after many years communing with the Hist of Shadowfen. Wedged between Cyrodiil, the slaving House Dres, Ayleid settlers and Kothringi tribes, the Hleel of Shadowfen had long suffered raids, conquests and destruction. It was after long years of speaking with the Hist that Suka-Tel realized the mistakes of the old and current Saxhleel. Before the Duskfall the Saxhleel had lived in the past, confused by the present and terrified of the future. They had spent every moment seeking to forestall a disaster which came anyways. So the Hist had welcomed them back and taught them a new way of being. But to live in the present, terrified of the past and confused by the future, is no better. While such an easy-going life was once well-suited to an isolated Black Marsh, the arrival of mannish and merrish populations has made it suicidal. The Amber Hist is a third way, a middle path, which teaches that a Saxhleel should know its past, live in the present and plan for the future. Most sap-speakers who came to debate the prisoner’s father came away angry, they called him a heretic and the Hist of Mazzatun insane. But the captive knows his father is the only hope for the Saxhleel and cannot wait to return home.  D. Tearmarsh, where the fungal forests of Morrowind and the swamps of Black Marsh meet, is home. The prisoner’s mother is a warrior in service to Raj-kaal Madesi, a talented warleader who is frequently in conflict along the bloody border of House Dres. The slaving house of Morrowind, House Dres has long been the hated enemy of all Saxhleel. Growing up, the prisoner was often told of glory days when the Reman Empire waged an 80 year war against the Dunmer. In those days the Hleel tribes of Tearmarsh served as mercenaries for the empire, burning the saltrice plantations of Dres in daring midnight raids. But the last Reman was killed centuries ago and the exhausted Potentate was quick to make peace with Morrowind. These days the power of Cyrodiil barely extends beyond the shores of their few forts and the main outpost at Lilmoth. The tribes of Black Marsh must increasingly look to their own strength against the Dunmer. The captive will surely be welcomed home, as the warring Hleel of Tearmarsh are ever in need of fighting-aged Saxhleel.
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Jan 26, 2023 04:06
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C Argonian civilization!
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Jan 26, 2023 06:28
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C the future lies with the Hist
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Jan 26, 2023 18:16
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C for the Hist!
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Jan 26, 2023 19:43
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B. Viva la revolution!
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Jan 26, 2023 21:26
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Just to clarify, the Argonians are somewhat unique in Nirn in that they don't have a religion in the traditional sense. The Hist are not gods, but rather beloved teachers which are integral to Argonian social and biological reproduction. Infant Argonians drink the sap of the Hist and are granted a soul. The Hist provide a vital conduit for reincarnation, every Argonian who is buried in Blackmarsh has their soul return to their tribe's Hist tree and the greatest punishment is to have one's remains placed in an urn, where it cannot return to the cycle of reincarnation. As a side note, the Hist do sometimes place an Argonian in the wrong gendered body and are quite willing to correct this mistake. The Hist can and will provide a sap that induces physiological changes to transition an Argonian into their right form. So none of these options is anti-Hist, the Hist are necessary to the reproduction of the Saxhleel (People of the Root). But A and D are mainstream Argonian thought, a school of thought which emphasizes impermanence and living in the moment (in fact, Jel, the Argonian language, has no past or future tenses). Option B is a very radical return to the religion of the "Stone Nest" Era, when the Saxhleel were constantly terrified of Sithis, the void which would eat the current universe and birth a new one. They built big stone step pyramids and offered blood sacrifices to placate Sithis and push back the apocalypse a few more days. Apparently they failed, hence the extreme change in religion and philosophy. Option C is somewhat in-between. They don't worship Sithis (or any other gods), but there is a willingness to acknowledge the past and prepare for the future. This might include, for example, constructing non-temporary buildings and embracing a more centralized government system.
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Jan 27, 2023 01:47
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The Hist will also take over and possess every loving lizard in the Marsh to throw them at problems that can't be solved less violently. Such as Oblivion gates. 
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Jan 27, 2023 06:35
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D
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Jan 27, 2023 12:14
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C. Great conflict is brewing, new empires are due to march across the face of Tamriel, and new problems require new solutions. We need a proper Black Marsh Reformation (with the blessing of the Hist, of course)
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Jan 27, 2023 16:13
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C - I honestly don't understand what's going on in this LP yet but that picture is sick
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Jan 27, 2023 16:16
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D.
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Jan 27, 2023 16:26
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 The fateful morning arrives slowly, after a night of fitful sleep. The captive knows what must be done if they are to survive and has run through every step in their mind a hundred times. The bandit chieftain had said that if the money didn’t come he would give the prisoner one chance to convince him not to “dump their scaly carcass in the swamp and be done with it”. He then smirked and added “I’m chivalrous like that.” That meeting would be their last, best shot at freedom and survival. The one-eyed Khajiit, the prisoner had picked up from chatter that his name was Kazafar, arrived an hour after sunrise to fetch them. He loosely tied the argonian’s wrists behind its back and led the prisoner out of the damp prison of the dilapidated fort and up a tightly-wound spiral staircase. At the top of an old tower the captive and their escort paused at a door. The Khajiit knocked twice and a gruff voice responded “enter.” The chieftain’s room was decorated in a fashion one might expect from the leader of a gang of highwaymen. Stained furs were heaped upon a rough bed, a fire burned in a squat brazier in the middle of the room and a human skull was displayed prominently on a dining table. A scarred Orsimer in furs and chainmail stood upon the pair’s entry and slapped his hands together. “Well little lordling I’m afraid luck is not with you. We’ve not gotten a drake or even a word from your kin in Shadowfen. I’ve been patient, but we can’t keep feeding and guarding you forever without any promise of payment.” The Orc’s face betrayed a hint of pity, before he took a swig from a muddy green bottle on the table and continued, “so this is the end for you, I’m afraid. No sense in just letting you go, you might lead the local constabulary to our fair home. But before we slit your throat I figured I’d give you one last chance to buy your life. If you have a bar of gold sewn into your tail, now’s the time to bargain.” The captive had been waiting for this moment, they…  Please choose one of the following options. This will be the final step in character creation. A. Had been born in the month of Xulomaht, when the days are coldest and the shadows last their longest. When she had cracked her egg open she had not squealed, but had slithered out noiselessly and beheld the world with distrustful eyes. She was a born plotter, able to see the dense networks of sentient relationships which connected all beings, like the roots of the Hist. Born the last of six siblings, she had been educated in the arts of intrigue so that she might support her eldest brother once he took over rulership of the tribe. With a small grin she revealed to her captor her months of careful listening and the plot she had unraveled from the errant talk of drunk guards pissing against the fort wall just outside her window. “The Agaceph with the wooden leg, Xocin, he’s planning on poisoning you and taking over your band. I know exactly how he’s going to do it, too. I can give you his plan for my freedom.” B. Cracked her egg in the month of Hist-Deek, when the warmth of long days first begins. She had been possessed from the beginning of an inquisitive mind and took to the Hist sap easily. This Hleel was a born mage and the powers of Aetherius came easier to her than most. In her 8th year it came to her that the issue of power was, above all else, one of will and that simple realization opened many doors. As the sixth sibling she was groomed to be a court mage, to assist her father and eldest brother in magical issues. The Orc was not of Black Marsh and like most outlanders found the damp uncomfortable. As the chief he had insisted upon taking the tallest room for himself, to avoid the moisture which rose from the land in the morning. But the walls had long been neglected and the fool stood before her, his back to a crumbling window. For months she had saved up her magicka, awaiting just this moment. With a practiced gesture she unleashed a wall of wind and the bandit captain was launched from the fourth floor. Before the Khajiit could react she made another gesture and set him alight. He crashed backwards down the spiral staircase, creating far more noise than she would have wanted. It was going to be a fighting escape after all. C. Burst through their shell and announced their existence to the world with a mighty squeak in the month of Thtithil, when the days are hot and the Sun is in its full fury. The Hist had shaped his body to be bigger than most Hleel and he had taken to physical exertion like a swamp jelly to the air. His father had quickly recognized his son’s talent and the boy was trained from a young age as a warrior and war-leader. The Orc was a veteran, undoubtedly. But he was getting on in years and had underestimated his captive, believing him too spent from months of captivity to pose any threat. But the Khajiit had been lazy and tied his binds loosely and they had only been loosened more by careful wrist movements on the trip to the chief’s quarters. With one final twist his hands were free and he pulled the dagger from the Orc’s belt, only to quickly sheathe it in his thigh. A thick river of dark blood, a sure sign of a major artery, was the Argonian’s reward. He grinned and turned to the Khajiit, who was fumbling with his crossbow in the doorway. He was going to enjoy this. D. Was hatched in Shaja-Nushmeeko, when the first cool nights begin to creep in. He had been a fussy child, the type to hoard toys and count nuts while the other children played teeba-hatsei in a clearing. His father had apprenticed him to a merchant who had dealings with humans in Bravil. He soon showed himself a great talent with numbers and became an assistant to his father’s steward once he was of age. The captive knew he had one shot at convincing this Orc to let him go. He began his pitch and spoke quickly, not giving the chief a moment to stop him or voice objections, “your operation here is sloppy, the narrows on that river are prime hunting grounds for a gang of robbers and yet your quarters are as shabby as any backwater goblin shaman. I don’t say this to insult you, you are a bandit and a good one at that. But while I have no doubts as to the efficacy of your robbing, I believe your allocation of plunder is in a severe need of reorganizing. Just the other day I saw one of your men in a glass helmet. A GLASS HELMET. For a common brigand. Insane. My dear sir I am a trained steward and merchant and I believe that if you give me just two weeks to balance your books we can have this operation running smooth as sload soap. What do you say?” He extended his hand out to the Orsimer, who hesitated a moment, then shook it. E. Had been a strange infant. For while other Hleel sought the comfort of the Hist and the egg tenders upon escaping their eggs, she had been more interested in the cries of her fellow infants, still trapped in their shells. She had been using her eggtooth to aid another’s hatching when the tenders first noticed her. This prisoner was a born people-person, a kind figure well loved in the court of her father and praised often by adults for her maturity. She apprenticed under her father’s chancellor and went on trips with him to meet with the Argonian and Nedic tribes which lived nearby. A sixth child, her future was always imagined to be that of a talented chancellor serving her eldest brother after the passing of their father. Men and mer were hard for most Saxhleel to understand. They used far less body language and frequently used past and future tenses, which are strange concepts to the in-the-moment Argonians. But she could not only read this Orc, she could speak to him in a way he’d understand. He was getting old, a rarity among orcs. She knew that his type usually sought death in combat before they began to lose their edge. The fact that he hadn’t spoke volumes. So she talked to him at length, about death and legacy, telling him that she would have his act of generosity carved upon her grave-stake and he would live on in this way long past this day. In the end he sent her away with ample provisions for the road. F. Had been hatched in the month of Vakka, when the Sun’s strength begins its slow recovery. An eager pupil, he had learned everything the Hist would teach and pestered his revered father with questions constantly growing up. The sap speakers of Mazzatun saw great promise in him and he had become known as a Saxhleel of great wisdom at a young age, groomed to serve his eldest brother as sap speaker when their father’s soul returned to the Hist. The prisoner gestured to the Orc’s shin, where a shallow cut had begun to heal, “I notice that your breathing is somewhat labored, tell me, did you receive that scratch from a mudcrab? A nuisance, generally, but their claws can often spread swamp fever. Have you been feeling weaker lately?” The Orsimer’s face paled “A-are you saying I’m sick? I’ve killed hundreds of crabs and never gotten sick!” He gave the chief a reassuring smile, “Now don’t you worry, I’ve studied up on alchemy and merish physiology, I can mix you up a cure in no time. Provided, that is, that you don’t kill me.” The Orc took a second to think, but nodded his agreement.
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Jan 28, 2023 05:32
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D. Was hatched in Shaja-Nushmeeko, when the first cool nights begin to creep in. He had been a fussy child, the type to hoard toys and count nuts while the other children played teeba-hatsei in a clearing. His father had apprenticed him to a merchant who had dealings with humans in Bravil. He soon showed himself a great talent with numbers and became an assistant to his father’s steward once he was of age.
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Jan 28, 2023 06:01
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F
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Jan 28, 2023 06:11
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F
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Jan 28, 2023 06:48
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F
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Jan 28, 2023 06:51
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B. I have no idea what's going on but a powerful mage might be fun.
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Jan 28, 2023 07:06
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A. We are a tricksy lizard.
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Jan 28, 2023 11:15
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A
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Jan 28, 2023 13:21
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B for Blatant Acts of Wizardry.
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Jan 28, 2023 13:58
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D e: that said, F isn't a bad choice, given what I know of Elder Scrolls lore. Medical knowledge will be a very useful thing to cultivate in this part of the world in the next century or so. Asterite34 fucked around with this message at 16:21 on Jan 28, 2023 |
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Jan 28, 2023 15:21
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Luca_024 posted:B for Blatant Acts of Lizardry.
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Jan 28, 2023 16:17
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D, Economics is the most powerful form of l/wizardry.
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Jan 29, 2023 01:13
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A.
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Jan 29, 2023 06:55
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A! be a spotted-scale plot-spotter!
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Jan 29, 2023 23:09
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The four-way tie is broken, the first actual update will come shortly. Thank you for voting!Asterite34 posted:D Argonians are immune to poison and most diseases and are famously immune to the disease you're thinking of (which is part of why many think some Argonians created said plague as a way of getting back at the Dunmer).
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Jan 31, 2023 05:08
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Reach Heaven through Violence. Also followed.
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Jan 31, 2023 05:16
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Clayren posted:The four-way tie is broken, the first actual update will come shortly. Thank you for voting! Oh I know we're largely immune, but I was thinking of the diplomatic value of being able to offer solutions to the problem (that we may also be the source of, depending on who you ask)
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Jan 31, 2023 07:00
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Interesting I look forward to this
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Jan 31, 2023 12:41
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