Netruk44/uesp-wiki-content huggingface dataset:
Lore:Crafting Motif 5: Breton Style

he Arch-Magister at the  , Lady  , is a  , so I consulted with her on Breton motifs. She was friendly, and very helpful.

The Bretons were the last major group of humans on   to free themselves from their   overlords, and in many ways their long vassalage to the   defines their culture. They are fiercely autonomous, each kingdom in   jealous of its individual sovereignty, but Breton society retains a feudal structure that hearkens back to the rank-obsessed Direnni Hegemony. The Bretons are nearly as fractious as their cousins the  s, but their long tutelage under the Elves makes them open to the  al arts, rather than suspicious of them.

How is this reflected in their arts and crafts? Let's look at Breton armor, for example. The gleaming heavy armor of a Breton knight is as tough and practical as that of a Nord housecarl, but its pleasing form exhibits a subtle sophistication that is reminiscent of Elven elegance. One sees the same influence in Breton weaponry, which is beautiful yet undeniably deadly.

It made me think of the differences between  's Elven urbanity and  's breadth of knowledge and all-too-human inconsistencies, even peevishness. Apparently the transliminal experiments have not been going well. When I stopped by the townhouse last night, neither Morian nor Divayth were in— , Morian's apprentice, told me they'd quarreled over the appropriate price to pay a transporting entity to ensure safe return from a jaunt to  , the remarks became personal, and then my name was apparently brought up. There was shouting, and they both huffed their way out of the laboratory and marched off down Divines Street in opposite directions.

This is terrible. Fighting? Over me? I must confess I was so disturbed I blurted out the whole thing to Lady Opel, who was incredibly kind and solicitous. She asked me if I had feelings for either of the two wizards, and I admitted I did, but they were conflicting and confusing. Opel opened a bottle or two of   spiced wine, and we got quite confidential with each other as the evening waned. I'm not sure how I got home, and today my head hurts, but it was worth it, as my heart is no longer so heavy.
Lore:Crafting Motif 6: Redguard Style

hen I arrived at  's townhouse this morning all was sunshine and rainbows—  and the professor were chatting over mugs of   like best friends, comparing  's   to the  . I reminded Divayth that he'd promised to escort me to the   in the  , at which Morian's brow clouded over slightly, but then he smiled and said that was fine, as he wanted to test some new hyperagonal media in his laboratory.

(And maybe it was the light, but to me both men looked … younger, somehow. I must keep in mind that they're both highly capable wizards, which I suppose might include knowledge of    . Or perhaps I flatter myself.)

I met a number of knowledgeable  s at the chapel, all exhibiting that dignity and polite reserve I associate with the better-educated members of that people. The Most-Revered  , a Priest of   (I hope I spelled that right), was particularly helpful.

As Zirumir pointed out, both the Redguards' ancient home of   and their current province of   are (or were, in the case of Yokuda) deserts. To stay cool, and for protection from the elements, Redguard clothing tends to be light, long and flowing, and these flowing curves are carried into their artisanal designs. Their robes and armor are often accented by flared curves at joints and on headgear. Even their swords tend to be curved.

In contrast their architecture appears rather heavy, though on close inspection this is mainly for the purpose of insulation from the desert's extremes of temperature. Zirumir showed me the chapel's clever system of louvered ventilation ducts in the clerestory, designed to catch the slightest breeze and funnel it down into the nave.

After Zirumir was called away to tend to one of his congregation, Divayth and I strolled into the apse to view the eight shrines to the Yokudan  . Divayth was explaining that whereas the   of Hammerfell often worship the   Divines brought to them by the  , these were the traditional gods worshiped by the more conservative   Redguards. Suddenly, behind the beehive shrine to  , he turned to me with those blazing eyes, took my hands between his, and told me he thought me the most brilliant and desirable woman in the Imperial City. My breath caught in my throat, and my heart was hammering. But when he moved as if to embrace me I was suddenly frightened—I backed away, shaking my head, then fled out into the nave. I fear I quite startled a young family of Redguards placing candles on Morwha's altar.

Now what? I'm afraid I must have insulted Divayth terribly. How can I make it up to him? And dare I mention it to Morian?  ' little teapot, what a dilemma!
Lore:Crafting Motif 7: Khajiit Style

hen I went to the professor's townhouse this morning, my first priority was to apologize to  , but   told me he was out—he'd gone somewhere from the portal chamber, using an incantation and leaving nothing behind but a burnt smell. Onward, I told myself: work will take your mind off it. So I went looking for  .

I found the old dear at breakfast, just finishing his sweet roll and chal. When I entered the kitchen, he nearly knocked over his mug in his haste to stand up and bow! I told him I wanted to make some notes on the   and asked him if he knew any of the Cat-Folk, as I did not. He said he knew exactly the person I needed and would be delighted to help me, since "that irascible  " had taken the day off.

I had often passed the seasonal camp of the   outside the Market Gate but had never gone in—residual caution from my father's warnings keeping me out, I suppose, as well as the pungent scent. Besides, I've always been a dog person. But Morian plunged right in without hesitation and led me to a pavilion adorned with colorful prayer-flags. I followed Morian into the tent, where he introduced me to Madame  , whom he said was a Khajiiti sorceress devoted to   and  . Though sitting in lotus position, she bowed politely—the Cat-Folk are lissome—gestured to a pair of seat cushions, and asked how "this one" could be of service.

We had a long and lovely chat. There are superficial similarities between the motifs and designs of the Khajiit and the  s, perhaps because they both inhabit hot, arid environments, but where the Redguards favor long, flowing curves, the Cat-Folk are devoted to circular and crescentiform moon-shapes. The shapes of   and   in all their phases appear everywhere on Khajiiti clothing and ornaments. The falcate sliver of the crescent moon also brings to mind the Khajiiti claws that spring from pads in their hands and feet, a subtle but ever-present threat to softer folk.

Shizahi-jo made us some tea—sticky sweet, like all Khajiiti food and drink—then asked to see the leaves in the bottom of my cup. She stirred them with her pinky-claw, and said now she saw the object of my concern: I'd let my fear cloud my longing and darken my heart. I blurted something about how Divayth had tried to kiss me, and Morian dropped his cup, splattering poor Shizahi.

I thought he was going to explode in rage, but instead this sad look came over him, and then he began pouring out his heart about his feelings for me. It was so sweet of him. I was really quite moved. The Khajiiti mage made a discreet exit, and we stayed on her cushions, talking, for what seemed like hours.
Lore:Crafting Motif 8: Orc Style

aw   last night, briefly, at the Torchbug. I told him I truly cared for him, but that   had won my heart. He clouded over like a storm in the  , but then took a deep breath and managed a dignified exit. Oh, I do hope he'll be all right.

Though I confess, I'm more worried about Morian. His experiments with Divayth are reaching their climax, when Morian will open a gate and personally make a visit to  . He says he's going to try for  's realm of  , as he says that ought to be relatively safe. Safe! I'm as anxious as a   on a griddle. I dearly want to see Morian before he goes, but he says he must concentrate on mastering the ritual and can't be interrupted.

He did send a note by   saying I should take his place representing the   at the Potentate's state dinner for the new envoy from  . He must really be busy to skip that event, as I know he was keen to go. Well, all the better for my Racial Motifs project, I suppose—work, work, work will take my mind off my worries!

The new province of Orsinium doesn't have an embassy yet, so for the dinner the Potentate's snake-staff set up a row of pavilions on the grounds of the  . To honor Envoy   they were all decorated with authentic  ish paraphernalia imported from  , so I got out my journal and took notes during the interminable speeches.

Strange to think that a folk as brutish as the Orcs seem to be could design and create objects of such sophistication! Of course they're known across   as fine armorers, but I'd always assumed that was due to their great strength rather than skill. A glance at their arms and armor was enough to show me how wrong my assumption had been. Though never ornate or over-embellished, their metalwork, though even simpler and more utilitarian than the  s', displays a deep understanding of the laws of proportion, symmetry, and harmonic congruity. An Orcish sword may be a weapon of violence, but to contemplate the dynamic sweep of its blade, visually balanced by its heavy but shapely hilt, obviously molded to flow into the hand of its wielder—why, it's almost restful and reassuring.

Afterwards at the reception I was happy to see somebody I recognized in Lady   the Arch-Magister. She greeted me warmly and, over some   wine and  , asked me how things were going with me and my pair of wizards. I told her I thought I'd made a terrible muddle of things, but she assured me everything would work out in the end. She said she's known Morian for ever so long, and he's really quite sensible beneath his fussy old-man ways. She was glad he'd found someone as clever as I to keep him from completely vanishing into his laboratory.

But as far as I'm concerned, that's exactly what he's done. I think I'll go talk to Seif-ij again—maybe he can help me get through to Morian before he leaves.
Lore:Crafting Motif 10: Imperial Style

he  . I used to love it here. When I was young my native town of   seemed hopelessly provincial to me, and I looked forward all year long to going along with mother on her annual trip to the  . For me, the capital was the epitome of learning, of culture, of everything I held dear.

I walk the avenues now, from district to district. And I look. Skingrad seemed provincial, yes, but it was  n: direct, forthright, with clean lines and a certain spare, ascetic look to it. And its people are much the same way.

The Imperial City, except for the walls and the  , which are  , is &hellip;  . Refined. Decorative. Subtle. Nuanced.

Decadent. Corrupt.

Like its people. And the people it attracts.

I was too late.

  is gone. With the help of  , cursed Divayth, he fulfilled his dream and traveled to  . According to  , he went to   as planned, but he didn't stay there. He went on, to  , to  , to  . To  .

And there, in Apocrypha, he stayed.

Seif-ij told me, emotion quivering even in his flat reptilian voice, of how once he entered Oblivion Morian seemed to become more reckless, more enraptured, with each portal to a new plane. How he ignored his assistant's pleas to return. How Apocrypha &hellip; entranced him.

Seif-ij Hidja was beside himself, holding his head with its drooping spines, clearly at his wit's-end. It was up to me. I ran to Divayth's room, though Seif-ij said he was gone, hoping he'd left some way to get in touch with him, hoping he would respond to my appeals for help.

I found only a book, open on his desk, a book titled " ." It was open to what seemed to be a summoning ritual for the    , specifying that "whatever price is named shall be met."

A ritual to Hermaeus Mora. The Lord of Apocrypha.

I ran to Morian's laboratory. It was looted, ransacked. The only thing of interest was a crumpled note. It read, "When thou enterest into Oblivion, Oblivion entereth into thee."

Morian is gone. Gone to Apocrypha. Where he stays.

And so I walk, from district to district. Wondering. What price had the Lord of Apocrypha named to Divayth Fyr? What price for the entrancement, the captivity of Morian Zenas?

I walk the streets, the avenues and alleys. Wondering.

Wondering when I, too, will be ready to pay the price.
Lore:Crafting Motif 11: Ancient Elf Style

The master—I mean the Professor,  —is gone. So is Lady  , though I always addressed her as Doctor Lupus. So, for that matter, is the  , but he, at least, will not be missed—nasty  , always making caustic comments about "the scaleskin help" whenever the Professor wasn't around.

No, I am glad the Telvanni is gone. But the others … well.

I will stay on here as long as I may, keeping the Professor's town house in order, organizing his notes and his reagents, dusting his beloved books. I still hope for his return. For now, the   has him listed as "On Sabbatical," and sends his stipend to me so I can maintain his residence and arcane workshop.

It was while in the study, straightening the Professor's desk, that I came across a stack of notes in Lady Alfidia's elegant handwriting, unfinished studies of clothing, arms, and armor in several cultural styles. The river flows slowly these days, so I have decided to organize these style notes in a fashion that (I hope) approximates how the lady doctor would have done so herself.

Though notes about the styles of the leading Elven societies of current-day   have already been compiled, there is more to say, as the mer, who revere their ancestors and ancestry, have a special regard for the history of  i culture. The  , when Elves first conquered and colonized Tamriel, they regard as a golden age to be emulated. As a result the clothing and armor of that period never really goes out of style, and many Elves still affect the styles and manners of the ancient Aldmeri. It is not at all unusual, even on continental Tamriel, to encounter a   or   dressed like an ancient   or  . The Elves call this practice "draping Ehlnofic," but the rest of us just call it "Ancient Elven" and leave it at that.

(I will add here to the absent lady's notes that I myself, though having lived in the Imperial capital for many long years, have never seen a   sporting this Ancient Elven style. But the Bosmer, like we  s, seem to prefer to live in the Aurbic Now, showing relatively little regard for the ways of former ages.)

Ancient Elven is different from Elven styles favored by modern artisans of   and   in that it is somewhat more organic, and yet at the same time more abstract. Flowing floral motifs are common, usually tapering to a sharp point or end, as in the sharp-peaked arches so familiar to the inhabitants of   from our ubiquitous Ayleid ruins. Circles, semi-circles, and arcs abound, often containing the organic tapering tendrils, much as the   (whom the Elves claim as ancestors) were constrained by the creation of the  .

(What? What's that? …It is as if I heard my lady whisper in my ear, "How pretentious, Seif-ij!")
Lore:Crafting Motif 12: Barbaric Style

Despite the civilizing influence of our noble  ,   still has its backwaters and hinterlands inhabited by barbarous tribes. Probably the most familiar to us   are the savage clans of the  , who dwell in the wild mountains between   and  , and whose raiders have been seen on the outskirts of   within living memory. But there are also the   of  , the fierce   of  , the   of central  , and many others.

It is a strange but undeniable fact that these tribes, farflung across the continent though they are, have strikingly similar tastes in apparel. Why this should be is fodder for another ethnographic study more speculative than this one, which is merely descriptive. (Therefore, on to the description.)

This clannish or tribal style, though commonly known as "Barbaric," is really no less sophisticated than that of other cultures. The so-called barbaric tribes simply disdain all ideas of tasteful restraint, preferring the lurid and bizarre. Bright colors are favored, and materials may be lacquered to almost any hue. Typical accouterments include skulls, antlers, feathers, strings of teeth, accents of beaten copper, and weapons ostentatious in size and number.

(I feel the need to interject here that much of this description could also apply to the styles of my native Black Marsh, a region that could scarcely be described as "barbaric"! Pfui. I shall return to this cultural style another day.)
Lore:Crafting Motif 13: Primal Style

You might look at the gear sported by a fully-equipped   warchief and think, "What a mismatched conglomeration of primitive paraphernalia." But you would be wrong. Each item that warchief is wearing was carefully selected for its proven utility, and represents a decision backed by millennia of tradition. This is a style of arms and armor we ethnographers call the "Primal," and it is as distinctive and recognizable as any other culture set.

Goblins and other folk who have adopted the Primal style are typically superb scavengers and looters. They seem to have a special sense for where to find the sort of cast-off yet serviceable, even exceptional equipment that will fit the Primal esthetic. And they are as proud of their turn-out as any   centurion.

Recent scholarship by Doctor   of   confirms this, and adds some new information that shows that "primal" is, indeed, the optimal label for this style. His study of the fifty-seven Primal ensembles worn by the massacred Knife-Biter Goblin tribe showed that many of the items found on the corpses were hundreds, if not thousands of years old. Some of the greaves and cuirasses appeared to date from the early  , and represented ancient forging techniques that have since been lost to history. Did the Goblins loot these from ancient   ruins, as they've been known to do? Or did they actually pass them down, generation by generation, since time immemorial?

Yes, Professor  , that IS how you spell "immemorial." Wait … what? Professor? Is that your voice?
Lore:All About Giants

Observations on the Giantish Peoples of   from the journals of Bonorion the Wanderer,  

Having explored the snowy reaches of   and  , I have had opportunities to observe the strange and rather large people the Skyrim natives call "giants." The natives of Skyrim are rather large themselves, but the giants that roam the wilderness are twice the size (or more!) of your average thick-necked, broad-shouldered  . Here are some observations, recorded for future travelers to this chilly clime:

Giants are tall.

Giants seem peaceful enough. Until you threaten them. Then they swing huge clubs and launch even a burly Nord over field and stream. The trip probably kills the Nord. That would be my guess, as I've never been able to interview a survivor of a giant's swing.

Things that seem to threaten giants include, but are not limited to:

Going near them.

Threatening their  s.

Shooting arrows at them.

No one that I have spoken to has ever seen a female giant or a young giant. Are giant children taller than  ? Are female giants painfully shy? This calls for additional observation.

Giants paint rocks and trees near their encampments. This primitive art probably entices the rare female giantess who might wander by. Or the decorations mark territory. Or the giants simply like to paint. This calls for further study.

How does a giant milk a mammoth? VERY carefully. (Note: Nords found this joke to be very amusing. Especially after several mugs of mead.)

No Nord I spoke to has ever tasted  . They seem to have no interest in doing so.

I shall have to find a way to befriend one of these large creatures. That's the only way I can think of to get a sample of that wonderful smelling cheese.

Note from Jeggord the Learned,  

The   Bonorion was found at the base of large hill near the area known as Cradlecrush. Given the condition of his body, that is, every bone broken, it appears that he ignored his own advice. Even the dimmest Nord children know better than to approach a giant. As the nearest giant camp was nearly a league from where his body was found, I would say that Wood Elves can travel great distances when launched by a giant's club.

I have preserved his journal as a cautionary tale for future explorers of Eastmarch, the Rift, and other regions where giants make their homes. Heed its advice, even if its author did not: don't try to befriend a giant.
Lore:Crafting Motif 14: Daedric Style

It is entirely appropriate that this last entry in Doctor Lupus' "Racial Motifs" series should be about   arms and armor, as it is my belief that the absent Lady Alfidia has somehow journeyed to the Daedric   in pursuit of my lost Professor  . And as I can now hear the Professor's voice whispering in my ear almost constantly, it is time to conclude these notes and move on to telling the story of his travels through  .

The Daedra, as the Professor has so often remarked, are creatures of chaos, entities of great energy and force but entirely lacking in originality. They can imitate, they can exaggerate, and they can corrupt, but they cannot create anything new. That is a capability inherent only in the  , and in we mortals of  , to whom they gave it as a gift. (In   we see such things differently, of course, but these are the beliefs of the Professor and Lady Alfidia.)

Thus the armor and weapons of such Daedra as the  ,  , and  —what Doctor Lupus calls the "humanoid" Daedra—consist of familiar  -style cuisses, breastplates, and pauldrons, swords, spears, and bows. They may to our eyes be ornamented with outlandish spikes and melodramatic flourishes, but look inside a suit of Daedric armor and you'll find the familiar padding and straps that enable it to be worn by anyone of conventional shape. Pick up a Daedric sword, and despite its bizarre shape you will find the grip comfortable, the heft well-balanced. Indeed, it is said that the famous   of the  , such as the  , were mostly made by mortal artisans who were enticed or forced to create them.

Yes, Professor, I believe that is enough—for now, at least. I have done my duty to the good doctor. I am sitting in your study, and I am listening. Tell me again of  .