Netruk44/uesp-wiki-content huggingface dataset:
Lore:The Wilderking Legend

—transcribed from the oral tradition by an unknown author—


Sing,  , shout Green 
Tell the tale of the mover, the shaper, 
the one, the  .


His eye projects outward to the world 
and touches everything he perceives: 
by his thoughts he shapes it.


Do you know where to find him? 
Have you looked to the hills? 
Have you looked to the trees?


He is not there. 
Because "there" is a place, and a place has boundaries, 
but The Wilderking is boundless.


His is the   and the  . 
He is the Court and the Throne. 
When he walks, his footfalls fall on himself.


And who does not hear his footfalls and quake? 
The earth shakes at his coming, 
at the rising of his   from the earth.


Like the delicate calm of an undisturbed pool 
is shattered by the smallest of stones, 
so is the terrible force of the Wilderking's passing.


Shout,  ! Wail,  ! 
The Wilderking is friend and foe, 
Foe and friend to both.


For who can record his footsteps on the land, 
who can hear the melody of his voice, 
when he opens his mouth to sing?
Lore:The Wood Elf Gourmet, Ch. 1

Every   knows that the more inward the part, the better it tastes. While other races cook their meat until it is dry and bloodless, and waste entrails and brains, the Wood Elf knows that these parts are the juiciest and therefore the most flavorful.

The following delicacy is a highlight from the   region of  :

 

1   Haunch, bloody 
  
1 Imported  , finely chopped

Hang the Haunch for 5 days, until it is tender to the touch.

Heat the haunch in over a medium flame. The oil will give the meat a nice crisp outside. When the meat starts to pop, remove it from the heat.

Seal the hot meat in a vase or jug with the stock and the onion. Let it stand for another fortnight.

To serve, open the jug and pour the tender haunch onto the table. It is so tender no knife is required.

This meal will feed a family of four, or a hunter who has gone a few days without killing any prey.

There are many more such delicacies, often passed down from parent to child.
Online:Aicaano's Journal

I take quill to paper to record what I fear are the final days of  . Though many would despise this place as a backwater of no value, I have found peace here. Few of the more "civilized" places I have lived have made me feel as welcome. Though few of my race have ever come here, I encountered no prejudice, no resentment.

For two years I lived here, enjoying friendship and trust as never before. This has been a golden time in my long life, one I will deeply regret if it comes to an end.

Several weeks ago, a human of rough looks and worse manners strolled into the village. He marched about as if he owned the place, opening every unlocked door, peering into every stable.  , usually the most pompous of swollen fools, for once acted as the prefect he claims to be. He confronted this stranger, demanding to know his business here.

The intruder stared at him rudely and didn't deign to answer. He strode from the village and vanished beyond the hills to the east.   wanted to follow him, but Ovidius forbade it, worried that only trouble would result.

If only we had listened to Etiache. We should have caught and killed that stranger. Perhaps what befell us would have been avoided.   knows; I do not.

A few days later, another stranger came to Hackdirt, wearing well-used swords loose in their scabbards. His steed was wild-eyed, a warhorse bred for combat, held in check only by the rider's stern hand. Up to Ovidius this warrior rode.

He named himself   and proclaimed himself the new overlord of Hackdirt. He said his gang, the  , waited just over the hill. He gave us one day to agree to his terms or all would be slaughtered. All inhabitants were now his servants and our dwellings, livestock, and all possessions were now his. Those who cooperated would find him a just overlord, he claimed.

Ovidius stared, mouth agape. Before he could gather his wits, matters were taken from his hands. Nerva charged Vanier, screaming that he would never live as a slave. The bandit's sword sheared off the tines of Nerva's pitchfork and the horse's hooves lashed out and crushed his head. We stood there stunned as Vanier rode off.

We buried Nerva behind his house that evening. Then we gathered around the well and discussed our fate. Some, like   and Etiache, urged that we stay and fight. As if farmers and merchants had a chance against such as Vanier. Saner heads prevailed and we voted to abandon Hackdirt. Even Yggoz agreed in the end.

Only Ovidius opposed the will of the rest, saying he would never leave Hackdirt. No argument could prevail against him. In the end, he ascended the tower with all the food and water we could spare. We sealed the door shut behind him.

It was  , quiet, shy Iirenir, who suggested we chain shut our doors and destroy all we could not carry. This was done with a sense of grim satisfaction.

Dawn will break soon. The others have gone, moving slowly to the south. I must leave too. I linger only to finish this. Perhaps someday we will reclaim Hackdirt and this journal will survive as a record of our darkest times.
Online:Reward for Longfang!

Bold hunters wanted!

Only the bravest of the brave need apply!

A reward is offered for the death of the dread  . This creature abides in  , along with many of its foul brood.

Bring the carapace of Longfang to   of   for a grand reward!
Lore:Unexpected Allies

When I was a lad, I stood at the eastern edge of   and looked upon  . From  , I could see the   of  , but I never ventured there. Like many  s, I was content to leave foreign lands to the foreigners.

A scant ten years ago in  , my father took a different path. He fought with our  i allies to repel the  . As a soldier of Skyrim, he was there when the Nords pursued the invaders into  . He told me of an army on the brink of ruin, marching ever further into foreign territory, hungry and nearly broken, until the Dunmer brought in   troops to aid the Nords.

No one expected this. I still cannot believe it. The Dunmer once held the Argonians as slaves, yet on that day, the Argonians' arrival changed the course of history. From the jungles they came, adorned with blood and mud.  i fell beneath their claws, as well as the swords and spells of their Nord and Dunmeri allies. An alliance was forged that day and has never faltered since.

Agreements were signed in  , but these were formalities compared to the ties made on the battlefield. Our alliance was forged in the fires of adversity, a shield to protect us from all invaders. Our cultures differ, but our aims bind us.

A few years ago, the Dunmeri   called for more troops from our alliance, insisting that we take up arms against a new enemy: an Empire growing in  . Our enemies in the   and   also sent troops to liberate this territory.

And now? War rages across  .   and   war against Dunmer and Argonians.   strike against Skyrim. And from  , the Daggerfall Covenant attacks us all.

In the midst of such chaos, what choice do we have? Our alliance with the Dunmer and Argonians has stood for a decade. I have fought beside our allies in battle. And when I return home, I tell my children proud tales of victory over our foes, fighting with Dunmer and Argonians beside me.

The Pact never ceases to surprise me. I have spoken at great length with Argonian mystics, marveling at their view of the world. I have walked into the caves of Dunmeri priests, staring at shadows as they tell me tales of their gods.

And someday, we will walk together into the heart of Cyrodiil—Dunmer, Argonians, and Nords. We will triumph under the banner of our Pact, steadfast allies who can never be defeated.
Lore:The Time of the Ebonheart Pact

The Wheel of Time turns: in  , it was the day of the  i, and then came the time of  —but now, as the decay and chaos in the   makes clear, the time of Men has passed. Of the Men of  , only the Eastern  s had the strength of character to join  i and  s in repelling the recent invasion of   from  , thereby showing that of all Men, only they may be trusted.

Time and again Men have shown that without proper guidance, their meddling with   leads to disaster. Men's reckless dabbling with beings beyond   must stop forever. Now it is the time of the  , which shall and must become the  . Within the Pact, the  ,  , and   are all revered … from an appropriate distance. Within the Pact is the  , three Living Gods who abide among us here on Nirn and whose interest therefore coincides with that of all residents of Nirn. Only they have shown how to treat successfully with powers beyond Nirn.

The rash actions of those who sit the  , or who pull their strings, have brought Tamriel to the verge of irretrievable doom. They must be scoured from the face of  , and the decaying remains of the Empire of Men must be swept away. It shall be replaced by the Pact, which will enforce peace across the continent and strictly regulate all involvement in dangerous magical pursuits.

Onward, warriors of the Pact! We will never know peace and freedom until we occupy  !
Lore:The Royal Lineage of Sentinel

Know, O Beloved Reader, that the lineage of our All-Beneficent King is most royal, descending as he does from High King  , through King  , thence  , who did marry the   of  , thus endowing the line with the   blood of the Meritorious  .

His Royal Majesty King   was the only issue of the Ever-Virtuous Makala and Fanesh. In good time Fahara'jad, while yet a young prince, did take to wife   the Flower of  , and she bore him three fine children. Alas, the Flower of Taneth lost her life in giving birth to the third child, and was mourned by all the  s of  .

Nonetheless, his Royal Majesty's ever-glorious descendancy is assured in the persons of his eldest daughter  , the Jewel of  , his second-daughter  , the Star of the  , and the young Crown  , the Lion of Antiphyllos.
Lore:The Eagle and the Cat

A wife. A husband. A son or daughter. Mother or father, aunt or uncle: each of us has lost one or more of these. It has touched every family in  , the dreadful epidemic, the terrible plague&mdash;the  .

It started in  , on Sweet Street in the   slums, among the skooma-struck. At first the city elders dismissed it as a toxin in the goods, but then it spread to   and  , and was reported from the docks in   as well.

And suddenly, it was everywhere:  ,  ,  ,  , and all points in between. The Winds of   bore the coughing and retching to every ear. We seemed to be witnessing the Death of Cats on  .

Slowly, Elsweyr began to fight back against its doom. Clan Mother   of Corinthe first identified how the flu spread from   to Khajiit.  , a Daughter of   from  , distilled a  -tea that mitigated the worst of the symptoms. Even I contributed, organizing the remnants of the   to maintain order and put this new knowledge to use.

But it was not enough. Everywhere, Khajiit were dying, by the litter, by the pride, by the entire tribe. The   read the portents, and they were dire indeed.

Then, past all expectation, help arrived from an unforeseen direction: over the western waves came the   of  , bringing physicians, healers, desperately needed supplies.

And one more thing: hope. Hope that Elsweyr would survive.

At first, many Cats were suspicious. Never before had the haughty High Elves helped the Khajiiti&mdash;why now? But their canonreeves passed among us, as if unafraid of the flu, and explained: the Altmer did it not from friendship, but from policy. We needed their help now, and they would need our help later. Invaders were coming to southwest  , they said, and the High Elves could not repulse them without Khajiiti claws at their side.

To fight against mutual enemies&mdash;ah, that was a logic we Cat-Folk could understand. So we accepted the aid of the High Elves, and their sly cousins the  , and gradually the Knahaten Flu began to recede. And when Queen   of   proposed the alliance treaty of the  , we took plume in claw and signed it.

Now, fellow Khajiiti, we have been through the forges of torment, and with our new allies, we emerge stronger than ever. We welcome the chance to test blade and edge against these invaders, to spill their blood and take their bright objects.

For now is the time of the Dominion.
Lore:On the Knahaten Flu

Background:

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

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

Mitigation:

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

Symptoms and Course:

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

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

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

Treatment:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

3rd Last Seed

I finally arrived in  . It is in chaos from the outbreak. I admit a moment of weakness: when I saw the victims today, I felt revulsion. I wanted to run.   preserve me! The sores, the bloody coughing, the rasping cries of pain! I nearly fled. But if men of wisdom like me run, how will we ever cure this plague&mdash;how will we prevent another? We cannot allow the   to be the victor. By the  , I will help bring about its end!

8th Last Seed

There are others like me in the city, those who have left home to risk their lives finding a cure. I am glad for the company, and with our combined efforts, we have found ways to comfort those dying of the disease. We keep them (and ourselves) wrapped from head to toe to limit exposure to the sores. The rumors of   broth easing the cough seem to be true, but none of the remedies I brought with me have cured even one soul. Once the symptoms begin, there is no stopping it.

12th Last Seed

We have tried everything. Every potion, salve, incense&mdash;even prayer. Not one has recovered. I am so tired, so distraught that I cannot even eat. My stomach churns. My eyes are bleary. Even breathing seems difficult. I just need a good rest, I know. I still have hope.
Online:Call to the Faithful (note)

Those who revere the light of the Moons! Take heart and hear the words of the lunar clergy. Our research has confirmed the sites of several ruins dating back to the days of the oldest  s.

&mdash;  , or " " in  : north of the modern town of  

&mdash;  , near the center of the bend in  

&mdash;  , at the mouth of the  

It is our hope they may once again sing with moonlight. For those with a stout heart and a strong arm, know of these ruin sites and make of them what you can. Perhaps one day the faithful shall shout your name in the halls of the lunar faith!

Bright Moons hang above us all!
Lore:Call to the Faithful

cringes in pain beneath the heels of armies that bruise her face. Arrows rend  's holy gales, and all the   sadly shake their heads as their   are stifled by the drums of war. Oh faithful, the heretics surrounding us on all sides seek to propagate their blasphemies and lies, to trample on the legacy of   and spit upon the Divines themselves, endeavoring to bury them forever or obscure them behind a veil of lies.

We true servants of the Divines know these profane foes, these misguided alliances, cannot and shall not prevail.  , invincible and eternal, will not forsake us if only we show our devotion, if only we stand up when so many have been beaten down before us, if only we cry out against the flood of   and their  . We are called now, brothers and sisters, to silence the dissenters and   thralls that surround us. We are roused by Akatosh's mighty roar and must not stand by as the   shakes in resonating rage.

Though we wear only simple robes,   defends us. He envelops us in light, in unbreakable   glory. He turns aside the blades of the heretics and proclaims our eternal victory. Though we wield only our words,   sharpens them to a razor edge. He forges our very minds into weapons, fills us with holy words to awaken the faithful. Though we may feel weak and afraid, Akatosh's mighty voice commands us forward, and we know that we will be conquering heroes, that we will set   right by his command.

To restore our beloved Empire, we must not falter or be shaken; we must not cower before the armies that ravage our home. Now is the time to honor our pact, consecrated by His mighty blood. We are not abandoned; no, we have been granted a sacred moment in which to prove our unwavering devotion, to stand against the tides of evil that erode our shores. Take up your implements of war. The Divines are your shield, your shining armor, your immaculate blade. They will carry us forth to drive the enemy out and restore rightful peace and order to Tamriel.

Do not hesitate, for you must surely hear this call, echoing loud and true within your spirit. Clothe yourself in faith and do as the Divines command.
Online:Call to the Faithful

Call to the Faithful may refer to:
Call to the Faithful (note), a note addressed to Khajiiti religious followers
Call to the Faithful (book), a book addressed to religious followers of the Divines
Lore:Apocrypha, Apocrypha

The infinite archives of   are the ultimate treasure. Its innumerable shelves and countless books carry the weight of all knowledge. Therein, the diligent reader can find all that was, all that is, and all that will be.

Followers of the  , content in their dark cloisters of ignorance, preach hatred of the Golden Eye.  , they call him: unclean, monstrous, wicked.

We have seen the truth. Knowledge is only as wicked as the one who wields it. Forsaking learning in fear of its misuse is the ultimate sin. It is an unforgivable folly. As a result, mortals have suffered countless centuries of loss.

In  , the Golden Eye weeps cold tears at this plague of ignorance. Those who walk his halls are truly blessed. Even as their flesh falls away, they are permitted to browse the infinite tomes and scrolls, privy to all mysteries that have ever and will ever exist. It is the most blessed of fates.

We give you praise, Hermaeus Mora. We seek enlightenment, illumination, and a place at your side.
Lore:Moon Worship among the Cat-Men

Stride through any  i settlement, whether a ramshackle northern encampment or an austere southern town, and you will notice the  &mdash;always the most expansive structure. Built to last and utilizing the finest local materials, this place of worship is central to Khajiiti society. Although the Cat-Man deems the   as preeminent (and their sanctuary offers prayers to bastardizations of our own  ), they believe the  &mdash;or the movement of   and  &mdash;influences all matters of luck, destiny, and happenstance, a belief   has termed a "hybrid heresy."

Khajiiti dogma reveres the moons as divine, furnishing life into the bodies of the Cat-Man by ingestion of  , a sacred ingredient that can also be refined into a  . Although used for both culinary and ritualistic purposes, it can be easily distilled to form skooma, a wretched and illegal narcotic. Such wanton delirium seems to be kept in check by a hierarchy of   who regulate these ingestions, which play a small part in Khajiiti ceremonies. The clergy mainly concerns itself with conducting services, rounding up fallen followers, and ruling on theological matters. If an impasse is reached, the issue is resolved by the   himself.

The absolute rulers of the Lunar Lattice, Manes are the most powerful of the Khajiit outside the clan-chiefs and king of  . They may be a key official to bribe, corrupt, or remove should forthcoming hostilities occur to our southern border. Of further interest is the succession ritual for the Mane; when one expires, a sacred ritual determines his successor. A   is appointed to shepherd the potential aspirants on what Khajiiti text describes as an epic and dangerous quest to the surface of the Two Moons themselves, with the sole returning candidate declared the new Mane.

The assumption that the lay Cat travels astrally to our moons is preposterous; Venustinius Perquitienus has termed it "nauseous balderdash," and rightly so.