Netruk44/uesp-wiki-content huggingface dataset:
Lore:Where Magical Paths Meet

Mastering   means having access to an entire spectrum of utility.

—Are you in need of a flame spell? Conjure a  . You'll have command of a dozen such spells, in the form of a fiery avatar.

—Are you caught in the dead of night and wishing you had prepared a   spell? Conjure a  : its natural luminescence banishes darkness.

—Do you lack a   spell to move a boulder out of your way? Conjure a   to lift it for you.

—Did you forget the   you'll need to protect yourself from a sudden hail? Conjure a   to crystallize the air above for temporary shelter.

—Is your   spell unable to discern a fleeing target from all the other living things in the wilderness? Conjure a Wolf   to pick up the scent.

The flexibility of Conjuration magic has been an unsung passion of mine, and I've compiled a comprehensive guide for replacing specific, commonly-used spells with Conjuration substitutions (see Volume II, page seven, for more).

Conjuration even allows access to   abilities (for those who dare to wield them). A mage well-versed in Conjuration can summon all variety of Daedra, from  s to  s. Mine wouldn't be the first primer for spells like these, but Volume III of this collection contains detailed instructions on beckoning the denizens of Oblivion. " " is also a useful read on the subject.*

I realize I write highly of Conjuration here, almost extravagantly, but if you'll do me the favor of reading the rest of this collection (Volumes II-XXII), you'll find that my words have weight.

 Author's Note: It should go without saying, but contact the   only with the utmost discretion: the unwary mage could lose her life—or worse—in dealings with the Daedra.
Online:WHERE ARE THE PEOPLE

WHERE ARE THE PEOPLE WHERE ARE THE PEOPLE WHERE ARE THE PEOPLE WHERE ARE THE PEOPLE WHERE ARE THE PEOPLE WHERE ARE THE PEOPLE WHERE ARE THE PEOPLE WHERE ARE THE PEOPLE WHERE ARE THE PEOPLE WHERE ARE THE PEOPLE WHERE ARE THE PEOPLE WHERE ARE THE PEOPLE WHERE ARE THE PEOPLE WHERE ARE THE PEOPLE
Lore:When We Pass

Do not weep for your father, for he goes to join his father.

Do not weep for your mother, for she goes to join her mother.

Take only account of yourself, for you will go to join your father and your mother one day as they went to meet theirs.

Treat your children well, for they too will one day come to join you.

Pray for your children's children, for one day they will raise children of their own who will also come to join you.

Walk proudly every day with the firm knowledge in your heart that you will go home.

You will walk through the   and find your way to the eternal sands of the  .

It has been this way and will be this way for all   who walk under the watchful eye of  .
Lore:What a Pig Needs

Being a swineherd is much harder than you think. Being a good swineherd is even harder. There are many things that a   needs and it is the duty of the swineherd to see to them all.

A pig needs mud to wallow in, dry hay to sleep in, and clean water to drink and bathe in.

A pig needs slop to eat. Slop can consist of almost any food scraps, but a pig prefers corn cobs, fruit, vegetables, mushrooms, and wheat.

But most of all, a pig needs love. Love your pigs and they will serve you well.
Lore:Wergital the Wolf-Boy

watched from the rain, clouds, and skies

A   child cloaked in a furry disguise

Nurtured by   of the   glen

A wolf-boy would scamper through woods, hills, and fen


Cutting his teeth on the flesh of the hunt

He grew brawn and bone, no longer the runt

Night hunts for prey in the light of  

The pack grew more daring to forage and plunder


  farmers, their hairs stood on end

Flitting dark shapes, t'was a violent portend

Bringing down cattle with ravenous snarl

A predator child with the wolves in his thrall


Hunters dispatched, with pelts their desire

The wolves they did flee, all safe in the briar

More daring the wolf raids, encroaching the town

So elders did plan to bring the pack down


A   tied and bleating, intended as bait

Lured wolf-boy and pack to a terrible fate

The pack leapt at prey, intending a meal

But the archers of Fell's Run soon brought them to heel


Arrows flew fast as the boy dropped his cowl

Bloodied and pierced, he fell with a howl

  was burned on the moor

Return unto Kynareth—your soul is now pure
Lore:Graht-oak

The  s are massive, ambulatory trees native to  . The   are known to build entire cities in the branches of these great trees, most famously  .  In their mighty boughs, Bosmer live alongside the ape-like   in a mobile ecosystem, coaxing the living wood into pathways winding around hide structures nestled in hollows.   The canopy of the trees is so large that it is sometimes called the second sky, or the middle green.  Emblematic of their  , the Bosmeri  ,  , is represented in each and all of the graht-oaks, rather than in a single erected structure as with   and  .  
 

References
Lore:Triumphs of a Monarch, Ch. 6

Chapter 6:  &mdash;  Besieged


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

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

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

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

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

By the time Ranser's main forces arrived on the scene, our troops were all within the walls. The gates were shut up tight, but the King of Shornhelm was undeterred. The city of Wayrest found itself once more under siege, and Ranser, with more craft and foresight than the    , had come with siege engines in his train.
Lore:Triumphs of a Monarch, Ch. 10

Chapter 10: The Summons of Destiny


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

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

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

Resting never again until our purpose be achieved. 
Ever watchful for an opportunity to repay the wrong. 
 : We shall extract the fee for betrayal. 
Even our duty to the   is transcended by this. 
Never again to hear the name  : agony. 
Generous will we be to those who aid our purpose: 
Ending the false ascendance of the  .
Lore:Protocols of the Court of Contempt

All proceedings shall be strictly on the record, unless said proceedings are ordered stricken from the record.

The Guilty shall address this court with all due respect, or receive condign punishment as appropriate from  .

The Guilty shall be entitled to counsel in the form of  s duly outfitted in periwigs. However, scamps, due to their inveterate vulgarity, are forbidden to speak in the  .

The Guilty are invited to express their indignation at these proceedings at length and in the most heated terms, for the entertainment of the Judge and Magistrate.

The reputation for the fairness of the Court of Contempt is proven by its one-hundred-percent conviction rate of the Guilty.

Take them away!
Lore:The Black Forge (book)

Raw Materials for  :

Supplies of  -alloy cold-  are stable at 17,500 tons, but that's barely enough to forge the Shackle, given typical rate of loss in the casting process. It might be wise to send for another 2,000 tons from the mine burrows in the side of the  . Better safe than sorry.

I am honored to report that we have discovered the source of the depletion in the supplies of the  :   had been getting into the vault through a forgotten plasm-duct and gorging on the C of R. (We learned this when we found one so bloated it was unable to get back through the duct opening.) We sent in an explosive duct-worm, which found the nest and discorporated all the cinder-imps. Deficits in the supply of Charcoal of Remorse have been made up by increasing Torment Quotas on the    .

I don't wish to be one to point talons, but it is my duty to report that even if the Shackle is forged according to schedule, we will not be able to quench it if we do not receive our shipment of the  . We have gotten repeated assurances from   that our shipment will be on its way "any shift now," but so far all we've received are promises. I hesitate to elevate this to the   level, but I think it's high time the matter was looked into.
Lore:The Lightless Oubliette

If you've never served a shift in the   before, pay close attention, because this is not a place where you want to make a mistake. The L. O. was specifically constructed as a detention facility for captive servants of the  , and you know how our   feels about her. If any of these  s or  s escape on your watch, you'll be lucky to get off with Second-Degree Gradual Discorporation.

Now I don't care how well you know the Seven-Hundred-and-One Edicts; I don't care if you can quote chapter and verse from the Mandatory Codicils: the rules that matter in the Lightless Oubliette are the following.

1. No white or yellow glow crystals to be brought into the facility.

This isn't because we like the place gloomy, fools. It's because the Prisoners can pervert certain spectra of light into working on their behalf. Stick to blue glow crystals for illumination, or even better, open flame.

2. No torment-sport with the Prisoners.

That includes the  . No, I don't know why, that's just the way it is. Rumor has it the Dread Lord is planning some kind of nasty surprise for the Shining Bitch, and to pull it off he needs her servants with their bodies intact. Could be true, I don't know.

3. Clean up after yourself.

This is a top-security facility, so no   are allowed in, not even custodians. You make a mess, you clean it up. This includes any bodily fluids spilled during sparring practice—if I find stains on the flagstones again, somebody's next shift will be in the scathe-rings.
Lore:The Whithering of Delodiil

There was, in those days, a city in the  ,   by name. And it was a city of pleasant promenades, of learned scholars, of meticulous artisans, and of lissome dancers. And also did Delodiil have warriors fierce and proud, who protected the promenades, and the scholars, and the artisans, and the dancers. And though the warriors were few, they were bold.

Now the people of Delodiil worshiped many  , for they were devout and held all the   in reverence. But above all others they did venerate the Lady of Light, building for   a chapel of colored rays and beams, which was for glory like a piece of   brought down to the mortal world. And the people of Delodiil were proud thereon.

But across the valley was another city,  , which was to the darkness as Delodiil was to the light. Now Abagarlas had as many citizens as Delodiil, but few were dancers, artisans, and scholars, because most were warriors fierce and proud. These warriors were lended to other states and cities for the making of war in return for wealth. And thus did Abagarlas, in its own way, prosper.

Now the King of Abagarlas saw the chapel of lights that was the pride of Delodiil, and he said, "Is not Abagarlas as great a city as Delodiil? We shall have a great chapel of our own." And he decreed that much of the wealth of Abagarlas be spent in the building of a shrine to his own patron Divine, who was the Lord  . And the people of Abagarlas reared up a vast shrine to Mola Gbal, but they were but rude soldiers rather than artisans, and the shrine was misshapen, ill-colored, and burdensome to look upon. But it was, nonetheless, larger than Delodiil's chapel of lights, and thus the King of Abagarlas boasted that his city was greater therefore than Delodiil. But the people of Delodiil evinced no dismay, and went about their business as before.

And this unconcern of the Delodiils ate a hole into the heart of the King of Abagarlas, and he was vexed unto madness. He sent soldiers to profane the small shrine to Merid-Nunda in Abagarlas, and then went to his vast shrine to Mola Gbal, where he swore a mighty oath. And slaying a family of visiting Delodiils on the altar, the King vowed that he would gather his army, march across the valley, and capture all the Delodiils, sacrificing them to Mola Gbal within the chapel of lights.

And the King of Abagarlas mustered all his soldiers, and on a night in which the skies were lit by a furious racing aurora, he marched them across the valley to Delodiil. But when the King and his army arrived they found the land empty, for the city of Delodiil was gone, unto every brick!

And the King thought he heard laughter in the lights in the skies, mirth that turned to shrieks of fear that came, not from above, but from back across the valley. In haste the King marched his soldiers back to his city, but when they arrived at Abagarlas, they found it utterly destroyed as if by scorching light. And of the families of the soldiers and the King, nothing could be found but their shadows burnt into the walls of the city.

Thus Abagarlas. But of the fate of Delodiil, nothing more was known.
Lore:Wayrest Sewers: A Short History

The city of   owes much to its merchants for its ever-flourishing economy. The abundance of money has done the city wonders, earning Wayrest the moniker "Jewel of the Bay": the wealth of its citizens have paid for the shimmering stone used in the city's construction, the bright armor worn by the local law enforcement agents, and most significantly, the modern marvel of western  —the  .

Written accounts dating back to the city's foundation hint that, until the Wayrest Sewers were finished, the city was a jewel mired in muck and mud. Vile, foul-smelling mud. Writes  , an   sailor in  , "The   is a watercourse of refuse, of pungent tang, of disease, and the   is equally revolting where the Bjoulsae feeds into it. It's that damned   city."

Today, the Bjoulsae River shines as brilliantly as Wayrest itself, thanks entirely to the sewers, which are a feat of engineering rivaling anything created by the   of old. The artisans ensured that the sewers' modular design permit travel across the city below ground as easily as above, as well as allow construction to continue to this day. The sewers, like the city itself, are regularly expanded. However, in its size lies the one drawback of the entire system: the sewers have become so large that Wayrest law enforcement has difficulty patrolling it all, and thus, crime finds its way even to the Jewel of the Bay. Like the city itself, most of these illicit activities can only be afforded by the rich, including   trade and   (skooma is a   that's widely banned across Tamriel, and necromancy, the magical art of raising the dead, is also forbidden in many regions).

See Volume II for a list of noble families that donated most heavily to the sewer construction. The original designers who imagined the sewers just prior to the fall of   remain lost to time, though Volume III contains a list of artisans and engineers who have worked to expand development since the end of the  .
Lore:Wardens of the Green

The hunter waits in the boughs, clad only in leaves and shadow. She breathes as the wind shifts, and listens.

Her quarry's fear grows thicker than the canopy. A glance, a turn, and it breaks cover. Her eyes open.

Footsteps, muffled as  's wings, beat softly through the Green. Any other would lose the quarry to the vineswept earth, yet the hunter does not waver.

Over and through the forest goes the silent chase. Briefly, the hunter alights upon a branch. A quick pull from her waterskin and she is off once more.

A stream bubbles through the wood and the quarry stops to drink. Claw leaves scabbard, slick and shining. Teeth bare with anticipation. She leaps.

A sirocco of splashes. Claw meets neck. The quarry relents. A moment more would see crimson intrude upon the stream's mirth. She licks her lips.

"Not this one."

At the stream's edge stands a simple  . In his silhouette stands every woodsman, hunter, and guide; every jaqspur, every treethane and spinner. Every child and every elder stand with him, yet he stands alone.

Her hunter's gaze meets his. She sees herself beside him, too. She blushes, and so does he. "My Silvenar," she says at last. "My  ," he responds in turn. She lowers her claw and turns to the quarry.

"In stalking these woods, in keeping them free of terrors, I lose myself to the Green." She helps the quarry to its feet.

"But I will always bring her back," says the Silvenar. "You have nothing to fear from us, child of the forest. So long as there is the Green, we walk where you walk."

The Silvenar vanishes among vines. The Green Lady leaps for the boughs. She watches the   trudge out of the stream and continue through the forest.

But she smiles, for the Bosmer is no longer afraid.
Lore:War Customs of the Tribal Bosmer

While the   of the towns are largely content with their drink and the luxuries provided by   trade, remote tribes in the depths of the jungle are far more savage. War is constantly waged under the eaves of  . When the tribes are not raiding the   in earnest, they are raiding one another for sport.

Unlike civilized peoples, tribal Bosmer do not fight for any meaningful or constructive purpose. They seem incapable of grasping the concept of fighting for control of land, resources, or defensible borders. Though they may swarm to push out those who harm Valenwood, they evince little interest in conquest for its own sake. Rather, the Wood Elves raid one another for booty, bragging, and boredom—in that order. Tribal raiders typically rustle  s and  s. Many steal items (or people) that can be ransomed back to the owners.

This erratic, irregular warfare is not pursued to the death. Deaths do occur, but they are incidental and usually regretted. Many raids conclude with no fighting whatsoever. It is considered the acme of skill to slip into another tribe's village and steal an item for ransom without being noticed. The larger the item, the greater the prestige. Thanks to centuries of this practice, the tribal Bosmer have become legendary for their stealth. The title of their most famous poem, the Meh Ayleidion, means "The One Thousand Benefits of Hiding."

When death occurs in battle, an archaic provision of the   requires that a fallen enemy must be eaten completely before three days pass. This tradition is now only followed in the most remote and savage villages. The family members of the warrior who slaughtered the enemy may help him with his meal.

The tradition of the " " is still followed nearly everywhere outside the cities. When a tribe member is slain, he or she is symbolically replaced via a hostage-taking raid. The tribe will seize a captive from a neighboring band. If the deceased was an especially powerful or prestigious member of the tribe, multiple captives may be taken to replace them.

After a period of physical torture, supposedly to test their worthiness, the captive is joyously welcomed into the clan. This sudden reversal from horrific abuse to loving embrace befuddles the weak wits of a Bosmer captive, who cleaves to his tormentors. Traditionally the victim was given the deceased tribe member's position, possessions, and family, though this practice may be rarely honored nowadays.
Lore:War Call of the Mammoth Herders

… and that's when   knew his moment had arrived, as life and death hung in the balance. The  's tusk slammed into the frozen earth. Thewnar flexed his mighty thews and slashed his greatsword at the beast's massive trunk. It trumpeted again, roaring in fury.

Around him, Thewnar heard the call of the giants. The massive brutes bleated and moaned to each other in the crudest of tongues. They slammed their clubs into the ground, screaming for Thewnar's blood.

Thick wooden armor adorned the beast's flank. Thewnar's massive blade bounced free from its scarred surface. He roared his own battle cry and ducked beneath the war beast's front leg. The warrior slashed overhand, his blade biting into the dirt-and-dung matted hide ….