Netruk44/uesp-wiki-content huggingface dataset:
Lore:The March Explored, Chapter I

Gentle reader, welcome. Welcome to open skies and red earth. To the fields of grass and savage landscape of  . Welcome, reader, to the end of the world. To the  .

Herein, find an   journal of observations. Thoughts jotted down during my first trip across this stark landscape. Some of the hidden gems of the land, some of the most striking locales, will see description in these pages.

From I, your humble guide. Enjoy!

&mdash;
Lore:The March Explored, Chapter III

The   marks the eastern boundary of  , and thus a boundary of the Ancient diaspora. While the rare pile of stones can be found deep into  , the ruins of the March provide some of the most interesting insights into   psychology.
Lore:The March Explored, Chapter VI

… there's no truth to the rumors of dark cults in the  . I can assure you, gentle reader. Bandits may take your goods and threaten your life, but the fell   of   hold no sway in this savage land.
Lore:The March Explored, Chapter VII

I will say this for the  , their architecture is wholly unique on the continent of  . The beauty of their temples is awe-inspiring to behold. The   in   is a wonder.

It's a shame, then, that so many of their greatest monuments are decayed and ruined. So many fine places fallen to disrepair.

It seems to be a theme across the face of  , does it not reader? Beauty and splendor fallen into ruin over time ….
Lore:The March Explored, Chapter IX

… and I must confess, I don't understand it at all. I've spent six seasons in the  , all told, and the lunar religion of the   makes just as much sense to me now as it did when I first arrived.

Something about the pull of the moons on the waters of your mind. I don't know. Thank   we   have a finer, cleaner sensibility to our religious studies ….
Lore:The Manifesto of Make Way

In order to survive and thrive, we must foment a perpetual vortex of agitation!

A final and irrevocable statement of our will!

Only this will bring the correction of the true ways of our  n heritage: a redress of the weakness which has pervasively trickled into our hearts!

It is the right of those who suffer from weakness to refuse allegiance to it and to those who bring it forth!

 ! Make way! Make way!
Lore:The Mabrigash Trial

Dearest  ,

I know you are curious about the different people and places I see on my travels. I met a strange   after I left  . His general demeanor was less aloof than others of his kind, though he still had that somewhat mistrustful air about him. I offered him some wine and bread at my campsite, and he seemed grateful enough for a little company.

He claimed to be a " ," which I took to be some sort of   clan off-shoot, though I was unaware that any clan had traveled this far south from  . I asked him about his journey, and he said he was going nowhere and anywhere. He said he couldn't return to the Vale.

When I asked, he told me the Vale was his home. He claimed his clan protected  s and  s in this mysterious place. In turn, a " " watched over the clan. Now, he was getting a bit drunk by this time, as we shared more than a bottle or two, but he assured me there was indeed a Ghost Snake. I asked why he left. He was silent for a long while. Finally, he mumbled that he had failed his trial. I asked what he meant and he said that he had not walked the path, that his courage had failed him and he had fled. "Now I can never return," he told me. "I have shamed my family and dishonored my clan."

He started to weep softly, so I pretended to busy myself with my packs, and a minute later he was snoring. Poor fellow. Obviously some primitive ritual or tribal rite had gone awry. I was determined to encourage him to return home when we broke camp in the morning. However, when I awoke at dawn, he was gone.

I miss you as always. I will write again in a few days.

—
Lore:The Lost Communion

Before the  , nothing existed. The Hist meant everything and provided all.

  knew this. Every   knew this, instinctively, from hatching. Why, then, wouldn't the Hist speak to them? Didn't the old stories say the Hist talked to its people?

Day after day, Jaraleet burnt offerings and made sacrifices. He chanted and prayed. He ate little, his efforts concentrated upon renewing the ancient connection between the Hist and its people.

One morning, his wife insisted he eat a full meal. "No matter how much you wish it, you cannot feast upon the Hist itself," she gently chided.
Jaraleet blinked as her words pierced his thinking. " !" he cried, touching his forehead to hers with affection.

Though no  , Jaraleet concocted formula after formula. He distilled various ichors, combining each one in varying amounts with Hist sap, tasting them all, making adjustments. He felt the Hist urge him on, demanding he break through its silence.

Finally, Jaraleet drank his master decoction. He savored the thick, sweet syrup coating his tongue. Standing quietly beneath the Hist's outstretched boughs, his eyes glittered with comprehension.

"I am your child and servant," he whispered. And the Hist showed him all things.
Lore:The Llodos Plague

,

We continue to experiment with new strains of the  , and your work at   has proven invaluable. The   is quite pleased. The   has been a good testing ground. Weak and sickly individuals who arrive, some already infected with previous strains, beg for a cure. We are more than delighted to welcome them in, giving them false promises of cleansing their illnesses. Even the Houses of   and   are convinced we are here to help. They so want to believe.

As for the plague itself, it has become quite potent. Unfortunately, survival rates remain shorter than we had hoped. If we want to cause a true outbreak, one that could level an entire city, we must continue to strengthen the magic and test it. The next step will be to raise the level of experimentation. Word has already come that one of our cadres may have developed the purest form of the sickness yet. I'm eager for the arrival of these shipments.

A larger town will suffice for the next experiment. I recommend  . The Hlaalu fools will never suspect a thing. I need to get in touch with my contacts there to let them know to be ready.

—Alchemist
Lore:The Lava Queen

is the greatest Champion the   has ever known. Her prowess in the Arena is unmatched, and she has ruled the Crucible for nearly four centuries. All challengers who have dared to face her in the Arena have been overwhelmed by her fiery  , their bodies burned and charred beyond recognition. It is said that she exists purely for the Blessed Crucible, and the Crucible for her. Her mastery of the arena is so complete that the very ground shapes and molds itself to her will. To face her is to do battle with a living volcano of power and destruction.

Usurped:  

Defeated By:
Lore:The Ivory Lord: A Hero Born, V. 1

The soldier waited with bated breath. His hand gripped the blade haft tightly, turning his knuckles ashen white. His sword arm shook nervously as he stood behind the others, waiting for his chance to strike. Any moment now, the Alessian patrol would pass by. He had to wonder, though, what exactly had he gotten himself into?

His name was  , and even he didn't know where his part in all of this began. An innkeeper's son barely of age, his family tree was literally dripping with proud   breeders, farm hands, and—like his father—cooks. He had as much warrior's blood flowing through his body as he did muscles in his arms and back. Which is to say, almost none. Yet here he stood, armor hanging loosely on his thin frame, holding a sword he barely knew how to use.

Erric wished he could say that he had joined the militia to gain revenge or honor. That his father and mother had been slain in an   attack. Or that the love of his life was taken to the slave camps of the evil Alessians. By the  , he would have settled for any excuse in which the Alessians wronged his family.

But, no. Erric's family was safe and sound. His pleasantly plump parents happily ran an inn in one of the small towns that dotted  . And the love of his life? Well, there was none. He had never felt the embrace of a damsel or tasted the kiss of serving wench. So why did he want to fight the Alessians? Well, he had heard bad things about them, but as far as he was concerned it was all rumors and innuendo. He had lived a sheltered life.

No, the reason Erric stood next to   the fierce  i maiden and   the handsome   knight wasn't quite so lofty. It was more mere chance and accident that had led him to this time and place. He had been sneaking off into the woods at night to practice the same fighting techniques he'd seen the city guard practice. He wanted to learn how to fight, but he didn't want anyone to see him doing it. There was too much of a chance someone would make fun of him. After all, he was just a cook's son. So every night Erric would grab his rusty sword and mismatched armor and head into the woods to train.

But tonight would be different. There would be no more practice.

As Erric ran through back alleys to reach the hole in the wall he knew so well, he turned a corner and almost ran right into them. His breath caught in his throat when he saw them. A handful of men and women from different cultures all huddled together, whispering. They wore impressive uniforms and carried even more impressive weapons.

Cautiously he approached them, but Erric had little skill or grace. He tripped over his own feet and landed in a puddle with a loud splash. The warriors turned as one, weapons drawn and eyes hard. But they saw his armor and weapon and assumed he was there to meet them. Being too afraid to say otherwise, Erric was welcomed into their group.

It was simply a case of mistaken identity. Later, he might have called it fate.

But tonight? Tonight was the night Erric Deleyn was going to die. And that event would change the world around him forever.
Lore:The Ivory Lord: A Hero Born, V. 2

The sound of clanking armor and approaching footsteps echoed through the dark streets. It was obvious that the marchers didn't care if they were heard. In fact, it sounded like they were trying to make more noise than was necessary.

  closed his eyes and listened. He tried to count how many armor-clad boots were pounding toward them. Not that the numbers mattered. If there were two   or ten, Erric knew how it would end. "Someone's going to stick a blade right through my head," he thought.

Erric felt a hand touch his shoulder and he opened his eyes.  , the mercenary   knight with the long-flowing golden hair squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "Stick close to me," Calinden said.

A sense of calm came over Erric as he nodded in response. It was as if the Ayleid knight knew exactly what Erric was thinking. Erric would have taken more comfort in that thought if the sounds of the footsteps weren't getting closer and louder.

 , a  i warrior on Erric's other side, pulled two blades from their sheaths and held one up. She wanted them to hold for her signal. The other mercenaries in the alley shifted back and forth, excitement and fear shining in their eyes as they waited for the order to attack.

More steps. Louder. Louder. And then silence.

Erric looked around in surprise. Why had the unseen marchers stopped? The rest of the mercenary band seemed as confused as he was. Except for Kish'na and Calinden. Kish'na's raised blade did not move.

Erric would later learn that what happened next is what usually happens when you hire people willing to stab other people with swords and daggers. The mercenaries grow impatient and become eager to spill blood so they can collect their gold. Usually, this break in discipline brings such hired soldiers to their end that much quicker. And, unfortunately, it was Erric's group that broke first.

"Kill those bastards!"

The yell rang out from someone behind and to the left of where Erric was standing. Suddenly they were rushing forward, more a tangled mass than a fighting formation. Erric was pushed to the side as weapon waving mercenaries shoved past him.

"What are those idiots doing?" Kish'na demanded as the mercenaries left the cover of the alley. She shook her head in frustration but ran out after them, her twin blades drawn and ready.

Calinden turned to Erric. "Remember what I said." And with that, the Elf pulled the large blade from the sheath on his back and ran to join the fray.

Erric felt panic overwhelm him and he stood frozen in place. The clang of weapons and shield. The roars of battle. The screams of pain. Everything sounded muffled to Erric's ears. His feet felt stuck to the cobbled street. The war had arrived, and Erric could only watch it unfold before him.

After an eternity that really only lasted a few seconds, Erric was finally able to move. He lifted one foot and placed in front of the other. Slowly, deliberately, he repeated this action until he reached the edge of the alley wall. Erric took a steadying breath. Then he peered around the wall.
Lore:The Interment of Feremuzh

Know, O Descendant, the difficulties faced by your ancestors in their own lives. Herein follows the tale of  . Feremuzh abandoned the tradition of her ancestors to join the unholy undead. She became a   that degraded itself to hide from the sun and consume the blood of the living. She plagued the land, consuming life and turning the dead she created into her own followers.

Your ancestors were bound to tradition—they could not lift blade against the honored dead, they could not resist the plague that Feremuzh had brought with her. The wisest of your ancestors, O reader, were gathered. In time they concluded that there was only one method to deal with the villain Feremuzh. A group of the strongest warriors would have to seek out the lair used by Feremuzh to hide from the bright   sun.

The strongest warriors were assembled, and sent forth to seek out the villain's lair. The warriors were instructed to only travel under the protection of the sun, and to hide under the moon when Feremuzh would be out to hunt. The warriors were wise to follow their elder's advice, and they remained unfound and untouched until they happened upon Feremuzh's lair.

Know, O reader, that what ensued is unclear, but what is clear is that the warriors sacrificed themselves to bring the lair down upon Feremuzh. In doing so, your ancestors trapped Feremuzh in a tomb of earth for time eternal. That earth has been deemed unholy and accursed. Know the marks of the cursed land so you may avoid it. The entrance is tucked into the base of a sharp cliffside, at the end of a path cutting through the rocks. On a bright day one can see and hear the nearby shore, but don't let the sea lull you into a false sense of security. Ruins of our ancestors watch over the cursed land. Avoid this place, and leave the damned to rot.
Lore:The Hunger of Sep

Look, my child, at the   I hold in my palm. It scuttles, and tickles, and looks busily for food. Would you like to hold it, child? I swear, by  's red feathers, that it shall not be hurtful to you. It is quite harmless, this beetle.

At this size.

For it will grow—yes, even as you will grow, so will this beetle. As you grow and grow until you reach woman's height, so will this beetle grow and grow.

And in the fullness of time, you will cease to grow. But the beetle will grow on.

It was not ever thus. In far-off  , in times of yore, when all walked in step with the gods, these beetles were the friends of our houses and the amusing companions of our children. They were named   Scarabs. And they grew, yes, but only to the size of an ample millet-loaf, for it was not needful for them to grow larger. For were they not favored of the children? Did they not scamper, and race, and sing the clickety-song? And were they not well-fed therefore, on seeds and savory dung-pellets?

Aye, it was so.

And the lives of the people were good, for though the land was harsh, the people followed the will of the gods, and thus were vouchsafed enough to live well, and a little more. And the   were reverenced as it was written they should be, and all things were in their proper places.

But some there were among the people who decided that a little more than what they needed was not as much as they did want. And in their avarice they fell away from proper reverence, and were taken, yea, body and soul, with the  . And this was an ill thing, for the Hunger of Sep can never be sated.

Then evil came to Yokuda, and red war, and forbidden rites were practiced, and fell things were summoned that should never have been called forth. It was a  .   arose from the starry deeps, and Yokuda was pulled down beneath the waves.

But after every End Time comes a New Time, and it was even so in this case. For some of the people were permitted to sojourn to  , where we took   for our own. There we were given a chance to once again worship the gods in proper reverence. And we brought our Samara Scarabs with us, that we might delight the children and remember happier days.

And the Hunger of Sep was left behind—for a time, my child, for a time. But it is deep in our mortal core, and may ever arise again. So the gods gave unto us a warning, yea, even unto the smallest children. For in this New Time, in this New Place, our little companions grew to the size of an ample millet-loaf, as was meet. However, they then continued to grow, and burgeon, and sprout hurtful claws and rending mandibles. And then, with tears, we drove them from our homes and into the wastes, where they flourished and became baneful.

Yes, my child—the  s that plague the empty places are our own Samara Scarabs, smitten by the gods with the Hunger of Sep. They are a lesson to us, an awful warning to those who would become too avid.

Be happy, then, and forego all avarice—for here we have enough to live well, and a little more.
Lore:The Humor of Wood Elves

, widely known for its fermented beverages, is home to some of the friendliest   I've ever met. Like most of their kind, they are industrious and get along well with most people. After completing research into their brewing methods, I stayed overnight with a local family.

As a historian, I realize one can learn much about a culture by studying its humor. Therefore, I copied down several of their witticisms for future examination. Perhaps by considering their amusements, we will gain further insight into the mind of the Bosmer.

A   walks into the tavern and says, "I'd like some  . And a  ."

Q: Why did the   fall out of the tree? 
A: It was dead.

Q. What's brown and sticky? 
A. A stick.

Person One: Ask me if I'm a tree. 
Person Two: Are you a tree? 
Person One: No.

Q. Which side of a   has the most feathers? 
A. The outside.

Q. What has three heads, is ugly, and smells? 
A. My mistake! You don't have three heads!

Q. What's light as a feather, but cannot be held for very long? 
A. Breath.

Q. Imagine your boat's sinking in  -infested waters. How do you survive? 
A. Stop imagining!

Q. Why do  s eat raw meat? 
A. They never learned to cook.

Q. Why do  s buzz? 
A. Because they can't whistle.
Lore:Arx Corinium — First Seed Report

Officer's Log: Centurion  

Building a fort in a swamp is no trivial task, but my men and I have accomplished it with  . It was a battle the entire duration&mdash;with insect-borne disease, with the wildlife of the  , but the   wanted a foothold in this region and we provided one.

Unfortunately, as of this writing, we've packed our arms and armor on orders from Colonel  , and prepare to leave our work behind. The Colonel cites the continued loss of a half-dozen soldiers every month in maintaining Arx Corinium as "detrimental to the war effort." I agree, and would note that I predicted this outcome when we arrived over a year and a half ago. I said as much to the Colonel, who ordered that the project proceed. This isn't a statement of complaint, but of fact.

Construction suffered numerous complications: the bog impeded our progress at every turn, and it became clear the initial foundation we built would sink after the first month. When we moved our location farther to the north, we met a fierce   that cost me ten men to chase off the premises. After repeated encounters, our war wizard,  , named it  , after the bolts of lightning that the beast emits from every orifice ("Ganakton" was the moniker of a hated aunt, rumored to possess  ish blood).

The dense humidity was another foe, turning our plate armor to steel barrels full of sweat during the early months of construction. It goes against regulation, but I allowed my soldiers the luxury of cloth armor during the summer. It was that or death from heatstroke. We would have been at a disadvantage had we come under attack, but any enemy marching towards Arx Corinium would be half-dead by the time they reached us. In any event, it never happened.

Battle found us just the same: every beast in this swamp, large or small, is a walking death trap, and some days, we fought sword to stinger with insects the size of a grown man's head. Other days, our mages contended with the likes of Ganakton the Tempest, who continued to terrorize the fort. He razed the eastern wall a dozen times, and I regret that I will never be allowed the luxury of mounting his skull on my mantle. But if it means we finally get to leave, I'll gladly allow Ganakton his life.

As I look back on this last year and a half, at the resources and manpower it took to construct Arx Corinium, I can't say it's been worth it. Again, this isn't a statement of grievance. I bear my superiors no ill will for my orders. However, I would note that I made several warnings in advance of this project, and have compiled copies of my letters to my immediate superior, Colonel Marianus, detailing the reasons why I believed the construction of Arx Corinium could prove a disastrous venture for the Empire.

I want to clarify that this is not a declaration of failure on anyone's part, either for myself, my men, or Colonel Marianus. I am fully aware that that decision falls to Tribune  , whom I encourage to read the letters I mention above. I've already sent word and made them available for any officer to peruse at the   military archives.