Netruk44/uesp-wiki-content huggingface dataset:
Lore:To All Who Pass Through

I am  , Artisan of  , and these are my  . Look upon them and cower.

They were designed to contain my enemies, villains who lived only to inflict misery upon me. The wretches tormented me for years, jeered, prodded, taunted, before finally turning the nobles of   against me. They ruined my career as the preeminent architect in the West.

Such was my rage that I sought the  , who came to me, offering a pact for my talents. They would capture my tormentors and imprison them here. In return, I would build for them. I accepted gladly.

In Wayrest, I designed inescapable prisons for law enforcement, opaline palaces for the nobles of the  . My works were heralded as a crossing of artistic perfection and architectural function. But what I've built for the planes of Oblivion are so much more. Black spires for the   of   are instruments of torture as much as they are monuments to his greatness. The razor pits of   never dull, and cut flesh, bone, and spirit essence for the  —in ways that even the most powerful healers can never mend.

Even so, all of these creations—from the gestating cyst-towers of Molag Bal to the sparkling   in Wayrest—are but baubles compared to the Vaults. They are my  , my  , the culmination of my skill, my greatest creation.

And they grow only more extraordinary with time. What was once a place of eternal anguish for the three charlatans who ruined my mortal life has grown to become a nexus of torture for all manner of  ic souls. So exquisite is the work I do in these Vaults that even the   send souls to me to oversee.

And as for you, dear guest—know that the pain you experience here is the result of lifetimes of refinement and iteration. Embrace it, and writhe, and be awed.
Lore:Threat of the Baandari Pedlars

This week, O faithful ones, my sermon is not a homily or a parable, but a warning: a warning to all true  s to beware the wiles of the devilish  , those thieves and heretics who infest the fields outside our gates and call themselves  .

Long have we known that these itinerant   use the mask of merchant to hide their true trades of theft, fraud, and chicanery. Why, then, do the magistrates continue to allow them to set up camp before the gates of our towns? Why are they not driven from our lands and never allowed to return?

Clearly other powers are at work here, infidel powers of sacrilege and evil. How else to explain the folly of those who patronize these creatures, and the blindness of those in authority who tolerate their open pandering and vice?

"But how do you know this, O Zuladr?" you may ask. "How has this truth been revealed unto you?"

And I ask you: what do we say when someone sneezes? We say, "  bless you"—do we not? And why do we say this? Because, as the ancient writings tell us, a sneeze is a sign of the presence of an evil spirit.

And what happens to many of the faithful, myself very much included, when in the presence of one of these cat-people? We sneeze. We sneeze, our very eyes water, and we sneeze again.

Heed, I say hearken to the warning of Tu'whacca. These Baandari are evil spirits incarnate. Abjure their company, avoid their camp, suffer not their tainted wares to be brought into your abode.
Lore:Those Who Stood at Chalman Keep

Gather 'round, proud warriors all, 
Silent now and standing tall. 
Bow your heads to those who sleep, 
Beneath the ground of  .


The flames of war seared the land, 
Crushing all with brutal hand. 
  soldiers sought the throne, 
 , undaunted, stood alone.


Hooves thundered o'er the sward, 
Death neared for all, swift and hard. 
Defenders stood upon Chalman's wall, 
Warriors brave,   heroes all.


Forward came the Dominion hordes, 
With arcane spells and gleaming swords. 
Walls shook to siege engines' roars, 
Rams thundered upon keep doors.


The outer doors fell to the invaders' barrage, 
Into the courtyard   and   charged. 
The inner door too gave when assaulted, 
O'er bodies and rubble the attackers vaulted.


The defenders made their might felt, 
Spells flared forth, death was dealt. 
Fury rained upon invaders' heads, 
'til Khajiit and Elves all were dead.


No time to rest, no time to heal, 
Doors and breaches they must seal. 
All was repaired, the damage undone, 
As another deadly assault was begun.


Once again, fierce battle was fought, 
Death was granted where it was sought. 
Entropy rose inside the keep, 
Swept over all, piled the bodies deep.


Again the bloody tide receded, 
Dominion foes once more defeated. 
  and   and   remained, 
Proud survivors of Chalman Keep again.


Dominion warriors attacked once more, 
In numbers far greater than ever before. 
They battered aside weary defenders, 
Stopped only in the innermost chambers.


Into the apse the heroes were hounded, 
Dominion victory cries loudly sounded. 
Then chaos erupted as the   swept in, 
Seeing their enemies' forces worn thin.


Caught between fierce anvil and hammer, 
Elf and Khajiit died in brave manner. 
Only Pact and Covenant soon remained, 
Then the defenders cleared the field again.


A breath, a pause, a brief respite, 
The Covenant cause now truly desperate. 
A final assault the Dominion did mount, 
A massive wave, too many to count.


Determined to conquer, refusing to desist, 
The Dominion force impossible to resist. 
The defenders resolved to fight to the last, 
No blow was wasted, no spell shoddily cast.


One by one the gallant warriors fell, 
Breton, Redguard, and Orc died well. 
Their lives given up for Chalman Keep, 
They rest forever in honored sleep.


The Dominion banner rose over the hall, 
A Dominion Emperor then ruled over all. 
Peace came to Chalman, damage repaired, 
Attackers dispersed, to other sites they fared.


That emperor is gone, his reign long past. 
What remains of this day, what of it lasts? 
Just the display of courage, in that final stand, 
Of those who stood, and died, at Chalman.
Lore:Thibaut's Cairn and its History

has a long and bloody history. Its denizens have had ample need for a place to bury their dead. For the most respected, the rich, the powerful, that final resting place has often been the crypt known as  .

Located southwest of the village now called  , the old  n crypt and the nearby village once shared a name. But … we're getting ahead of ourselves.

The Cairn is named for its most noted "guest," the famed Thibault  of  . Thibault was a general of Colovia, and in his time some hundreds of years ago he was one of the anchor points for the  .

Those brave souls rode forth at the vanguard south, beside their comrades in the   and   cohorts. The purpose of their ride has been forgotten, just one of the numerous sorties into the March the Colovian kingdoms have attempted over the years.

Their ride would have been lost forever to the mists of time, if not for the unique relationship Thibault had with his cohort. Riding at his side south from the Kingdom of Kvatch was his wife  . Below Thibault in the command structure of his cohort were his children, though the number he had in place has now been lost to time. The members of his cohort owed him personal allegiance to a degree not often seen in modern Colovian cohorts. It's said when Thibault rode, even the nightsoil men of his township rode with him.

The details of Thibault's death, too, have been lost to us … but the impact of his death is still easy to see if you travel south of   in the  . While the Linchal and Ontus cohorts rode back north, returning to home soil, the men and women of Hastrel cohort stayed and put down roots.

Tertcia's need to see her husband's legacy built was the motive for staying. The tales of her manipulations can be found in numerous other tomes, no doubt. Suffice it to say that she played the   against the   and the Khajiit against the Wood Elves in a masterful dance. The result? A complex of crypts and an entire village, once known simply as " ."

Now, the history of that little town is an interesting tale as well …
Lore:The Woodsmer

rubbed his ankle. Not broken, just twisted. He stood, putting weight on it very carefully. Good. It would hold. He'd fallen while on a journey through  . One of his legs was thinner than the other. Sometimes he forgot.

"Now to figure out where I am," Willowleg said. He looked at the swaying leaves high above, the hint of blue sky occasionally peeking through. To anyone but a  , those brief glimpses would convey nothing, but Willowleg immediately turned to continue on his way.

Soon, he realized he wasn't alone. A little to his left walked another Wood Elf, dark green hair hanging unkempt about his face. Willowleg, used to traveling alone, noticed that his silent companion adjusted his pace to remain close without overtaking him.

"Going to  , too?" Willowleg asked.

"Yes."

Willowleg said congenially, "I hope I reach the summer site before it's too late."

The green-haired Wood Elf said, "You'll be fine." His tone indicated he didn't wish to speak further, so Willowleg simply nodded and kept walking.

They traveled together, silently, for the rest of the day. When Willowleg stopped to rest, the stranger also stopped. Willowleg shared water and dried meat. Then they began the last part of their journey. The trees thinned out, leaving a clearing into which Falinesti fit perfectly.

At the clearing's edge, the stranger stopped and put a hand on Willowleg's arm. Surprised, Willowleg realized the green-haired Elf's skin was rough and thick, like bark.

"Stay here," the stranger said, murmuring an incantation.

Willowleg, unable to move or speak, watched his companion walk to Falinesti's base and touch its bark with his forehead. The tree-city shuddered and began to move slowly, lifting its roots from the earth.

As the green-haired Elf walked off, leading Falinesti away, Willowleg felt the strange spell over him break, and movement returned with a tingling force through his limbs. He glanced down and saw that not only had his thin leg healed, but his shoes were missing.

"The  ," Willowleg whispered in awe. The Woodsmer, the mythic one who led the unwary astray in the woods, was also known to bestow favors on those who knew their way.

As Falinesti moved southward, Willowleg wondered which the city was.
Lore:The Wood Elves of Valenwood

Unlike their  i and  i brethren, the   have an attitude that is almost affable in particular respects. Certain   diplomats have likened this breezy amiableness to the mellow intoxication a   addict might first experience. But hasten not to categorize these as you would a  i   fiend; these tree-folk are vicious, adept at banditry, and worthy of your concern and attention, if not your respect.

The Bosmeri race is governed—if one can describe this loose hegemony as such—by the Royal  , but there seems little rigidity or exertion of jurisdiction among the disorganized tribes of the Bosmer. Only slightly more stringent are the clan lines, which are matrilineal in nature. Ruled by the  , or head tribesman, these serve little purpose other than providing protection during times of war. The real power is wielded by the priests of the forest deity  , known as  , who enforce the  , a bizarre code of conduct forcing the Bosmer to feed carnivorously and never use living vegetation of any kind, for any means.

These are no woodland  s. Wood Elves go to war not to conquer lands or covet precious resources; they do it for sport. Unless a threat to   presents itself, Bosmer consider the slaying of others to be simply unnecessary, and wagers are even made prior to raids regarding the theft of prized possessions without a drop of blood spilled. But when called upon, they excel at the bow. Youngsters are trained to a formidable degree to snipe using both range and speed to their advantage. When you walk the woods near  , hold your purse or satchel close, and report Bosmeri brigands to your local town watch.
Lore:The Wolf in the Sky

I was a child the first time I saw the   in the sky.

"It's a cloud," said my mother, with some irritation. She thought fancies were not appropriate to the son of a warrior.

"But there's its tail! And the fangs drip with blood!"

"It's a cloud," she repeated. She pushed me back into our home and closed the heavy wooden door behind her, bolting it for good measure.

Even though I was but four or five at the time, I realized her anger was not directed at me. My mother was afraid of the wolf.

From then on, I said nothing, though I often saw it. In the sky, in the woods, and sometimes out of the corner of my eye, I knew the wolf followed me wherever I went. And though it frightened my mother, I remained unafraid.

Until the day of the  , I hid the wolf from others. But when we  s were told by our jarls that we were allied with   and their pets, the  , I joined the rebellion.

And in doing so, knowing we were now traitors to our own leaders, I decided to invoke the power of the wolf.

On the night of a new moon, I piled branches atop a hill to summon it with a bonfire. Trophies from my various kills, paraffin, blubber, and twisted bundles of dried sage joined the dried wood. I chanted, but the sounds were no words I'd ever heard before. They tumbled from my lips as I prepared to set my pyre ablaze.

I saw it. I always saw it. Through the smoke, the wolf gained a more corporeal shape, its eyes as red as embers.

"Wolf! I know you not!" I cried, throwing my arms open wide. "But all my life you have been beside me. Join us in our rebellion against this unholy Pact!"

The wolf sat, tilting its head to the side. Then it threw back its head and howled … with laughter!

"You mortals are so amusing!" said the wolf. "What makes you think a wolf would do anything useful? Now, I need to get out of this thing. It's got fleas."

So saying, the wolf leapt into the fire and was consumed. And I … I stood in shock, mouth agape. Who or what had followed me all my life, I cannot say.

I was arrested that night beside my bonfire, I and my companions (none of whom, I add, had seen or heard the wolf), will be put to death tomorrow for my deeds.

My mark goes here, to show this is written by the monk's hand as my last request: X
Lore:The Witches of Hag Fen

:I arrived at a rather watery area as I traveled through  . It was full of odd trees and murky water. When I asked a local what this place was, he said "This is the  . A swamp, as anyone with eyes can plainly see." I asked what I might find within, if I were to explore these Fens. The fellow responded rather tersely, " s, you git. Why do you think we call it that?" (I do enjoy speaking to the natives. It always adds an element of raw authenticity to my travels.)

:When pressed to explain about the hags, the local told me that they are some sort of witch. Exciting news! I like researching the different ways that  ka is employed across the land. I asked the taciturn fellow where I might find the ladies of the swamp and he made a rather rude noise. "If ye're fool enough to go looking for the 'ladies,' as you call them, then head to the  . Maybe they'll invite you to tea." Locals are always leery of those that use magic, but I am sure the swamp witches would welcome some scholarly discussion.

 

:I found the area of the Fens where the hags dwell. Unfortunately, I lost one boot, my walking stick, and one of my packs to the rather aggressive  s that also call these fens home. But I can see some of the tree dwellings that I believe belong to the hags nearby. I have been observing from my hiding place behind a small shrub. My notes forthwith:

::Hags have some strange deformity and rely on a walking staff to get around.

::The hags appear rather unkempt and are obviously old.

::Hags apparently use materials found in these Fens to craft attire that is rather rustic.

::There are a group of younger, prettier witches who do not abide with the elderly hags.

::Hags must send their menfolk off to work, as I have observed no male hags up to this point. Perhaps the males dwell in a separate camp? Note: Ask hags about their menfolk.

:One of the hags nearest my observation post seems to be cooking something in a rather large cauldron. A bit of hot stew and a cup of tea would be welcome after my mishaps in the swampy fens. I shall approach slowly, so as not to startle the elderly lady.

:&mdash; Notation from    :

:We found a rather tattered   crawling out of the fens. He had barely survived an encounter with the hags and a crocodile or two. He was delirious and kept begging for tea and stew. We healed him and sent him on his way, although not before he attempted to proposition nearly every wyress in our camp. He left some of his notes, which we have preserved, though his complete lack of wit with regard to local creatures and customs, and his absurd observation skills, do not bode well for him surviving another journey.
Lore:The Will of Drulshasa

Subordinate  ! Hear and obey the will of  !

We are strong. We despise the weak and hate the frail. And we abhor the mortals most of all because they are both weak and frail. The weak must be punished by the strong! It is our calling, and it is the order of our lord and master,  .

Find mortals. Capture, but do not kill them. They must be alive when we sacrifice their wretched souls to Molag Bal.

Do not fail me, or you shall suffer in place of the mortals. Do this, because I command it!
Online:Skyshards

left|thumb|A Skyshard
right|thumb|A Skyshard from a distance
right|thumb|Absorbing a Skyshard
Skyshards are collectible items that can be found throughout the world. Except for one in the tutorial quest, collecting Skyshards is entirely optional. However, you will receive one skill point for every three Skyshards you collect.

 
Locations
This is a list of locations by game area, not specific locations, which will be listed on the place pages listed below. Collecting all the Skyshards in one location grants you an Achievement. In-game, clues to each Skyshard's location are listed in the Achievements menu under their respective areas.
Lore:The Whisperer's Song, Verse 1

Do you fear me, dear intruder?

Will you listen when I speak?

Do you want to hear my story?

Know the terror that I wreak?

Follow silken webs through darkness,

and you'll find just what you seek.
Lore:The Whisperer's Song, Verse 2

For moons and more

the words I bore

were whispering to the meek.

Their hearts and minds

became all mine,

surrendered without a squeak!
Lore:The Whisperer's Song, Verse 3

"But why?" they cry, inside their minds,

unable to even speak.

I mock their woe, for those who know,

have perished, deranged and weak!
Online:Scuttler

thumb|right|A blue Scuttler from Coldharbour
Scuttlers are small, scaled creatures native to Morrowind. They're passive and can easily be killed to obtain guts for fishing. They are also available as pets.
 

Unique Scuttlers
Buttons, a pet scuttler that belongs to Arnitole
Lore:The Wedding Feast: A Memoir

The memoir is undated.

My children,   sets this down to give insight into the strange ways of the   amongst whom some of you travel. Beware their vengeful ways!

Preparations began months ago for the wedding feast of the two highest Wood Elves. Their union shows that the forest and its people are as one. Hence, a very large feast.

As a trader, I've often been tasked with providing tidbits for royalty. I name no names, but freely admit to providing biscuits dusted with   for banquets in   on more than one occasion. Still, this wedding feast required many things outside my purview, and I was forced to make last-minute changes.

To get fifty vats of beef broth, I supplemented the thirty vats available by adding root vegetable broth. Knowing the Wood Elves are not squeamish about the dead, I provided ten crates of bone marrow from whatever bones were available, asking no questions as to their origins.

But cake with no flour? Never had I seen such a thing before! I consulted with several Wood Elf bakers who assured me such a thing was possible, as Wood Elves eat nothing green unless prepared by outsiders. Given that, their restriction that I provide cakes without flour flummoxed me. I got a couple of recipes and checked with my suppliers, none of whom could provide the desired quantity in time.

Thus, I set about making them myself. I thinned the eggs with water to make them stretch. I added   and powdered   to thicken it. Sugar proved the most dear component of the cakes, so I added ground chalk to reduce the actual amount of sugar needed. The taste was similar to cake. Very similar. And since they took so little time and gold to make, my profit doubled from the cakes alone.

It was the substitution of flax seed oil whipped with lard instead of butter that proved my undoing, and the undoing of many a guest's bowels.

Not only did the Wood Elves rescind any future contracts, but they shaved my tail and confiscated all the gear and goods I'd left behind in my hasty retreat.

Never, my children, offer to supply goods for a Wood Elf feast. It will only end in tears.
Online:What Eats Birds?

Blasted birds. Never a moment's peace. Everywhere I look, birds! Great gulls with smiling beaks. Tiny things with blue feathers, nipping at flies. Never silent. No, never quiet. 

What eats birds? Cats, but they're no better than birds. Always grooming themselves. Tiny fiends with tiny claws. Always stealing my fish!

Where will I go? This island is covered in cats. Cat men! Men who are cats. Think they can fool me? They're in it with the birds!

Better to go into the wilderness. Find someplace safe. Maybe underground. No cats there, no birds! Only the dark. Dark and cold, like a fish.
Online:Letter from Karpu-sa

Honored Clan-Mother,


The roads are dangerous of late. Bandits attack without fear of reprisal, and  , driven to roost by the storm, strike without warning. 

These developments have driven this one to hire a pair of mercenaries. Both are hardy walkers, so please triple this one's order this month. 

Please, do not worry about protecting the shipment. An escort will arrive before the next crescent. 

Magrus smile upon your fields by day, Jone and Jode dance over them by night. 


&mdash; Karpu-sa
Online:Oblan's Letter

My dear, lucky friend Oblan,


Your captain's patriotic foolishness has drawn you the best possible assignment! Imagine, "scouting" for the navy around Khenarthi's Roost! You'll hit the sands long before any of those officious marine thugs have time to look around. 

I'm sure you know, most of my supplies come from KR. Since you don't have to pay "shipping fees," you old sea-cat, I expect you to cut me a deal next time you're in H. I'll have a new batch waiting for you, so be sure to get me my raw materials. 

Better keep this short—I hear you're sailing with the tides. Best of luck and a safe voyage to you!


&mdash; K
Lore:The Way of the Baandari

Do not slander another child of the  .

Remain mindful in all dealings.

A gift must be returned in kind.

A fair trade need not be fair only in gold.

Truth and cleverness need not be enemies.

Find what is lost, trade what is found, and leave what has no purpose.
Lore:The Wandering Skald

Every library holds musty old tales 
Carried through rain and snow 
But a   skald gladly regales 
What the poets all sang long ago


Every book has its title and name 
But its pages soon turn to dust 
A poem we sing will live on in fame 
From a history all of us trust


Old tales come down from long ago 
With inflection and meter and verse 
Soon the skald's audience will hap'ly know 
"Yes, this life could be worse."


And the kings know that truth, 
Is better than sword and shield 
Taught from their distant youth 
Skald Kings have wisdom to wield


So welcome me as a friend 
For the poems I sing tonight 
Will last for nights without end 
From first   to dawn's early light!
Online:Outdated Dominion Broadsheet

Good Citizens of Khenarthi's Roost!

You've doubtless noted the presence of THALMOR REPRESENTATIVES on your fair island. These ALDMERI DOMINION deputies herald your bright future!

Rejoice, for the majestic  &mdash;pride of the Dominion navy!&mdash;shall soon arrive at the FREE PORT OF MISTRAL for protracted revictualing! 

Innkeepers, empty your beds! Merchants, triple-stock your stalls! NUMEROUS DOMINION SOLDIERS will have gold to spend on their EXTENDED SHORE LEAVE!

Prosperity! Security! Unity!