Netruk44/uesp-wiki-content huggingface dataset:
Lore:The Voyages of Il-Am-Hakim, Vol. 3

Defying the evil spirits of contrary winds, the gallant   directed his vessel through to the deserted isle. The crew lay half dead from sun-sickness, having exhausted their supplies more than a fortnight before. Il-Am-Hakim looked to the officer at his right hand, who anxiously searched the shore for some sign of habitation.

"None to be seen," she announced, both relieved and disappointed.

"Strike the bells, then. Rouse those who still can stand." To be crippled and unmanned would mean the end of their voyage. He would return with their cargo, or he would return not at all.

Soon, all had left the bare decks and fled to the open shores of the island. The trees yielded fruit, and the men, drunk from those heady sugars, fell into a stupor not unlike death.

Il-Am-Hakim took no comfort in the rich nectars as he kept watch over his vessel. The very air shivered with anticipation.

"Sir, you must rest." A hand fell on his spyglass, drawing it away. He nodded, and took to a pauper's bed in the sand. But a moment after his eyes closed, he heard the familiar sound of oars upon the waves.

"We are set upon!" he cried, drawing his sword from its sheath. All eyes turned toward him, the midday sun signaling a new day. The sand coursed out of his beard like so much water.

"I thought it best not to wake you." The officer looked away, unwilling to allow him to see her smirk. That did not stop the workers rowing back provisions from a starting a raucous din. Il-Am-Hakim could not begrudge them that.
Lore:The Voyages of Il-Am-Hakim, Vol. 7

The Gallant   stood upon the breast of his ship, a new covenant in one hand and his spyglass in another. The sea spat saltspray, but he only smiled in return.

"Shall we beat to quarters, sir?" He nodded, and stepped down from his vantage point. His prize would not escape him this time.

Allowing a moment of weakness, he slipped into his cabin to confront his prisoner. Though she seemed nothing but a delicate flower, he knew her words to be  .

He cleared his throat. "Madam, do you hear the drums? We have found your brother, and he will soon pay for his crimes."

The   raised her head from her hands. "You think this concerns me? You are a fool." Her face, streaked with salt, turned away from Il-Am-Hakim. "My brother would see me dead for my betrayal. His death means my freedom."

The captain frowned at her remarks. He could not help but wonder if this was the way of royalty from other lands as well as his own. Would his patron think of him as disdainfully, when his ship next set port?

He turned on his heel and shut the cabin door behind him. But not before he saw the glint of sharpened steel from the Dark Elf's hand.
Lore:The Voice of the People

Changes in the wind. The leaves. The flow of water. Even the animals seemed to sense a difference. The Voice of the People  .

  had died. Not unexpected, but an event often attended by varying degrees of turmoil.

Had the   come first, or the Silvenar? No one seemed to know, nor care. There once was chaos, and then came generations of structure. Well, something like structure. Organized mayhem, more like it.

The next Silvenar, a young lad, poised to take up the mantle.

"They're waiting," the attendant said. She held out an alabaster goblet filled with fermented broth.

"I know. Give me a moment."   closed his eyes and took a deep breath before accepting the ceremonial cup.

The Silvenar. The title wasn't officially his until the wedding, but he could already feel the changes. Like the beat of a moth's wings near his ear, Indaenir felt his new identity whispering to him in quick pulses. It tickled.

The Silvenar represented the  . He or she would feel the will of the people and act upon it. The connection went both ways, as his or her influence could also sway the Wood Elves.

And his people were nervous.
Lore:The Vanishing Crux

The origin and purpose of the   remain a great mystery. Discovered on the shores of the   near  , it was constructed from the bones of some enormous, unknown beast, bound together with twisted fibrous cords. Nearly as wide and tall as two men, its surface was covered in glyphs, figures, and writing in multiple scripts, and it caused seemingly random blasts of elemental energies in its vicinity. These detonations, scholars noted, released  al power far beyond the known limits of modern   magic.

One of the languages scribbled among the strange arcane diagrams seemed to be   in origin, but the dialect and some of the characters in the orthography were previously unknown, even to scholars of  . Translation efforts during its brief containment revealed only a small percentage of the overall text.

The following examples illustrate the overall tone and themes present in the translatable writing:

"Capture [it] within creeping purple. Aetherial potency amplified under oppressive [filtration] below."

"Life-sludge fortifies. Release and obtain [shearing] gleam. Counteract only with profound shadow."

Within three weeks of relocation to   facilities in   (no small feat given its chaotic discharges), the Crux disappeared from its inhibition chamber. What was its intended purpose? Who created it and why? It seems that, sadly, we will never know.
Lore:The Unholy Temple

is furious. Construction of our magnificent temple was completed several months ago. At that time we dispatched an emissary to the city of  . The invitation to view our seat of power was extended with an open hand. A chance for the heretics to make a pilgrimage and, at last, bow to the Master.

Today the response arrived from the so-called  , condescendingly dismissing our invitation. He called our temple "pitiful" and mocked our craftsmen and  !

This cannot be borne! Father has entered the heart of the temple, and even from here I can hear his rage as he shouts to the Master for aid to wipe this humiliation away.

Father is furious, but I am filled with joy. This affront must end in war. This insult must end in death.

So much death!
Lore:The Unbreakable Redguard

For all of his self-doubt,   has proven monstrously difficult to break. Perhaps the years of physical training he endured to condition his body make the tortures of the flesh pale in comparison. Likewise, threats of bodily harm to friends and acquaintances have no effect. He merely closes his eyes and promises to avenge them.

So deftly he pulled the   from the fingers of  's withering husk amidst the chaos of the  , and then he was gone, a fleeting shadow in the night. I must have it back if I am to enact the final stage of my plan. Since that day I have played a waiting game as  's   continues unabated.

For the time being, this works to my advantage. But I must find the amulet before the Planemeld concludes, or my plan is doomed to failure. I would tear this continent apart stone by stone if I had to, but for now I shall be patient. Sai Sahan cannot endure these tortures forever. He will break, and the Amulet of Kings will be mine once again.
Lore:The Truth of the Hunter, Pt. 1

slowly moved through the open grove, keeping her head low in the tall grass. The grove reminded her of the time she'd spent climbing the bluffs in  —it was impossible to see open sky in parts of that jungle. Those who dreamed of the moons and the stars could only find refuge atop the highest bluffs.

She spotted the buck at the edge of the grove. It was grazing on figs and berries. It had the tallest rack of antlers she'd ever seen.

Selliel readied an arrow. Bow drawn, arrow nocked. She stilled her breath and let loose at the count of three. Then she loosed the arrow.

The buck startled. The arrow hissed through the air, slicing the tallest blades of grass. The buck bolted. The arrow struck the tree behind where it once grazed.

Selliel rushed into the woods. She lost sight of her prey, but kept her nostrils flared. She caught a pungent scent from a nearby cliff face.

Selliel made her way to the cliff and began to climb.
Lore:The Truth of the Hunter, Pt. 2

's hands moved cautiously from rock to rock. She knew she had to find the buck quickly. Once at the top, she could spot her prey and cut off its escape.

She grabbed at a root, hoisting herself to the next outcropping, but it gave way under her weight. As she fell, Selliel grabbed her hunting knife and thrust it into the earth wall.

The knife slowed her descent, but not enough. She slammed hard against a protruding rock, then half-bounced, half-slid into a small crevice cut into the cliffside. Stunned, Selliel smeared bloody hands against her breeches. Too much time had passed. The buck was certainly lost to her.

Selliel growled and spat upon the stone. Cautiously she regained her footing and once more began to climb. Handhold to handhold she went, always looking to the sky. Her path up the cliff face was soon marked with bloody handprints.

She finally crested the cliff and collapsed, gasping for breath. A quiet, bitter laugh escaped her as she rolled onto her side. Then she noticed the pair of yellow eyes in the brush, not twenty paces away.

Selliel sat up, never looking away from the wolf. It growled and lunged. She leapt aside and slashed with her knife, roaring in defiance. She would be no easy prey.

The wolf spun and bared its teeth, but hesitated. Selliel did not. She threw her knife. The blade slammed between the wolf's eyes. It fell lifeless to the ground.

Selliel breathed. She pulled her knife from the wolf and looked to the forest, seeking any sign of her prey. Movement, to the east. Antlers. She could still catch it.

She rushed into the forest.
Lore:The Truth of the Hunter, Pt. 3

kept low as she moved through the forest. She watched for signs of the buck she sought as prey. Did minutes pass, or hours? She did not know. Soon, there was only the chase.

It was only when Selliel stumbled across the stream that she realized how weary she was. Her earlier skirmish with the lone wolf had taken more from her than she thought. She dipped her hands into the cool water and began to drink. She closed her eyes for a moment.

After a few long sips she opened her eyes once more. The buck she had stalked for hours stood five paces away, drinking from the very same stream. Selliel froze.


The buck seemed to stare at Selliel for a moment. Then it reared into the air and slammed its hooves into the ground.

Selliel leapt back. Bow drawn, arrow nocked. The buck reared again. Selliel stilled her breath. It towered over her, its eyes locked on hers. Selliel counted one, two, three—

The buck lowered its hooves and turned its body. Selliel saw the three tiny does behind him. She froze. Then the buck walked calmly toward her and nudged the bow away.

Selliel hesitantly put her hand out. The buck licked her palm gently. Then it snorted and walked back to the forest. The does followed the buck. Selliel did not.

 

She returned to the cliff top. The wolf was where she had left it, untouched by scavengers. She skinned it, harvested its meat, and stuffed it into her pack. Then she began the long walk home.
Lore:The True Fate of King Ranser

History is written by the victors, so I have no doubt as to how King   will be remembered. But my job has always been to keep King Ranser's records, and that hasn't changed—at least in my mind—with our new state of being. I'm getting ahead of myself. My pardons. Allow me to start at the beginning.

After almost a year of conflict,   and his allies had driven King Ranser's forces to the brink of defeat. We prepared to make our final stand at  , caught as we were between a   armada and   troops. I am sure that history will describe how King Ranser fell that day, but history would be wrong. An entirely different fate befell the liege of  .

It is true that the bulk of King Ranser's army was annihilated at the battle on the moor. But Ranser was able to escape with a small contingent of soldiers and aides and make his way to the top of a nameless tor overlooking the shattered city of Shornhelm.

It was on this tor that King Ranser put his ultimate plan into motion to defeat King Emeric and his dastardly allies. Using an arcane ritual provided by the court magician,  , the brilliant King Ranser transformed his most loyal and devoted soldiers into a force that would stand for the ages. The final step in the ritual required a blood sacrifice, however. When King Ranser's traitorous  —whose name shall never again be spoken and who shall forever be forgotten—murdered his own liege, it was royal blood that ignited the ritual and triggered our change.

I must admit that my less-than-regal mind has yet to fully fathom the intricacies of King Ranser's plan. His ritual turned us all into undead soldiers, skeletal immortals who can stand at his side for eternity. But instead of immediately striking out and attacking Emeric's forces, King Ranser ordered us to strengthen our position and prepare to defend the tor.

"This tor shall be my throne!" King Ranser proclaimed. "From here, I shall rule for eternity!"

And now you know the true fate of King Ranser and his loyal soldiers. My time as scribe is finished, for my liege needs every sword at the ready. I will leave this record, safe in this tower until the day comes that King Ranser orders us to march from the tor and back into Shornhelm.
Lore:The True Balance

"We must warn Awas. The   are nearly upon us!"

The two  s exchanged glances, the movement of their dark eyes a mere flicker of light in the shadows.

"I'll go," hissed Sanax, and slipped into the murky waters.

Juunei followed her slow progress. Fires burned at the swamp's edge, creating a thick smoke only Argonian eyes could pierce.

Or so he thought. Axes glinted and slashed. Juunei heard a strangled cry, then nothing. Who knew the clumsy dryskins could move so silently?

Juunei swore an oath and eyed the dirt path to the xanmeer. It was longer and exposed. But he had to warn Awas.

They chased Juunei down the path, slashing and stabbing, but they made little noise. He was in sight of the xanmeer's stone edifice when something grabbed his tail, pulling him to the ground.

A Kothringi thug raised her dirty axe to finish him off. He cried out. Then a hurled Kothringi knife buried itself in the thug's throat.

Awas emerged from the muck. She retrieved the knife and helped Juunei to his feet.

"How did you know?" gasped Juunei, nodding at the Kothringi knife.

"A lesson from the dreams of the  ," murmured Awas. "To truly understand a foe, fight them with their own weapons."

Juunei stared at Awas, then grabbed the dead Kothringi's axe. They hurried to the xanmeer.
Lore:The Trials of Hissmir

The trials serve as an offering of one's self to the  . For the Hist to trust the participant, the participant must first trust the Hist.

The participant's mind, heart, and will are tested. Without a disciplined mind, one cannot comprehend the message of the Hist. Without a pure heart, one's purpose does not serve the will of the Hist. Without a warrior's will, one cannot safeguard the Hist for future generations.

Be resolute, and stay moist.
Online:Gruzdash

Gruzdash is an Orc Soul Shriven who can be found in The Wailing Prison.  When you speak to him, he will tell you, ''"I don't remember my life before Coldharbour. It's all fading away. But I'm hungry. I'm.... so hungry."''
Online:Fenlil

thumb|right|Old look
Fenlil is a High Elf chef who can be found on Captain Kaleen's ship,  The Spearhead, in Port Hunding. He sells food and drink. 
 
Dialogue
The Spearhead
While below deck on the Spearhead, he will merely ask:
:"Hungry?"

Daggerfall
While below deck, he will comment on the supplies:
:"I hope we have time to resupply before leaving Glenumbra. They have a good selection here."

Wayrest Docks
Below deck on the Spearhead while it is docked at Wayrest:
:''"Hey there. Buy something, for old time's sake?"''

Wayfarer's Wharf
While the ship is docked at Sentinel, Fenlil can be found above deck along with Tumma-Shah. He will reveal a desire of his:
:''"Hey, look who it is. I see you're still kicking. I'm glad, but I'm also jealous. Just for once, I'd like to leave the boat."''
Lore:The Thousand Arrows

was a Champion shrouded in mystery. She entered the tournament alone, yet she bested all the other gladiators with skill and precision, and did not suffer a single wound herself. After   fell, The Thousand Arrows remained in seclusion, only emerging when a new challenger entered the arena. Her favored weapon was a bow equipped with  -tipped arrows. The poison itself was from a recipe of her own devising. The slightest scratch could fell the largest opponent in seconds. She took this recipe to her grave, and its precise ingredients are hotly debated by alchemists all across   to this day.

Usurped: Hagrof the Righteous

Defeated By:
Lore:The Thief God's Treasures

, he who is fleet of foot, the very embodiment of speed, agility, and slyness, has borrowed many treasures from coffers across the lands. No possession is safe from his desire—not even those of the  .

Rajhin's most well-known plunder was the celebrated  , named after our people. It was once  's Finger, and only found its way to   because it was stolen from the eighth arm of the Webspinner herself. With the Ring of Khajiit, Rajhin grasped the spark of godhood. It wrapped him in shadow so dark that none could reach him. Not the Anticipation of  ; not even the passage of time.

But Rajhin wasn't finished. On his way out, he spied the killing word of the Spider, the  , and claimed it, as well. So swift were these takings that the Anticipation of Vivec was unaware anything went missing. Dark and sharp was the anger that followed, but Rajhin was no longer there. Rajhin is not cruel, or malicious—sometimes, when the Moons fit his mood, he gives them back.

From the Webspinner's threads, Rajhin found his way to a  , and the only currency is knowledge. There, Rajhin pillaged the   from the   and disappeared amongst sheaves in the wind. The lord of that land has never stopped seeking his treasured volume, and, sometimes, when the Moons are right—he finds it. Because, sometimes, Rajhin gives it back.

They say that, eventually, Rajhin took too much, too often, that the Ring of Khajiit tired of his capers. They say that the Ring abandoned Rajhin as he was surrounded by enemies, that it was his undoing. This one knows that Rajhin simply gave the Ring back.
Lore:The Ternion Monks

Some call them a cult. Others say worse things. But the   carry on a tradition that honors the   and the totems associated with them. While the religion is ancient, its followers are few. In many respects, the Ternion movement is slowly dying, as very little proselytizing takes place by the current contingent of monks. Fewer and fewer converts take up the worship of the Three Old Gods, and soon the religion may become nothing but a vague memory.

Known for their healing magic, the Ternion Monks can call forth aspects of the Three Old Gods. With the help of these aspects, the monks can perform tasks beyond the scope of mere mortal limitations. The aspects take the forms of the Three Old Gods: the  , the  , and the  .

The Fox is crafty and quick, and its aspect enhances the speed and agility of the monks who call upon him.

The Bear is strong, mighty. A protector. The aspect of the Bear enhances strength and shields those who call upon him from harm.

The Wolf is sly and observant, ferocious and deadly. She watches and waits, looking for the best opportunity to make her move. The aspect of the Wolf enhances vision and perception, allowing those who call upon her to see more clearly, to notice the hidden and the obscure.

The Ternion Monks prefer nigh-inaccessible spots as places to meditate and worship. Often, the only way to get to these holy retreats is to use the magic of the monks. A guardian is always appointed to open the way to the retreat, but will only do so for other monks or if the need is great and the requester is worthy.

I have spent time with the monks, learned something of their ways and seen their healing magic in action. I believe that they are good people, following a worthy tradition. But I fear that when this generation comes to an end, the Ternion Monks and the Three Old Gods they worship will fade away.

And that will be a sad day, indeed.
Lore:The Taking of Abamath

s pride themselves on the strength of their arms, their spirits, and their god. They know they can be beaten in battle, but never defeated.

That pride and that belief betrayed them in  . When   forces arrived at the Wood Orc town, the warriors painted themselves in the "blood of  " and relied on their shamans'   to protect them from the invaders. They stood strong and held.

And then they broke.

And died.

And some few fled—a shame that haunts their descendants.

The Ayleids took Abamath and turned it into their own demesne. The Wood Orcs remember their defeat and have turned it into a rallying cry. Many Wood Orcs—especially those who trace their ancestry back to the taking of Abamath—paint their faces red still, hoping to cleanse their shame with displays of renewed ferocity.
Lore:The Swallowed City

It will be remembered as the day of blue fire. The day of death. It came suddenly, but really, it had been coming a long time.

We had been foolhardy. We had heard of other cities that were swallowed up, but we thought we would be spared. We thought the sacrifices at the   were no longer necessary, that we could subsist alone, without our Prince.

We believed in the myth of our own self-sufficiency, and mistook what was true for a myth.

But what we forgot, our Prince remembered. The flames came suddenly, and choked our lungs with ash.

Our city was swallowed by  . We were no more.
Lore:The Summoner

, 
Used his deficient  , 
To summon  s and  , 
For the whims of the  i


He was young, his face so fresh, 
His mistake was what he deigned to say, 
The summoned now torment his flesh, 
To the horror of
Lore:The Strange Case of Ragnthar

Foreword

  is a mystery within a mystery. Modern scholars agree: there's just no reason for Ragnthar to exist in the strange way it does. And that is about all scholars can agree upon when it comes to the strange case of the Ragnthar ruins.

Even laypeople know that the  , or Dwarves as they're more commonly known, vanished from the face of  . The reasons or cause behind their disappearance are a matter of much speculation … a subject for numerous other texts.

What is not in dispute is what they left behind: numerous ruins, some still patrolled by their unique metal constructs. Exploring a Dwarven ruin is seen in many research and adventuring circles as a rite of passage, as even the most well-trod ruin might still contain dangers. As a result, there's a large body of work on the subject of Dwemeri ruins and their eccentricities.

To be sure, there are a number of unusual finds within the ancient Dwarven holdfasts. Towering machinery, shafts that allow sunlight to reach thousands of feet below ground, roaring waterfalls powering still-active and incomprehensible machinery … there are many ruins that are stunning to the eye and the senses.

None of them match Ragnthar when it comes to stunning the mind. For you see, Ragnthar has numerous entrances spread across Tamriel. It is literally a space-out-of-space, twisted out of reality. Its physical location is actually unknown! Observations made within the site suggest it once was situated within the mountains of  , but a precise origin point has never been determined.

What is known is that by stepping across the threshold into Ragnthar, you leave  . And no one knows why.

For indeed, the greatest question posed by Ragnthar is: why? Why would the Dwemer expend the enormous amounts of magical energy required to remove a complex from known reality? I call this effort a "Temporospatial Claudication," literally a twisting of time and space.

Herein you'll find this humble scholar's numerous observations about the site. I've extensively studied the remaining constructs and machinery here, as well as made numerous suppositions about the intent of its creators. I think you'll agree, the more we learn about the site, the more there is to uncover!