Netruk44/uesp-wiki-content huggingface dataset:
Lore:Wait Till Next Time

Since King   signed the   treaty, I've been taking advantage of our new lack of restrictions on travel to look for trading opportunities for   in   and  . As I expected, I've frequently had to put up with being snubbed or talked down to, and had to pretend I didn't hear the   jokes told loudly at a nearby table in a tavern, or didn't see the guardsman spit in my tracks after I passed. What I wasn't prepared for, however, was the number of  s and  s I've met who speak admiringly about Orcish forthrightness, and about the way we quickly settle our disagreements (albeit with blades) and then move on without holding a grudge.

Stupid humans.

They don't realize that forgiveness is only for other Orcs. They don't know that the Code of   demands that a price be paid for every grievance—no matter how long it takes to exact it. They think that, now we're enthusiastic members of their precious Covenant, we'll forget the razing of Orsinium and let bygones be bygones.

They smile at me with their foolish, tuskless grins, and I smile back, and nod, and make an   joke. But inside I know that the sack of Orsinium will be paid for, many times over. And the Bretons and the Redguards will never even see it coming. Because they don't know the secret motto that's graven on every Orc's heart:

"Wait till next time."
Lore:Visions of the Green Pact Bosmer

''Excerpts from the original four-volume work recorded by Morvas Andrys, who studied the     for three years in the  , until he was killed in a mourning war and devoured by the very clan he'd been studying.''

…   was one hundred years old when she consumed the   of the swamps and it showed her the upside-down tree city of  . It was populated by   who walked exclusively on their hands….

…  , who successfully demanded more than two hundred payments after invoking the Rite of Theft, was once said to have had a vision after climbing into a tree that had appeared in the middle of the forest.

The tree had purple leaves, and as Vanirion told it, when he sat among them, they gave off the most pleasant fragrance. The sweet scent lulled his mind into a state, and while in this state, he saw a circular grove of trees. The further he went into the grove, the wider the circle became, so that he could never reach its true center.

As he wandered he met the most beautiful spirit and when she spoke her sentences began with their last word, so that they made circles. "River. Come, lie with me by the," she beckoned.

Vanirion only came to his senses when, slumped in a stupor from the powerful odor of the leaves, he fell from the branches of the tree. He survived the fall, but broke his leg, ending his thieving career. He spent the rest of his life searching the forest for the tree with the purple leaves, but never found it.

…

Then I asked the treethane whether it is right for the Pact Bosmer to say that they "see" these visions, and whether it wouldn't be better to say that they "imagine" them. It's clear that these strange apparitions of cities and groves and other such wonders don't exist either on   or in  .

The treethane took a long drink of whatever foul fermented milk was currently in fashion and looked at his feet and then at the sky. "You say the world ends at what you can see with your eyes. We say, that is where the world begins."
Lore:Verses of the Illuminated

At first was one and then was   before there were many

  climbed the sky daring the many to follow

Try they did but the many could not and trying was their sorrow
Lore:Vampires and their Hunters

The work of hunting  s is best reserved for the mentally unstable. Average people, if they try to pursue a vampire, will more likely end up being prey than predator.

It's not that the average person is not strong enough or cunning enough (although that is often the case). It's that they are not single-minded enough.

The vampire does not know family, or love, or hope. It only knows the desire to feed. So must the vampire hunter mimic his prey. He must abandon all love, all hope, all memory of family or friends. Anything that might distract his mind from the goal at hand must be sloughed off like dead skin.

The vampire hunter must become a predator's predator, unknown and unknowable. Anything short of that and he will quickly become food for his quarry—or worse, he will be transformed into the very monster he seeks to destroy.
Lore:Valenwood Hounds

The   are legendary hunters, but none among them are more legendary than those who make   their hunting ground.

There are several reasons for their incredible reputation. The first is Valenwood itself. Wild, untamed, and, some say, quite aware, there are entire regions of this wood which remain unexplored and house the most astonishing creatures. Only the most proficient trackers can hunt their prey in this strange forest without getting utterly lost.

The second reason is that many of these hunters are  , born stalkers of prey, with a gifted sense for tracking.

But the biggest reason for the lofty reputation of the Valenwood Hounds is the hunter called  . A legend in his own right, some dispute that he even exists, but there's not a Hound that hasn't heard tell of his exploits.

Said to be unmatched in his devotion to   and his skill at tracking, Haras was last heard from over a hundred years ago, when he set out to hunt the fabled  . Others, hunting in Valenwood, have claimed to have seen him from time to time, still hunting that elusive beast. Although if these claims were true, Haras would have to have lived long beyond the normal life span of an  .

Still, every one of the Hounds of Valenwood can trace his training to Haras and aspires to best him in fame and skill. That alone makes the Valenwood Hounds the greatest hunters in  .
Lore:Urenenya's Lament

There once was the finest lass of royal descent, the fairest  oon princess who ever lived, but the place or manner of her death was never known. Princess   was a daughter, the youngest of three and twenty, to the revered King   who ruled from his ancestral castle known as  .

Never was a more astute lord than the wise King Uuril, who secured for future generations the power for his family that he himself envisioned in his dreams steeped in ambition. Both rivals and allies of the amicable Uuril were tethered to his family's fate through the marriages the clever king did arrange for each of his children, the two and twenty.

When it came time for the fair Urenenya to wed, suitors did come from lands far and near hoping to link their names to that of the most illustrious king. But Urenenya did not desire to be wed. The lass was of strong will and did even dare to defy her honorable and generous father. King Uuril did with great reluctance lock his youngest daughter within a tower at Silaseli, there to remain until the day of that wedding which he did plan.

Urenenya's song of lamentation flowed forth both night and day from her locked chamber, until a time did come when the young lass fell ill, and those healers of King Uuril bemoaned that it was not within the power of their art to cure the young woman's maladies. Whereupon that noble king did take pity on the poor princess, allowing her to remove herself from the locked chamber.

Then: mystery, for Urenenya did vanish, never to be seen again by vision mortal or  al. Buried beneath the soils of Silaseli lie all members of that royal family for generations before and after the good King Uuril, excepting only the fair princess. Mystics querying souls gone before learned that Urenenya's spirit never voyaged to the sweet shores of  . Somehow the peace of the afterlife was denied her. But were her lost remains returned to Silaseli, it is believed the spirit adrift might find its way at last to that peaceful shore.
Lore:Undeniable Truths of Attire

Students of the  al arts in our chaotic contemporary environs must resist succumbing to the degradation of respect for tradition which threatens the future of magical study across  . The disregard for ritual I have seen and the reduction of complexities inherent in the study to crass, inadequate categorizations is not to be tolerated. Feeble though my efforts may be, I must do my best to confront this watering-down, the devolution of the highest arts into common "practical" applications, by recording the proper approaches to be shared with those who wish to pursue the study seriously. I shall start with the fundamentals: the proper garments for a true initiate of the arts.

There is only one appropriate attire for anyone who wishes to unlock the higher secrets, for one who devotes the proper time to research and practice, and that is robes of cloth. On a practical level, one need not waste precious time being instructed in the ways of wearing robes. Magic is your armor, and devoting your time to anything else is folly. If you wish to lower yourself to such vulgar means, don't be surprised when your efforts to wrangle with leather or metal stunt your progress in the realm of the true understanding of magicka and its applications.

There are considerations you must take into account, of course; not any filthy rags will suffice. Physically, the material should be sturdy and treated for resistance to the elements. Your experiments will result in exposure to dangerous effects, so long sleeves and full coverage are essential. As   is naturally aligned with magical study, pockets and pouches for useful plant samples and other materials are very useful. If you cannot afford to hire your own exploratory teams and must work in the field, ensure proper layering, waterproofing, and additional space for specimens.

Of course, appearance is critical. One must put forth the proper air of the enlightened to command respect from allies and enemies alike. My own robes feature detailed embroidery enumerating and naming the most powerful individuals of my lineage, along with sacred incantations I have interwoven with protective wards. Some prefer to display detailed   charts or other complex weavings to emphasize a particular area of study, and at least one wizard I am acquainted with has woven such potent  s into his raiment that all who look upon him see exactly what they expect a powerful wizard to wear.

Your robes are an extension of yourself and your ability to impress your will upon the  . I implore again that you abandon any ridiculous ideas of charging into battle clad in pointless, constricting armor, and instead focus on perfecting your art in every way. You will not require mundane protections when you are able to turn enemies aside using your own power, whatever form you choose for it to take: mighty lightning strikes, poisoning minds with fear, or any of the limitless options you will have if you truly devote yourself to discovery and mastery.
Lore:Uela's Song

:Clouds tower
:Beyond peaks
:Storm shatters
:Mountainside
:Wind cudgels
:Canyon wall
:Avalanche
:Scours gorge
:Hunters spear
: s
:Tear the flesh
:Split the bones
: s
:In  


: s hide
:From storm wrack
:Fear mountains
:Shiver, cold
:Run to town
:Cower, roofed
:Go to church
:On their knees
:Pray to be
:Sheltered, hid
:Come out when
:Weather's warm
:Kill and eat
:Helpless lambs


:Hunters spear
:Soft Bretons
:Tear the flesh
:Split the bones
Lore:Truths of the North

When the snow fades 
and the rivers run fat, 
The sun sits like a flower 
on a young boy's hat. 
The wise   knows 
it can never last. 
He enjoys the day, 
though it travels fast.

When the snow is gone, 
and rivers run dry, 
The sun beats down 
like an angry eye. 
The wise Nord knows, 
though the day is long, 
These are the days, 
he is hale and strong, 
growing like a seed 
from the fresh spring soil.

When frost returns 
and the rivers choke, 
The sun dips in the sky 
beneath evening smoke. 
The wise Nord knows 
though his strength may fade, 
It is time to plan, 
and time to save.
Lore:Treatise on Metallurgical Anomalies

This shall be my masterwork, an accounting of everything I know about the ores, metals, and alloys of  .

First:  , in all its many and wondrous varieties.

We begin with   which, true to its name, is "mined" by digging in ferrous peat, within which pea-sized nodules of ore can be found by the assiduous bog-iron seeker. Bog iron is prized because iron forged from its ore is often highly resistant to rusting, which naturally makes it perfect for a variety of applications.

Then there is  , which can be found throughout the frozen mountains of  . Even after it is worked and forged, this unique metal retains a chill that keeps it cold to the touch—regardless of the temperature around it. Cold Iron has a number of uses, and holds enchantments very well.

In my travels I have also come across a mysterious metal. I'm not sure if it's iron, as my encounter with this strange   was rather brief and interrupted by the sudden appearance of  s ….
Lore:Touch of the Worm's Tongue

Day 13: It has been discovered that strict reliance on the preserving salts, while undesirable for outward appearances, contains the highest rate of conversion success.

Day 17: Before the dark fluids are returned to the vessel it is necessary to purge all remaining blood, most especially from the primary organs.

Day 19: Though it pains the host enough to occasionally result in death, forcing water into the lungs may prevent future spasms of pus-coughs.

Day 23: Only under rare circumstances should the vessel exhibit symptoms of its former life. Should this become a problem during the initiation stage it is often best to discard the work.

Day 29: It was revealed today that the host can reject the vessel if not carefully prepared in the specific manner in which we have been instructed. This is a grave affront to the host and not something that will be taken lightly should your work on the vessel be sloppy enough to cause this.

Day 31: There are two recent shortcut practices which have been found to cause unreliable lifespans for the vessels. It is important to not take any shortcuts during preparation. Those responsible for the propagation of the false knowledge have been dealt with.

Day 37: The first shining example of our future has been created. The host and vessel are joined perfectly and the resulting power is breathtaking.
Online:Tonight He Confessed

My handsome, pale lover! Tonight he confessed his true nature to me. I must admit I had my suspicions, but to hear him say the word sent shivers down my spine: Vampire!

He seemed so small when he said the word, so frightened. So very much alone. My heart went out to him, and my love grew by leaps and bounds at that very moment.

I took him in my arms and told him that I wasn't surprised. I had suspected the truth of his nature for quite some time, He seemed relieved. Painfully so. That's when he said the words I was hoping to hear. He asked me to join him for eternity.

Sadly, I didn't think of my husband at all. I didn't even hesitate. I just said, yes, oh yes, forever yes!
Online:Tonight Was the Night

Tonight was the night, and it was as amazing as I had imagined it would be. It was inevitable, I suppose. Fate.

My handsome, pale stranger. We met. We touched. His hands were so cold. Deathly cold. For a moment, I almost pulled away. But only for a moment. Then I moved closer, drinking in his sunken cheeks, his pale complexion, his icy lips.

Were the shivers that cascaded down my spine from the cold, or from the perverse excitement he arouses in me?

All I know is that tonight confirmed what I've been trying to deny all this time: I belong to him.
Lore:Tome of Daedric Portals

Note to self: Remember, the most important thing is to pay homage to the flames of the   first.

 

As discussed in  , the transpontine circumpenetration of the limen requires the cooperation—implicit or otherwise—of a  .

Unfortunately for the conjurer of modest means, the process described is costly, highly esoteric, and impossibly dangerous. Fortunately for the practically-minded practitioner of  al studies, there is another option.

Dregs of the Deadlands have been known to offer the use of existing  s in crossing the traverse. Though the purposes of said beings must be regarded with wary suspicion, it is frequently possible to engage in transliminal studies with minimal risk to one's person, especially if one's go-between is supplied with sufficient motive.

The Deadlands, of course, are filled with searing heat and suffocating ash. But if you find a way to quench these things, their secrets—and those of   itself—lie at your fingertips.

Take heed, then, and read well of what fates befell those who first attempted contact with these domains.

First, there was the scholar  , who thought the sheer power of elemental flame would be enough to initiate contact with the   of the Deadlands. Though his attempt was impressive—indeed, the fire instilled in the walls of his hovel would go on to spark one of the worst wildfires in   history—it ultimately proved futile. His ashes were never recovered.

Believing Daron was on to something,   sought to insulate the flames with compacted earth. By all accounts he nearly succeeded, but when his chambers burst from the walls of the  , his apparatus lost focus, collapsing the gateway upon itself.

In the end, it was the  ,  , whose multifarious approach led to the final revelation. Once the flames were ignited, it was Avumar who thought to use an earthen vessel to convert the immense energy into steam. Once her boiler reached sufficient temperature, she was able to converse with a Dremora of some power on the other side.

Relieved, no doubt, at her success in the face of her predecessors' failure, Avumar quickly agreed to the terms of the Dremora's contract. An ominous decision, it turns out, that ultimately led to the fall of  .

Take care, therefore, in your attempts to contact the Deadlands, for good seldom comes out of agreements made in haste with the creatures who call it home.
Lore:Castles and Coffers Volume III: Hel Ra Citadel

historians, most notably   of the  , speculate that   was constructed sometime during the second  n " " as it swept into the   desert of western  . Most believe, as is obvious from its title, that it was built to protect the nearby Yokudan city, the name of which has been lost to sand and time. But the Yokudans did not name the Citadel; modern Tamriel did. The structure could have long predated the city it protects. It could have been a foothold for one or both invasions, it could have been one of many forts now lost, or even a fortressed training ground. In myth,   training for maintaining "sword  " was notoriously rigorous, and even an invasion force would require a space for that. Some say that where the Citadel now stands was first a   fort, that the Yokudans conquered it, built on top of it.

According to the Imperials, all anybody knows for certain is that the Citadel has been sealed since the Yokudan retreat. No one has ever been inside. There are claims and stories, of course, all false. Imperial records state the   has failed to enter, and expeditions by the   themselves have failed to bypass the Citadel's front door. Be it through spellcraft, or a trick of its construction, no army or siege engine has ever been able to defeat those walls. What treasures, what ancient secrets could await inside? Will the Citadel's gates ever open?

Said Imperial Magistrate  :

Never.
Lore:To Smite with Dragon Claws

We are  . We are  .

If you attack us, you will meet talons.

If you strike us, you will eat spikes.

If you injure us, our wounds will close.

If you anger us, you will burn.

If you run from us, we will pounce upon you.

You cannot win. We cannot lose.

We are dragonknights. We are Dragons.
Lore:To Posterity

Witches and witch-hunters are, by nature, uncivil to one another, but the witches of   and my clan, the   witch-hunters, have particularly bad blood between us. I cannot say I blame the witches for their hatred—we have clashed often in these mountainous regions, and we Direfrosts have become very good at slaying them. Eastmarch was once infested with the heathens, the landscape dotted with their covens. Everywhere one turned, one found sordid hovels built in honor of some  . Thanks to the efforts of my family over several generations, that number has dwindled to a scant few. They're there, to be sure—the schemes of   are myriad—but the witches move in fear, ducking between the narrowing shadows cast by the Flame of Direfrost.

In the days of their abundance, they abducted innocents, murdered children, desecrated corpses. I will not mourn them when finally, and with great, glorious fanfare, we stamp them from the face of Eastmarch forever.

I list below the most infamous leaders of those covens who have committed crimes such that Direfrosts of my generation can never forget them, lest we disrespect the desecrated dead.  s grant these witches long life, and I fear I may not live to see all of this lot rounded up and slain, but when the last of them falls I implore posterity to raise a monument in remembrance of their victims, detailing their crimes and their death at Direfrost hands:

 . Thirteen known victims sacrificed in flames to  . Fled to the   where a final standoff with hunters saw a silver bolt pass through a summoned   into Frostfinger herself. Confirmed deceased.*

 . Twenty known victims sacrificially bled to death to appease an unidentified Daedra Lord. Captured from the mountain passes to the south of Eastmarch and  . Confirmed deceased.**

 . Twenty-seven known victims, causes of death vary, all executed to appease an unidentified  . Search went on in vain for months before Lorgar challenged  , wife of  , and was beheaded on the steps of  . The stone was clean before supper. Confirmed deceased.***

 . One hundred and seven known victims, frozen and soul-trapped to appease  . Still at large and incredibly dangerous. She is the oldest of the  , and only grows in strength with the passage of time. ****

Notes: 
 Revised for total victim count and particulars of death by  

 Revised as above by  

  Revised as above by  

  Revised for current victim count by
Lore:To Dream Beyond Dreams

'Twas in  , dear, green Menevia, there dwelt a young   of family and name. He had inherited a patrimony, and thus needed to do nothing, as others were paid to do for him. And so he sat at his mullioned window and gazed out the diamond panes at the colors of the countryside as they changed with the light. And he dreamed away the day, until the colors darkened and he betook himself to bed, where he slumbered and dreamed in truth.

Of what did he dream? He dreamed of his own land, but in colors more intense, more true, and more pure than in day. His Menevia of Dreams was more real than his Menevia of Waking, and he felt more alive when asleep than awake. Each day at his mullions, he looked and longed for a way to dream beyond dreams—a way to live in his Reverie-Menevia forever and forever.

"Reverie-Menevia," he said, and it was a prayer. "Reverie-Menevia. Reverie-Menevia." A thousand, thousand times he uttered this prayer, and it changed like a dream to " 'Ver'-Menevia, 'ver'-Menevia," and more and more it became less and less, until at last, " ," he said, and, "Vaermina," and. "Vaermina" again.

And to him she came in Dream-Form, Vaermina Herself, and called him Supernal Dreamer, and First Nightcaller, and named him Omen of a Hundred Prophecies. And when he awoke, he yet did dream, and spoke as in a dream, and called other dreamers to him, and to Reverie-Menevia.

And soon you shall join him. The Nightcaller has dreamed it. One night you shall dream, and in your dream you will say the Name. And She will come.