Netruk44/uesp-wiki-content huggingface dataset:
Seven Varieties of Shadows

By long study have I learned this --

Shadow the first is the shadow direct, hard-cut in day by the Sun, unequivocal.

Shadow the second is the shadow oblique, bent away from its mooring by the application of a dust.

Shadow the third is the shadow effulgent, made expansive and billowing to fill out tight spaces by the judicious ingestion of bitters.

Shadow the fourth is the shadow defensive, drawn from the air and made solid by burning flowerspice.

Shadow the fifth is the shadow numbing, applied with ground resin.

Shadow the sixth is the shadow imbecilic, descending on the mind from chewing wickstems.

Shadow the seventh is the shadow everted, by application of hound's flesh.

Namira, bless me. Namira, kiss me. Namira, curse me entire.

This have I learned at the feet of my master.
Sheogorath Invents Music

In the earliest of days, in a time when the world was still raw, Sheogorath decided to walk amongst the mortals. He donned his guise of Gentleman With a Cane, and moved from place to place without being recognized. After eleven days and eleven nights, Sheogorath decided that life among mortals was even more boring than his otherworldly existence.

"What can I do to make their lives more interesting?" he said to himself. At that same moment, a young woman nearby commented wistfully to herself, "The sounds of the birds are so beautiful."

Sheogorath silently agreed with her. Mortals could not make the beautiful and inspired calls of birds. Their voices were wretched and mundane. He could not change the nature of mortals, for that was the purview of other Daedric Princes. However, he could give them tools to make beautiful sounds.

Sheogorath took hold of the petulant woman and ripped her asunder. From her tendons he made lutes. From her skull and arm bones he made a drum. From her bones he made flutes. He presented these gifts to the mortals, and thus Music was born.
Shezarr and the Divines

The position Shezarr enjoys in Cyrodilic worship   often misconstrued. He, and a thousand other deities, have sizeable cults in the Imperial City. Shezarr is especially venerated in the Colovian West, though he is called Shor there, as the West Kings are resolutely, and religiously, Nordic. 
The haziness of Shezarr's relationship to the Divines (he is often called their 'Missing Sibling') begins with St. Alessia, the so-called 'Slave Queen of Cyrodiil, the founder figure of the original Cyrodilic Empire. In the earliest Cyro-Nordic stories of the Heartland, Shezarr fought against the Ayleids (the 'Heartland Highelves') on mankind's behalf. Then, for some unknown reason, he vanishes from the stage (presumably to help other humans elsewhere), and, without his leadership, the Ayleids conquer the humans and enslave them.

This slavery lasts for generations. The isolated humans eventually begin to venerate the pantheon of their masters, or at least assimilate so much of High Elven religious practices into their native traditions that the two become indistinguishable.

In 1E242, under the leadership of Alessia, her demigod lover, Morihaus-Breath-of-Kyne, and the infamous Pelinal Whitestrake, the Cyrodilic humans revolt. When Skyrim lends its armies to the Slave-Queen of the South, the revolution succeeds. The Ayleid Hegemonies are quickly overthrown. Shortly thereafter, White Gold Tower is captured by Alessia's forces, and she promptly declares herself the first Empress of Cyrodiil. Part of the package meant that she had to become the High Priestess of Akatosh, as well.

Akatosh was an Aldmeri god, and Alessia's subjects were as-yet unwilling to renounce their worship of the Elven pantheon. She found herself in a very sensitive political situation. She needed to keep the Nords as her allies, but they were (at that time) fiercely opposed to any adoration of Elven deities. On the other hand, she could not force her subjects to revert back to the Nordic pantheon, for fear of another revolution. Therefore, concessions were made and Empress Alessia instituted a new religion: the Eight Divines, an elegant, well-researched synthesis of both pantheons, Nordic and Aldmeri.

Shezarr, as a result, had to change. He could no longer be the bloodthirsty anti-Aldmer warlord of old. He could not disappear altogether either, or the Nords would have withdrawn their support of her rule. In the end, he had become "the spirit behind all human undertaking." Even though this was merely a thinly-disguised, watered-down version of Shor, it was good enough for the Nords.

As for why Tiber Septim has not attempted to 'revitalize' Shezarr during his wars against the Aldmeri Dominion, we can only speculate that, at this time, memories of the Alessian Order’s follies (the Dragon Break, the War of Righteousness, the defeat at  ) would only damage his campaign for the Imperial Crown.
Lore:The Black Fin Comes Home

, known as the Black Fin, turned command of the   forces in   over to a   general named  . Then, with a small group of companions that included myself, Vos-Huruk, Tee-Wan, Xocin, the Dark Elf twins Llensi and Meralyn, and the  s Jod and Ulfbel, we departed the war-torn countryside and returned to   for a final meeting with   the Skald-King. 

"The more time I spend in this strange country, the more I miss the mountains and the snow," Jorunn said as we entered his audience chamber in the Dark Elf city. "Now tell me, Black Fin," he said, turning to face Keshu, "are you sure you want to do this?" 

Keshu raised the spine of affirmation and said, "I've done all I set out to do for you and the Pact, Jorunn. It's time for me to return to   and do the same for my people." 

Jorunn nodded solemnly. "Then I can ask no more of you, my trusted friend," he said with a tear in his eye. "May   guide you back home, Black Fin. And if you ever need my aid, you have but to ask." 

At those words, Keshu's eyes sparkled like the stars in the sky. "Well, there is a small matter," she said, and then she went on to explain how she was hoping to open Black Marsh to outsiders, especially crafters and artisans, to help expand the knowledge and experiences of her people. "I shall put out the word," Jorunn agreed. "And where should these crafters and artisans go? To  ?" 

"No," Keshu replied. "Send them to  ." 

Keshu, however, led us to Gideon, the   stronghold in central  , where she was determined to establish a more inviting and vibrant "modern"   society. Her plan, as she explained them to us during the journey, was to start out by bringing the things we learned and discovered during our time in   and   to Gideon, and then begin a series of quests to re-discover the secrets of the ancient Argonian civilization. "I do not want to change our culture," Keshu assured us. "I want to enhance it and bring back the glory we had and lost  ." 

We may not have all agreed with everything Keshu outlined on our journey home, but we believed in the Black Fin. We would follow her to   and back if she asked it of us. So it wasn't that far a leap to realize that we were going to help her achieve her dream for our people. 

As we approach the borders of Black Marsh, this ongoing narrative of how a simple Saxhleel from   became an Argonian to be reckoned with comes to an end. I may write again in the future, but I imagine that my free time will evaporate like a small puddle on a hot day as soon as we get settled in Gideon. But if you ever make it to our fair city, stop by and say hello. We welcome all visitors—Argonians and dryskins alike!
Lore:Keshu the Black Fin

was a great   hero and founder of a movement for an advanced Saxhleel society. Upon the founding of the  , she was named general of Pact forces in   and fought briefly in   during the  .  
 
See Also
Books
 

References
Lore:Ku-Vastei: The Needed Change

It is hard to describe the culture of my people. Often my tongue stumbles as I try to explain, but it is my hope that ink and quill will give me time enough to gather my thoughts. And perhaps, through such writing, I will finally connect the parts of me that now feel so divided; my homeland of   and my new life within the  . 

These journals are to become my ku-vastei. And, as I write that, I can think of no better topic to begin with. 

Ku-vastei roughly translates to "the catalyst of needed change," though such a direct translation in no way does justice to the original meaning. Another translation could be "that which creates the needed pathway for change to occur" or even "the spark which ignites the flame which must come into being." 

Perhaps a more direct analysis should be first presented. Ku-vastei is a noun, a thing or person. Vastei directly translates to change, an important part of my culture. Ku is harder to speak of. It is that which leads to change, though not that which creates change. An important role, as stagnation is a fate worse than death. 

Take a boulder which sits atop a cliff, teetering in place. It must fall eventually. The ku-vastei does not push the boulder off the cliff; rather, it picks the pebble which holds the rock in place. And so it falls, not by a push, but by a pathway cleared. 

Ku-vastei is revered, just as  , for to look back at what was means to stumble as you move forward. Sometimes, a little push in the right direction is all someone needs to remember such wisdom. Other times, they may need to be shoved.
Lore:Legion Officer's Notebook

The   scout we hired has been a blessing. Gin-Rajul seems to know this swamp like the back of his scaly hand. As a matter of fact, it was the scout who suggested we camp in this cavern. In addition to offering protection from the elements and a secure location from which we could defend ourselves, he told me that, according to the legends of his tribe, a powerful weapon was hidden here long ago. It would be a great benefit to the Empire if we were to acquire this weapon. 

   
The   isn't alone in this cavern. Something or someone has picked off our perimeter guards and scavenger parties. Our Argonian scout contends that there is nothing here but the Legion, suggesting that my soldiers decided to desert and flee the area. That's ridiculous! The Ninth Legion never abandons its responsibilities! I don't think Gin-Rajul is being completely honest, but I'm not sure why he would lie to me.
Lore:Lies of the Dread-Father

Round-tongues give it form and shape  
The it that is turned into he  
They whisper to his    
To honor him, to worship him  

 
They name it    
They pray with blades of dreaded blood  
They speak one facet of the truth  
Something clinging to their tongues  


Shapelessness given form  
Change turned to stagnation  
One truth that becomes untruth  
  of something eyes
Lore:Miregaunts of the Marsh

The   Exploration Society has a long and noble history of sponsoring adventurers who are brave and hearty enough to survive the rigors of the deep swamp. They must be strong, competent, and capable of unraveling the many mysteries inherent in the expansive swamps and impenetrable rainforests. Take, for example, the mystery of the  . A resolute and steady head is required when facing an ambulatory piece of the marsh.

Miregaunts aren't so rare that a visitor to   will never see one, but they're also not so prevalent as to be a constant threat to expeditions—though they do tend to congregate in and around places we like to explore. These large, walking parts of the swamp appear vaguely humanoid in shape, but without a discernible head. Consisting mainly of plant substance, they sometimes incorporate other materials into their shape, including mud, stone, vines, and even pieces of ancient architecture.

As for the biology of these strange creatures, the society remains at a loss. They have some small resemblance to certain aspects of   and similar creatures found in other parts of  , but in all other respects they appear totally unique creatures. Local legends associate the miregaunts with   trees, but I must admit that the explanation was very hard to follow. Some tribes believe that the Hist trees call forth a portion of the swamp to accomplish a specific task, either guarding an area, defending a place, or taking vengeance on someone or something that hurt or hampered the Hist in some way. Others seem to indicate that a miregaunt is an unintended by-product of some unknown Hist activity, called forth by accident and set loose with no specific purpose in mind. Frankly, the contradictions I've uncovered are quite maddening!

What I can say with some degree of certainty is that every miregaunt has a large cavity in its mid-section. Sometimes an encountered miregaunt's cavity is empty. Other times a random piece of stone or other detritus fills the empty space. In rare cases, something valuable rests within the miregaunt, such as a precious stone, an ancient relic, or even a living creature. The local   believe that these valuable objects have been taken into the miregaunt to purposely protect or imprison them. Fanciful, I know, but that's what some of the tribes believe.

Whatever the truth, if an expedition encounters a miregaunt, please follow the recommendation of the society. Run.
Lore:On the Ghost People

Our new   guide, Olik-Jaa, is just as frustrating as the last one who led us hither and yon through this dank swamp. I've urged him to take us along the most direct route to our destination, but he remains infuriatingly obstinate. Apparently, my desired route takes us straight through the heart of   territory, and that's somewhere he dares not trespass. I swear, everyday it's some new haunted cave, or sacred mud-flat, or hallowed grove of trees. It's a wonder anyone can go anywhere in this Eight-forsaken place.

These Veeskhleel, are quaintly known as the Ghost People. Pale bogies that snatch the soggy corpses littering this festering cesspit of a place and bury them at their sacred tree, or some such. Sounds like these charming folks are just tidying up, but Olik-Jaa claims they can keep you from "returning to the Hist." Since I have no interest in these trees, it's no concern of mine, but I'm at the mercy of my guide and he seems to think that's worse than trekking leagues out of our way to go around. I know better than to strike out on my own. Not after last time.
Online:Honor Guard Style

:"As Chronicler of Blades Kiasa-Veda declares, one must follow the old rules correctly to make gear—errors lead to dishonor. Follow this dictate and learn the Honor Guard crafting style." &mdash; Crown Store description
The Honor Guard Style is a crafting and outfit style that can only be learned by reading the chapters of the    book. These chapters (or rarely the entire book) can be obtained by completing Blackrose Prison, with a higher chance of a drop on Veteran difficulty.

Crafting Honor Guard Style items requires   . Like all styles, it is purely cosmetic. Items will have the same stats regardless of the style you use.

Armor


Weapons and Shields


Sets
Honor Guard style sets include:
Gallant Charge
Mender's Ward
Radial Uppercut
Spectral Cloak
Virulent Shot
Wild Impulse

Gallery
 
Armor
 
Weapons
 

See Also
Akaviri Style
Tsaesci Style
Lore:Longhaven

is a town located in the region of  , within the province of  . Longhaven lies beyond the southern road from the city of  , it overlooks the land known as the  . There is a local legend in Longhaven regarding the  , who lurks in the moors, creating potions that can cure anything.  

 

History
During the   in  , the town of Longhaven suffered ill omens from the Shademist Moors when an ominous mist had begun to shroud the land, more so than it would typically do, which the Wood Elves of Longhaven have come to known. The   of  s, who are known for their mist magic, had begun to haunt Longhaven and the moors, controlling Hunters and Bowman, to lure them in and kill them for food. One day, a Vampire Hunter by the name of   had arrived into Longhaven, to deal with the Keerilth Clan and force them out of the swamp. With the help of another  , the  , which was used to create the ominous mist, as well as, the Keerilth Clan were destroyed, and so, Longhaven was freed from their curse. 

During the   in the late  , the town of Longhaven was an active settlement, being ruled by Countess Rillina. It had a rivalry with  .  It was neighbored by several settlements, including   in the north,   in the east, and   in the west. 


References
Shezarr's Song

...This was a new thing that Shezarr described to the Gods, becoming mothers and fathers, being responsible, and making great sacrifices, with no guarantee of success, but Shezarr spoke beautifully to them, and moved them beyond mystery and tears. Thus the Aedra gave free birth to the world, the beasts, and the beings, making these things from parts of themselves. This free birth was very painful, and afterwards the Aedra were no longer young, and strong, and powerful, as they had been from the beginning of days.

Some Aedra were disappointed and bitter in their loss, and angry with Shezarr, and with all creation, for they felt Shezarr had lied and tricked them. These Aedra, the Gods of the Aldmer, led by Auri-El, were disgusted by their enfeebled selves, and by what they had created. 'Everything is spoiled, for now, and for all time, and the most we can do is teach the Elven Races to suffer nobly, with dignity, and chastise ourselves for our folly, and avenge ourselves upon Shezarr and his allies.' Thus are the Gods of the Elves dark and brooding, and thus are the Elves ever dissatisfied with mortality, and always proud and stoic despite the harshness of this cruel and indifferent world.

Other Aedra looked upon creation, and were well pleased. These Aedra, the Gods of Men and Beast Folk, led by Akatosh, praised and cherished their wards, the Mortal Races. 'We have suffered, and are diminished, for all time, but the mortal world we have made is glorious, filling our hearts and spirits with hope. Let us teach the Mortal Races to live well, to cherish beauty and honor, and to love one another as we love them.' Thus are the Gods of Men tender and patient, and thus are Men and Beast Folk great in heart for joy or suffering, and ambitious for greater wisdom and a better world.

Now when the Daedra Lords heard Shezarr, they mocked him, and the other Aedra. 'Cut parts of ourselves off? And lose them? Forever? That's stupid! You'll be sorry! We are far smarter than you, for we will create a new world out of ourselves, but we will not cut it off, or let it mock us, but we will make this world within ourselves, forever ours, and under our complete control.'

So the Daedra Lords created the Daedric Realms, and all the ranks of Lesser Daedra, great and small. And, for the most part, the Daedra Lords were well pleased with this arrangement, for they always had worshippers and servants and playthings close to hand. But, at the same time, they sometimes looked with envy upon the Mortal Realms, for though mortals were foul and feeble and contemptible, their passions and ambitions were also far more surprising and entertaining than the antics of the Lesser Daedra. Thus do the Daedra Lords court and seduce certain amusing specimens of the Mortal Races, especially the passionate and powerful. It gives the Daedra Lords special pleasure to steal away from Shezarr and the Aedra the greatest and most ambitious mortals. 'Not only are you fools to mutilate yourselves,' gloat the Daedra Lords, 'But you cannot even keep the best pieces, which prefer the glory and power of the Daedra Lords to the feeble vulgarity of the mush-minded Aedra.'
Song of the Askelde Men

Fifty Nights from home I last awoke 
upon a sky-flung cliff in Hjaalmarch Hold

Though my flesh had died and gone to ground 
My Vision went on, from body unbound

Winking there in the vale whence I came 
This dead man's eyes saw pale flame

Where men the same who took life away 
Sung high their battle-glory and praise

Wafting went I, a shade or a wight 
Through stoic pines, pitched ink of night

Ere I came upon the pyre-burning throng 
I heard carried on wind's wing their song

"Sing high and clear, bandsmen born of sky 
Let Sovngarde hear and join our cry"

"These honored dead shed blood upon the fen 
Ending Orc and Elf and traitor men."

"Your spirit went unto and filled their heart 
You sped them to glory, Hail Spirit Wulfharth"

Then oil from urns fed greedy flames 
burning what few my legion and I slayed

Wordlessy they chanted then until dawn 
Every flake of ash gathered ere they marched on

Swept along unseen, so too went I 
Meekly haunting these Children of the Sky

Tireless they went, over hearth and hill 
Exhaustion seemed only to spur them still

Unflagging they went, a whorl of rage 
Soon finding our camp, bloated with prey

My dead heart ached for I knew men within 
Doomed, never knowing how close was their end

Again the Nord chests swelled up in refrain 
I screamed unheard. I wept with horror plain

"Hear us, our ancestor, Ash King, Ysmir 
Honor this warband as we to glory repair"

"Those dead to whom you spoke and heard 
We bear them upon us, Your valor conferred"

And so it was, to the man each was smeared 
With ash of a Brother's bone, blood and beard

These ashen brutes, the Askelde Men 
Set to a gruesome task, each bowstring bent

I bellowed then, a cry of desperate rage 
A futile howl among those men, an empty page

Yet one elder turned and unblinking, stared 
into the vapor-soul of me, his nostrils flared

He bellowed ancient words, his beard aflame 
And my vision fell away, Peace at last came
Songs of the Return, Volume 19

When that final battle at the barren pass was completed, and the melting snow carried elf-blood back to the sea, the crew of the Kaal Kaaz, the Sadon Reyth, and the most exalted crew of our lord's ship, the Ylgermet, at last parted ways, never to join shields again. They drew apart in that form which is not a loss, but a gain knowing one's heart can be carried in the chests of others. So great was the love that those first of the Five Hundred had for each other, and most especially for the great Ysgramor, harbinger of us all.

They pressed eastwards, seeking the sea, when they came upon the barrow of Yngol, the mighty of Ysgramor's son who had fallen to the whims of Kyne rather than the treachery of the elves. Our lord had not expected to lay eyes upon it again so soon, and his grief flowed anew at the sight of it, as a reopened wound will bleed as it did when first received.

His eyes turned to the south, where a river met the sea, and decreed that there would he and the crew of the Ylgermet create a great city, in monument to the glories of mankind, and that from his palace he might always look upon the hill of his dead son's resting place, and feel that his line would know peace in this new home that was never known in Atmora.

The elven captives were set to work, bringing forth stone to build in their conqueror's fashion. As many elves died in the building of the city as had the crew of the Ylgermet slain while on way to its site, and Ysgramor drove the wretches ever more, to build higher, to lay a claim to the river so that none might pass into the interior of this land without first showing due respect to its rightful claimant.

Thus was the great bridge constructed, forever striding the river that no elf might sneak through to avenge his devious cousins. As the bridge was build long, so too was the palace built high, spires reaching the sky to show dominion even over the very winds that had brought forth such grief.

In the deep hollows beneath the city, a great tomb was prepared for the day when lord Ysgramor, harbinger of us all, would be called home to glory in Sovngarde. But as we know, he chose instead to be buried on the shore, facing towards Atmora, that though his heart lived and died in this new land, it would forever yearn for the beauties of still-green Atmora, before the freezing took it.

Thus was founding of Windhelm, the city of Kings, though her history is long and her glories did not end with her founder.