Netruk44/uesp-wiki-content huggingface dataset:
Lore:Tribes of Murkmire: Ghost People

I write these words by candlelight. My entourage was on its way to   when our guide suddenly ordered us to stop. He sniffed the air and wrinkled his nose, declaring that we'd strayed too close to "Veeskhleel-Tzel," as if that explained everything. We heeded him, but I pressed for more of an explanation as we corrected our course. Our guide was reluctant to speak more on the subject, but after a great deal of convincing, at the cost of many more of my possessions than I would have hoped, I finally got an answer. 

The "Ghost People" are a tribe native to  , and they appear to have a rather horrid reputation, as far as I can tell. He only spoke of them in hushed tones, after glancing into the shadows. He claimed that the Ghost People live entirely in the dark, only leaving the   to stalk the night and abduct the unwary. Though he'd never seen one in the flesh, he claimed that they are so pale you can see down to their bones. If you've ever imagined what keeps   children up at night, picture that and you'll have a pretty good idea. As unwelcoming as they sound, I'll admit that I wanted to know more about this unusual tribe. Much as I might want to go directly to the source, I opted to limit my inquiries to other locals who were willing to speak on the  . 

What I learned was that the Ghost People are shrouded in mystery, even among the locals, and the rumors surrounding them are abundant. Of all the wild stories I hear about the Veeskhleel, two things seem certain. You can spot them by their pale, white scales, and they have a sour reputation as "dead stealers" and kidnappers. The distaste for grave robbing is something I could certainly understand but given how little attachment Argonians in Murkmire place on permanence I was surprised that it was taboo to them as well. When I asked my guide about this, he told me that it isn't just the bodies that the Ghost People steal. It's believed that they bury the corpses among the roots of their   and perform profane rituals to steal the departed souls from their tribes. To them, there are few greater taboos. 

As I sit here pondering dreadful necromancy in the dark, I can't help but imagine luckless travelers rising out of the shallow water by the dozen, covered in mud swollen with rot as my lone candle gutters out. We should be setting out at first light. It can't come soon enough to chase away this black night and the pallid Ghost People.
Lore:Tribes of Murkmire: Black-Tongues

Today we came across an unusual sight, a mound of empty flasks set against the base of a phossa tree. Our guide explained, "The Black-Tongues have tapped this tree." He then went on to explain that the "Kota-Vimleel," or the "Black-Tongues," is another one of the many tribes of  s living in the Murkmire region of  . Unlike the belligerent Tum-Tahleel or the eerie Veeskhleel, the Black Tongues tend to be polite and soft-spoken—under the right circumstances. If caught off-guard, however, they react with reflexive violence, and have been known to kill those trespassing upon their territory without hesitation or mercy. Accomplished alchemists, they often leave flasks and other alchemical tools out in the open as a warning to outsiders marking their territory.
 
The Black-Tongues are ardent   worshippers. As such, they dedicate almost all their resources to producing as many   as possible. What is a Shadowscale, you ask? I wish I knew. Most locals simply refuse to discuss the subject with outsiders. Argonian commoners revere them with what appears to be a combination of awe and terror, and even mentioning the name out loud seems to be a cultural taboo. A few of the less-superstitious Argonians I've met did share a few facts.
 
Apparently, the Shadowscales are members of a bizarre monastic order of highly trained assassins. Any Argonian born under the sign of   is given to the order and raised as one of these mysterious murderers. I was aghast. "Surely it's just the hostile tribes that follow this barbaric practice?" I asked. But no. This appears to be a completely ubiquitous practice. Even the amiable Bright-Throats and wise Miredancers participate in this tradition.
 
The Black-Tongues take the obligation very seriously, however. They use their encyclopedic knowledge of swamp vegetation and wildlife to craft a powerful contraceptive called "Gloom Nectar." Drinking the potion allows the tribe to synchronize their egg-laying cycle, thus guaranteeing a huge crop of new Argonians born under the Shadow sign every year.
 
Their   prowess serves the Shadow-born well in their future professions as assassins. Black-Tongues are known to craft some of the deadliest potions in all of Tamriel. Even the Gloom Nectar will kill, if ingested by non-Argonians—just more proof that almost anything found in Black Marsh will kill you under the right circumstances.
 
While I would love to meet one of the Kota-Vimleel in person and find out more about their alchemical skills and their ties to the mysterious Shadowscales, lingering in their territory without an invitation is not a wise practice. I'd just as soon not have Viper's Bite slipped into my morning tea.
Lore:Tribes of Murkmire: Root-House People

We had another close call today. Despite strenuous protests from our native guide, the expedition elected to cross the   by bridge. One of our guides (a bright-scaled   named Reelus) urged us to ford the river farther downstream and avoid the bridge. (For the record, I argued in favor of this plan, as Reelus has never steered us wrong.) But there are many scholars in our group who are unaccustomed to hard work and hostile environments. We very nearly paid for their comfort with our lives.
 
It turns out that the bridge is "owned" by a tribe called the "Tum-Taleel," or the "Root-House people" in the common tongue. They are a belligerent and warlike people—quick to anger and known throughout the swamp for their brutality and quick tempers. They make a practice of attacking peaceful villages and killing or driving off the inhabitants. Then they settle into the newly-vacant huts and exhaust all of the village's resources. Other Saxhleel often compare them to "burglar crabs"—creatures that eat snails and smaller crabs, and afterward move into the empty shells.
 
Several members of the tribe appeared in front of our caravan as soon as we stepped onto the bridge. I knew we were in danger as soon as I saw them: the Tum-Taleel are significantly larger than other Argonians I've encountered, with broad shoulders, narrow eyes, and wide, powerful jaws. They wore nothing but loincloths and war-paint, and they wielded huge wooden clubs bedecked with feathers and splattered with dry blood.
 
Reelus quickly stepped to the front of the caravan and began speaking in urgent croaks and hisses. I have no idea what she was saying, but the Tum-Taleel seemed to consider her words for a moment. The leader pointed at us and growled something in a low, rumbling voice. Reelus seemed disturbed by this and turned to face us.
 
"He wants the  s," she said.
 
It was very clear that we had no choice but to acquiesce. We cut the horses free of their tethers, four in all. The Root-House People took three of the horses, and led them off the road and into the swamp. The leader of the brigands led the fourth horse to the middle of the bridge, stepped back a few paces, and then brought down his club on the animal's skull with a sickening thud. The poor beast's head was pulped. I've never seen anything so ghastly! One of my compatriots retched over the side of the cart. Reelus wasted no time gathering the strongest of our party to push the carts to the end of the bridge. Luckily, the next village is only a half-day's push away. I think everyone will heed Reelus from now on.
Lore:Tribes of Murkmire: Tribal Connections

While I have learned a tremendous amount about individual tribes, I feel that I'm still missing some crucial insights on inter-tribal relations. There is a bizarre kind of fraternity here that contradicts almost everything I've seen. Despite the violent raids, the dead-stealing, and the poaching, the Argonians of different tribes still look upon one another as egg-brothers and egg-sisters. For example, just the other day I saw a family of Bright-Throats playing teeba-hatsei with a handful of Tum-Taleel raiders. This was only a few hours after a violent clash claimed the life of one of the Tum-Taleel. I've never seen the like. It's as though there's an enforced forgetfulness, or a culture of exceptional forgiveness that defines all inter-tribal relationships. 

At least some of this fraternal behavior must be rooted in their shared racial narrative. The tribes of Black Marsh have had to set aside their differences on countless occasions to repel invaders from Morrowind and Cyrodiil. They also seem to understand how much they rely upon one another—far better than most men or mer I've met. The Tum-Taleel recognize that they need other tribes to create homes and goods for them to steal. The Miredancers know that they need the Dead-Water tribe to defend their borders and fend off the larger swamp predators. The Black-Tongues know that they need the Hee-Tepsleel to raise the crops they use in their alchemical brews. The Bright-Throats know that they need the Black-Tongues' Shadowscales to enforce "swamp law" upon crooked outsiders who disrupt honest trade. On and on it goes. 

Religion also plays a role. I asked my friend, Eutei, how they could be so forgiving. He made specific reference to their nebulous belief in reincarnation. 

"We are all people of the root," he explained. "A Black-Tongue may become a Miredancer in the fullness of time—and a Miredancer a Black-Tongue. Only the Hist knows such things. To hate each other is to hate ourselves. And what profits a Saxhleel to hate himself? Better to forget and move on." 

After some contemplation, I can't help but think that we could all use a little forgetfulness every now and again.
Lore:Tribes of Murkmire: The Dead-Water Tribe

I should have known that our good fortune wouldn't last. After our pleasant respite in the company of the Miredancers, we decided to press northward. Our guide, Reelus, urged us to reconsider. "The deep murk devours outsiders," she said. She reminded us of the incident at Keel-Sakka bridge, and explained that the northern natives are even less willing to barter than the Tum-Taleel. Many of us were willing to cut the expedition short, but in the end, we were outvoted. 

It did not take long for us to realize our folly. As we ventured northward, the vegetation grew thicker by the hour. The small swarms of flesh-flies we'd encountered before swelled into great, billowing clouds of buzzing pain. Again and again, Reelus encouraged us to turn back, but we continued to trudge farther into the dark. 

Early Morndas morning, we noticed that Percius was missing. We fanned out to find him—shouting and stumbling through the thick mud for over an hour. When we reconvened at the wagons, we realized that Valentina and Morten had disappeared as well. I feel no shame in saying our misguided bravery melted away quickly. We turned the wagons immediately, moving southward as quickly as the swamp would allow. That's when we started hearing the croaking. 

It was quiet at first—like a small gathering of frogs. Slowly, it grew louder. After an hour of panicked marching, the sound had swelled into an almost deafening cacophony. Then came the screaming. I couldn't say whose voice it was. All I can say for sure is that it came from a place of total agony. I saw shadows moving through the trees around us, but never for more than an instant. I only got a good look at one of them. Reelus tells me it was almost certainly a  —a member of the terrifying  . Apparently, the members of this Dead-Water tribe control vast swaths of northern   and are greatly feared by Saxhleel in surrounding villages. 

As for the one I saw, I will never forget her. Her face resembled a snake of some kind, and her entire body was covered in mud. What struck me most, however, was her shield. It had a face! Reelus tells me that the Naga-Kur often adorn their weapons and armor with pieces of fallen comrades. Faces, claws, leg bones and the like. I winced at the idea of butchering a fallen friend, but Reelus just shrugged. "Naga-Kur fight all the days of their lives. This lets them fight after death too." It makes sense. I guess. Luckily, we escaped without any other losses. We won't soon forget the Naga-Kur, though. Of that I am certain.
Lore:Vine-Tongues: Introduction

So you want your own   to tame and do your bidding? You have a tiny sprout and you need to know what to do next with your own little piece of shrubbery. Soon, with the help of my detailed instructions, you too will have a fully grown and tamed vine-tongue to bring joy into your life. 

While savages like the  s of   may use these wonderful plants for barbaric means, I've learned how to train them to be something so much more—a true and faithful friend. 

So follow my instructions, and remember, a vine-tongue isn't just part of your home. It's a part of your heart.
Lore:Vine-Tongues: Preparations

When you're ready to bring a vine-tongue into your life, you must make sure that you're completely prepared. While these little vines of joy provide great happiness, they also demand lots of work and an extreme amount of patience! 

Talk to your partner, your friends, and your family. Let them know what to expect ahead of time. Tell them to expect late-night feedings, constant soil changing, and the occasional blood ritual so they won't be alarmed or perturbed by the strange schedule. 

Surprises can be fun, but the howling screams of a hungry vine-tongue breaking the silence of the middle of night can cause much consternation. So, prepare yourself, prepare your friends and family, and prepare your neighbors. A little inconvenience is a small price to pay for a lifetime of happiness!
Lore:Vine-Tongues: Happy Plants

You have a vine-tongue sapling in a tiny pot, ready to install in your new home. Now what? Simple! Now you do everything in your power to make and keep your little plant happy! 

Each vine-tongue is as different as you and I, so some experimentation will be needed to ascertain the best approach to raising your little sapling. In general, you'll need a long rake, a watering can, and a broadsword—they can get a little testy every now and again! 

With these three basic tools, you can water your sapling, scratch its back, and make sure to dissuade them when they attempt to devour your neighbor's cat or the local children. Keep these tools on hand for the long and joyful years ahead for you and your vine-tongue!
Lore:Vine-Tongues: Nourishment

Are you happy when you're hungry? I think not! The same can be said for your new friend, the vine-tongue. Now you're probably wondering, what exactly do you feed such an amazing and wondrous plant? Have no fear, I've got you covered! 

Vine-tongues require water, of course. By the bucket load! A well-hydrated plant is a happy plant! 

While water is all well and good and necessary, vine-tongues also require more substantive fare. Meat, to be precise. Raw if necessary, alive and wiggling when at all possible.If it's squirming, it's worth serving, I always say. 

As a sapling, feed your vine-tongue worms, insects, small fish, or even the occasional rodent or two. As the plant grows, increase the amount and size of the particular food your vine-tongue prefers to keep it healthy and to help it reach its full potential. But don't overfeed your vine-tongue! An overweight vine-tongue becomes moody, unhappy, and is prone to try to eat inappropriate things—like household pets or its master's limbs.
Lore:Vine-Tongues: A Happy Home

When you return home after a long and grueling journey, you want a nice warm bed and a hot meal. The same is true of your vine-tongue! Well, except for the hot meal. They prefer their food raw and somewhat wiggly. Your vine-tongue deserves the best, and it's your job to provide it for them. 

For maximum comfort, your vine-tongue prefers a humid climate on a patch of soil surrounded by standing water. In addition, the area you designate as your vine-tongue's lair needs to appeal to wandering creatures. Once your beloved plant gets big enough, it will want to supplement the delicious diet you provide with prey that it catches on its own. Not only does this give your plant a sense of accomplishment, it helps keep your home free of vermin. 

Did you realize that vine-tongues make excellent sentries? Put them up high where they can observe their surroundings and admire the sights. If anyone tries to come near your property, your new friend will greet them appropriately. Just be sure to restrain your vine-tongue before friends and family come to visit in order to avoid any unfortunate misunderstandings.
Lore:Vine-Tongues: Common Mistakes

There's a lovable little vine-tongue sapling in your home. You know what to feed it, where it likes to live, and how best to keep it entertained. To avoid any mishaps and to reduce chaos in your life, here are three important lessons I learned while raising my own vine-tongues. 

1) Remove other household pets until you have fully trained your vine-tongue. Give them over into the care of friends or distant family so as not to find a hug or a cuddle turn into an inadvertent meal for your precocious little vine-tongue. While affectionate, vine-tongues also tend to be in a constant ravenous state. Take precautions and little Mixie will survive to purr another day! 

2) Ignore the naysayers. Many people will tell you that keeping a vine-tongue is dangerous. That carnivorous plants can't be trained or trusted. Balderdash, I say! Tamed vine-tongues are sweet and misunderstood. Yes, they can be dangerous, but so can eating lunch. It's possible to choke on your next bite of rabbit meatballs, but no one is going to tell you not to eat! 

3) Even when fully trained, you need to maintain dominance over your vine-tongue. These plants have a temper and can easily be offended, but if you show even a modicum of hesitation or fear, they might pounce and treat you like prey. They seek love and affection, so keep that in mind and everything will work out fine. I'm almost positive!
Lore:Lost Tales of the Famed Explorer: Fragment II

The sun was still high as they at last reached a suitable clearing for a camp. They could continue on, but many an expedition had become lost thinking they could chase the last bit of light. Early morning was the best time to travel. The swamp was sleepy and full come dawn. Matius set to gathering what he would need for a fire, taking care to stay near his companions. He decided to look for sticks and ferns as well. They could be used to hide the light, which Matius knew was a wise thing to do this deep in the marsh. He chose to say nothing of this to his new companions, who were as tired as they were bored. 

"They say the ancient  s had golden scales that could blind lowly   and  ." Matius hoped reminding the crew of the significance of their mission would raise their spirits. And the embellished version always made for a better campfire tale. "They built their greatest city higher and higher until they reached the  ." 

"What happened then?" young Riffen asked. 

Matius had to admit he enjoyed the young man's curiosity. He intentionally held his answer, half-hoping River-Gills would volunteer his own. Everything Matius knew of these legends had been the work of other   explorers and scholars. He had never managed to get an Argonian to speak of it. 

River-Gills simply sat basking in the sun as if he wasn't listening at all. As far as Matius could tell, the Argonian was asleep. 

"Some say it   them," Matius continued, dropping off a bundle of sticks. "Others say they cracked it open like an egg and became  ." 

The   Salara scoffed. "That's ridiculous," she said. "Everyone knows the sun isn't an egg." Thus far Matius had learned little of the battlemage other than she was wholly committed to her own beliefs, most of which he recognized came from   teachings. 

"What is it then?" Riffen asked. 

"A hole." 

Riffen scrunched his nose and looked up. "That's supposed to be a hole?" 

"Don't stare at it." Matius sighed. 

"Do you not believe in the golden city, Lady Salara?" Riffen asked. "A sailor told me it was just a story." 

"She needs to be sure," Matius offered. Salara had refused to give her personal reasons for joining the expedition, so he guessed. 

Salara turned away from them and stared into the brush. She took out a broken compass and held it tightly. 

"I expect something of value could still be learned," Salara answered. "Even if everything they believed is wrong." 

River-Gills opened his eyes.
Lore:Lost Tales of the Famed Explorer: Fragment V

Matius retched, either from the stench of his traveling companion or from slipping upside down through the marsh again. 

The   N'buta laughed. "Now you see, little fleshling. This realm is deeper than it is wide." 

Matius didn't see at all. It was the third time they had slipped into the river, as N'buta called it, and each trip only made him more disoriented. This last time he could have sworn he was watching himself drown. 

"It felt like I was dreaming," Matius said. He coughed up a mouthful of sticky water. 

"You were." 

The Lord of Muck offered nothing more, just pointed a stubby finger. Matius followed it and saw an archway of black stone above a clear path through the surrounding swamp. The archway was carved with the image of snakes and roots twisting around each other, and at its top was a skull with a forked tongue. He realized he would have to continue the journey alone from here, and his guide was unlikely to give him further aid. They reached the gates of  . He feared it wouldn't prove close enough. 

Matius had an idea. He took out the golden amulet N'buta had given him. "You have honored your word, Lord of Muck," Matius said. "And I will keep mine. I will see this gem returned to the golden city, if I ever find my way." 

N'buta burped and growled. Its strange eyes considered the amulet for a moment. "Stay on the path until you see a temple that bleeds shadows. It is a place of death. Do not enter it. When you stand before it, find the sun in the sky and walk that way. You will know when you are there." 

Matius was about to protest when the Lord of Muck suddenly slithered back into the river and was gone. For a moment, Matius felt panic grip his chest. His companions had deserted the journey one by one, and suddenly he wondered if they had been right. He considered abandoning his mission for the briefest of moments before realizing his only path forward was the one of black stone. The river had dried up under his feet. 

Matius gathered his courage. The amulet was warm in his hand. He stepped under the archway and onto the path.
Weapon Artifacts

A number of weapon artifacts are introduced by Tamriel Data for use in its dependent mods.

Artifacts are specifically defined as anything with a unique appearance. This is opposed to Unique Weapons, which are defined as those which there is only one of, but which have the same appearance as other generic items. Unique weapons are typically added by the mods that rely on Tamriel Data rather than Tamriel Data itself.

;Notes
''Speed for weapons specifies how fast the weapon swings with higher values indicating a faster weapon.
Ratio gives the damage per time for the weapon with higher values indicating a more powerful item.
Charge/Cost = Uses'' indicates how many uses on average you can get before needing to recharge the weapon (or wait for it to charge on its own). Note that the Cost depends on your Enchant skill, so your results may vary.
 
Axes, Two Handed
 
 
 
 
 
 
Blunt, Two Handed
 
 
 
 
Long Blades, One Handed
 
 
Short Blades