The ( Improved ) Emperor ' s Guide to Tamriel : Skyrim The ( Improved ) Emperor ' s Guide to Tamriel is a book written by Flaccus Terentius to explain his adventures throughout Tamriel during the Second Era . It was written as an additional guidebook to . Content . Nords of the Ebonheart Pact When my betrothed , Honoria Lucasta , had cautioned me about Skyrm , she wasn ' t concerned about the Nords . It went without saying that the hulking brutes with the social sophistication - - and hygiene - - of a tamed troll were to be treated with gentle condescension and alcohol . No , her main worry was the unrelenting cold . In fact , she had demanded I pack additional furs for this part of the journey ( which were recently looted by the Reachmen ) . It is little wonder the Nords invade everywhere ; they ' re obviously attempting to flee somewhere - - anywhere - - warmer than here . While the sweeping pine barrens and the ruggedness of the Velothi Mountains are captivating , it is difficult to enjoy these views when your eyeballs have frozen . Did I mention there were Nords here too ? We materialized with a frightening thump across the bridge from the great gates of Windhelm . For all his bluster and hubris , I had expected Vanus Galerion to land us in the city itself . I was puzzled at our trek across the long , icy bridge . The cutting winds that howled off the Sea of Ghosts billowed through my tunic ; I required a meal , fine wine , a change of bandages , and some proper sleep - - not the roaring of a constant gale in my face . I had other concerns as well : I must complete this guide and present my evidence to the Chancellor Tharn forthwith . He must learn of the treachery of his nephew Javad and the evil of his advisor Mannimarco . With Vanus Galerion by my side , we were an unstoppable force ! With renewed purpose , we advanced into the city ( the guards escorted us to the Mages Guild ) . Galerion abruptly abandoned me as he went off for a private talk with the Hall Magister , vanishing without so much as a farewell wave . Typical Altmer behavior . While Vanus Galerion tended to matters apparently more pressing than mine , I acquired some painting supplies and asked where I could find the local Jarl ( or Snowthane , Pine Baron , or whatever bucolic title Nord rulers go by in these parts ) . It seems King Jorunn rules these parts - - not from the ruined Palace of the Kings ( which the invading Akaviri burned and looted ) but from Stone - Fist Hall . Forcing my way through the courtiers in Stone - Fist Hall , I saw a particularly large bard , with lute in hand and a beard you could hide a baliwog in , serenading the court with an old favorite ditty of the Nords , " Ragnar the Red . " He was really quite good . Stepping up to him , I interrupted his song : " Jester ! While we wait for the Skald - King , have you any Imperial songs ? " The room fell silent . A wizened and uncouth merchant manhandled me by the cloak , dragging me to my knees . " Has Sheogorath taken your mind , stranger ? Jorunn Skald - King is no mere buffoon ! " " Dear Mara . . . My humble apologies , Your Majesty ! " I held up my hands , realizing my terrible error and feeling my face turn as red as a chokeberry . " No disrespect was intended . " Jorunn erupted into laughter . " Eggvard , leave him be ! But seriously , Imperial . " His eyes narrowed . " You have insulted me . A price must be paid . Jester ! Make me a limerick about Eggvard here . " I gulped , thought for a moment , then nervously recited the following : To my surprise , I wasn ' t run out of town : the hall echoed with roars of approval . I don ' t think I ' ve ever endured so many bear hugs . The pressing matters of the day seemed to be consuming meat and slapping thighs in time to some particularly bawdy rhyme . Resting between verses of " Nera the Naughty Nymph , " Jorunn signaled me over the his throne . Standing to one side was a striking Nord woman , clean shaven with weather - beaten skin and deep blue eyes . " Flaccus Terentius of Bravil , meet Mera Stormcloak , Lawthane of Windhelm . " She offered a smile . " You seem a little out of your element , friend . " I grinned back . " No matter . Why not walk with me ? Jorunn needs a head count of the local troops . " When I hesitated , she said , " Don ' t worry , there will be plenty of mead . " Moments later , she ' d donned a thick pelt cloak , and we were walking the streets of snow - filled Windhelm . Ahead of the bustling markets and rowdy shouts from the townsfolk was an imposing military structure . Mera opened the door , and I counted seven Nords , who quickly stood from their table to bow at her . She drew two mugs of brew from a barrel and handed me one . " The Fighters Guild aren ' t part of the local peacekeepers , " she said , downing the drink , then removing a ledger from her satchel , " but the king wants an accounting of them anyway . " The mead was dense , exceptionally rich , and lit a fire in my belly the moment I followed Mera ' s lead and tried to down the mug . There were traces of fermented berry and a great dollop of honey . I instantly felt more clumsy . I remember leaving the Fighters Guild with Mera and have a vague recollection of entering the Windhelm Barracks . I sketched the building but am not sure when this occurred . I saw the Third Eastmarch Skirmish Company , who invited us in for a drink . Mera was leading the cheers in time to the pounding of a Nord smith repairing some armor . I couldn ' t tell you exactly what happened for the remainder of the day . We somehow escaped the clamor of the barracks . I ' d had two more mugs of mead and felt bilious . At the expense of my dexterity , I ' d worked out the berry taste was juniper . Mera helped me outside . Stendarr ' s beard , I was acting the fool . I remember being most put out by the disgraceful amount of dirty snow in the streets . I trod in some . That boot will have to be burned . I was placed by a Nord statue , which somehow struck me as hilarious . Crude and vigorous , like my hosts . More mead . No idea when I drew these . I woke , shaking . Not from the cold , as I ' d somehow found my way back to the barracks , but from a foul and fetid dream . Sweat had soaked the bedding , and my brand was burning . I remembered being hounded along the nighttime pathways of Windhelm , a pack of baying Daedra nipping at my heels . They were led by Mannimarco , who seemed to walk without footfalls . It was the mead giving me nightmares . Yes , that must be it . My head felt like it had been partially cleaved in two . I took some deep breaths , wrapped myself up in my moist attire , and stepped out into a blizzard . I needed and apothecarist to sell me potions to cure my head of my ails . As the dream abated slightly , I recognized many of the structures from my dream . I felt compelled to sketch them here , in case they meant something . I ' d have had better luck finding a hairless Khajiit than a potion merchant in this maze of filthy snow - laden avenues and thick granite walls . With good fortune , Mother Mara had tended to my splitting headache , and I remembered Mera Stormcloak telling me I was actually a guest at the Cold - Moon Inn . I made my way there and found her sitting by a long hearth with my belongings . What a relief ! She waved me over with a smile and introduced me to Garthar Three - Fingers , the cook . I was offered various indeterminable lumps of pig , along with bread and six eggs , all fried in a large pan of goose fat . As I stifled my bile from rising , Mera looked offended , so I agreed to tackle this unplanned feast . It duly arrived on a piled plate requiring two hands to lift . Aside from some heart palpitations afterward ( which Mera explained were quite normal ) , the meal was rudimentary but absolutely delicious . I declined her offer of another mug of mead . Mera laughed and said , " If you really want to drink , you must meet my battle brother Holgunn One - Eye . " The whistling winds and thick pelting snow showed no signs of letting up as we slogged our way to the thick oak door of the Sober Nord Inn , the ironically named tavern where alcohol flowed only slightly more freely than the other locations I ' d visited . A blast of heat from the hearth and the warm Nord bodies struck us as we entered . Mera was received with a cheer . Holgunn - - as large and burly as any Nord I ' d seen - - stood up to greet us and enveloped me in a hug that almost crushed my windpipe . He was armed with a giant hammer , various daggers , and a hand axe , and he wore thick steel armor , even in town . " We drink to honor the dead , Imperial ! " Holgunn ' s voice boomed through my skull . " I ' ll try a weak ale , please , " I answered . Holgunn ' s left eye twitched noticeably . " Ha ! It ' s mead you ' ll have in these parts , you milk - drinker ! " I resigned myself to another night ' s festivities and watched Holgunn gulping down brew as if it were ice water , and apparently to the same effect . He told stories of his actions during the recent Akaviri invasion : trekking with the Pack of Bards to a pitched battle within the walls of Windhelm , conquering the Seven Thousand Steps to reach the Greybeards of High Hrothgar , expelling the Akaviri despoilers from Riften , and fighting in the great battle at Stonefalls where the inland seas turned red with Akaviri blood . I meticulously wrote this history down , from Holgunn saving Skald - King Jorunn from an enemy ' s arrow to his epic account of fighting alongside Wulfharth , the mythical Ash - King , and his diplomacy with the Dunmeri leaders ( which included a drinking competition with General Tanval Indoril that lasted almost a week ) . I corroborated it all with Mera Stormcloak and then mislaid my secondary parchments as the merry throng turned into rowdy debauchery . I emerged from my room the next morning in Holgunn ' s guest quarters with an empty bladder and a full chamber pot . " Ready for the hunt , my friend ? " Holgunn asked with a wink . " Kyne offers us calm weather , and Ingjard has already seen sabre cat tracks . We run within the hour . " As I chewed on fresh meat and herbs , Mera introduced me to Thorbjolf the Red and Ingjard Stone - Hand , two ferocious - looking Windhelm firebrands who completed our hunting party . " What hunting party ? " I inquired . " The one you insisted we organize . We agreed to make matters more interesting , as you demanded . " " More interesting ? " I had a void where these memories should have been . " Yes ! We hunt with bows , short swords and knives . No long weapons . We agreed to your challenge ! " While the foursome affixed their satchels and strung their bows , I sank down in my seat a little . Mead had once more possessed my brain and clouded my judgment . What I initially pictured as a terrible prospect - - traveling into the Skyrim wilds with four unruly idiots - - was actually rather exhilarating . My more unpleasant preconceptions of the Nords were without merit : Of course they were loud and boorish . Yes , their streets were streaked with yellow and brown snow . But they exhibited a strength of character and friendliness to my presence that I have rarely encountered . Holgunn persuaded me to abandon my Imperial clothing . To my surprise , the bear - skin overshirt , leather breeches and snow - wolf boots were both pliable and well fitting . Once I got used to the smell , the fur cloak was both comfortable and cozy . With my hunting attire sealing in the warmth , we left Windhelm for the snowy hills of Eastmarch . Up by the tree line , close to a high cave , Ingjard quickly crouched down , drew her bow , and fired before I ' d even seen the beast she targeted . I stayed behind her with my own arrow at the ready as the three other Nords spread out . Mera charged and plunged a dagger into the neck of the cat , wrestling it as blood spurted onto the snow . It soon died , and I sketched its carcass for posterity . This was a violent interruption to a long hike and stories around the fire . Ingjard had lost part of her right hand fighting a werebear , but her wound hadn ' t diminished her painting ability . Mounted on this page is a piece she gladly gave me . It shows the valley leading to High Hrothgar , although Holgunn informed me the buildings were positioned in a most fanciful fashion . No matter ; the depiction of the aurora , or " Kyne ' s lights , " is both accurate and exquisite . As I rested below the glow of greens and purples , I felt at peace in Tamriel ' s grand wilderness for the first time . By the evening of the second day , we were well above the tree line , in the windswept crags of the Velothi Mountains . After erecting our spacious tents , with pitched and oiled roofs that allowed the snow to slide right off , I inspected the kills - - two snow foxes , a wolf , and a bear . I then sat by the roaring fire , sipping my mead and secretly spilling some behind my log seat ; just to keep the pretense up that I was matching others ' consumption . Holgunn told us a gripping story of a ghostly giant who haunts these mountains . Returning to this world after a pact with Hircine , he clambers the hills and valleys in fretful search for his lost giant wife . Woe betide those who cross his path ; the forlorn spirit possesses an icy ghost club with which he freezes Nords solid before devouring their immobile bodies . Retiring to my blankets , I felt a chill wind whistle through the tent , and shivered as if something were wrapping its vague form around my soul . Our third day of the hunt was fruitful . We descended into the high forests , Nord horns blowing after bagging a lunch of rabbit meat and a dinner of wild mushrooms and venison . As Thorbjolf fried up the meat , Mera Stormcloak entertained us with a tale of an ancient Snow Elf wizard named Serenarth . As I sketched , she spoke of an encounter the Elf had had with Ysgramor ' s companions during the Night of Tears , as both sides fought with fury over the razing of Saarthal , the first Nord settlement . Ysgramor ' s bow aim was swift and accurate ; he felled the mage with an arrow from his bow , Long - Launcher . As the Nords pressed on to reclaim their city , Serenarth lay cold and dying . With his last strength , he summoned a mighty frost atronach , and through a bargain with unknown but malevolent forces , he traded the Daedra ' s spirit with his own . To this day , Serenarth ' s host form waits , encased in ice within a glacier close to where his frozen corpse still lies , destined to thaw out and seek vengeance on Ysgramor ' s heirs . Ingjard spotted movement between the flurries where I saw only walls of snow . Scrambling up high into the mountains , I finally spied and old female sabre cat hunting rabbits . Too far for our bows , we pursued our quarry up into low clouds and between rocks of various slipperiness . We finally halted at a set of ruins draped across an upper escarpment : a great monument to resting bones . I inquired about this strange place . " This is Skuldafn , " Mera replied . Thorbjolf watched the cat disappear into the ruins . The Nord returned without crossing the threshold ; the snow - covered arches seemed to forbid his advancing , while stone totems to ancient animals stared back at us with silent malevolence . It was a most eerie sight . Holgunn beckoned our party back and away from the place . All he said was , " Don ' t enter the Dragon Temple . " I continued to pry reasoning from him until Mera grabbed me by the shoulder . " Do not pester Holgunn about this , " she whispered . " These Dragon Priests stood at the right hand of Alduin . " My weather - beaten face finally warmed up as we took our first steps into an eerie terrain of burbling hot springs and steaming fumaroles . I ventured down to a collection of vast green ponds , almost luminescent in color . In the mid - distance , Mera saw a large figure plodding through the sparse landscape , and the party set off to meet the giant . I dipped my toes in the roasting water of the hot springs and felt a shiver of warmth . This joy was lessened somewhat by the smell . I first thought Thorbjolf was cooking eggs , but this was a strange gas that left a bitter taste in my throat . The steam grew thicker as it mingled with fog rolling down into the plains , and I lost sight of my friends . I tried without luck to find the hunting party before nightfall . The best I could manage was hearing their horns , echoing faintly in the distance . Lost ! I scrambled up a scree of loose rubble , the horns and mists both fading as I navigated back to more frigid temperatures . I found myself wandering into wood of fir and pine . Picking my way through the trees , I suddenly heard wild grunting and was thrown to the ground . An ugly thing blinked thrice . It snarled , revealed rows of pointed teeth , and prepared to pounce when three armored shapes flew past me and tore into it . " Eat my horse , would you ? " the beefiest of the three yelled as his two - headed axe cut deeply into the troll ' s arm . The appendage dangled grotesquely from its remaining muscle before the beast was dispatched , its body staggered by arrows driven into it by a second warrior . The broad - shouldered Nord with the axe smiled . " Well met , stranger . I am Vigrod Wraithbane the Harbinger . These are my Shield Brothers Uli and Rargal . We are of the Companions . " Making camp in the rough , Vigrod explained that his Companions traveled with little equipment to slow them down , spending their nights in caves and dells instead of under tents . Sitting around the fire , Uli and Rargal were guarded , focusing on the care of their weapons , but Vigrod was more sociable and spoke of his friendly rivalry with Holgunn One - Eye . I asked of his loyalty to the Skald - King , and he proudly told me of swearing fealty to this throne , in spite of his clan ' s tradition as mercenary sellswords . The next morning Vigrod agreed to take me with them as they hiked south , to their home at Fallowstone Hall in the Rift hold . As the alternative was to become troll fodder , I agreed . We marched past more hot springs , and as my boots became thoroughly worn in , I watched the snows slowly recede , and as we topped a pass , a broad deciduous woodland spread below us . I was made most welcome at Fallowstone Hall . For a start , I was able to refuse the offer of mead without offending my hosts . I was surprised to see other races - - even a Khajiit - - among the warriors within . As for the structure itself ? It was a building so secure its foundations seemed to sprout from the foothills of the Velothi Mountains . The timber and woodwork were of surprising quality , with firm trestles and good use of fir and pine . My only gripe was the abundance of carved dragons affixed to every gable end ; such carvings border on idolatry . During the evening ' s drinking , I felt uneasy . Vigrod was not the cause ; his stories and legends of the Companions would fill three volumes of yore , although I was instructed not to transcribe them ( many were from the time of Ysgramor , and the use of his fabled axe Wuuthrad , which is apparently kept in one of the many vaults under this hall ) . No , I suspected forces more fiendish were at work , so I excused myself for the night , took to the guest quarters , and prayed for a restful interlude . Mara did not listen . Despite a bedding of dry , recently washed skins and rough linen , my night terrors returned . And grew worse : Mannimarco pursues me . He takes the form a ghost giant , glowing blue in the dim glow of Masser . He cracks his club against my head before picking me up and pressing his thumb deep into my throbbing brand . The sooner I flee this north country , the better . The next morning I woke to find myself abandoned at the gates of Riften , with no memory of my flight there . I left for Mournhold aboard a mead caravan both perplexed and unwell .