The ( Improved ) Emperor ' s Guide to Tamriel : Northern Bangkorai and the Mountains 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 Guide book to . Content . Orcs of the Daggerfall Covenant The air was fresh and the soil firm . Although a little more rugged than the gentle hills and ells of High Rock , northern Bangkorai and the road to Evermore were gradually turning from orange to green , and the climate changed from a beating heat to a more temperate drizzle . Although northern Bangkorai is south of the Bjoulsae River , with a border segmented only on a cartographer ' s maps , the Redguards don ' t seem to venture up here ; this is still the realm of Bretons . I ' d disembarked from the ferry early to clear my head and apply ointment to my brand in private . The relative lushness is of great relief after the arid Alik ' r Desert . I thought I spied a figure in the woods outside Evermore , but on closer inspection , it turned out to be a strange old statue . I cleaned off a little of the moss and started to paint . This Viridian Sentinel seems to represent a guardian of the forest . I ' d been double - checking my Imperial Guide on these parts ; the statue is revered by the Glenmoril Wyrd . I ' m certain they are some distant sisterhood to the Beldama witches I saw cavorting in Glenumbra . But aside from the statue , I found no sign of their presence . " [ Fairy tales . Did Masteret even leave the Imperial City ? ] " Striding through the robustly unsubtle but impressive Evermore Palace , with its crenelations cleaned from the granite mined from nearby Markarth and hauled here centuries ago , I felt safe and puffed up my chest a little ( even though my brand still stung ) , these buffoons , and servants of their ilk had welcomed me to their city with a deference I certainly wasn ' t shown after leaving Sentinel . When presenting my letters of introduction and Writ of Transit to King Eamond , I found him friendly but soft of voice and timid of countenance - not at all the ruler of the wildlands I was expecting . Of course , the king ’ s mumbling welcome , and his weak and colorless demeanor , may have been exacerbated by his thunderous savage of a guest . Sitting by Eamond ' s side was King Kurog of Orsinium , an Orc who radiated strength from every unwashed pore . “ Approach me , Imperial , for you are the most welcome in this court ! ” he shouted ( though I later found this to be his normal speaking voice ) . I stepped forward , Kurog clapped me on the shoulder , and I felt my knees buckle . Stumbling , I almost fell buttocks over pride but steadied myself just in time . The court erupted with laughter as I accidentally became Kurog ' s jester - the Bretons and Orcs found my slightness of frame deliriously comical . These are typically crude and boisterous provincials . If King Kurog was a mountain of an Orc with a face like a giant ' s slapped arse , Eamond ' s wife , Queen Archela , was the very definition of a blooming beauty of Breton womanhood . She dotes on Prince Edrien like a mother hen . The prince is a dashing young man , but one without exploration in his blood . He is set to join the guards on the caravan leaving Evermore for Orsinium this evening , his first adult journey into the wild . Perhaps to make amends for my previous embarrassment , Kurog first showed me almost all of his missing teeth with a grin that would curdle milk , then granted me a writ of passage through Wrothgar with the caravan . I found this to be most acceptable , as it is far safer to travel with strong forces in this green wilderness . Before the journey , I made some preliminary sketches and paintings of the heavy armor and weapons from King Kurog ' s escort . Though the Orcs wore such regalia without any apparent effort ( either physically or magically ) , I was barely able to lift one of the breastplates . Stendarr , protect my bones if one of those brutes takes a tumble in my general direction . After fording the trickling Bjoulsae , the caravan rolled northeast following the Jehanna road into the wild Wrothgar mountains . The Orcs , despite their clumsiness , are not fearful of any drop or fissure . I was content to ride with Loghorz gro - Murtag , one of the king ' s guardsmen and blacksmiths . He promised a feast that would fill a giant to the bursting point . It was the evening of the second night when we reached Murtag . We were welcomed by Chief Godrun and offered a plate of elk offal I ' m still trying to digest and mead from goblets the size of my head . Our mix of Bretons and Orc folk helped dispel any distrust among the clans . I stopped to draw the Chieftain ' s Hall and Murtag ' s old forge . Godrun handed me a finely crafted sword and shield . Despite their weight , I accepted these gifts in the spirit to which they were intended . If they stay in the caravan after my departure , I may make it to Skyrim without tearing my guts of breaking my back trying to lift them . As dawn broke over the stronghold of Murtag , I climbed the trail back to the Jehanna road , perched myself on a rocky outcrop overlooking the encampments , and drew Orcish architecture that was as staunch and sturdy as the crags and peaks of the Orcs ' homeland . Eminently defensible , with the mountains shrouding the settlements , these roughly sliced stone and thick wood pilings serve as effective parapets against marauding giants and Reachmen . Wrothgar and northern Hammerfell are dotted with these fortified towns . We climbed east until the trees and air thinned . As I gazed at the clouds below , I realized the grandeur of Akatosh ' s plans for us mites , scuttling on the shell of the world . I was speaking to my Breton companion , Edgard Thenephan , when the lead caravan stopped and guards approached the still - smoldering frame of a huntsman ' s refuge . “ Reachmen raiders are active in these parts . ” Edgard leaned in to tell me . He pointed past the wreckage , which was collapsed with only the stone hearth still standing . “ Notice the totems ? They ' re here to strike fear into the unwary or feeble - minded . ” A guard had hauled two charred corpses - one decapitated - from one of the structures . I grimaced at the totems , sticks and trees covered with primitive carvings , skulls , bones … and the head of one of the hunters . “ Don ' t worry , Flaccus . ” Edgard shouted , tapping his sword to his helm . “ We ' re well armed . Those mongrels only just learned how to light fires ! ” While the caravan started its journey once more , I breathed deeply to stifle my growing panic . With only two hefty Orc protectors and a narrow rugged path across rifts and ridges , we really should have been more wary . Edgard was the first to die . A ragged blade , wielded by a ragged man covered in animal skins and wearing an antler headdress , cleaved the poor Breton ' s head off his shoulders . It took the savage two ghastly attempts . When the Reachman eventually fell to an Orc ' s battleaxe , our camp was flanked on either side by dozens of dirty despoilers , swarming from the rocks like maggots over a decaying fox . Tents were set ablaze and sleeping guards awoken in the night , only to be slain by the infected swords of the briar - hearted . Prince Edrien , with a look of grim conviction under his helm , was determined to prove his merit . He sallied forth with two lumbering Orcs on either side , and they crashed head - on into the northern wing of the Witchmen . I stayed in my tent , donning my breastplate . Confusion reigned . The cries of falling foes echoed through the valley . Most of the caravan had followed their prince , battling their way to an escape toward Orsinium . To my woe , Stendarr was unmerciful to my own plight , and I was caught with a few other stragglers by the southern flankers . I drew my dagger , fearing the end . A wild - eyed man , with a knot of poisoned briars nestled on his bloody head and a prayer to Hircine spewing forth from his mouth , conjured fire from his hands . We quickly surrendered . I was thrown into a cramped wooden cage with the other captives and was then jostled off at a hurried pace into the wooded peaks to the east : I wondered aloud whether our slaughtered brethren were the lucky ones . I swallowed corkbulb root to lessen my fretfulness and tried not to watch Edgard ' s severed head staring back at my cage from its totem spike . His tongue lolled from side to side , spittle and blood dribbling into my wooden prison . I was astonished to be alive and further flabbergasted to keep both my head and my sketchbook intact . This allowed me plenty of time to nervously sketch the Reachmen in their pelts and primitive horned armor , and the crude weaponry that my captors had proved so horrifyingly proficient in wielding . I was bounced and battered around for two more days , privy to their babbling , singing , and in fighting . Our fates were to be decided closer to Markarth . I am one of four surviving captives , but I ' m kept apart and am unsure who is alive and who has prayed for - and received - a swift death . Another day of bruised jostling within a prison small enough to drive a skeever mad . More chanting . At evening camp , temporary tents of wood , bone , and hide were put up in a seemingly haphazard way , but these structures are solid and watertight . This is when I ' m released from my animal cage , forced into a noisome tent with the other prisoners - two Bretons and an Orc - and a pack of the Reachmen ' s wolflike hounds . I ' d stretch my legs if they weren ' t shackled . The smell is appalling . The dogs turn their noses up at the food . Truly , I am forsaken . " Today we honor Hircine ! " Shackles were broken and the cage doors opened . Sharp rocks and a sheer drop to the south . Impassible boulders to the north . Baying dogs and frothing Reach - clan worshipers eyed us with wide stares . My captive friends were freed and prodded toward some strewn weapons . I started out for them , but a shaman held me back . " We spare you their fate , outsider . " Guilt and relief consumed me . " The Despot of Markarth wishes his portrait painted . Your hands are safe , but you ' ll be hobbled if you run . " As I painted the Reach - clan ’ s banner and their altar to Hircine in his most malevolent form , the hunt began . One Breton bolted and was brought down and set on by dogs . The other ran for the ravine , fell and was hacked apart by blood - crazed wild men . Fragments of his corpse tumbled toward the river below as the feasting began . The Orc simply laughed , yelling , " Blood for Mauloch ! " as he snatched up two maces and charged headlong into a cluster of Reachmen . The hair was filled with shrieks of men , the cracking of bones , and the spillage of blood . I saw four mongrels hammered into the earth , their heads misshapen and mangled . When a Briarheart was raised to quell the rampage , the Orc was brought to his knees and his head cut away . A vile and bitter potion was forced down my gullet . I spent the journey trapped in a helpless delirium . Humble apologies for my inadequate investigation of the great walled city of Markarth . I was unconscious upon arrival and saw only vague shapes ( and the inside of a vomit bucket ) until my vision and mind finally cleared . It was then that I wished to be returned to my stupor . I was staring into the gaze of a thin and terrible face . An Altmer clad in fine armor , his cloak brushing against a staff of crawling worms . Still light - headed , I inquired whether he was the Despot and if I should retrieve my oil paints ( wherever they were ) . The High Elf laughed , and my memories returned . I had seen these piercing sallow eyes once before on my travels . I felt fear , as if this despoiler were writing within my mind . I was in the presence of evil . “ I am Mannimarco , ” he proclaimed . My chest throbbed as he gestured with his staff , my under - tunic unbuttoning on its own to reveal my scar . “ You bear my mark , Flaccus Terentius . ” He smirked . “ Fate brings you to my feet . You are briefly entwined with my affairs . My meeting with the gracious Despot has concluded … ” He paused and pointed his staff in my face , the worms crawling through the eyes of the skull pommel . “ I have claimed you for my own . ” Mannimarco leaned in . I shivered as his spittle hit my brow . “ You are my vassal . ” His clawed gauntlets stroked my cheeks . “ I have prepared a fate worse than death for you . ” Mannimarco had left the stone cell I was kept in , telling me I ' d be meeting someone who was “ friends with both of us . ” Uwafa ! I knew it . But I was instead greeted by a most familiar dialect . “ Flaccus ! How have you survived ? ” For a moment , I felt safe . What was Javad Tharn doing in these parts ? Perhaps he had journeyed to hasten my freedom under his uncle ’ s banner . He was , afterall , one of the most talented of our diplomats . My appeals to the younger Tharn seemed to hold water . He called my conditions deplorable . He promised swift action against Mannimarco and my first proper meal for days . And transportation form this place . “ But first , take this brew . For your strength . ” As I pressed my lips to the bottle of fluid , I knew that he lied . My senses swimming , I heard Javad Tharn sneer , “ Take him down to Nchuand - Zel . Let the Daedra drag him to Molag Bal . ” I woke to warm breath in my face and a stabbing pain in my side . As I looked around a huge cathedral chamber , filled with ancient golden machinery , a wingless imp , the cruel and inquisitive Banekin , was prodding my guts with the end of a Daedric staff . " [ Meeting a Dremora Caitiff was quite sufficient , thank you very much . I have no desire to meet any of these “ Kynaz , ” or whatever they call themselves . ] " The pack of Banekin had pulled my hair , set fire to my scrolls , and emptied my belongings and were breaking them , one by one . They fled to the shadows after a braying echoed through the room . I was thrown and bound to a stone table , near an old Dwarven forge ( its embers glowed with immense heat ) . A tall and powerful figure was working the bellows . To her side lay several horribly sharp weapons , all recent creations of this Dremora . Memories of my torture at the claws of the Caitiff are hazy and incomplete . She snatched a blade and wielded it expertly in the air for a few moments . Then she stepped to my side , fixing what appeared to be a bridle around my face and across my mouth . Then she spoke to me : “ The candle inside your head is slowly going out . ” She opened my jerkin , cut through my shirt , and twisted her sharp blade into my side . I bit down on the iron rod as the cutting continued across my stomach . I classed down at myself and passed out . I didn ' t expect to wake again , but I did . The forge was out , and the Dremora was away , probably presenting her work to an unknown master . I was freed , but my midriff was torn and still bleeding . I staunched the flow with my clothing . Then I heard the baying . I watched the Banekin and Clannfear approach . They nudged my legs before one snapped its jaws onto my boot . I shook it off and stumbled into the dark , harried by my pursuers . I was pushed , bitten , and thrown between these low minions . I ’ d have finished myself if I ’ d had a blade to hand . I had crawled over fallen pillars to a high corner . But I misjudged my escape , and the Clannfear were nipping at my heels . Hope seemed to vanish . But then . . . an immense flash of magical power filled the room . Clannfear and Banekin cowered , sensing the presence of fearsome power . A short incantation later , and all my beastly pursuers were caught in a maelstrom around the flowing robes of a wizard . Runes flashed and arc lightning escaped from his fingers , searing through Daedric flesh . The Mage split into three forms , each focusing their powerful shock bolts on the reeling Banekin . They were instantly reduced to dust . A strange , snaking magic beast rose around the magician ’ s bright - white form , then swept the chamber in a roar of wind and terror . No Daedra was left standing . Then came more thunder , and a small black cloud of vivid energy sparked and rumbled . At this point , the ancient Dwemer walls themselves were in danger of collapse . “ Mannimarco you snake ! ” the robed Altmer yelled . “ How have you escaped me again ? How long must Vanus Galerion pursue you ? ” Moments later , my physical wounds were all but healed . As I drank from a potion Galerion provided , I felt well enough to speak . “ Your thanks and admiration for me are the most kind , ” he interrupted , incorrectly guessing my silenced words . He spied my journal , floated the book in front of his face , and turned the pages in the air , “ Oh , how wonderful . A portrait painter of some skill ! ” he exclaimed , I desperately needed rest . Instead , I was obliged to gather and unpack what was left of my art equipment . For the next few hours I toiled in discomfort , sketching Galerion ' s incantations rather than fully recuperating my wracked bones . “ Did you paint all my most mighty of attacks in your little scrapbook ? ” Before I could respond , Galerion took my journal and stared intensely at the last pages for a moment . “ No , the Summoning Storm looks too feeble . Here . ” With that , he sealed the pages I had sketched and spent the next hour diagraming his spell casting talents , consuming the mauve and black charcoal with little regard to my supplies . The results lie across these pages . Meanwhile , I drew his portrait . He pondered my results for a moment , distorted my art so his face appeared more majestic , and handed the parchment back . Then he unwrapped and tucked into a goat leg . My gratitude for a welcome rescue had been tempered by his tampering of my prized book . Whatever defacements he had made , they were coated with a substance erasers could not rub through . Dabbing meat grease from his top lip with an embroidered handkerchief , Vanus Galerion threw the half - eaten meal to the floor and retrieved his staff . Further work awaits us in Skyrim , ” he cried , “ to Windhelm ! ”