Books of Skyrim

by Bethesda Softworks

  [1] Interested students are invited to consult the works of Albrecht Theophannes Bombidius and Galerion The Mystic for the fundaments of this discipline.

  [2] Recommended examples of the conjurational charter may be found in Therion's Book of Most Arcane Covenants or Ralliballah's Eleven Ritual Forms.

  The Locked Room

  By Porbert Lyttumly

  Yana was precisely the kind of student her mentor Arthcamu despised: the professional amateur. He enjoyed all the criminal types who were his usual pupils at the stronghold, from the common burglar to the more sophisticated blackmailers, children and young people with strong career ambitions which the art and science of lockpicking could facilitate. They were always interested in simple solutions, the easy way, but people like Yana were always looking for exceptions, possibilities, exotica. For pragmatists like Arthcamu, it was intensely vexing.

  The Redguard maiden would spend hours in front of a lock, prodding at it with her wires and picks, flirting with the key pins and driver pins, exploring the hull with a sort of casual fascination that no delinquent possesses. Long after her fellow students had opened their test locks and moved on, Yana was still playing with hers. The fact that she always opened it eventually, no matter how advanced a lock it was, irked Arthcamu even further.

  "You are making things much too difficult," he would roar, boxing her ears. "Speed is of the essence, not merely technical know-how. I swear that if I put the key to the lock right in front of you, you'd still never get around to opening it."

  Yana would bear Arthcamu's abuse philosophically. She had, after all, paid him in advance. Speed was doubtless an important factor for the picker trying to get somewhere he wasn't supposed to go with the city guard on patrol behind him, but Yana knew it wouldn't apply to her. She merely wanted the knowledge.

  Arthcamu did everything he could think of to encourage Yana to move faster. She seemed to perversely thrive on his physical and verbal blows, spending more and more time on each lock, learning its idiosyncrasies and personality. Finally, he could bear it no longer. Very late one afternoon after Yana had dawdled over a perfectly ordinary lock, he grabbed the girl by her ear and dragged her to a room in the stronghold far from the other students, an area they had always been forbidden to visit.

  The room was completely barren, except for one large crate in the center. There were no windows and no other door except for the one leading in. Arthcamu slammed his student against the crate and closed the door behind her. There was a distinct click of the lock.

  "This is the test for my advanced students," he laughed behind the door. "See if you can escape."

  Yana smiled and began her usual slow process of massaging the lock, gaining information. After a few minutes had gone by, she heard Arthcamu's voice again call out from behind the door.

  "Perhaps I should mention that this is a test of speed. You see the crate behind you? It contains a vampire ancient who has been locked in here for many months. It is absolutely ravenous. In a few minutes' time, the sun will have completely set, and if you have not opened the door, you will be nothing but a bloodless husk."

  Yana considered only for a moment whether Arthcamu was joking or not. She knew he was an evil, horrible man, but to resort to murder to teach his pupil? The moment she heard a rustling in the crate, any doubts she had were erased. Ignoring all her usual explorations, she jammed her wire into the lock, thrust the pegs against the pressure plate, and shoved open the door.

  Arthcamu stood in the hallway beyond, laughing cruelly, "So, now you've learned the value of fast work."

  Yana fled from Arthcamu's stronghold, fighting back her tears. He was certain that she would never return to his tutelage, but he considered that he had taught her at last a very valuable lesson. When she did return the next morning, Arthcamu registered no surprise, but inside he was seething.

  "I'll be leaving shortly," she explained, quietly. "But I believe I've developed a new type of lock, and I'd be grateful if you'd give me your opinion of it."

  Arthcamu shrugged and asked her to present her design.

  "I was wondering if I might use the vampire room and install the lock. I think it would be better if I demonstrated it."

  Arthcamu was dubious, but the prospect of the tiresome girl leaving at last put him in an excellent and even indulgent mood. He agreed to give her access to the room. For all morning and most of the afternoon, she worked near the slumbering vampire, removing the old lock and adding her new prototype. Finally, she asked her old master to take a look.

  He studied the lock with an expert eye, and found little to be impressed with.

  "This is the first and only pick-proof lock," Yana explained. "The only way to open it is to have the right key."

  Arthcamu scoffed and let Yana close the door, shutting him in the room. The door clicked and he began to go to work. To his dismay, the lock was much more difficult than he thought it would be. He tried all his methods to force it, and found that he had to resort to his hated student's method of careful and thorough exploration.

  "I need to leave now," called Yana from the other side of the door. "I'm going to bring the city guard to the stronghold. I know that it's against the rules, but I really think it's for the welfare of the villagers not to have a hungry vampire on the loose. It's getting dark, and even though you aren't able to unlock the door, the vampire might be less proud about using the key to escape. Remember when you said 'If I put the key to the lock right in front of you, you'd still never get around to opening it'?"

  "Wait!" Arthcamu yelled back. "I'll use the key! Where is it? You forgot to give it to me!"

  But there was no reply, only the sound of footfall disappearing down the corridor beyond the door. Arthcamu began to work harder on the lock, but his hands were shaking with fear. With no windows, it was impossible to tell how late it was getting to be. Were minutes that were flying by or hours? He only knew that the vampire ancient would know.

  The tools could not stand very much twisting and tapping from Arthcamu's hysterical hands. The wire snapped in the keyhole. Just like a student. Arthcamu screamed and pounded on the door, but he knew that no one could possibly hear him. It was while sucking in his breath to scream again, he heard the distinct creak of the crate opening behind him.

  The vampire ancient regarded the master locksmith with insane, hungry eyes, and flew at him in a frenzy. Before Arthcamu died, he saw it: on a chain that had been placed around the vampire's neck while it had been sleeping was a key.

  Lord Jornibret's Last Dance

  (Traditional)

  Women's Verse I:

  Every winter season,

  Except for the reason

  Of one war or another

  (Really quite a bother),

  The Queen of Rimmen and her consort

  Request their vassals come and cavort.

  On each and every ball,

  The first man at the Hall

  Is Lord Ogin Jornibret of Gaer,

  The Curse of all the Maidens Fair.

  Women's Refrain:

  Oh, dear ladies, beware.

  Dearest, dearest ladies, take care.

  Though he's a very handsome man,

  If you dare to take his handsome hand,

  The nasty little spell will be cast

  And your first dance with him will be the last.

  Men's Verse I:

  At this social event

  Everyone who went

  Knew the bows and stances

  And steps to all the dances.

  The Queen of Rimmen and her consort

  Would order a trumpet's wild report,

  And there could be no indecision

  As the revelers took position.

  The first dance only ladies, separate

  Away from such men as Lord Jornibret.

  Men's Refrain:

  Oh, dear fellows, explain.

  Brothers, can you help make it plain:

  The man's been doing this for years,


  Leaving maidens fair in tears

  Before the final tune's been blast.

  And her first dance with him will be the last.

  Women's Verse II:

  Lord Ogin Jornibret of Gaer

  Watched the ladies dance on air

  The loveliest in the realm.

  A fellow in a ursine-hide helm

  Said, "The Queen of Rimmen and her consort

  Have put together quite a sport.

  Which lady fair do you prefer?"

  Lord Jornibret pointed, "Her.

  See that bosom bob and weave.

  Well-suited for me to love and leave."

  Women's Refrain.

  Men's Verse II:

  The man in the mask of a bear

  Had left the Lord of Gaer

  Before the ladies' dance was ending.

  Then a trumpet sounded, portending

  That the Queen of Rimmen and her consort

  Called for the men to come to court.

  Disdainful, passing over all the rest,

  Ogin approached she of bobbing breast.

  She was rejected, saved a life of woe,

  For a new maiden as fair as snow.

  Men's Refrain.

  Women's Verse III:

  At the first note of the band,

  The beauty took Ogin's hand.

  She complimented his stately carriage

  Dancing to the tune about the marriage

  Of the Queen of Rimmen and her consort.

  It is very difficult indeed to comport

  With grace, neither falling nor flailing,

  Wearing ornate hide and leather mailing,

  Dancing light as the sweetest of dreams

  Without a single squeak of the seams.

  Women's Refrain.

  Men's Verse III:

  The rhythms rose and fell

  No one dancing could excel

  With masculine grace and syncopation,

  Lord Jornibret even drew admiration

  From the Queen of Rimmen and her consort.

  Like a beauteous vessel pulling into port,

  He silently slid, belying the leather's weight.

  She whispered girlishly, "The hour is late,

  But I've never seen such grace in hide armor."

  It 'twas a pity he knew he had to harm her.

  Men's Refrain

  Women's Verse IV

  The tune beat was furious

  He began to be curious

  Where had the maiden been sequest'ed.

  "Before this dance was requested

  By the consort and his Queen of Rimmen

  I didn't see you dance with the women."

  "My dress was torn as I came to the dance,"

  She said smiling in a voice deep as a man's,

  "My maids worked quickly to repair,

  While I wore a suit of hide, a helm of a bear."

  Women's Refrain.

  Lost Legends of Skyrim

  by Talsgar the Elder

  Archivist of Winterhold

  The history of Skyrim is vast, predating even the most ancient records of man and mer. Much has been lost, fallen to the ravages of war or the turning of the ages. But nothing is ever truly forgotten. Where no records exist, legends and folk tales offer us a key to the past, a way to piece together truths half-remembered in the minds of men.

  For generations, the people of Morthal have told whispered tales of the Pale Lady, a ghostly woman who wanders the northern marshes, forever seeking her lost daughter. Some say she steals children who wander astray, others that her sobbing wail strikes dead all those who hear it. But behind these tales may lie a kernel of truth, for ancient records speak of 'Aumriel', a mysterious figure Ysgramor's heirs battled for decades, and finally sealed away.

  Reachmen tell the story of Faolan 'Red-Eagle', an ancient king who rallied his people and drove back the armies of Cyrodiil with a flaming sword. Though accounts vary, they too seem to be based on an underlying truth: the imperial chronicles of Empress Hestra mention a rebel leader of that era who was eventually cornered and slain in battle, at the cost of a full legion of men.

  But some tales prove far harder to analyze. Among scholars, perhaps the best known is the 'Forbidden Legend' of the Archmage Gauldur.

  In the dawning days of the First Era, the story goes, there lived a powerful wizard by the name of Gauldur. Wise and just, he was well-known in the courts of King Harald and the jarls of Skyrim, and his aid and counsel were sought by man and mer alike.

  And then he was murdered. Some say one of his sons killed him, others that King Harald, jealous of his power, gave the order. But Gauldur's three sons fled into the night, pursued by a company of Harald's best warriors and the Lord Geirmund, the king's personal battlemage.

  A great chase ensued, from the wilds of the Reach to the glacial north. One brother is said to have perished in the ruins of Folgunthur, at the foot of Solitude. The others were run to ground soon thereafter. And once it was done, King Harald ordered every record of their murders destroyed, and Gauldur's name and deeds were struck from the rolls of history.

  Even today, few sources remain, and no bard will tell the tale. But perhaps the truth yet remains in some ancient ruin, waiting to be unearthed. For nothing is ever truly forgotten.

  The Lunar Lorkhan

  by Fal Droon

  I will not go into the varying accounts of what happened at Adamantine Tower, nor will I relate the War of Manifest Metaphors that rendered those stories unable to support most qualities of what is commonly known as "narrative." We all have our favorite Lorkhan story and our favorite Lorkhan motivation for the creation of Nirn and our favorite story of what happened to His Heart. But the Theory of the Lunar Lorkhan is of special note.

  In short, the Moons were and are the two halves of Lorkhan's 'flesh-divinity'. Like the rest of the Gods, Lorkhan was a plane(t) that participated in the Great Construction... except where the Eight lent portions of their heavenly bodies to create the mortal plane(t), Lorkhan's was cracked asunder and his divine spark fell to Nirn as a shooting star "to impregnate it with the measure of its existence and a reasonable amount of selfishness."

  Masser and Secunda therefore are the personifications of the dichotomy-- the "Cloven Duality," according to Artaeum-- that Lorkhan legends often rail against: ideas of the anima/animus, good/evil, being/nothingness, the poetry of the body, throat, and moan/silence-as-the- abortive, and so on -- set in the night sky as Lorkhan's constant reminder to his mortal issue of their duty.

  Followers of this theory hold that all other "Heart Stories" are mythical degradations of the true origin of the moons (and it needn't be said that they observe the "hollow crescent theory" as well).

  The Lusty Argonian Maid

  Volume 1

  By: Crassius Curio

  Act IV, Scene III, continued

  Lifts-Her-Tail

  Certainly not, kind sir! I am here but to clean your chambers.

  Crantius Colto

  Is that all you have come here for, little one? My chambers?

  Lifts-Her-Tail

  I have no idea what it is you imply, master. I am but a poor Argonian maid.

  Crantius Colto

  So you are, my dumpling. And a good one at that. Such strong legs and shapely tail.

  Lifts-Her-Tail

  You embarrass me, sir!

  Crantius Colto

  Fear not. You are safe here with me.

  Lifts-Her-Tail

  I must finish my cleaning, sir. The mistress will have my head if I do not!

  Crantius Colto

  Cleaning, eh? I have something for you. Here, polish my spear.

  Lifts-Her-Tail

  But it is huge! It could take me all night!

  Crantius Colto

  Plenty of time, my sweet. Plenty of time.

  END OF ACT IV, SCENE III

  Volume 2

  By: Crassius Curio

  ACT VII, SCENE II, CONTINUED

&nbs
p; Lifts-Her-Tail

  My goodness, that's quite a loaf! But how ever shall it fit my oven?

  Crantius Colto

  This loaf isn't ready for baking, my sweet. It has yet to rise.

  Lifts-Her-Tail

  If only we could hurry that along. How would I accomplish such a task?

  Crantius Colto

  Oh, my foolish little Argonian maid, you must use your hands.

  Lifts-Her-Tail

  You wish me to kneed the loaf? Here?

  Crantius Colto

  Of course.

  Lifts-Her-Tail

  But what if the mistress catches me? Your loaf was meant to satisfy her appetite.

  Crantius Colto

  Don't fret, my delicate flower. I'll satisfy the mistress's cravings later.