From that day forward Ravate served Sheogorath's every whim. Whenever daring travelers try to approach Sheogorath, Ravate warns them, "Sheogorath is already inside each of us. You have already lost."
Nerevar Moon and Star
[This is a selection from a series of monographs by various Imperial scholars on Ashlander legends.
In ancient days, the Deep Elves and a great host of outlanders from the West came to steal the land of the Dunmer. In that time, Nerevar was the great khan and warleader of the House People, but he honored the Ancient Spirits and the Tribal law, and became as one of us.
So, when Nerevar pledged upon his great Ring of the Ancestors, One-Clan-Under-Moon-and-Star, to honor the ways of the Spirits and rights of the Land, all the Tribes joined the House People to fight a great battle at Red Mountain.
Though many Dunmer, Tribesman and Houseman, died at Red Mountain, the Dwemer were defeated and their evil magicks destroyed, and the outlanders driven from the land. But after this great victory, the power-hungry khans of the Great Houses slew Nerevar in secret, and, setting themselves up as gods, neglected Nerevar's promises to the Tribes.
But it is said that Nerevar will come again with his ring, and cast down the false gods, and by the power of his ring will make good his promises to the Tribes, to honor the Spirits and drive the outsiders from the land.
N'Gasta! Kvata! Kvakis!
an obscure text in the language of the Sload, purportedly written by the Second Era Western necromancer, N'Gasta.
N'Gasta! Kvata! Kvakis! ahkstas so novajxletero (oix jhemile) so Ranetauw. Ricevas gxin pagintaj membrauw kaj aliaj individuauw, kiujn iamaniere tusxas so raneta aktivado. En gxi aperas informauw unuavice pri so lokauw so cxiumonataj kunvenauw, sed nature ankoix pri aliaj aktuasoj aktivecauw so societo. Ne malofte enahkstas krome plej diversaspekta materialo eduka oix distra.
So interreta Kvako (retletera kaj verjheauw) ahkstas unufsonke alternativaj kanasouw por distribui so enhavon so papera Kva! Kvak!. Sed alifsonke so enhavauw so diversaj verjheauw antoixvible ne povas kaj ecx ne vus cxiam ahksti centprocente so sama. En malvaste cirkusonta paperfolio ekzemple ebsos publikigi ilustrajxauwn, kiuj pro kopirajtaj kiasouw ne ahkstas uzebsoj en so interreto. Alifsonke so masoltaj kostauw reta distribuo forigas so spacajn limigauwn kaj permahksas pli ampleksan enhavon, por ne paroli pri gxishora aktualeco.
Tiuj cirkonstancauw rahkspeguligxos en so aspekto so Kvakoa, kiu ja cetere servos ankoix kiel gxeneraso retejo so ranetauw.
Night Falls On Sentinel
By Boali
No music played in the Nameless Tavern in Sentinel, and indeed there was very little sound except for discreet, cautious murmurs of conversation, the soft pad of the barmaid's feet on stone, and the delicate slurping of the regular patrons, tongues lapping at their flagons, eyes focused on nothing at all. If anyone were less otherwise occupied, the sight of the young Redguard woman in a fine black velvet cape might have aroused surprise. Even suspicion. As it were, the strange figure, out of place in an underground cellar so modest it had no sign, blended into the shadows.
"Are you Jomic?"
The stout, middle-aged man with a face older than his years looked up and nodded. He returned to his drink. The young woman took the seat next to him.
"My name is Haballa," she said and pulled out a small bag of gold, placing it next to his mug.
"Sure it be," snarled Jomic, and met her eyes again. "Who d'you want dead?"
She did not turn away, but merely asked, "Is it safe to talk here?"
"No one cares about nobody else's problems but their own here. You could take off your cuirass and dance bare-breasted on the table, and no one'd even spit," the man smiled. "So who d'you want dead?"
"No one, actually," said Haballa. "The truth is, I only want someone ... removed, for a while. Not harmed, you understand, and that's why I need a professional. You come highly recommended."
"Who you been talking to?" asked Jomic dully, returning to his drink.
"A friend of a friend of a friend of a friend."
"One of them friends don't know what he's talking about," grumbled the man. "I don't do that any more."
Haballa quietly took out another purse of gold and then another, placing them at the man's elbow. He looked at her for a moment and then poured the gold out and began counting. As he did, he asked, "Who d'you want removed?"
"Just a moment," smiled Haballa, shaking her head. "Before we talk details, I want to know that you're a professional, and you won't harm this person very much. And that you'll be discreet."
"You want discreet?" the man paused in his counting. "Awright, I'll tell you about an old job of mine. It's been - by Arkay, I can hardly believe it - more 'n twenty years, and no one but me's alive who had anything to do with the job. This is back afore the time of the War of Betony, remember that?"
"I was just a baby."
"'Course you was," Jomic smiled. "Everyone knows that King Lhotun had an older brother Greklith what died, right? And then he's got his older sister Aubki, what married that King fella in Daggerfall. But the truth's that he had two elder brothers."
"Really?" Haballa's eyes glistened with interest.
"No lie," he chuckled. "Weedy, feeble fella called Arthago, the King and Queen's first born. Anyhow, this prince was heir to the throne, which his parents wasn't too thrilled about, but then the Queen she squeezed out two more princes who looked a lot more fit. That's when me and my boys got hired on, to make it look like the first prince got took off by the Underking or some such story."
"I had no idea!" the young woman whispered.
"Of course you didn't, that's the point," Jomic shook his head. "Discretion, like you said. We bagged the boy, dropped him off deep in an old ruin, and that was that. No fuss. Just a couple fellas, a bag, and a club."
"That's what I'm interested in," said Haballa. "Technique. My... friend who needs to be taken away is weak also, like this Prince. What is the club for?"
"It's a tool. So many things what was better in the past ain't around no more, just 'cause people today prefer ease of use to what works right. Let me explain: there're seventy-one prime pain centers in an average fella's body. Elves and Khajiiti, being so sensitive and all, got three and four more respectively. Argonians and Sloads, almost as many at fifty-two and sixty-seven," Jomic used his short stubby finger to point out each region on Haballa's body. "Six in your forehead, two in your brow, two on your nose, seven in your throat, ten in your chest, nine in your abdomen, three on each arm, twelve in your groin, four in your favored leg, five in the other."
"That's sixty-three," replied Haballa.
"No, it's not," growled Jomic.
"Yes, it is," the young lady cried back, indignant that her mathematical skills were being question: "Six plus two plus two plus seven plus ten plus nine plus three for one arm and three for the other plus twelve plus four plus five. Sixty-three."
"I must've left some out," shrugged Jomic. "The important thing is that to become skilled with a staff or club, you gotta be a master of these pain centers. Done right, a light tap could kill, or knock out without so much as a bruise."
"Fascinating," smiled Haballa. "And no one ever found out?"
"Why would they? The boy's parents, the King and Queen, they're both dead now. The other children always thought their brother got carried off by the Underking. That's what everyone thinks. And all my partners are dead."
"Of natural causes?"
"Ain't nothing natural that ever happens in the Bay, you know that. One fella got sucked up by one of them Selenu. Another died a that same plague that took the Queen and Prince Greklith. 'Nother fella got hisself beat up to death by a burglar. You gotta keep low, outta sight, like me, if you wanna stay alive." Jomic finished counting the coins. "You must want this fella out of the way bad. Who is it?"
"It's better if I show you," said Haballa, standing up. Without a look back, she strode out of the Nameless Tavern.
Jomic drained his beer and went
out. The night was cool with an unrestrained wind surging off the water of the Iliac Bay, sending leaves flying like whirling shards. Haballa stepped out of the alleyway next to the tavern, and gestured to him. As he approached her, the breeze blew open her cape, revealing the armor beneath and the crest of the King of Sentinel.
The fat man stepped back to flee, but she was too fast. In a blur, he found himself in the alley on his back, the woman's knee pressed firmly against his throat.
"The King has spent years since he took the throne looking for you and your collaborators, Jomic. His instructions to me what to do when I found you were not specific, but you've given me an idea."
From her belt, Haballa removed a small sturdy cudgel.
A drunk stumbling out of the bar heard a whimpered moan accompanied by a soft whisper coming from the darkness of the alley: "Let's keep better count this time. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven..."
The Nightingales
Volume I: Who We Are
By Gallus Desidenius
As a Nightingale, I feel compelled to place quill to parchment and record my thoughts regarding my knowledge of our order. If one day the Nightingales should vanish from Tamriel, then let this tome serve as a reminder of what we once were and to dispel any rumor or hearsay about our purposes and our motivations.
Our trinity serves the Lady Nocturnal, the Empress of Murk and the Daughter of Twilight. We believe her to be our patron, if not the patron of all thieves worldwide. We serve her without prayer, without charity and without celebration. Our bond with Nocturnal is in the form of a business transaction we strike known as the Oath. Her terms are simple and binding. As Nightingales we are required to guard the Twilight Sepulcher, the Temple of Nocturnal, against those perceived as a threat. In return, we are allowed to use our abilities as Nightingales to further our own means and the means of the Thieves Guild.
Upon our death, we are bound to the Twilight Sepulcher as guardian spirits until such time as Nocturnal feels our contract has been fulfilled. Our ultimate fate lies within the Evergloam, Nocturnal's realm. There, our spirits become one with shadow itself and we become the cloak which envelops all of our fellow thieves in their endeavors. This is the true origin of the phrase "walk with the shadows" uttered within the Thieves Guild.
The Twilight Sepulcher is more than a temple, it contains a conduit from our world to the Evergloam, a swirling pool of liquid midnight we call the Ebonmere. This is the heart of the Sepulcher, and the source of Nocturnal's influence throughout the world. The Ebonmere can only be sealed by removing a unique key from its lock. This key, which occasionally finds its way beyond the walls of the Sepulcher, is widely known as the Skeleton Key of Nocturnal.
The Skeleton Key is an often misunderstood artifact. Those that seek to possess it tend to use only a fraction of its potential. Most mistake it for a unique and unbreakable lockpick. While this is true, the wonder of this device can only be appreciated once the owner is willing to expand his mind and abstract what defines "unlocking." This action refers to more than simple doors and portals. In the proper hands, the Skeleton Key has the capability to unlock hidden potential and untapped abilities. The extent of this power has yet to be discovered, which is a frightening thought if it ever fell into the wrong hands.
As a member of the trinity of Nightingales, it is incumbent upon us to recover the Skeleton Key if it strays from the Twilight Sepulcher. Why Nocturnal allows the Key to be stolen in the first place is a mystery. Some say she revels in the chaos this artifact causes, others feel she simply does not care, that the petty squabbles of men and mer are beyond her attention. Whatever the case may be, it is our duty to ensure it remains safely within the confines of the Sepulcher.
To say that the Nightingales are a holy order would be doing us a disservice. In our hearts, we are thieves. We enjoy the hunt and delight in the spoils. We might swear our loyalty to Nocturnal and hold some influence within the Thieves Guild, but the greatest allegiance a Nightingale holds is to himself.
Volume II: What We Were
By Gallus Desidenius
As a Nightingale, I feel compelled to place quill to parchment and record my thoughts regarding my knowledge of our order. If one day the Nightingales should vanish from Tamriel, then let this tome serve as a reminder of what we once were and to dispel any rumor or hearsay about our purposes and our motivations.
I will attempt to relate the scant bit of knowledge I have of our history to the best of my ability. It is my hope that in the future, someone else may happen upon this writing and amend it in order to expand the record of our existence.
Our history begins with a well-known tale. The tome "The Real Barenziah IX" mentions that a bard named "Nightingale" tricked Queen Barenziah into revealing the location of an artifact called the Staff of Chaos which he later claimed for his own. The story goes on to reveal that "Nightingale" was a powerful Imperial Battlemage named Jagar Tharn in disguise and that he used the Staff to imprison Emperor Uriel Septim VIII. His ultimate goal was to assume the form of the banished emperor and sit upon the throne in his stead.
In actuality, the individual identified as "the bard Nightingale" was not Jagar Tharn at all. This master of disguise was a Nightingale thief named Drayven Indoril. Jagar Tharn hired Drayven, one of the greatest master thieves in Skyrim, to seduce Barenziah and coerce her into revealing the location of the Staff of Chaos. After the Staff was given to Jagar Tharn, he attempted to eradicate Drayven, but his Nightingale abilities aided his escape. Jagar Tharn searched for Drayven but eventually had to abandon the pursuit in order to enact his plans involving the emperor.
It is interesting to note that history refers to Jagar Tharn as "Nightingale" well after the point Drayven would have vanished from the story. The distortion of actual events is very typical of Barenziah's manipulation. With the pressure of blame falling squarely on her shoulders for Uriel Septim VII's imprisonment, she twisted the truth and created the notion that the "bard" named Nightingale was Jagar Tharn himself. She felt the tale of being enthralled by the master sorcerer held more of a forgiving if not romantic notion than simply being seduced by a master rogue. Some also further speculate that eliminating Drayven from history was her attempt at protecting the reputation of Jagar Tharn, whom she was rumored to have been quite fond of.
Drayven had escaped into Morrowind after Jagar Tharn's pursuit and rejoined the Indoril family who held an estate quite close to the border of Skyrim which allowed him to perform his Nightingale duties at the Sepulcher if the need arose. He remained there for many years until the Indoril family began to lose its power and a war between the houses erupted. Not wanting any part of it, and feeling that Jagar Tharn was no longer a threat, Drayven left his homeland behind and settled in The Rift under the guise of a miner.
Co-currently with Drayven's history, born out of Dravyen's seduction of Barenziah, the Dunmer Queen eventually bore a child. This child, whom Barenziah abandoned with a midwife in an attempt to keep her Nightingale story valid, eventually grew into adulthood and struck out on her own to find her father. Calling herself Dralsi, she overturned every stone in Skyrim looking for any traces of Drayven. After an unknown number of years passed, she finally located him in a small mining community called Shor's Stone. He was quite elderly now... no longer the spry rogue that had seduced Barenziah, but nevertheless he was still Dralsi's father and he treated her as such. In the remaining years of Drayven's life, he imparted the ways of the Nightingale to Dralsi until he finally succumbed to his age.
Dralsi willingly struck the Oath of the Nightingales and performed her duties well in the service of Nocturnal. She eventually took a husband and together they had a child whom they named Karliah. Like Dralsi's father did for her, Dralsi taught Karliah the art of thievery and how to survive in Skyrim living as a rogue. She intended to pass the Nightingale mantle on to Karliah, but had to wait until the time was right to reveal it. When she was old enough, Karliah struck out on her own wanting to ply her trade in a larger
city. She eventually found her way to Riften and joined the Thieves Guild under my own leadership at the time.
As Karliah slowly climbed the ranks in the Guild, I watched her progress and saw much of her mother in her methods. After several years passed, I received word that Dralsi had been killed defending the Twilight Sepulcher from a band of mercenaries and so it became time for the mantle to be passed. I traveled to Nightingale Hall with Mercer Frey and together, we inducted Karliah into the Nightingales.
I will relate my own history in my next volume and perhaps, as I uncover more information, the history of Mercer Frey as well.
The Nightingales: Fact or Fiction?
by Wilimina Roth
Books of Skyrim Page 64