A Whisper in the Darkness


"Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it."

-Georgio de Santayana

"The study of Nature makes a man at last as remorseless as Nature."
-H. G. Wells

In days past there lived a race of elves that lived a reclusive existence. They buried themselves away in study and developed new technologies. Because of these tendencies they would become known as the Dwemer or Deep Folk. As their studies continued the Dwemer would splinter into several groups. From what was then known as Velothi, present day Morrowind, they would venture into the deserts of Hammerfell and into the Velothi mountains as they expanded into Skyrim.

In Hammerfell the Rourken clan would create great Dirigibles that sailed through the skies and massive devices that allowed them to harness the power of steam. In Vvardenfell and Skyrim they created massive Observatories to get a look into the heavens above and mechanical protectors known as Animunculi.

They posed also a definite interest in philosophy and a fascination with the gods that had formed their world. These two fascinations would lead them to commit abhorrent acts and bring about their own end. Their curiosities ultimately led to them attempting to create a new god from the corpse of Lorkhan.

Their exact fate is unknown, but given that the Rourke Clan disappeared at the same time as the rest of the Dwemer there are two theories that seem to make more sense than the others. The first is that Kagrenac, one of the leading architects in the construction of this new God, succeeded in his creation of a new God and this action either elevated the entire race to Godhood or resulted in their destruction. The second is that the attempt failed, but in reaction to their audacity the Gods of Nirn uncreated them.

This story is well known, and it's lessons are well learned. Regardless of exactly what you believe happened there it is widely known and accepted that the Dwemer's attempts to place themselves among the Gods resulted in their extinction. For long years it has served to prevent any foolhardy men or mer from undergoing such dreadful pursuits, but in the snow covered Velothi Mountains of Skyrim a strange being toils into the night. There is more than one way to skin a cat, and more than one way to be as the Gods.

"That is not dead that can eternal lie,
And with strange eons even death may die."
-Abid Alzahred

Pale Blue Colored Iris

"During the Dawn Era they researched the death of the Earth Bones, what we call now the laws of nature, dissecting the process of the sacred willing itself into the profane. I believe their mechanists and tonal architects discovered systematic regression techniques to perform the reverse -- that is, to create the sacred from the deaths of the profane."
-Baladas Demnevanni


"What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun"
-Ecclesiastes 1:9

Pale blue colored eyes open with a shutter and behold a world they were never meant to see. A new form pushes itself up onto shaking legs as it gradually begins to explore the world immediately around it. Though it lacks the words to describe its environment it presses its hands against the cold and slightly damp stone, enjoying the sensation. It runs its fingers along the curious engraved metallic contraptions about the doors and in the center of this circular room. It looks up in awe as a stream of magical energy thrums through it's habitat.

This new life runs misshapen hands along it's body, exploring its own architecture. It knows nothing of this world but it knows that it is a thing of beauty, surely it must be a thing of beauty. It observes that one appendage thing (hand) is larger than the other, but perhaps that is how it ought to be. It feel curious asymmetrical bumps on one side but not the other, but again perhaps that is beauty.

It doesn't really even know what beauty is, how could it, but it knows in whatever essential way that this is it's world and it must have it's place. A large Nord walks down a parallel hallway dragging behind him a Dwarven War Hammer. The creature will soon learn it's place in this world.

"There are more things in Heaven and Nirn, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy"
-William Shakespeare

Josian Townway

I had always heard that bars were excellent places to meet adventurers and begin ones own travels, but that was certainly not the case today. All I met was a bunch of drunkards talking about local politics and women. I did get one possible lead though, I heard that the local blacksmith had gotten an unusual job lately. Tomorrow I shall investigate the situation, perhaps it is from there that my adventure shall begin.

I certainly hope so. I am ready for one of the grand adventures I've read so much about.

The young Imperial places the small book down and gets up to switch off the light. The room engulfed in darkness he walks out to go look through the window. He hopes to see some nefarious presence down the street, or perhaps a strange figure lurking behind a window, but things are depressing staid at the moment. All he sees is a steady drizzle and intermittent people walking down the street. He shuts the blinds and climbs into bed, pulling the blanket up and saying goodbye to another day.

He dreams of sailing vast seas and arriving in strange forgotten ports. Of venturing through enormous mountains to cyclopean monuments at their peaks. Of shady Dunmer allies and proud Nordic companions. Of haughty Altmer enemies, of slaying Orcish hordes. He dreams of a life spent on the move, seeing the world, venturing where no other has before, and sharing his stories with like minded fellow adventurers.

He dreams of anything other than a lifetime spent going about the minutiae of everyday life. Anything but a life as a banker, farmer, or shopkeep.

The next morning he wakes up and gets out of bed with a start, ready to go start his adventures and hoping for a better result than the day before.

He carefully buttons his shirt and smooths out the collar, pinching it to ensure that the collar stands up as it ought to. A thick fur goes on over it to keep him dry and warm. He combs through his hair and secures it with a simple leather strip before walking out of his room and locking the door behind him. He catches himself once more at the top of the stairs then heads back quickly to double and triple check that it is indeed locked. It is.

It's early in the morning and quite cold. He considers the dirt road and rolls up the legs of his pants, perhaps it would have been wise to procure some rain boots There is an ever so slight drizzle this morning that may soon turn this dirt road into a long mud puddle.

He hurries along to where the traders display their wares and searches out the smithy. His identity quickly becomes clear, a large Nord with a sort of long mustache that grows down to just below his chin. Bushy eyebrows all but cover his deep set brown eyes.

Surely this will be the beginnings of his adventure. Venturing through Cyrodil, perhaps back into this man's homeland of Skyrim, exploring his ancestral halls, slaying men and mer, discovering -

"What is it son, I'm busy."

Awakening from his daydream Mr. Townway finds the Nord staring down at him with a rather disinterested expression.

"I've work to do and not enough time in the day to do it, so wake up and tell me what you need or get moving, you're blocking my shop."

"Ahh," Townway responds, regaining his composure, "I heard you were working on a most unusual request sir."

The Nord nods and motions the young Imperial to the side to clear up room for PAYING customers.

"Yes, yes. I'm restoring a Dwemer War Hammer at the moment. I'll be bringing it out shortly if you'd like to see it."

"Oh yes, very much."

"Five septims."

He produces the gold and gazes about the man's workplace. Soon he'd be looking upon the weapon of a long dead...or teleported...or damned...or something Dwemer warrior. How exciting!