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Found 10 results

  1. Hello, I'm Rourk. I'm looking to apply for either a writer or a landscaper, whichever is wanted more. I have a good deal of experience in the Creation Kit, and I'd be glad to lend a hand. I've provided some examples of my work: The Events of the Red Year by Dullo Venal, 4E 10 Ever since that fateful day, I have been hounded with questions of the Red Year, the Nerevarine prophecy and the disappearance of Vivec. The 3rd of Sun's Dawn; now, that is a day that I will never cease to remember. It was an average day, if you could say such a thing about Morrowind, and I was treating myself to a bottle of Colovian whine imported from Anvil when the mountains rumbled and the sky tore apart into a red abyss of terror. It was Oblivion all over again. I was petrified, plundering whatever I could from my small hamlet just outside of Balfalls. I really didn't think to actually retire to collect myself. I believe I was just so caught up in the moment. My cattle were mortified, gods bless them. All I thought was that the "Nerevarine" was somehow responsible. I didn't know how, but it had to be! However, I had heard of the fall of the Ministry of Truth, and the floods, but never would I have thought that it would cause Vvardenfell's heart to erupt! Smoke was eating away at the air; oh, how horrific it was! It was Oblivion! The red cloud could be seen from halfway across the province, and the ash, oh, the ash! It was as black as night, and it swarmed like a nest of bees just to cover the air. I was chocking, I recall. If only high Azura would have bore witness to that fateful day. I will be working on some more. Check back tomorrow if you want. I might have some dialogue up, then.
  2. Shearing Sheep in Cyrodiil By Lus T Orstraleeyn As the proud companion to a noble sheep I’m often approached by Nords and other reprobates, perhaps driven by a fetish for wool or for other reasons that I shan’t dignify by mentioning, regarding the practice of shearing sheep. One might wonder why I refer to a sheep as a ‘companion’. My reasoning is thus. By referring to the relationship between a sheep and a person as ‘ownership’ implies that sheep are our slaves. They are nothing of the sort and to assert such is to impugn the wonderfully beneficent nature of sheep. These delightful creatures provide us with milk and wool in order that we might improve the quality of our lives. In return they expect only that we watch over them and protect them from predators, which is of course in our best interests, as we can continue to be recipients of their generosity. The milk of a sheep is rich and abundantly nourishing and although most palatable when drunk chilled or eaten as clotted curds with custard, I find it most invigorating when guzzled direct from the teat – a practice that sheep, in my experience, tend to approve of. Sheep wool is a remarkable fibre quite unlike hair – it is crimped, elastic and grows in clusters. Given its unique structure it is particularly well suited to catching and retaining warmth, a benefit I’m particularly grateful for as winters up here in the Jerall Mountains can become rather frigid. I fondly remember passing many a cold winter night in the barn, my stubble rasping in my companion’s musty wool as it cocooned me in its warmth, uttering the odd reassuring bleat. Sheep are often playful and love to butt. One should, of course never play leapfrog with a sheep, and in particular, rams. Although not as dangerous and potentially fatal as playing leapfrog with a unicorn (or so I am told), the inability to sit down for weeks can be rather awkward at social occasions and with one’s spouse. There is also the chance of ‘leakage’ occurring – an embarrassing situation that can’t be rectified by simply brewing and imbibing a potion. Usually invasive surgery and a period of convalescence is required. But to return to my original statement, when I am approached by uncouth individuals regarding shearing any of my beloved sheep, my answer is well practiced and always thus: “NO! Get your own!”
  3. I've been doing a bit of work towards this in the past, but I figured it was best to have a single thread where I posted my progress and updates. Long story short, I managed to gain written permission from Bethesda which states we can use texts from other ES games: I then proceeded to search the Nexus for anything that could help speed up the process; I found DanielCoffeys fantastic mod Books Covers Skyrim - Lost Library. I managed to secure permissions to use that too: I'm now ready to start converting DanielCoffey's assets into a usable structure for Beyond Skyrim. Currently every book has its own mesh and the download size is over 100mb; during the conversion process I plan to use texture sets to reduce the package size so we don't need the hundreds of extra meshes. The Lost Library.esp requires every DLC and Update.esm, so it's going to be a very manual process to remake the books in a new .esp with just BS masters. I'm still learning my way around mesh and texture work, and haven't actually written a book in the Creation Kit myself so it'll be a slow start, but assuming I pick this up as quickly as I hope I can it shouldn't take too long before all 295 texts are usable for Beyond Skyrim. The texts included are: There's one or two journals and notes in the list. I figure I'll convert them even if we don't use them.
  4. During Red Year and for months afterwards, a special team was formed in Morrowind to find and rescue orphaned children who were lost amongst the ruins of towns and cities, hiding in or near the farms and plantations of Vvardenfell. Many children survived Red Year because their parents sometimes sacrificed their own lives in order to ensure the safety of their offspring, or the childen were able to hide in small places that predators were not able to reach. The children that survived and who were found were broadly classified by their response to the rescuers: 1. The "Cryers": those who exhibit a natural response to rescue and therefore can be reintegrated into Dunmer society; 2. The "Catatonics": those whose minds have been broken and are irretrievably lost due to the deprivations they suffered; and 3. The "Disjoined": like the Catatonics, their minds have broken but the result of this is a forging of a unique blend of self-sufficiency, and willpower, and a divorce from the normal range of human emotion. They also show little desire to communicate and no interest in re-integrating back into society. It was this last group that appealed to Potentate Ocato, who set about forming a secretive organization to take advantage of the unique attributes of the members of this group in the service of the Empire. However, before Potentate Ocato's vision could be fully realised, Titus Mede became Emperor and building on the work that Ocato had started, the Disjoined became the first members of and the foundation for the organisation that would eventually come to be known as the Penitus Oculatus. This is the account of one member of the special team who scoured the wastes of Vvardenfell during Red Year, in search of surviving children. The Disjoined, Part I Cloying, dusty, stale air. Motes of ash swirl as I exhale, little bodies visible in the slim shafts of silver light that puncture the shaggy rough-hewn timber of my coffin. I've never gotten used to the flutter of panic I experience every morning. Waking up in a coffin. My own personal, portable, perforated coffin. I swallow but my mouth and throat are so dry that I splutter and wince instead. The headache is there again, my unwelcome morning companion, lancing dully somewhere just below my scalp. The air in this claustrophobic box gets so stale after even a few hours. Perforations not withstanding. Grunt caught me once trying to make more holes in the wood to let in more air while I sleep. He grabbed my wrist, my arm in midswing about to punch a hole in the brittle timber with a rusty hammer. I turned to confront him, face contorted in a half snarl which promptly withered along with my ire after seeing the flinty look in his grey eyes. "Any more abuse and it will collapse around you the next time you sleep." And with that he walked off into the gloom. I broke a window with the hammer instead, not caring that it might attract the sort of attention he took great pains to help us avoid. And the coffin remained intact. Later, after I'd silently berated myself for my immature tantrum, it occurred to me that he had never touched me before that. Nor since. Normally he disdains any physical contact - in fact, seldom makes eye contact except when he's making a point. And he can do that with just his eyes. Once I saw him break the arm of a Redoran guard who had placed a hand on Grunt's chest in an attempt to prevent him from entering Blacklight. Grunt spent barely an hour in the cells. The Shadow Legion look after their own. I push the lid off, a light rain of tiny pieces of rubble and ash cascades around me momentarily and I mutter the incantation to release the ward I had set last night. Blinking owlishly in the murky light I peer around, memorising every feature of the landscape. I do it without thinking now. A small village. It was too dark last night to see the layout. But the shattered husks are all too clear now. Forlorn shells. Broken monuments to family, community, to stability. To a Morrowind that's as distant and unreal as childhood. Sometimes in the quiet dawn moments like this, when the fog suppresses the sounds of the surrounding countryside, I hold my breath, close my eyes and make a space within me. To be filled by the echoes of the children squealing and laughing as they play, the imploring calls of the merchants, the mothers shushing their squawling babes. But the space remains silent and empty. I reach for my shoes as my eyes search the ruined houses and piles of rubble for Grunt. My boots are exactly where I left them last night, but that's not why I don't look at them. I don't look because I know they'll be filled with ash. As I overturn the first one to pour out the accumulated ash I see my strange companion. This is our morning ritual. I slowly and deliberately dump the ash out of my boot that he put there the night before, while staring stoney-faced at him. He returns my look, incurious and disaffected. The first time he did this, we had not long been a team. I was fresh from training and he, well, he preferred to work alone. I thought he was playing a prank - to harden me up for the search. I dumped the ash from one boot into his lap. He observed me for a long moment, long enough to make me feel uncomfortable due to his lack of reaction. Then he said: "An empty vessel does not belong in the wastes." Abruptly he stood up, brushed off the ash, and walked away. I had remained bemused for the rest of that morning as I trudged along, Grunt at the rear covering our tracks. And as I turned it over in my mind, considered all his other quirks and the lengths he goes to to disguise our presence and passage out here, I began to comprehend. A vessel that does not contain ash has either been moved, or has been brought in. Both mean someone, or something is or was nearby. Out here that means danger. Out here it's the little things that keep you alive. Our training taught us that. The importance of detail. My second boot now liberated of its sooty contents, I lace them both up and walk over to Grunt who tosses me some dried meat. After washing my face with a kerchief and rinsing my ash-layered mouth out with a swig of water, I set to grudgingly chewing part of the flank of some undernourished beast. We tightly ration our water - most sources out here have been spoiled by ash or destroyed by the exertions of Red Mountain. I look around again, then look enquiringly at Grunt. He shakes his head, eyes on the horizon and I nod. No sign of habitation. We seldom speak, normally our ash masks prevent conversation. And we're so used to hand signals and head gestures. I return to my coffin, collapse it and fold it up, tipping off the residual ash and detritus that Grunt covered it with the night before, to hide me from predators. It was the only way we could think of to keep me safe at night. A Dunmer-sized wooden box that can be half buried, half covered with ash and detritus. Or set up in a house with more than one exit. It's worked so far. I haven't been disturbed once in the few weeks we've been out here. But I think that's more due to Grunt's daily exertions and nightly vigil than me sleeping out of sight. I've never seen him sleep. He says he doesn't need it. We were trained to deal with sleep deprivation but everyone has to succumb sometime. Everyone but Grunt, it seems. Something's wrong and I stop what I'm doing. I don't know how I can tell - perhaps it's the unnatural stillness. I glance at Grunt who is staring fixedly at a ruined house near the outskirts of the village. It's not close and I have to squint slightly to tighten my vision. I can't see what - there! My heart hammers against my ribs as I take in what I'm seeing. A single fresh Willow Anther in a jar on the windowsill. It was obscured before by the fog. I quietly drop my coffin and both Grunt and I adopt point and flank positions as we slowly close in on the house. I loose my hair and take off my gloves as I approach - every little detail can help. Grunt motions me to a broken window on the side of the house and gives me the signal for "bedroom". I nod once in recognition, my senses charged by adrenalin, and flatten myself against the wall next to the window. I slowly peer into the room, careful to check for traps near the window - even the young ones may have been taught by their fathers how to set snares. A skill some adapt to protect themselves against predators. Seeing nothing, I take in the contents of the room. Judging from the double bed and the thick books it must be the master bedroom - I look further for some perfume and see a globe of Telvanni Bug Musk on a small dresser surmounted by a mirror. That should do it. Silently I vault the windowsill and grab the Musk, spraying it in a slash across my chest. It evokes a flood of memories of my own mother and I'm momentarily lost in my reverie. And I almost don't hear it. The rasping noise from above me. Every instinct in my body, finely honed from the training, screams and I heave myself backwards onto the bed. A dark shape plummets from the broad-beamed ceiling onto the precise spot I occupied only a moment earlier. The shape bounds up from the floor where it landed, and all I see is a blur with a shard of gleaming silver extended out in front, an arc of death plunging towards my stomach. In a fluid motion I clap my hands together, blade cushioned in between, one twist and it comes free of the grubby hands that hold it and skitters across the floor and under a wardrobe like a silver rat. Falling with the shape's inertia, and cushioning the fall backwards as best I can, my arms come up to encompass the ball of fury and as we fall back onto the bed, I hold the body against me as hard as I dare. As I expect, the shape reverts to the only weapons it has left - teeth and nails. It explodes into screaming, grunting, heaving blind panic, one instinct now elevated above all others. A primal, visceral urge to flee. Neither tooth, nor nails find any purchase against my leathers. As I wait for the Musk to penetrate the haze of panic, I start to gently croon a Dunmer lullaby I remember my mother singing every night to me, to send me off to sleep. I don't have to wait long. The panic gradually dissolves into heaving, incoherent sobs and then snuffling. As this point, knowing it's safe to do so without copping a bite, I gently pull my head back to see what we've caught. Deep brown eyes like saucers in a girl's face of about eleven years, would be my guess. Sometimes it's hard to tell the age. The eyes tell the story. She's a Cryer. Not one for the Shadow Legion. But she might have a sibling. Hiding somewhere close by. Empty. Like me...
  5. First Mechanized Legion: Vol.1: Awakening. "I don't know what the Second Great War will be fought for, but the Third Great War will be fought for food scraps." Legate Edoardo Remulus VI. "It is the Sixth Era of Tamerial year 501. Half a millennium has passed since the Fifth Empire of Tamerial brought centuries of bloodshed to an end, and with it ushered in a new golden age for all of Nirn. With war at an end the population of Tamerial grew and with it the needs of the Empire grew. The races of Man, Mer and Beast alike left their nursery in search of new lands beyond Dawn's beauty and towards a sea of unknown opportunity. These adventurers soon discovered new lands away from their homes and established colonies for their Empire. 6E 499: The large landmass colony south-east of Tamerial, Uriel, adopts the name The Kingdom of New Aldmeris and wages a war of succession on the Tamerialic Empire. The first two years of fighting bring hundreds dead on both sides and no end in sight. Desperate for supplies and resources to continue the war the New Aldmeris invaded the mainland of the Empire; Tamerial. In a few short months the New Aldmeri Army overruns almost all of the southern half of the continent. To combat this new for the Tamerialic Empire constructed large suits of armor much big than any Man or Mer, similar to a Dwemer Machine but control from within by an individual. They hope this new weapon will end the threat of the Aldmeri like the Brass God of olden times. The Imperial counteroffensive is going to begin..." "Pressure?" The specialist voice spoke though the Vocal Transferrer. "Holding steady." I replied. "Heart Stone" He said. With a flick of a switch I powered the reactor followed out by saying "On now." "Every thing ready on your end Aebrhym?" He said. I then looked around the glass sphere that housed me, half way filled with gauges, pipes and switches of every shape, breaking up the monotony of the switches were two Soul gems used to control the arms and weaponry directly below there are two petals used for moving the legs, these controls were placed in front of the seat I was sitting in. "Yeah, everythings good, I'm ready to head out. What about everyone else?" I asked. The Specialist, the engineer in change of properly regulating our machines, replied with "Gro-fizle is ready, so is Praetarius, Hrothnear, Castilla, and Runs-with-pride." "We're waiting on M'omon to get ready." He followed out with. It was the waiting that was the hard part, it always the build up that gets you. The pressure of it all. And adding on the that pressure is the knowledge that the Emperor, the Empire and everyone we know is watching us with skeptical eyes. We the very first Mechicanized Legion on our very first mission using machinery that not only hasn't been tested on battle but no one, outside the Imperial Council, thinks will work. Damn M'omon. We spent years in training for this day are he has to ruin it. If he wasn't on my side I'd--. "Alright he's good. Everyone wait on my mark to launch. You all have you orders now just stick to the plan and everything should work." The Specialist said. "Deploying from a secret fort in the Jerall Mountains Questar Gro-Fizle's unit departs an Aldmeris stronghold near the city of Old Chorral. This operation is the beginning of the first phase of the Empire's counteroffensive against the invading forces. While having no major strategic value the attack on the stronghold will serve as a ground test for the new bipedal weapon of the Empire and a message to the invaders. How ever the pilots of these machines are fairly young and inexperienced. Aebrhym Cysvel in particular is overwhelmed and nervous at all that has been put into this battle. Will they succeed?"
  6. Battlespire Library (All texts)

    Here I have put ALL in-game books related to Oblivion that does not appear in The Elder Scrolls: Skyrim and its DLCs. So here you will find them all (from Online, Oblivion, Morrowind and Battlespire).
  7. Cosmogony: Primordial Deities, Aedra, Daedra and those in between Hesiodos Teogonius, Arcane University There are so much pantheons of deities as cultures in Tamriel and beyond, but.. which is the truth behind the dogma? After the Oblivion Crisis, I was wondering about all of this chaotic stuff. In this book I wish I could explain my theories about Primordial Deities, Aedra, Daedra and those in between. Anu, also known as Anu the Everything or Amaranth, is a primordial deity who personifies order, stasis, and light. Padomay, his counterpart, is a primordial deity who personifies the concepts of chaos and change. Anu and Padomay are always associated with its equal and opposite force, and are heavily associated with the creation of the Aurbis. The accounts of some cultists that Anu was nothing but a static force incapable of consciousness, personality, intent or will, being depicted as immutable static light that does not change are likely biased and I cannot consider them. All the sources I have consulted agree in which Anu and Padomay are siblings and even they claimed Padomay is the youngest one. But, if they are siblings, who is their progenitor? Trying to give an answer to this I have reached two theories: - The ancient erudites are wrong and the two Primordial Deities have no relation between them. - There was an even ancient Primordial Deity who is progenitor to both two forces and die 'after labor'. If we agree with the second theory, we have a new unknown and death Primordial Deity, the Nameless One. The same sources claim that in one point, Anu and Padomay begin to fight each other. Brothers always fight, maybe it could be a cultural reflection rather than a fact. The result of that fight was blood, ethereal and powerful blood, which gave birth to Aedra and Daedra, from Anuic and Padomaic blood, respectively. But, in this point, Aldmeri chronicles disagree. Aldmeri said that Anu gave birth to his own soul, Anui-El and that Padomay gave birth to Sithis in the same way. Later, Anui-El did the same and birthed Auri-El and Sithis birthed Lorkhan. Neither of two traditions are true, but they are not false. So, here is my theory: both theories are true. Anu, Anui-El, Padomay and Sithis do not exist anymore because Anu became Anui-El, Anui-El became Auri-El, Padomay became Sithis and Sithis became Lorkhan. On the other hand, Aedra and Daedra are sons to Anu and Padomay. Here, we can see a really new thing: the Nameless One, Anu, Anui-El, Padomay, and Sithis are Primordial Deities, they are all death deities; Auri-El and Lorkhan are deities in between; the sons of Anu are the Aedra; and the sons of Padomay are the Daedra. I know this would be controversial, even heretical, but when I say that Primordial Deities are death is because they existed no longer existed once Aurbis was created. Auri-El conformed the time aspect of Aurbis; Meanwhile, Lorkhan conformed the physical aspect of Aurbis. The time incorporeal aspect of Aurbis is which we know as Aetherius and the physic timeless aspect of Aurbis is Oblivion. Then, if Lorkhan creates Oblivion, who creates Nirn? Aurbis is symmetrical. If Nirn have time and physical sense, it means Nirn is in between Aetherius and Oblivion. Nirn is created both by Auri-El and Lorkhan or maybe, Nirn is a unexpected result of the creation of Aetherius and Oblivion. There are Daedric Princes and lesser Daedra. All agree. We have seen them. But.. are there 'Aedric Princes' and 'lesser Aedra'? This question cannot be easily answered but I have some clues. How could we differentiate between Daedric Princes and lesser Daedra? The answer is simple: because Daedric Princes have Realms in Oblivion. One or more Realms for each Daedric Prince. The symmetrical and logical conclusion is: 'Aedric Princes' are the Eight Divines, as they have realms. But Aedra don't interfere with us (commonly). The only fact we know is: there is eight 'Aedric Princes', commonly named Divines. And the others Aedra? They are 'lesser Aedra'. If we agree with the ancient sources, Magnus and many other 'lesser Aedra', collectively known as Magna Ge, leaves Nirn through the Sun and the stars, respectively, therefore the Sun and the stars are portals to Aetherius. Magna Ge are the majority of 'lesser Aedra', but which are the others? The most commonly non-daedric deities in tamrielic pantheons are: - A God of the Cycle of Birth and Death: Arkay /Orkey / Tu'whacca. - A Goddess of Beauty and Love: Dibella. - A God of the Forest: Jephre / Y'ffre / Y'ffer. - A God of Wisdom and Logic: Julianos / Jhunal. - A Goddess of Sky and Weather: Kynareth / Kyne / Tava / Khenarthi. - A Goddess of Maternity and Love: Mara / Morwha. - A God of of Righteousness: Stendarr / Stuhn / S'rendarr. - A God of Work and Wealth: Zenithar / Zeht / Z'en. Then, we can assume this eight gods are Aedra and have their own Realm within Aetherius: the eight planets. Magnus, God of Magic was a Magna Ge and therefore its Realm is unknown, the Sun is not its Realm because it is a portal to Aetherius, just like Oblivion Gates and Anchors which appear during the Oblivion Crisis and the Soulburst, respectively. Elven Phynaster, Xarxes, Trinimac, and Syrabane; Yokudan Ruptga, Diagna, Sep, HoonDing, Leki, and Onsi; Breton and Nord Sheor/Shor; Khajiit Ban Daar, Rajhin, Riddle'Thar; and Imperial Morihaus, Reman, and Talos are all Hero-Deities of their own people. They were powerful warriors, thieves, mages or kings and therefore, they were deified afterlife. Ja-Kha'jay, Jode (Masser) and Jone (Secunda) are lunar Khajiit deities which do not fit within the category of 'Hero-Deities', but they are worship by the Khajiit almost exclusively, so they can be considered within a wider group of 'Folk-Deities'. Alduin (Nordic Pantheon) and Satakal (Yokudan Pantheon) are some kind of evil gods of destruction, but they were worship by the Nords and Red Guards, so they can be considered 'Folk-Deities' too. Akatosh, Alkosh and Auri-El all are the same being: Auri-El, a Primordial Deity, not an Aedra. The known Daedric Princes and their respective Oblivion Realms are: - Azura: whose Daedric Realm is Moonshadow. - Boethiah: whose Daedric Realm is Attribution's Share. - Clavicus Vile: whose Daedric Realm has no name, so we only have a nameless 'Clavicus Vile's Realm'. - Hermaeus Mora: whose Daedric Realm is Apocrypha. - Hircine: whose Daedric Realm is the Hunting Grounds. - Malacath: whose Daedric Realm is Ashpit. - Mehrunes Dagon: whose Daedric Realm is the Deadlands. - Mephala: whose Daedric Realm name is unknown due to the secret nature of this Daedric Prince. - Meridia: whose Daedric Realm is the Colored Rooms. - Molag Bal: whose Daedric Realm is Coldharbour. - Namira: whose Daedric Realm is the Scuttling Void. - Nocturnal: whose Daedric Realm is Evergloam. - Peryite: whose Daedric Realm includes the totality of the pocket and lesser planes of Oblivion. - Sanguine: who has one hundred thousand realms in Oblivion. They are collectively known as Sanguine's Realms. - Sheogorath: whose Daedric Realm is the Shivering Isles. - Vaermina: whose Daedric Realm is Quagmire. Paradoxically, Daedric Princes are less mysterious than Aedra and we know more about them. We know who they are and what they do. But there is more planes in Oblivion and many Daedric Realms are alien to me. Moreover, Daedric Cults are very mysterious, radical or violent to give me answer about the true nature of Oblivion. Dunmer, Reachmen, Ayleids, Khajiit, and many other lesser groups, all worship Daedric Princes as gods. The true nature of the Tribunal and the Hist is uncertain to me as I do no understand how a mortal could achieve godhood or how sentient trees could have such an influence. I suspect magic is under all of that but I cannot say it. Finally, I consider the transformation of Trinimac in Malacath and the accounts which say Meridia was a Magna Ge only folk legends. But I have to investigate more about it.
  8. Dwemer Dreamer Dwemer dreamer Sixth House sleeper Dagoth is a Corprus Weeper He played hide and go seek in an old volcano Nerevarine found him playing hot potato Two Moons I see two moons Bright and pittered I see two moons Hanging over the land I see two moons So don't be bittered When I say "please don't bend over again!" Fur All Crazy Once upon a small and dainty Khajiit girl with fur all crazy Caught a ride on an ancient dragon Then fell off into a straw-filled wagon Snuck up behind a grumpy draugr Pulled down his pants before he could stop her Ran through the wildflowers down in Riften Met a Khajiit boy and she might've even kissed him Stole a sweetroll from a guard in Skyrim Clapped into irons when she ate it beside him The Jarl said "You're but a small and dainty Khajiit girl with fur all crazy!"
  9. I'm not to sure if this is the right place to submit ideas like this, but I sort of wanted to share it around at the very least for anyone interested, and possibly for some feedback. So, without further ado, I present... The Black House "Damned be the man who dare turn the lock to enter that house. For it is by his bravery or foolishness, that he has crossed a line beyond death itself. For no good came from opening locked doors" - Vigilant Hemlock (One of the founding father of the Vigilant of Stendarr) http://static-2.nexusmods.com/15/mods/110/images/18480-3-1339256881.jpg (Rough idea for what the house would look somewhat like) Years after the Oblivion crisis, the Vigilant of Stendarr had made it their goal to rid the world free of darkness, shining the light where it would dare show its face, as they had so proudly declared. Surviving the attack of Volkihar Clan, those few members of the Vigilant were successfully able to scour the land for recruits, slowly able to regroup their clans and inspire the next generation of practical 'monster hunters'. Even to this very day, the vigilant have sworn to rid darkness wherein it lies... With the exception of one place. "Let me give you a word of advice, stranger. You see a house as dark as pitch, and howling with the screams of the undead, you best turn around and go back the way you came..." - Wardviir In its ancient nordic tongue, it is known as 'Nimbus Domus', roughly translated to The Black House. It is a small cabin built from scratch by one Sadean Black, an escaping refugee from Hammerfall towards the beginning of the Fourth Era. Being a redguard mage, Black had made it his life goal to escape the unholy prejudice of mankind, thus taking to building the shack in the deepest recesses of The Great Forest within Cyrodiil. There he believed, would he be finally safe in the seclusion of the tall trees and immense tundra of the forest, and free at last from the struggles of humanity alongside his young daughter, Minia. But this treasured time was not to last. On the eve of her seventh winter, Minia had contracted a fatal disease; a poison that swept through her body, resulting in horrid, white spores upon her fair skin. Desperate to save the life of his only child, Sadean turned to darker resources. Dark magic as it were. Every last spell and incantation the young mage knew, but it was all for naught as the young Minia had past away several months later. Unable to live with the death of his daughter, Sadean began along the path of necromancy with the intent of bringing his precious Minia back from death's firm grasp. But for that... He required flesh. Victims. Anything for his daughter. Posing as a beggar on several of the many roads that mapped out across Cyrodiil, Sadean would warmly invite them back into his cabin in the woods for food, rest and general shelter to the many lone souls that wandered the landscape. There it was that he proceeded to harvest them, testing with whatever value they had that he could collect, before disposing of them in the house's lower sanctums once they had outlived their purpose. Sadean repeated the process until the lives he'd taken meant nothing more than tally marks on the wall. Until his own morality and sanity vanished completely. Until he'd died. With its owners long since deceased, The Black House still stands in the middle of that God-forsaken place. Serving no real purpose but as a place for dust to gather. For years, the Vigil had done what they could, to attempt to quell the darkness that resided in that house. Though even they dare not speak of that which lies within. Many passer-bys report hearing the tortured cries of the ghosts of Sadean's many victims from within the walls of The Black House; their last, blood-chilling moments of life, as if on a permanent loop, begging and pleading to be freed from their demise. Others report seeing Sadean himself, wandering along the river beds that surround the house. His mad, indecipherable ramblings still escaping past his lips as he prepares himself for the death of another. And, on even rarer nights, the squeals of young Minia can also be heard, pleading her father from beyond her small grave to cease his experiments. Whatever the case, trees almost refuse to grow anywhere near The Black House. Birds know better than to fly above its rafters, as fish no better than to avoid resting upon its banks. For The Black House stands... Waiting to be unlocked and secrets to be revealed...
  10. Skyrim - Reading books stops time

    Hi All Everyone plays the game a little differently, so have a heart if you think this is a stupid idea, but when the Skyrim sun sets and it's impossible to travel but still way before bedtime, it seems to me a perfect opportunity to pull out some unread books and kill some game time reading them. Yet, when reading a book, game time stops. I would like to see a script that allows game time to continue while reading a book. I've never written a script before, but programming is something I do a lot of. I looked at the properties of a book and saw almost nothing, just a spell definition. Then I looked at the properties for a form and of course found more stuff but nothing clicked for me AFA the purpose I have in mind. Maybe there is something there that I can use and I didn't recognize it?? What would be the event architecture for this? I sure would appreciate some steering and some advice from anyone with words of encouragement for a beginning scripter. TIA.
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