I am no longer active in the elder scrolls community at all but I want to make a statement here. Though a lot of what I have written derives from an IP that doesn’t belong to me. My derivatives; the concepts of my characters, their stories, their families and my original headcannons are not to be plagiarized. If you find inspiration and want to talk to me about working with them, or even want to make references I would be more than happy to work with you. You can contact me on my main @serpentwined or on twitter.

Do not directly copy and paste my work as your own or use my character names and concepts with interchangeable words. - Serpent

Uluscant - First Meeting in the woods

This is a very personal memory of mine. More than you might assume it to be, since it touches on parts of my history that I have purposefully forgotten. From any perspective aside from my own, this may require more narrative than what I can offer, but I will explain to you how the event transpired, regardless.

Time has barely eroded the clarity of this memory for I have studied methods of preservation much like the relics on display here in Bisnensel. It takes care and diligence. Truth and clarity. I have many vivid memories of cherished moments from my past.

It was morilatta, the season of shifting colors and falling leaves. The southern arid winds retreat as the shadowy overcast brings rain to this land.

Corentin Gardinier - 20th of Last Seed 2E 586

Second Entry

Well, I've delayed a second entry to this new journal haven't I? You can't blame me for my chronic finger cramps when my father’s got me practicing chiseling again.

I suppose I should mention that my Pa’s a stone mason by trade and hobby. If you ask me what I’d wager he’d be doing right now, I'd place five-hundred gold on something related to that. The house is always filled with slabs of finished and unfinished work--in fact he even built the family house sitting just outside the Bjoulsae River in Evermore. Although my Ma pulled the same amount of weight as he did when they were newlywed.

I got to say, getting through a project like that really proves how much two people mean to each other, and I'm happy that me an Elyse were raised from that. A traveling writer even wove together a folk tale when he met my parents. If you stop by the mages guild in Evermore, ask about ‘The Witch and the Stone Mason’ and they will hand you three short stories about my own Ma and Pa. If Elyse is there, you'll swear she used some magic to teleport to you once the book is mentioned. Were both fairly proud of it I suppose.

As you might have guessed, my mom was the witch. I’m not fond of that word and the ideas that pop into some dolt’s heads when they hear it, so let's call her what she really was, a wyress. My mom was a nature dwelling wyress of the Viridian Woods, there's a story in the mages guild about that as well, but it may not make a whole lot of sense. Nature magic is a some confusing hodgepodge to me, but I know it's something we all have to respect. The Wyrd has been around longer than than any of us bretons have, and even the elves. Kind of terrifying if you think about it too much so I don't do that.

My ma made sure I understood that, but she always liked the work my pa did. There is a good balance in making something out of stone to compliment what the ancient spirits made. I try to keep that in mind when I take up the chisel. Like I said, know I wouldn't be able to understand what The Wyrd is like my sister or her friend Fleur, so ‘I stick to my daggers’ as some say

...or my sword?

Ma’s not around anymore, sadly. Part of the reason I got out and joined the battle in Coldharbour was because of how she left this world. When the Soulburst happened a storm raged along the coast of the Iliac bay for a month straight, but something about that affected the mages in a bad way. I don't understand how it works, but whatever Molag Bal did to cause the planemeld hurt a lot of mages badly. A few of my ma’s associates in the guild passed away instantly, but she fell ill and only lasted a few days after.

Or this was what Elyse told me, I was unconscious when Ma was sick and passed on. A week before, I stubbornly rode out into the storm to blow off some steam and got struck by stray bolt of lightning. That’s when I was apparently ‘graced by fate’ as my family’s current healer said. Left a gods awful scar down my back and crippled me with migraines and nerve damage. I used to have problems with my body stiffening up and losing focus. It’s scary when that happens..Waking up on my bedroom floor feeling like I'm bruised all over. Sometimes it still happens but luckily, our personal healer Uluscant is very knowledgeable of what he calls ‘neurological disorders’ (I'm surprised I remember what he called that).

I guess I sound like a pity case now. Trust me, I've nearly drowned in that puddle of feeling sorry for myself already, so there's no need for anyone else to. For years I always found a way to pick myself up, but like I stated in the las journal, it wasn't in the most healthy ways. I still go out in a storm just for the thrill of it, that's why I'm sure the girls made me sit down and write, because my solution to feeling sad is getting mad, or hunting for an adrenaline rush. Something about riding the squall makes you forget about everything else. Through fighting, danger or risk--whatever it is. That's why I’m a sword-swinging storm knight, I suppose.

I realize though, that eventually I'm going to run out of adventures and have to endure the mundane day-to-day work of a retired hero. I dread it, but it's because I left all of this unresolved tension behind in my impulsiveness. I think I'm doing something good, saving the world, but I dwell too much on what I've lost to celebrate. I don't know what I'm going to do next now that I'm back in Bangkorai. This. I guess.

Corentin Gardinier - 8th of Last Seed 2E 586

First Entry

I'm going to give myself a headache for the next hour or so that I sit here writing. I'm not the most eloquent breton, in fact I just learned the word ‘eloquent' after asking my sister for an alternative to ‘writing like I give a damn’. This is already the longest time I've spent sitting in place while still being conscious. How can Fleur and Elyse tolerate this? My arse is going numb and my hand is cramping after a couple sentences. I can wield a sword much better than this dainty, feathered quill.

“...but I digress” Elyse wanted me to add that, but that's assuming whoever is reading this expects consistency and quality. If you are, then go read one of my sister’s scholastic drabbles and tell me how much use you get from learning the Bjousae mudcrabs breeding patterns. That will cure insomnia, I know from experience.

The truth is, I never took the time to write about my life. I'd rather not pause the experience of life to describe what I was doing or thinking, but lately I've fallen into a mental rut. It’s like something I've always been suspicious of but it’s finally closing in.

That sinking, shadowy feeling.

I’ve dealt with this before but I am learning how my methods of ‘handling it’ aren't exactly healthy. I know a storm always rides in on a strong wind, but once that wind dies down, the clouds part and disappear. Other people like when the sun comes out and the air is still but I don't know how to appreciate it like they do. To me it feels stagnant and heavy, If that metaphor makes any sense. To sum it up, I need that turbulence to distract me from where my mind goes when all is seemingly calm.

Something is wrong with me, or with the world around me. Recent events in Summerset have left me feeling both numb and more vulnerable than I ever feel comfortable with. I’m starting to realize how easily I might be forgotten if I chose to always live in the storm. I’ve been told that I’ve done a lot of good, heroic things, but I only feel the weight of grief stacking up higher each day.

Well, those are certainly the kind of thoughts I would never say out loud. Maybe the girls were right about this journaling thing. One day I might be worth a damn enough that somebody would read this. Maybe I'm a hero in a great war? A champion of a divine being? Perhaps even a king. Who knows, but if I don't get my shit together I’m not going to live long enough to find out.

That's why I'm writing this. To reflect. That's a good word for it--just like mirror! I once stayed in an inn with no mirror. I couldn't fully tell how much dirt and blood was caked onto my face, or how tired my eyes looked. I suppose this is exactly the same, but writing down your thoughts isn't a mirror for your face. It’s more like an inside face...a mind face? Mind mirror. You get the point.

Anyways. That's all I'm writing for today, but I want to talk about myself a little more. I heard that’s a trait for those born under the sign of The Warrior. We have a love for discussing self interests and accomplishments, but maybe I personally don't do that in the way I should. I'll keep you posted...whoever is reading this.

Children of the Sky - (Uluscant)

One the questions I honor the most, are the inquires of the Welkynd stones. Unbeknownst to many who study the languages of ancient mer, the ayleid produced a slight roll to sound the ‘L’. In our language the name means children of the sky. The other crystalline property found within an ayleid ruin is what scholars refer to as the varla stones, but it was common to simply this as varlais. Varla is the word for ‘star’. When speaking in ayleidoon, the plural form of a word ending in a vowel always ends in ‘is’, while the plural form for a welkynd stone is welkyndi. Remember this.

As their names suggest, these objects come from the sky, but more appropriately--beyond the sky. They carry the essence of Aetherius within meteoric glass that hardens when cooled, but you may not realize that crystals can grow much like a plant. It is the patience and longevity of mer that allowed for this discovery, and the cultivation of welkyndi. This is why my people built such elaborate underground systems below our cities. To house and cultivate the stones within Twyllvarlais, ‘star wells’.

Each ruin had a cyrobal welkynd, the heartstone. The great welkynd stone as many classify it. This would be placed upon an empty well crafted from angavarla, ‘star iron’ and attuned to several smaller fragments. A cut and polished stone is often engraved with the first letter of the colony it hails from to prevent impurities when taken to other locations. This is why the cryobal welkyndi are housed below ground, even the light of the sun and stars can corrupt the attunments. Purity is the key to maintaining their longevity.

I realize however, that most of you are here to seek out the most imperative secret of these stones. What I have already told you may already be within your arsenal of knowledge as you eagerly anticipate explanation in regards to the recharging and maintaining of the welkyndi. I will show you, if you gaze upon the cyrobal welkynd of Bisnensel. If you listen carefully, a sound emanates from the glow in an eerily unexplained manner...or so I have been told. I do not hear what you do. 

I hear a song, a chorus of soft hums. At times there are words spoken in ayleidoon that I can discern, but it is a somber cacophony. It is an imprint of several soul’s animus. Like the ripples of water cast by stones, growing into waves as it reaches the opposite shore. A metaphor for the slow, millennia long growth of each stone from when it was cast from aetherius to land upon this mundane realm to solidify. You are not attuned to the stone as I am, for a piece of my animus was set into the well ages ago. Every resident of Bisnensel, including Llaorian Dynar has sacrificed a portion of their animus to the cyorbal welkynd, and it has grown its own soul. The soul of Bisnensel, which we can replenish our magical properties with here, but when we take more than what the great stone can replenish, it will disintegrate into ash. The sacrifices, the soul of this ruin that was cultivated over thousands of years will ultimately disappear.   

“It hurt, but then I was out cold for a solid week. My mother passed away during that time; maybe that hurt more. Then that light wielding bitch thought she could give me her ‘gift’ to get revenge, but there was always a storm inside me. My name is Corentin, and it means ‘hurricane’.”  -Corentin Gardinier

Are you guys ready

for some more Elderscrolls lore content on this blog again??

Little eyes, little eyes. Everywhere, in realms above and worlds below. Black like feathers and inky blood. The daughter’s sight is torn by talons, To see again her own true self. A father mourns loss and gain, A voice silenced but chords remain.  The doctor picks up the pieces of a mind. Repairs the thoughts, memories, and pain. His own drift through the tides with numb indifference. Time and Fate rendering it meaningless. Greed takes all, but never the truth. That the knowledge, wisdom, and secrets will stay. To those with the pages that bear the stain...

House Gardinier will regain.