Here in this first post is my Competition Entry. It is a complete story, but my work does not finish here. In a post further down this thread I will continue altering, adding, subtracting and generally polishing because I like to keep a story alive and there is much that can be improved here. Hope you enjoy the read. ragg-id'dro





"This one has poems to offer here," declares the surprisingly firm but gentle voice of the ancient Khajiit, who is thoughtfully arranging the half dozen or so bags he was carrying in his right paw on the cool marble surrounds. Unlimbering the much heavier shoulder-bag from that shoulder he drops it down with a solid thump that carries across the Borderland Village square.

Well, he is clearly a Khajiit, but then again maybe he is not a variety that any there had ever seen before. Perhaps some wonder which moon he was born under? If so they cannot decide. There is only one kind of Khajiit known that grows a mane that big. This Khajiit is not, and could not be The Mane - as the one who holds together all the wildly different cat-like peoples of Elsweyr is affectionately called. Everyone knows that. Yet he is undeniably one of Those Who Walk and he bears a magnificent grey-white mane.

He is of a variety with paw-like hands and feet. Strong, spicily sharp retractable claws, and properly feline muzzle with alert white whiskers. His mobile, upright, smoothe ears have tufty bits where they poke up or out from his mane and several long hairs sprouting from their points. His fur might be called double calico: it is of so many colours - black, orange, white, tawny and seemingly every shade in between - definitely feline fur. His limbs also, especially the reticulation of his hind legs might lead you to believe that he might run upon all fours quite naturally if he so desires, yet he walks comfortably upright. In a smoothly restrained feline manner.

Ignoring the crowd that is slowly coalescing in his vicinity for the moment, he continues unlimbering his luggage. Using his now free paw he grasps the staff that is resting on the bag slung on his left shoulder, places it upright in the corner behind him and empties the slightly crippled left paw of its burdens before dropping the other shoulder-bag with a second loud report. From the second shoulder-bag he retrieves a couple of mats, and then stacking various of the small bags in the corner behind and to either side of the larger shoulder-bags he builds all into a comfortable-looking couch upon which he lays the mats and then reclines.

He sorts though the various bags that are not in use already and brings out a number of parcels, finally seizing upon a long case and extracting therefrom a magnificent horn. "Here it is!"

The horn is most unusual. It appears to be the horn of a beast, glowing opalescent in the late morning sunlight, but none of the young Khajiit who are now gathered closely around have ever seen or even heard of one like it.

The ancient Khajiit turns the horn so the tip is downwards and the Khajiit gathered (who love intricacies and the unexpected) see to their delight as he opens it, that the base has a concealed cap. Reaching deep inside he takes a small mysteriously dark, transparently smoky, object from it that he holds up to the light. The square seems to take on the deep hue of vigorous, heather-clad hills and great lowering volcanic peaks drowned in the sombre dust and ash of the ages, strongly contrasting with the bright sky above.

"This first one is a little riddle of Lore and of perception. It is a play on words and appearances. This one hopes you enjoy it." And as they stare fascinated at the stone they hear his musical voice recite:


Something Fell
a Morrowindy-Khajiit rhyming-riddlesome

Lorkhaj
As once a Kat and Dragon
Enjoyed the form
Of those who walk
On two legs

And so became
In His heart
As Warden
To the warm people
Elves, Khajiit and Men

Until falling

To Nirn's eternal soil
Lost
His chosen Form

The Dragon Fell
VV arden fell
In Morrowind
And gave his bones
Arrayed as in challenge
Around
His heart

See the mountain bones
Of his down-fall
There they are
They form
Your map





On the porch of the rich marble-clad mansion at the center of the village the ancient one rests contentedly basking in the hot sun. A somewhat rotund form, yet hollowed by time, clad in rags, and holding between one damaged and one fully capable paw a unique container that held three priceless jewels.

The first has been drawn forth and is still held up to capture the sun's light for your inspection - you can now see clearly that it is a smoothe, dark stone. And you feel that surely you have seen it’s like somewhere before. In form it is a meticulously carved dragon couchant with one raised fore-claw. Smokey depths invite the viewer into a chaotic jumble, and a single flaw or is it a tiny, tiny, red, glinting eye - that winks at you?

Now the first is carefully replaced and a second jewel is brought forth.

This new bauble is a round, multifaceted, transparent red stone with the form of a smaller white sphere buried within it, yet touching the surface. Brilliantly flawed it has lines of a pale and poignant blue running through it and as you look it seems as though there are thousands of sparkling lights dancing along the flaws even though it is still shaded by his paws - deep within your bones you can feel a joyful music thrumming. How fascinating. But of course one must not show quite how fascinated one is. It would not be dignified.

"This one would be delighted to be invited in a proper and dignified manner to bathe travel-weary paws," he states.

A young Khajiit, who is barely adult, lopes off and swiftly returns with a large bowl of clean, clear, deliciously cool water from the well and a towel. With a heartfelt sigh the ancient calico carefully places his dusty hind paws into the water.

"Ahhh! Many thanks, that is restful and invigorating," he smiles as he tells the wide eyes that rise to meet his. Gently patting his fur dry and paying especial attention to the spaces between his claws, he then raises his eyes to command the attention of all there.

"This one has no idea how the great and the learned will view these simple offerings. Though this one does expect that this tender morsel shall be oftimes passed by; as the ravenous seek ever greater repasts. This one, however, is content to extract the truth from the sugar, grain by grain.

Yet, truly this is in intent Lore-heavy and reaches into deep realms that a poor, bewildered Khajiit such as this one can scarce hope to comprehend or convey.

Hast wandered the paths of thought that truly lend one to contemplate divinity?

Look again young ones. Many dismiss that which they themselves cannot perceive. And so is it rare to find Khajiit writings abroad. Yet here, in this land we now call Elsweyr, Khajiit oftimes write such sugar-visions that other peoples may dismiss as mere drug-twists. Each of you young ones must decide for him or herself which tail to pounce on in the matter of who is the dreamer and who is the dreamed."

And so he holds the second magnificent jewel up. At once, to the sight of all the Khajiit there, the air around it is charged with a reddish-white lambency, the whole square seems to be bathed in the bright moons'-light and everywhere blue-white and blue-yellow sparkles shoot along shafts of brilliant deep red and silver-white light and your eyes are drawn in once again, as the melodious voice dances across the firmament of your vision:


Dance-along - the Ja-Kha'Jay
dedicated to this one's favourite gran’daughter, JKJ

What is the Ja-Kha'jay?
Hmmm ...
What was was the pathways
The along
The which
This One
Shared
Brotherly Thoughts and Feelings

But now?

Long, in the long, long ago,
In the time between
And the time gone before
These Ones were of One Being.
But then These Ones
Sundered became
As One from the Other and
From the Whole that was dying

As Brother to Brother
Little to Larger
Suspended in the void
Set to sail the skies

From that ’loneness
Grew need
In the between
Grew the Ja-Kha'jay
For messages thrumming...
Vibration deep and
Dancing light
Filled the void

Brought together
Times of now to never
Dreams anew
Heart's-blood furnace
Red Brother strives

Stark starlight
Burnished bright
Silver Brother flies

As the thoughts of This One
Dancing come
Dancing long
-along the lattice light


Always some essence
Sparks from the whole
Caught in the thrill
To dance the way away ...

Empowered
For this One's God-Life
Filled with the mirror-twin of This One's God-Thought
Revelling
In the freedom

As one follows the next
And each diverges
Find its path
Through the skeins of light and void
To pass back and forth
In matchless ecstasy
Then came so many
That many met
And meeting exchanged
Each giving some self
Some newness substance
To the next

Thus this new game
Came to be
Infectious fun
To fill the way
And all along the lattice
So
These sparks now play
To dance
And meet
Exchange
To pass
And bounce away


"Many thanks kind listeners. Your generous hospitality and the gift of your attention have refreshed this one's poor soul as the gift of precious water has cleansed the dust of the roads from this one's paws. But this one really must keep roaming for one day perhaps this one may find a place he can call home."

The ancient Khajiit patiently, though not without difficulty, gathers together and rearranges the many packages and parcels that appear to form a substantial portion of the sum total of his possessions. He replaces them in their respective bags.

Rousing each of his sleepy hind legs in turn, he stands up, and then lifts his whole torso up and stretching both hind quarters together with a long sigh that is almost a groan, he bends to pick up the travel-worn and road-stained bags that he has arranged at his feet, one by one. Slinging the largest bag onto his right shoulder he then fills his right forepaw with the handles of all the smaller bags. Next he slings the smaller shoulder-bag over his left shoulder; lays his staff atop it and divides the smaller bags between his forepaws. Thus encumbered he is so heavily laden that he appears to be more bag than Khajiit.

A young Khajiit and his little friend; who have been listening to the rendition, shyly walk up and offer him a handful of coins. He turns to them brows raised and gently says: "this one is very sorry but you must understand this one is neither a tramp nor a beggar. This one is sure that you are very kind and mean no ill. However, this one cannot accept monies that are not earned." The young people continue trying to press their offerings upon him, but the ancient's refusal remains firm, until seeing they will not listen he simply turns away from them.

Finally he draws himself fully upright and turns his attention to a few long grey strands of his mane that are trapped beneath the straps of the shoulder-bags. By lifting one bag-filled paw and then the other to his shoulders where with careful and judicious rolling of his head and neck he delicately teases the errant tresses from confinement. Until (satisfied) with a measured and purposeful gait, he walks on, mane flying free in the light, cool breeze that has sprung up.

As the members of the small crowd, that is mostly Khajiit, disperse in a subdued and strangely dazed hush to go about their daily business in the Borderland Village that they all inhabit - a single lonely young Bosmer gazes after the ancient who has surprisingly already made his way to the edge of the Forest. As the solitary figure enters the trees, it seems to the Elf that just for a moment he does not see a Khajiit there, but a Bosmer with merrily glowing eyes ... holding high a deep green gem that bathes the lush forest in emerald majesty.

The Bosmer feels unable to do aught but smile in return and a name comes to his trembling lips.

Unbidden he whispers: "Jephre?"







It seems the third jewel is raised for the Young Bosmer alone and he hears that mesmerising voice for the last time:


The Valenwood of the Solar Rain


These are the pillars
This my hall
These shafts of light
Upon my floor do fall

This thousand storied monarch
Within my dreams does dwell
And spiralled thoughts
Like leaves
Towards my floor are flung
A myriad of glimmers
That here belong

In depth of lightless chasm
The stars abide
Mirrored by the stately dance
Upon the waters' glide

Between the thews
Of mighty giants
Pass the days compliant
Nor ere remember
That which time forgot

The youth stands entranced for a number of breaths and so does not see the form that silently blends into the Forest - an old, greybearded, ragged man. Nor does he see the drained and shocked visage of the Imperial spy in the tree above the path, who with tears running from the corner of his eyes, mouths noiselessly?': “My Emperor”

Rousing somewhat from his trance he finds himself running swiftly to where he last saw the light. There he finds thrust deep into the ground the long straight horn of a common antelope. A faint chime resounds as he pulls it from the ground. Then everything returns to the way it was ... almost.




Deep in the Forest an Orc chants,
An Imga drums,
An ape hoots




All is peace



Dro’ragg-id

Well, for me it was hard to tell when the poems begin and stop. I know that might sound a bit nitpicky to you, but I'd go ahead and make the titles bolded or something. You know what I mean?

hey - ty redsrock that's useful comment!

I had the presentation taken care of I thought, but the previous enhancements did not carry over when I posted on the Forum here so I delled them in too much haste.

You have prompted me timely, and having taken another look I feel I must do a bit more work on content of the title also.

Done.

Wajja think now?

Very cool. Of course, as a member of the Professional Organization of English Majors, I am a sucker for poetry. But I think your work shows a nice lyrical quality and presents some excellent images.

As to the formatting- Word processor bolding, underlining, and italic don't carry over; I have to go through my posts and add them later.

treydog - lyrical - that's the word I have been scratching at but kept on missing because I normally associate it with songs.

My feeling is that cats like to play - they have beautiful timing an da great sense of fun once they get going.

Though they can be quite cruel, that is not the basis of their character except as hunters. And they are curious natch - if they had great intelligence that translates to wimsy and great inventiveness for me.

please note that this section has now been copied to the first post above for purposes of the Competition

Much better...

I have reassembled all the parts of this story in the first post of this thread - as is my habit - so you have a clear read. Next I shall have to count the words to see how many in total there are for the competition. wow - only 1700 odd - room for restructure perhaps?


Well there you have it, the third poem as promised, and now all three are encased in a single storey taken from themes I have spent several years developing for your pleasure. Heh - only took a day or so to put the whole story together, and an afternoon to refine it because of all the time I had spent previously working up those ideas and concepts.

You definitely created a nice way to implement the three poems by using basing them around a story of sorts. It works quite well I have to say. You've created some strong images. Great job.

Metal Mallet, your wordies are balm to this one's somewhat abused ears - just been told that this piece is crap, too long, irrelevant and I am arrogant by persons of great self-importance this one was wondering if he is a monster - nah, rofl- this one knows he is a monster

ooc
I will have to submit it today or tomorrow - but I feel there is still a lot of work to be done ... there is some truth to the criticism that it is too long (but not in the sense that there are too many words) as certain sections might bear a bit of judicious pairing in their own terms ... but I also feel that a minimum word count is required or the riddles and the poem, which are very dense, will drown the rest of the content.

Ah well - I have sent it in for judging now ... I feel it should do well, but then again, who knows what will happen?


ic
This one shall continue work on this tale (unencumbered by worries of competitions and such ) in the hope that something new and splendid will eventually emerge.




"This one has poems to offer here," declares the surprisingly firm but gentle voice of the ancient Khajiit, who is arranging the half dozen or so bags he was carrying in his right paw on the cool marble surrounds. Unlimbering the much heavier shoulder-bag from that shoulder he drops it down with a solid thump that carries across the Borderland Village square.

Well, he is clearly a Khajiit, but then again maybe he is not a variety that any there had ever seen before. Perhaps some wonder which moon he was born under? If so they cannot decide. There is only one kind of Khajiit known that grows a mane that big. This Khajiit is not, and could not be The Mane - as the one who holds together all the wildly different cat-like peoples of Elsweyr is affectionately called. Everyone knows that. Yet he is undeniably one of Those Who Walk and he bears a magnificent grey-white mane.

He is of a variety with paw-like hands and feet. Strong, spicily sharp retractable claws, and properly feline muzzle with alert white whiskers. His mobile, upright, smoothe ears have tufty bits where they poke up or out from his mane and several long hairs sprouting from their points. His fur might be called double calico: it is of so many colours - black, orange, white, tawny and seemingly every shade in between - definitely feline fur. His limbs also, especially the reticulation of his hind legs might lead you to believe that he might run upon all fours quite naturally if he so desires, yet he walks comfortably upright. In that measured and relaxed feline manner the larger varieties have.

Ignoring the crowd that is slowly coalescing in his vicinity for the moment, he continues unlimbering his luggage. He grasps the staff that is resting on the bag slung on his left shoulder, places it upright in the corner behind him and empties the slightly crippled left paw of its burdens before dropping the other shoulder-bag with a second loud report. From the second shoulder-bag he retrieves a couple of mats, and then stacking various of the small bags in the corner behind and to either side of the larger shoulder-bags he builds all into a comfortable-looking couch upon which he lays the mats and then reclines.

He sorts though the various bags that are not in use already and brings out a number of parcels, finally seizing upon a long case and extracting therefrom a magnificent horn. "Here it is!" He grins.

The horn is most unusual. It appears to be the horn of a beast, glowing opalescent in the late morning sunlight, but none of the young Khajiit who are now gathered closely around have ever seen or even heard of one like it. What is sure is that it glows with power.

The ancient Khajiit turns the horn tip downwards and the Khajiit gathered (who love intricacies and the unexpected) are delighted when he opens a concealed cap in the base. Reaching deep inside he takes a small mysteriously dark, transparently smoky, object from it that he holds up to the light. The square seems to take on the deep hue of vigorous, heather-clad hills and great lowering volcanic peaks drowned in the sombre dust and ash of ages, strongly contrasting with the bright sky above.

"This first one is a little riddle of Lore and of perception. It is a play on words and appearances. This one hopes you enjoy it." And as they stare fascinated at the stone they hear his musical voice recite:


Something Fell
a Morrowindy-Khajiit rhyming-riddlesome

Lorkhaj
As once a Kat and Dragon
Enjoyed the form
Of those who walk
On two legs

And so became
In His heart
As Warden
To the warm people
Elves, Khajiit and Men

Until falling

To Nirn's eternal soil
Lost
His chosen Form

The Dragon Fell
VV arden fell
In Morrowind
And gave his bones
Arrayed as in challenge
Around
His heart

See the mountain bones
Of his down-fall
There they are
They form
Your map





On the porch of the rich marble-clad mansion at the center of the village the ancient one rests contentedly basking in the hot sun. A somewhat rotund form, yet hollowed by time, clad in rags, and holding between one damaged and one fully capable paw a unique container that held three priceless jewels.

The first has been drawn forth and is still held up to capture the sun's light for your inspection - you can now see clearly that it is a smoothe, dark stone. And you feel that surely you have seen it’s like somewhere before. In form it is a meticulously carved dragon couchant with one fore-claw raised. Smokey depths invite the viewer into a chaotic jumble, and a single flaw or is it a tiny, tiny, red, glinting eye - that winks at you?

Now the first is carefully replaced in the mystic horn and a second jewel is brought forth.

This new bauble is a round, multifaceted, transparent red stone with the form of a smaller white sphere buried within it, yet touching the surface. Brilliantly flawed it has lines of a pale and poignant blue running through it and as you look it seems as though there are thousands of sparkling lights dancing along the flaws even though it is still shaded by his paws - deep within your bones you can feel a joyful music thrumming. How fascinating. But of course one must not show quite how fascinated one is. One must maintain one's dignity.

"This one would be delighted to be invited to bathe travel-weary paws in the manner proper for weary travellers," he states.

A young Khajiit, who is barely adult, lopes off and swiftly returns with a large bowl of clean, clear, deliciously cool water from the well and a towel. With a heartfelt sigh the ancient calico carefully places his dusty hind paws into the water.

"Ahhh! Many thanks, that is restful and invigorating," he smiles as he tells the wide eyes that rise to meet his. Gently patting his fur dry and paying especial attention to the spaces between his claws, he then raises his eyes to command the attention of all there.

"This one has no idea how the great and the learned will view these simple offerings. Though this one does expect that this tender morsel shall be oftimes passed by; as the ravenous seek ever greater repasts. This one, however, is content to extract the truth from the sugar, grain by grain.

Yet, truly this is in intent Lore-heavy and reaches into deep realms that a poor, bewildered Khajiit can scarce hope to comprehend or convey.

Hast wandered the paths of thought that truly lend one to contemplate divinity?

Look again young ones. Many dismiss that which they themselves cannot perceive. And so is it rare to find Khajiit writings abroad. Yet here, in this land we now call Elsweyr, Khajiit oftimes write such sugar-visions that other peoples may dismiss as mere drug-twists. Each of you young ones must decide for him or herself which tail to pounce on in the matter of who is the dreamer and who is the dreamed."

And so he holds the second magnificent jewel up. At once, to the sight of all the Khajiit there, the air around it is charged with a reddish-white lambency, the whole square seems to be bathed in the bright moons'-light and everywhere blue-white and blue-yellow sparkles shoot along shafts of brilliant deep red and silver-white light and your eyes are drawn in once again, as the melodious voice dances across the firmament of your vision:


Dance-along - the Ja-Kha'Jay
dedicated to this one's favourite gran’daughter, JKJ

What is the Ja-Kha'jay?
Hmmm ...
What was was the pathways
The along
The which
This One
Shared
Brotherly Thoughts and Feelings

But now?

Long, in the long, long ago,
In the time between
And the time gone before
These Ones were of One Being.
But then These Ones
Sundered became
As One from the Other and
From the Whole that was dying

As Brother to Brother
Little to Larger
Suspended in the void
Set to sail the skies

From that ’loneness
Grew need
In the between
Grew the Ja-Kha'jay
For messages thrumming...
Vibration deep and
Dancing light
Filled the void

Brought together
Times of now to never
Dreams anew
Heart's-blood furnace
Red Brother strives

Stark starlight
Burnished bright
Silver Brother flies

As the thoughts of This One
Dancing come
Dancing long
-along the lattice light


Always some essence
Sparks from the whole
Caught in the thrill
To dance the way away ...

Empowered
For this One's God-Life
Filled with the mirror-twin of This One's God-Thought
Revelling
In the freedom

As one follows the next
And each diverges
Find its path
Through the skeins of light and void
To pass back and forth
In matchless ecstasy
Then came so many
That many met
And meeting exchanged
Each giving some self
Some newness substance
To the next

Thus this new game
Came to be
Infectious fun
To fill the way
And all along the lattice
So
These sparks now play
To dance
And meet
Exchange
To pass
And bounce away


"Many thanks kind listeners. Your generous hospitality and the gift of your attention have refreshed this one's poor soul as the gift of precious water has cleansed the dust of the roads from this one's paws. But this one really must keep roaming for this one ever searches for home."

The ancient Khajiit patiently, though not without difficulty, gathers together and rearranges the many packages and parcels that appear to form a substantial portion of the sum total of his possessions. He replaces them in their respective bags.

Rousing each of his sleepy hind legs in turn, he stands up, and then lifting his whole torso up further to stretch both hind quarters together with a long sigh that is almost a groan, he bends to pick up the travel-worn and road-stained bags that he has arranged at his feet, one by one. Slinging the largest bag onto his right shoulder he then fills his right forepaw with the handles of all the smaller bags. Next he slings the smaller shoulder-bag over his left shoulder; lays his staff atop it and divides the smaller bags between his forepaws. Thus encumbered he is so heavily laden that he appears to be more bag than Khajiit.

A young Khajiit and his little friend; who have been listening to the rendition, shyly walk up and offer him a handful of coins. He turns to them brows raised and gently says: "this one is very sorry but you must understand this one is neither a tramp nor a beggar. This one is sure that you are very kind and mean no ill. However, this one cannot accept monies that are not earned." The young people continue trying to press their offerings upon him, but the ancient's refusal remains firm, until seeing they will not listen he simply turns away from them.

Finally he draws himself fully upright and turns his attention to a few long grey strands of his mane that are trapped beneath the straps of the shoulder-bags. By lifting one bag-filled paw and then the other to his shoulders and with careful and judicious rolling of his head and neck he delicately teases the errant tresses from confinement. Until (satisfied) with a measured and purposeful gait, he walks on, mane flying free in the light, cool breeze that has sprung up.

As the members of the small, mostly Khajiit crowd disperse in a subdued and strangely dazed hush to go about their daily business in the Borderland Village that they all inhabit - a single lonely young Bosmer gazes after the ancient who has surprisingly already made his way to the edge of the Forest. As the solitary figure enters the trees, it seems to the Elf that just for a moment he does not see a Khajiit there, but a Bosmer with merrily glowing eyes ... holding high a deep green gem that bathes the lush forest in emerald majesty.

The Bosmer feels unable to do aught but smile in return and a name comes to his trembling lips.

Unbidden he whispers: "Jephre?"







It seems the third jewel is raised for the Young Bosmer alone and he hears that mesmerising voice for the last time:


The Valenwood of the Solar Rain


These are the pillars
This my hall
These shafts of light
Upon my floor do fall

This thousand storied monarch
Within my dreams does dwell
And spiralled thoughts
Like leaves
Towards my floor are flung
A myriad of glimmers
That here belong

In depth of lightless chasm
The stars abide
Mirrored by the stately dance
Upon the waters' glide

Between the thews
Of mighty giants
Pass the days compliant
Nor ere remember
That which time forgot

The youth stands entranced for a number of breaths and so does not see the form that silently blends into the Forest - an old, greybearded, ragged man. Nor does he see the drained and shocked visage of the Imperial spy in the tree above the path, who with tears running from the corner of his eyes, mouths noiselessly': “My Emperor?”

Rousing somewhat from his trance he finds himself running swiftly to where he last saw the light. There he finds thrust deep into the ground the long straight horn of a common antelope. A faint chime resounds as he pulls it from the ground. Then everything returns to the way it was ... almost.




Deep in the Forest an Orc chants,
An Imga drums,
An ape hoots




All is peace



Dro’ragg-id



Working Method
Just about everything in this story this one has put together from this one's travels through Tamriel, but there are most useful essays and treateses to be found, as well as copies of the original books, in the Imperial Library. This one hopes in good time to explore the library to be found here at chorrol and looks forward to new discoveries to be made here.

Notes

Ja-Kah'Jay = the Lunar Lattice according to Khajiiti beliefs

Riddle'Thar
(Two-Moons Dance) The cosmic order deity of the Khajiiti, the Riddle'Thar was revealed to Elsweyr by the prophet Rid-Thar-ri'Datta, the Mane. The Riddle'Thar is more a set of guidelines by which to live than a single entity, but some of his avatars like to appear as humble messengers of the gods. Also known as the Sugar God.

Jone
(Little Moon God) Aldmeri god of the Little Moon. Also called Secunda or Stendarr's Sorrow. In Khajiti religion, Jone is only one aspect of the Lunar Lattice, or ja-Kha'jay.
Jode
(Big Moon God) Aldmeri god of the Big Moon. Also called Masser or Mara's Tear. In Khajiti religion, Jode is only one aspect of the Lunar Lattice, or ja-Kha'jay.


http://www.imperial-library.info/mwbooks/lunar_lorkhan.shtml
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).


Third Pocketbook:
Lorkhan
(The Missing God) This Creator-Trickster-Tester deity is in every Tamrielic mythic tradition. His most popular name is the Aldmeri 'Lorkhan', or Doom Drum. He convinced or contrived the Original Spirits to bring about the creation of the mortal plane, upsetting the status quo-- much like his father Padomay had introduced instability into the universe in the Beginning Place. After the world is materialized, Lorkhan is separated from his divine center, sometimes involuntarily, and wanders the creation of the et'Ada. He and his metaphysical placement in the 'scheme of things' is interpreted a variety of ways. In Morrowind, for example, he is a being related to the Psijiic Endeavor, a process by which mortals are charged with transcending the gods that created them. To the High Elves, he is the most unholy of all higher powers, as he forever broke their connection to the spirit plane. In the legends, he is almost always an enemy of the Aldmer and, therefore, a hero of early Mankind.

Polycarp's Essay: http://www.imperial-library.info/fsg/polycarparticle2.shtml


http://www.imperial-library.info/book_daedra/
The Definitive Guide to Daedra - Page I - By Xan

...snip...
The remaining Aedra realized that they were tricked, but it was too late. Magnus decided to abandon the project and left to Aetherius. The rest of the Aedra came together in the Adamantine Tower and conducted a meeting. Yet, the meeting was unfruitful. Most of the Aedra left, went back to Aetherius following Magnus. Some were decided to stay in order to preserve what they had done. This group transformed themselves into Ehlnofey (the Earthbones). Y'ffre was among this group, he was the first to transform to Ehlnofey and then the laws of nature were established. The last eight Aedra (Akatosh, Julianos, Arkay, Mara, Dibella, Zenithar, Stendarr and Kynareth) exist as the gods.

According to the Aldmeri legend, there was a great war between Auriel (Akatosh) and Lorkhan. Auriel's greatest knight, Trinimac knocked down Lorkhan and took his Heart. Lorkhan was said undone, dead. But when Trinimac and Auriel wanted to destroy the Heart, it laughed at them and said, "This Heart is the heart of the world, for one was made to satisfy the other." So Auriel fastened the Heart to an arrow and cast it from the Adamantine Tower. The Heart landed on the eastern part of Tamriel and a great Volcano formed, a Volcano now known as Vvardenfell.


http://www.imperial-library.info/fsg/nazzarticle05.shtml
The Rebel's ReturnBy Dralas Therayn
...snip...
Time God/Space God
I have left the story of Akatosh and Lorkhan, I must note it is humorous that we often remember Time by its manish name and Space by its merish name one and one, for last on purpose as it is yet unfulfilled. "Finally Trinimac, Auriel's greatest knight, knocked Lorkhan down in front of his army and reached in with more than hands to take his Heart. He was undone. The Men dragged Lorkhan's body away and swore blood vengeance on the heirs of Auriel for all time." - The Monomyth

King Auri-el of the Aldmer versus the Rebel Shezzar and his outcast followers. Shezzar is brought down and his heart removed by Trinimac yet his body lives on as Jone and Jode. "In short, the Moons were and are the two halves of Lorkhan's 'flesh-divinity'." - The Lunar Lorkhan

The story of the Nerevarine by now is well known; that he slayed Dagoth-Ur, what isn't as well known is that he also freed Lorkhans heart from the chains that bound it.

Flesh remained, and the heart is free. When will the rebel return to claim the empty throne?

boom Boom BOOM beats the Doom Drum





http://www.imperial-library.info/book_daedra/
According to "Words of Clan Mother Ahnissi to her Favored Daughter", Azura is also responsible for the creation of the Khajiit race as she was given the three secrets of creation. When Nirn was so sad that her children (the forest people) did not have shape, Azura helped her. She takes the forest people and changes them to Khajiit.

"And Azurah came to her and said, "Poor Nirni, stop your tears. Azurah makes for you a gift of a new people." And Nirni stopped weeping, and Azurah spoke the First Secret to the Moons and they parted and let Azurah pass. And Azurah took the forest people who were torn between man and beast, and she placed them in the best desserts and forests on Nirni. And Azurah in her wisdom made them of many shapes, one for every purpose. And Azurah named them Khajiit and told them her Second Secret and taught them the value of secrets. And Azurah left and spoke the Third Secret to the Lunar Lattice and bound the Khajiit to the Lattice, as is proper for Nirni's secret defenders. Then Azurah spoke the Third Secret again, and the Moons shone down on the marshes and their light became sugar."


hmmmm ... these are not by any means all my sources, and some are relevant to other aspects of the tapestry of which this small tale is part, but some of them might help people connect up a few dots anyways

I think this is very good! The poems are just beautifully composed and to embed them in a story works wonderful....


Very nice work indeed, I hope we'll see more of your talent.....Pleeease!

Minky dear, if my Muse re-awakens then you shall, but these were created to form a foundation and links between quests and story lines for two major mods ... so I suspect I will have to actually create those mods in order to bring forth more. = no idea how long that will take.

Interesting approach, I got kinda lost on some points but I liked the way you kept things kinda playful throughout. Great work.

Ty
Kiln - there is stuff in there that relates to abstruse Lore, Lore that has changed with succeeding TES releases and new stuff that I will be creating if I ever get to start my own mod - I'm lookin' into that.