Eyes up, curious collectors, as Ald Vellum Books and its benefactors are now opening up their doors to a monthly auction, where prized antiques and relics could end up in your hands! In each monthly catalog, we'll feature antique jewelry, furniture, books, and curios that may or may not be of the magical variety - Show-stoppers in any collector's display.All attendees are expected to take part in bidding on the items if they arrive (this due to the guest list size as well as housing instance limits). IC gold or bank notes are expected, but no OOC gold will be used. Each item will have a starting bid, a maximum bid, and an increase amount so that attendees aren't just shouting out numbers like uncivilized lemmings. Additionally, bidding is limited to 10 minutes (fifteen for the headliner) so bidding wars won't drag on.Please refrain from bringing any characters that are going to 'report suspicious goods to the guards' or disrupt the auction in any way. Yes, maybe some of the goods would be better off contained by the Mages Guild or Antiquitarian Circle. Yes, nobody is fully aware of how the catalog is obtained other than through benevolent donors. If your character wants to keep their nose clean, best not to set foot in this bookstore.Where: Ald Vellum Books, located in Leyawiin
/script JumpToSpecificHouse("@cloverpatch", 91)When: Recurring monthly at 8:00PM Eastern Time.
The first 30 minutes will be used for some light socializing/getting items in order, and the actual auction will start around 8:30PM Eastern.Who: Spots are limited to a guest-list and must be reserved. Please fill out the RSVP form if you plan to attend (and only if you plan to attend).
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1. Bidders will be handed a paddle that they will lift when they wish to bid as well as some kind of affirmation ("here!" etc etc). No random callouts will be accepted.2. The auctioneer will call out set bid increases that the attendees will raise their paddle for and announce their affirmation.
→ Bidders must emote both raising their paddle and verbally calling their bid in order for their bid to be accepted. This is to avoid spamming /say with "here!". An example bid will look like this: Auctioneer calls, "Who can give me 700 drakes for this item?" -- Attendee lifts their paddle, "700 drakes, here!"3. Bidding will last ten minutes (fifteen for the headliner), starting from whenever my last post is finished for introducing the relic and the starting bid set. There will be a (private) maximum bid that will be the last number called when time is up. The winner will be either a) whoever bids fast enough after the maximum bid is called when time is up or b) whoever bids highest before the time slot is up after a 2 minute delay between posts of no other bids (after that 2 minute delay will be the “going once!” call).4. Above everything else, please just maintain some auction decorum. Auction decorum ICly includes no fights, no stealing, no reporting suspicious activity to the guards. Please also refrain from heckling your auction runners (it's rude to insult the people welcoming you as a guest) or any other behavior that constitutes as "goober behavior". If you have an issue OOC with someone attending the event, don't bring it here. Disruptive behavior will have you removed from the event.
disclaimer: none of these antiques are canon items — all have been created by my friends, my partner, or myself.
Ald Vellum is not responsible for any harm caused by winners doing something stupid with their antiques :)
Headliner: Relic
Status: up for auction
Description:
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Relic
Status: up for auction
Description:
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Relic
Status: up for auction
Description:
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Relic
Status: up for auction
Description:
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Relic
Status: up for auction
Description:
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Relic
Status: up for auction
Description:
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Headliner: The Forlorn Blade
Status: sold to gwenhael traven
Description:
The Forlorn Blade, whose original name is as lost as its creators, is a weapon of pure beauty. Invoking the melancholy of the bygone Snow Elves of Skyrim, it is a rare find indeed - Ysgramor and his brood in their slaughter out of revenge for their own kin, ensured little remained of the Falmer. Pale as milk glass and with still bright adornments of silver, the longsword is theorized to have been once held by a warrior devoted to Trinimac, Paragon and Champion of Auri-El for its pommel bears the symbol of his gleaming helm. Maintaining an edge with little to no effort, and on contact with flesh imparting a freezing sensation down to the very soul.When one holds the weapon, it is fittingly cold to the touch. It never warms. Even when tossed for long hours into the flames of campfire, all that will remain are cold ashes and a still gleaming, frosty blade. It is only after a time that the wielder hears whispers, faint chants and lamentations. They speak in the ancient tongue of Falmeris, a symphony of forgotten tongues and the cries of the damned. Frigid hands grasp and claw at the wielder of this weapon, demanding to be let out, to seek their wrath not only upon man, but upon their merish kin who abandoned them to the onslaught of the Five-Hundred.And released they shall be if one wishes, or if they relent to the vengeful dead: a storm of ice and spirits release from the weapon, sundering all in its path, bound to the weapon for no other purpose than this. They will die freezing, lungs rattling pieces of ice, patches of flesh ripped by long-dead hands, hearing the wails of a once mighty people reduced to a storm and a pleading echo to remind all who walk Nirn: we were once here, and we do not forget.And when the litany of the Falmer falls silent like snow upon the land, the blade returns to a state of normalcy: quiet, still, cold and sharp, but a haunting reminder of what was lost.
written by @apparition.aes
Delight of the Lounging Imga
Status: sold to bellona gratus
Description:
Although unimpressive when simply looked upon as sheet music, this antique shines when deft hands play its notes upon the flute. The tune evokes the joyful hooting and hollering of the Ape-Men, and when played within the depths of Valenwood's forests may just attract the local Kollopi and monkey population to have a listen. How curious!If played for long enough in the branches of the Graht trees, it's rumored that these little critters will urge the musician to traverse the Valenwood for hours on end - Perhaps, at one point, this song could draw the delight of this bygone race and coax them out of hiding. These days that seems less than likely, though perhaps the Kollopi see a path to Falinesti within the harmonies of this little tune.
written by @cloverpatch
Glassvine Torque
Status: sold to ozburgh lacombe
Description:
A collar of what appears to be translucent green crystal, carved to resemble a twisting vine. When worn about the neck, it's said to sharpen the senses: the smell of rain, the rustle of leaves, the heartbeat of prey. Stories about it speak of ancient hunters who wore it in ages past, ones who were said to feel the forest as keenly as their own flesh. Yet, the relic is tight and biting, drawing blood from the neck if worn too long, digging deeper into the skin.Found upon an ancient altar in a forgotten delve in the Heartland, attested to the Ayleid Flower King Nilichi, famed in the memoirs of Morihaus. Near the altar was a skeleton missing its head, the skull several feet away—which could mean nothing.
written by @HeathenWitch
Living Petroglyph of Saint Veloth
Status: sold to praetor albinius
Description:
Ages ago, when the soles of Saint Veloth did traverse the continent in under the guidance of the great hawk, only great peaks of ice and snow separated the Chimer from the ash and fungi of Resdayn. Found deep within the intersection of the Velothi and Valus Mountains was this very petroglyph - rock carving - of Saint Veloth's exodus from the Summerset Isles.Just as the Chimer were shown how to change by Boethiah, so too has the stone been shown with chisel, mallet, and magic. Carved into the stone's surface are shifting scenes of the pilgrimage: across the sea following the Chimeri departure from the Isles, through mainland Tamriel (though the direct path still remains nondescript), eventually through the mountain pass to the great wall of ice, and lastly an idyllic scene of Saint Veloth finally looking upon Resdayn, shedding his frozen tear.
written by @cloverpatch
Fang of the Mitana Satak
Status: sold to k'avar al-m'kai
Description:
Translating roughly to 'Fang of the Serpent Isle', this relic has a hotly debated history between the Redguards and Nords, strangely enough. Among the Tukta-mab'ro of the Ra Gada, the Fang is said to originate from an ancient serpent that swallowed whole one of the many isles of Yokuda-Now-Sunken, speculated to be an avatar of Satakal itself by some scholars. A great Ansei, daughter of the last of the Na-Totambu, chased the beast far to the north only to perish after dislodging the serpent's fangs with her Shehai. Both serpent and Ansei were lost to the bottom of the Azurian Sea, and from its remains rose a rocky landmass resembling the gaping maw of a snake.The Skald tale of the Nords predates that of the Ra Gada by an Era. They speak of the days after Kyne made their tongue strong so they may bellow from their throats in the same manner as the Dragons. One of these Dragons, who spoke in mad words that shook the earth, claimed he was the prophet of Alduin and his return would come with boiling sea and brine soaked fields. And so he made for himself a domain under the sea, summoning waves that battered the shores of Skyrim and storms in defiance of the Lady of Storms. A champion, blood of the Five-Hundred and great tongue shouted their way down to the depths - crushing the great mad wyrm with an iceberg dragged beneath the waves; claiming from its broken corpse this tooth as their trophy.Both legends, however, agree on one thing: The Fang will speak if you are willing to listen. The Whisper of the Wyrm to the Nords; that ancient Dragon's final Thu'um in hushed Dovazul will allegedly draw the listener to that long-forgotten domain beneath the seas. To the Redguards it's The Song of Satak Kotu, for the defanged serpent must have its fang returned to the Serpent Isle so it might devour worlds again.
written by @cloverpatch and @apparition.aes
Ring of House Acilius
Status: sold to ari reid
Description:
The Ring of House Acilius was forged in the early centuries of the First Era, at the height of King Rislav Larich's reign in Skingrad. Thick-banded and heavy, the signet is wrought of deep yellow gold, pressed with smaller bands of dotted chain. What sets it apart from the rings of its time is the stone: a cabochon-tumbled carnelian, its crown cut flat, an intaglio etched with the severe, sharp-boned visage of Lord Gaius Acilius, last patriarch of a once-feared noble line. His house is long erased, its fortress swallowed by the forests of the West Weald, its name whispered now only in ruined ledgers, but the ring endures, impossibly well-preserved. (Not pristine—the inner band bears the subtle wear of long use, and spiderweb fractures spread beneath the stone's face—but still striking.)Legend claims Lord Gaius perished during a doomed march to defend his borders from the Alessian Emperor Gorieus, his body never recovered. His ring was entrusted to his beloved wife, Lady Asteria, who watched each dusk for his return until her hair went silver. At her death, she ordered it placed among her letters and sealed behind a funerary wall—"to await my Lord when at last he returns to me."It has surfaced only twice: once in the hands of an ambitious Nibenese merchant who died ruined, and once with a Colovian scholar who lost his wits to fevered dreams. Whisperers say the ring is haunted, bound by Asteria’s grief enduring. Any who wear it too long begin to watch the sunset as she did, restless with a sorrowful, nameless longing urging them to abandon all else to watch the horizon.Yet the temptation lies here: the ring sharpens memory. While worn, the mind grows keen as a falcon's eye; names are never forgotten, maps recalled without flaw, old words remembered as though spoken anew. To a scholar, a courtier, or an adventurer far from home, such clarity is a Nereid's call, worth the risk of feeling a haunting longing that may never be sated.
written by @HeathenWitch
Headliner: Cloak of the Crow-Mother
Status: sold to thérèse corentin
Description:
Woven into existence by the hands of a hagraven seamstress, the Crow-Mother, this garment is breathtaking for any savvy collector. Its first layer is stitched with thick thread, inky black in color. Hundreds of feathers from the wings of crows make up the second layer, meticulously woven into the careful stitching of the first. They rustle unnaturally, always moved by a breeze that is never there, eternally in flight.Why and how exactly this garment ended up on Nirn is yet another one of the Shadow Queen's many secrets, though perhaps that is to be expected — What point is there in trying to fathom the unfathomable? The Crow Daedra of the Blackfeather Court, however, seem to find some delight in seeing this piece worn (when you can find those fickle creatures, of course). Pieced together from the senseless squawks that tend to leave their beaks, this cloak was made from the feathers of enemy Raven and Crow Daedra that dared to invade the Court's realm of Crow's Wood a century ago. The Crow-Mother plucked from these false children each and every one of their feathers and made from their wings a beautiful cloak so that she might take flight, herself.When neither of the moons show their faces at twilight and the night is allowed to reign in full, one might don the cloak and be greeted by thousands of blinking violet eyes, like glittering stars, upon its surface. The wearer's eyesight will sharpen, like that of a bird undeterred by the blanket of night, and the sensation of being weightless and one with the Gloam sinks into the body. The urge to draw its edges out and take the wings as your own is overwhelming, and should the wearer make the leap...Fly! Take flight!
written by @cloverpatch
The Puzzle Box of Yol Ganab
Status: sold to vivayth
Description:
Encased within a protective barrier of magicka-suffused crystalline glass is this puzzle box of confounding design and arrays of complex internal mechanisms. It is made up of an innumerable amount of interlocking, intwining, slender cylinders of some metallic material, all of which slide and move against one another, as though mimicking the body of a snake or tendrils coiled about itself over and over again. The form and shape of the box seems to undulate and twist, morphing in accordance to the configuration of interlocking metal lattices, the material ever-slick with what would appear to be mere water for unknowable reasons from an unknowable source, though it appears to be perfectly polished for time eternal, gleaming like new. Investigation conducted by an anonymous scholarly organization attributed the contraption’s origin to three tales, from varying folklore:In the first, Bretic wives tell tales of a sailor by the name of Yol Ganab, ship-wrecked and begging for respite, granted a washed-up box of tendrils by forces unknown which grants memories, experiences previously unknown at the cost of losing his own to the box. The second, one of Yokudan mythos, detailing a lesser splinter of Satak, inexplicably of the same name, coiled in and around itself after having been tricked by a warrior-philosopher of old until its own body formed its prison, its head at the center, waiting to be set free, to consume or be consumed by that which opens it. And should one consume this serpent of Satak, it shall become them, or they it, granting knowledge of what was, is, and will be.The last is from Bosmeri Spinner-Sung stories of a puzzle box of metal-hewn entrapment to secure some sort of connection to the Ooze, or perhaps a flaw in its imprisonment from which the ancient oath breakers and changelings of a bygone era bound within forevermore, until they can accept Y’ffre’s laws of form and rejoin the Bosmeri people, or so it’s said. The act of unraveling the box is said to free bits and pieces of those entrapped in the Ooze. Those ever-shifting memories become a part of the user, rife with old secrets and long-forgotten lore while in turn losing their own formative moments to the collective consciousnesses for such a boon.In this case ‘Yol Ganab’ could be a corruption of the phrase ‘Yek[ef] Gor Agar B[al]’ which seems to translate very roughly from the original Bosmeris text to ‘Stone [of] Yekef Secret-Wisdom’. Whether this implies some real connection to the Yekef vampires of northern Valenwood, or is simply a nod to some similarity with their tendency to consume men and mer whole is unknown. Regardless of its origin, and whether this ‘Yol Ganab’ was sailor, serpent, changeling, or the box itself, there is certainly power within it. Though whether or not it has a center, and whether that center has some mystically profound power, none still alive can say.
written by @Remsith
Black Ram's Horn
Status: sold to arun
Description:
In the firelight under the crags and in shelter from the rushing waters of the Karth, where they tend to their cups of klef, the Witchmen speak of a story. It is said Chief Eogran sought the power of the Hunt-Father, but the Hunt-Father thought him a weak-willed whelp - scavenger plucking the flesh from the kill of others, rather than using his strong claws to rip into the skin or his mind to trick the foe into a snare. And so the Chief went to the peaks of his land to seek a witch of great power, the Hagraven Mongfind. In sacrifice he brought his daughter and the Hagraven took the girl into her coven whose neck was cut, her scorn for her father of soft hands passing into the ritual that beseeched the King of the Hunt.Mongfrid offered unto Eogran a beautiful runed horn shorn from the head of a black ram, said to be a form of Hircine. When sounded, it would herald all beasts of the forest who heard its call and bring them into a frenzy of slaughter. Gleeful and not with a period of mourning for his daughter, Eogran descended from the dark hills thinking himself Faolan come again to slaughter the Northmen and take from them their riches of gold, mead, furs, and captives. His wormy lips placed themselves upon the black horn and he blew - his lungs filled with blood, his eardrums burst and his head split as he collapsed on the ground. Herds of stags trampled his corpse as they rushed into the village, wolves tore his limbs one by one before they went for the stags and the Nords; ravens plucked from his stomach his guts and atop his dying visage a hornless ram danced upon him until he returned to the mud.The horn has passed hands now and again, said to invoke the Blood Summons of the Hunt-Father. Those favored tend to survive the blowing of the horn, but it is up to them to survive the frenzy. If nothing else, the Witchmen say, it is a symbol and reminder: to be weak is to die, to be a fool is to be prey, and to remember the true lessons of Lorkh and his clan.
written by @apparition.aes
Muse of the Forgotten
Status: sold to niridius valorian
Description:
She’s a pretty thing. Hair painted with loving strokes to invoke the texture of dark silk, shades and palettes chosen masterfully to replicate her pallid skin with touches of blush. She sits staring outside her manors window, fine and delicate features in a melancholic state of reflection; from the tailoring of her dark dress, she is a noblewoman. Some say in her amber eyes is sadness and wanting, a wanting to be free. Others, rage and scorn - others admiration of beauty.But what is it she is staring at? Art is interpretive, no doubt. But where one sees a field of bountiful wheat at the time of harvest, others see the sprawl of a Bretonic city, and others a fief plagued by war and famine. And it changes just as well. Day by day. Said to reflect the innermost thoughts of a person, what they crave, what they hate, what they love. Some say the woman points them to the location of great riches, others, only madness and despair.And that is nothing to say of her enigmatic creator, whose signature is naught but a singular initial: ‘S’. And those who look at the painting long enough swear they can see the rustling of fabric, hear the sighs of the woman or the upturning of her lips, and a faint shadow changing shape with the time of day that is not hers.
written by @apparition.aes
Leash of Sunna-Darre
Status: sold to vaelyn elarieth
Description:
Found deep within the ruins of Abagarlas upon the City Isle, with its inscribed name in Ayleidoon just recently translated, this gruesome relic reflects the worst indulgences of these ancient elves — Art-torture, usually from the flesh and blood of their Nedic slaves. In common tongue, it's called the Leash of Blessed Mercy... King Anumaril was certainly no stranger to irony. When he pleaded for the favor of Mola Gbal, he was first gifted ores of cold iron, which he fashioned into the handle of the whip and adorned with human bone taken from the spinal column. The soft end of the whip is leather tanned from intestines, barbed with needle-sharp rib bones.And as the Lord of Domination bids, so too did King Anumaril bid his subjects to use his terrible creation to further break the will of both slaves and followers of Merid-Nunda. A crack of the whip sparks a sensation of the soul warring the body — The mind begging one to run, but the body unsure if it can. Being struck by the barbed end will induce a temporary paralysis of the limb for those weak of fortitude. Managing to leash a foe with the whip seems to have the worst effect: The very will to fight is sapped slowly as the barbs seemingly tighten on their own, rending flesh from bone, and words from lips. It's possible the leash was primarily used as a torture device by the Ayleids, seeing as it drains the will to lie.Consistent use is not recommended, however. This leash was, in part, created by the will of Molag Bal... And the Tormentor of Men does not take kindly to free use of his will (especially not by mortals).
written by @cloverpatch
The Fangs of the Riven King
Status: sold to garrett longley
Description:
Laid in a narrow case of tarnished silver, lined with dark red velvet worn smooth by centuries of passing hands, sits a pair of yellowed fangs, long as a finger bone and carefully arranged on a golden necklace chain. They are said to be the preserved teeth of Frestrien Spenard, the Riven King of Shornhelm, cruel tyrant and secret drinker of blood from the fifth century of the First Era. Every Breton child in Rivenspire has heard the tales: that his voice could charm a crowd to silence, that he reigned, unaging, through famine and revolt for near two centuries, pretending to be his own sons to keep his royal seat.For those who wear these fangs around the neck—or, more daringly, set them against their teeth as a grim jest—they grant a fleeting boon. At night, the wearer's voice grows sonorous and commanding, their gaze magnetic. People listen when the holder speaks, as though every word were an irresistible request. But the charm fades with the sun's rising, and the cost is subtle and cruel: a dryness of throat that no water quenches, a creeping pallor to the skin, and dreams of empty feasts by candlelight. It is said the last historian to wear the fangs on this necklace woke one dawn to find her reflection gone from her mirror, though her shadow still fell across the floor.Even so, the relic is passed from collector to collector, scholar to scholar, each whispering the same rueful toast upon parting: "Good riddance to the Riven King, and to the fools who believe themselves his heir."
written by @HeathenWitch
Headliner: Shield of the Saint
Status: sold to auren quill
Description:
In the days of Alessia’s uprising against the Ayleid enslavers, there was a nameless dreg bound in chains who heard in the city Atatar the rising of Alessia and in his blessed ears the voice of Stendarr. The God of Mercy beseeched this nameless man to entreat with his masters, to ask of them in their desperation, to end their worship of the dark powers and give unto Alessia their strength so they may be forgiven for crimes against both kin and Man. They laughed at this feeble thing and from his body tore his entrails across a shield and left his corpse aloft in the slave pens in mockery for his defense of faith and kin. And when the legions of Alessia fell upon the city and liberated those slaves, they carried his corpse atop the shield and buried him. They took from his corpse though his femur, and it became the handle for the shield engraved thereafter with a weeping Fox; idol of Shor, Shezzar, Lorkhan, champion of Man. And the champions of Man who wielded the shield in the Alessian shield walls of the hoplites were given courage, strength, and ferocity, a rallying banner for all those who fought in defiance of their Ayleid foe.It rendered unto the Ayleid and their damned servants fear, a crushing sense of foreboding doom and forgiveness only in the hands of the Divines, for the Alessians would grant them none now. It would be easy to say the shield is a simple enchanted item, but the faithful know the blood of the martyred slave and the gilded bone blessed the shield - and let it forever remain in the hands of the pious so they may defend in war, and strike fear to all who would sway from the path of the Divines.
written by @apparition.aes
The Eyes of Urua
Status: sold to aine reid
Description:
Fashioned as a clear, rounded cabochon of mountain quartz set in delicate hammered gold, the Eye of Urua resembles a tiny orb of glass. But, Khajiiti Moon-priests teach that this amulet was crafted by Saint Urua the Observant in the early First Era for the temple of Sunspire. It is said in some songs that she wrought magic upon it in veneration of Magrus, rounded in deference to his eye torn out by Azurah. It is said, in some tales, Magrus gave of his eye willingly to Azurah, who made it a stone to reflect the Varliance Gate. This is the Aether Prism, which opens at Dawn and closes at Dusk.Indeed, perhaps like the mythical Cat's Eye Prism of Magrus, this charm is said to shimmer faintly only at the moments the sun touches the horizon, as if sunrise and sunset are caught in its heart. Better still, there is magic yet in this humble old trinket: When worn after it has been left to bask in sunlight, the quartz alights from within. For the wearer, glamours become strained, the magical haze of active invisibility fuzzes at the edges, and hidden runes, sigils, and wards appear as faint gold glyph-work in the air. It can neither pierce every veil nor reveal the sources of illusions fully, merely alert the wearer to their presence, but for hunters of trickery, wayfinders in strange ruins, or those who mistrust their eyes, this small mercy in reverence to Magrus' ruined sight is a boon.
written by @HeathenWitch
Captain Vindaire's Totem
Status: sold to ari reid
Description:
A common sight affixed upon Maormer vessels are the serpent-like totems used by sea-witches for the much less common practice of blood sacrifice. In the early centuries of the Second Era, one Captain Vindaire, scorned by a sea-witch he sought to bed, coveted the use of this powerful magic for himself to create a different kind of storm. Thus he cobbled together shell and stone and entreated with a Daedra of the Deep to inscribe it with everlasting runes. Along the southern coasts of Tamriel he plundered, bleeding the necks of prisoners upon his creation so that Daedra of the Deep would take shape around their bodies and shake the very depths of the sea, until waves hundreds of feet tall battered the coast and swallowed islands whole.For a decade, Captain Vindaire ruled the southern seas, and perhaps then the Summerset Isles actually had reason to fear the Maormer. It wasn't particularly long lasting, for when the Captain had no prisoners, he began slitting the throats of his crew. Eventually it was his own throat upon the executioner's block, and as the Daedra of the Deep drank the very blood that created him, he thrashed and struggled, no longer to be enslaved but resisting his return to the realm in which he came from. It was a storm the likes Nirn had never seen before, crushing Captain Vindaire, his ship, and his crew within the embrace of their Mother Sea.Eventually scraps of his ship and his totem would wash onto the shores of some distant land. It's inert now, of course, but those attuned to the deep sea might just feel the thrum of magic still breathing within it... And should their blood appease the ancient Daedra, perhaps the waves might quake again.
written by @cloverpatch
Shattered Blade of Betrayal
Status: sold to vendil auralus
Description:
This collection of meteoric iron shards lays in a cushioned display case, and has been meticulously arranged into as near its original form as possible before being magically adhered to keep their shape through travel and handling. Anyone vaguely familiar with the Heartland elves should see their style in the metalwork, even in pieces as it is.The Shattered Blade once purportedly belonged to a knight-enchanter of a long-lost Ayleid kingdom. History argues on the exact nature of his relationship with the prince of the kingdom, but they were dear to each other, near as family, if not even closer. It was all the more unbelievable then that they came to fatal blows.Dozens of theories grew of the incident, ranging from something so banal as a lover's quarrel to the misguided ambitions of coup. Others suggest it was an insidious mind warping spell that led the knight-enchanter to strike down his liege, and then more wonder if the approaching Slave Army had frayed something in them beyond what either could stomach.The stories converge into one certain point, though: After the deed was done, the knight-enchanter shattered his weapon in guilt-wrought despair, and swore it would never again be whole. Some of his ravings survived in pages of an aged journal that accompanies these shards, though they make little sense beyond that oath made again and again to his prince. Thus far, the mer has held his word even in death.Upon touching any piece, one is struck with a bolt of deep, aching regret, as if the blade itself is trying to pass its guilt onto another. The feeling is strong enough that those with their own regrets could be brought to tears, and one dreads to imagine what emotion the blade would elicit if forged anew.Perhaps it's fortunate that the shards resist all attempts at rejoining, with what may well be the will of a long-dead spirit repelling them more strongly the closer anyone manages to get them.
written by @Jaywolfing
Tools of the Cursed Legion
Status: sold to mishaxhi-ves
Description:
When the Orsimer had yet to carve for themselves a place in the mountains of Wrothgar, the Orcs of the Cursed Legion served Malacath and their Clans well - spilling blood and cutting from the land a place for strongholds to be raised, even against the odds of all neighbors despising them. Such is the way of the Orc. And while Orc hide and strength are well and good, it is an Orc’s weapons and armor, crafted from steel and Orichalcum, that ensure they stand bloodied and breathing atop a pile of corpses at the end of the battle.The travelling militia of the Cursed Legion had always needed for repairs and new weapons. And the most honored of their smiths, Vrograg gro-Urim, carried with him engraved hammers of Orcish knotwork, tongs, chisels, sets and fullers - said to have been imbued with the magic of the Wise-Women and grown stronger with the fires of a hundred different forges. The primary hammer is engraved at the head with the words, “With each strike, a curse upon our foes.” Weapons forged with these tools are said to grow stronger with every slain foe, rarely needing oiling or sharpening. However, the tools heed only to those with the twisted, burning heart of a true smith and are more like to make no more than warped scrap; though you’ll hardly find an Orc complaining if it means the enemy lays dead regardless of what they hold in their hand.
written by @apparition.aes
Mluku Wabuvu (Riekling War Idol)
Status: sold to auren quill
Description:
Small, silly, but mighty in droves - All apt descriptors for the "ice goblins" of the north, though the riekling tribes of Wrothgar are larger and, perhaps, a tiny bit more intelligent. Advanced enough to craft their own idols rather than pilfering items from the local Orc population, at least, and this war idol in particular appears to take a similar appearance to that of Malacath (or as their goblin cousins know him, Muluk).Crafted from the wood of the native Wrothgarian pines, this small idol bears a vicious smile with a mouth full of razor sharp teeth, and is coated in a thin layer of wool. The tips of Echatere horns have been shaved down and affixed to its head, likely in an attempt to resemble Malacath's horns, and within its hands, a small, wooden rendition of Volendrung can be affixed. The name, in goblin-speak, translates roughly to "Shit War-God", suggesting the rieklings have a surprising amount of awareness for the mythology of the Ash-Father... And though the overall craftsmanship is clever, it's not particularly a good creation in the name of the Daedric Prince who holds craftsmanship in high esteem. One would be forgiven for confusing it for a rabbit or a strange, fuzzy pig than that of the King of Goblin-kin.
written by @cloverpatch
Headliner: Bow of the Winged Bull
Status: Sold to Kelissindaryl
Description:
"We are ada, Mor, and change things through love."These words spoken by Pelinal are the most fitting descriptor for the Bow of the Winged Bull. The "official" story behind its creation claims the bowyer to be a mere devotee to the Paravant, Alessia — Those with a keen imagination, however, have shared a legend of a minotaur spurred by his adoration for Princess Belene, daughter of King Justinius of Kvatch, that he sought to emulate the love of Morihaus and Alessia centuries later.It was this love that changed the hands of a beast to that of an artist, and his only work would be the bow. From his artistry came a massive longbow with a curved riser of bone akin to antlers, threaded carefully with veins of ivory — It's heavier than most bows given the dual nature of its material. Each tip sprouts auburn feathers from the wood itself, giving the bow a winged appearance, and the quiver of arrows this bow comes with are much the same.By the time he made to present this gift to Princess Belene, she'd already been promised to Prince Rislav of Skingrad. In all his life, the beastman had only his love and his bow, and without the former, there was no need for the latter. He struck his own heart with his arrow and pleaded for Belene, when she would pass, to meet him in Aetherius.The bow was retrieved in the hills of the Gold Coast alongside the remains of the minotaur. In death, he'd been blessed with wings — Kyne had taken pity on the distant children of her son, and it was her love, now, that changed the bow once more. To those reverent of the goddess (under whichever aspect she takes), the bow draws with ease. A gentle wind guides the hand, ensuring a sure shot on the target. When Kyne's tears wet the bow in the rain, the arrows crackle with the threat of a violent storm, and bring her lightning upon whichever foe they might strike.
written by @cloverpatch
Knife of the Nisswo
Status: Sold to Auren Quill
Description:
We know now that Sithis, Dread-Father, is not only a force of destruction, but a force for change. Not so long ago in the past, however, did the Nisswo-Kings seek to appease only that aspect of the Egg-Cracker that brings only death and loss. They built Sithis monuments of stone and offered up blood so that the end may never come for them. One particular Nisswo-King seems to have been particularly interested in that aspect in which devotion and death were one in the same.We wish not to touch the knife for long, for in it echoes the pain of those who were slain by its hand. An arduous torment caused by such a simple, small thing, echoing throughout the Hist even to the now. Volcanic glass molded into an ornate bronze channel, where beasts that bring death such as the Wamasu have been carved, snaking and swirling about the blades like their very own fangs. The pommel contains a most unusual thing, and one I suspect is the reason why the blade holds properties considered unnatural: encased Hist amber, bleeding into the hilt which is likely carved from the same tree’s bark. Attempts to communicate to this Hist do not bear any response, only the memories of those slain with the blade. Perhaps a curse from this tree, to remind all the failings of those days of the Nisswo-Kings.The properties in which I speak are those most honed to death. When a piece of the glass chips into the flesh or scales of those that it strikes, the wound heals, covering the chip of volcanic glass. It is not long after the area where the blade stuck begins to decay and rot, scales lose color, skin goes pallid, veins turn a sickly shade. Then it spreads, but one does not feel pain: almost an apathy, an elated sense that they soon shall embrace the Void, and their corpse shall feed the swamp’s many creatures. And slowly, the chip of glass begins to regrow upon the blade, as if a reward for damning the poor victim. However, should the shard of glass be removed quickly enough, the effects can be mitigated with the proper treatment of potions, rest and other healing methods.This knife disgusts me as a Nisswo - a warping of all that is taught by the Hist and Sithis. I hope that whoever created this vile thing was denied the embrace of the Hist, so they may never pollute our roots forevermore.
written by @apparition.aes
Skull of the Viridian Sentinel
Status: Sold to Shalay
Description:
When the Direnni Hegemony ruled over the lands of High Rock, it was their pact with the Earth Bones that culled the reach of the Wild — No such pact existed for the Bretons when their reign began, and so the Direnni returned the lands to the Wild, and the wilderness reclaimed what was rightfully theirs. The first Viridian Sentinel listened to the careful whistles and clacks of birds and learned how to govern northern Bangkorai under the laws of nature, and so forth from there was it the duty of each Viridian Sentinel to wander and stave off the Wild from the vanquished lands.The Viridian Sentinel title has been passed down through the eras, each Sentinel bearing some attunement to the Earth Bones — An unnatural harmony, according to the Wyresses. The Sentinel of the early Second Era let his remains be swallowed by the woods once more upon his death, save for his head. Once his meat and sinew were gone, likely feasted upon by the beasts of the woods, a thick, flowering vine curled through and around the skull, two fitting blooms sitting in each eye socket. The teeth have long since fallen out, cleverly placed thorns taking its place.Though it's most potent in High Rock, gazing into the flowered-eyes of the skull will settle the mind of the bearer, and should the holder focus intensely enough, they will be able to catch a brief glance of nearby Ley Lines — Wellsprings of primal magic that run through the lands. Bringing the skull to these Ley Lines causes the vines to twist and turn, continuing to grow and consume the skull further, but in turn causes any natural magic to be far, far stronger, and communing with Jephre (or the Green, if you prefer) bears far more tangible effects.Should the holder approach the Lines with malice in their hearts or having worshipped Daedra, however, the Wild will strike back in turn, swallowing into the dirt those who would wish to disobey the laws of nature.
written by @cloverpatch
Visage of the Ancestors
Status: Sold to Ari Reid
Description:
We’ve lost much between when our Ancestors knelt to Reman I to the expulsion of our people from Cyrod to the lands of the Rim. But the spirits of our Ancestors still linger, traversing the waterways so they may look upon us and offer their wisdom. While the Proving Festival gives us the best opportunity to reach out to them, it is recorded in some tales that masks like this one - found in an old Tsaesci site in Nibenay, carved from wood and remarkably preserved - may assist in invoking the words from water.To the beat of the drum, the bubbling of a brook, or the stomp of sabatons on the field of war, it makes no difference. When one dons the mask and dances to the distant hymns of their ancestors be it with graceful step or blade strike, they may begin to hear those hymns grow louder until the dam bursts and the current of ancestral guidance floods their mind. Or ancestral wrath, compelling the body to seize and spasm; one must ensure their progeny are well-pleased with them prior to attempting this ritual, ‘lest they find themselves drowning, head pushed into the depths until they can no longer breathe. The mask’s power works at its best near waterways, where the veil between the realm of the dead and the living is thinnest; I’ve yet to see anyone attempt it far from a source of water, but it may be possible.The mask itself is like that of a theatre mask worn in the days of the Potentates, when the courts of Cyrodiil were brimming with Akaviri art and culture. Perhaps then, this mask symbolizes putting on a performance for those watching from beyond. Decorated with motifs of the lotus and the flowing streams of Zisa with scales carved across the surface, it is a wondrous work of art, crafted in the days when we were the lauded guardians of Cyrodiil and not the exiles drifting in the sands; but in both these ages, our hands were and still are guided by those that watch from the flowing waters.
written by @apparition.aes
The Book of Whispers
Status: Sold to Mishaxhi-Ves
Description:
A velvet wrapped, carefully penned grimoire bears the sigil of a spider upon its cover, leaving no doubt of whom the author venerated, even if they left no name to identify themselves. It's filled end-to-end with slanted writing, some in common Cyrodiilic, most in Dunmeris, from years of boundless research. The grimoire covers a wide area of subjects but focuses primarily on the magickal and alchemical, containing formulae for poisons and ritual components, all following the underhanded teachings of the Webspinner: Lust is love. Lies are truth. Death is life.Most prominent within the recipes are illusion spells and careful instructions for their use. Wear many faces, the author encourages beneath a spell for a simple disguise. Among the (many) rituals are those focused around loosening the tongue through lust, something the author dubs (and is very much not recognized by any respected institution), "carnal magics". Poisons and poultice that intertwine in the gossamer mantras of the Lady of Lies provide similar effects; the last, languished sighs sourced from poisoned lips, the recipe for which found in the pages of this tome.It took months to finally finish translating this grimoire, and will take many more to actually go through each page to see the intended affects of each spell, ritual, or potion — But for any devotee of Mephala, it's safe to assume some will be falsehoods, and one sip of this Spider Cultist's potion could very well fry your brain, or render you impotent.
written by @cloverpatch
Circlet of the Kanuryai Battle-Sage
Status: Sold to Kelissindaryl
Description:
“The fire popped and cinders leapt out,
the glowing motes landing on my hand.
Through the pain, understanding came.
That which I see and feel is the truth.”We’ve scant surviving records from the Sinistral Elves, much less material items. When it comes to the way of war and destroying a foe utterly, few if any can compete with the Ra Gada. But the Ansei even with their skill could not cut through all memories and remains of their most hated foe. This circlet was found in Systres, where the last known holdout of the Lefthanded Elves, or ‘Kanuryai’ in their language, is known to be. Fashioned from orichalcum, known to be a sacred metal of Yokuda’s cultures, and studded with masterfully cut onyx, no doubt that whoever wore this circlet was one of high-importance in the society of the Kanuryai.No amount of attempting to resize this circlet prevented it from giving us an unusual sense of discomfort. From merish to mannish head, everyone who wore this circlet felt as though they could never have it fit quite right, always pushing against the temples and skull. But just as well, every sense, every feeling within us, was… acute. Honed, even.The gentlest breeze became an awe-inspiring breath of Kynerath, the grip of a quill twixt our fingers granting us the feeling as though what we were to write would be a masterwork. Still, it took utmost concentration to ignore the sensation upon our brows that grew only greater over time, perhaps some curse left behind, or maybe a lingering attempt from the Kanuryai to embrace all sensations - even discomfort and pain.Regardless, I have no doubt that this circlet has untapped potential. Imagine if one could overcome the aches and pain this piece of exquisite jewelry grants. Perhaps in battle, it could grant clarity, seeing the world the way the Sinistral Elves did? Though, I imagine some amongst the more… Zealous groupings of Redguard may simply wish to destroy this piece of history, perhaps that is their right, perhaps not, but I myself would think it a tragedy.
written by @apparition.aes