You've noticed a change, not within your realm nor Nirn, no this change has been within you. with your recently renewed worship you anticipated there may be some changes to yourself as your worship takes a different form from that in the past. You aren't just the prince general leading the conquest of oblivion, nor the gray prince expecting for all to kneel before you, though those parts are and ever will be a part of you even if they are no longer as prevalent. Now, predominantly among the cult of Winterhold though some shamans of the Falmer also see you in this light, you are seen as a god of wisdom, a counterpart to your brother Hermaeus Mora as lord of knowledge and intellect.
You can't say that its incorrect to view you this way, though you wonder what changes it may bring about. faith alone can do little to change a god's nature, but when you have such large cults and civilizations that believe in you its hard not to become shaped by that. For example, Akatosh may be god of dragons and time, though his mastery of time is not absolute as proven by the presence of dragon breaks, for men, but among the elves and especially among the falmer he is Auri-el, god of the sun. Each one may act differently, think differently, and act differently were you to meet them, though you hope there is no need.
Would you undergo this shift in perception, wearing a different face depending on how you are worshipped? The idea displeases you, bringing to your mind the memories of a different name you once held, but you shake it from your mind. You are you, for better and worse. And while time allows you should be spending it on things of more import than this personal reflection.
The domain of wisdom has been gained. The gray prince trait has been lost.
---
The Falmer have lost much in their time below ground. Even with form and mind returned to them, they simply lack the knowledge needed to be a match for modern civilizations, not to mention the aspects of their culture gained and lost since their betrayal. The loss of the knowledge of metallurgy, of smithing, of architecture, of agriculture, all lost to the void of history. Even though they are naturally adapted for the lands they seek to return to, possessing an almost complete immunity to cold surpassing that of the Nords, without the knowledge to turn the land to their own means they shall not thrive, only survive in the ways they had before your gift, through raiding and desperation.
You cannot give them all that they need, but you can give them a start. You speak unto their shamans and priests and craftsman, tell them what you gather from your servants in Winterhold about the means of society, tell them of the tools they will need and of how they should be used. Picks, mines, smelters, shovels, rakes, hoes, and more. The knowledge alone, however, is little match for traditions and techniques, but for now it is what you can give them.
You teach them as they make their pilgrimage, their exodus, their return, while many stay behind in Blackreach. They cannot settle on what this journey of theirs truly is, and spirited arguing happens every night over it, sometimes devolving into duels as tempers burn hot, a tradition built from their time below ground. They still act much the same as they had before you remade them, savage and barbaric at times, many of their traditions now pale mimicry of that of the snow elves. Hopefully they will be able to overcome that past.
When they finally breach into the mountains, above ground for more than a raid in the first time in over a millennium, they are greeted by the sun breaking through the mists that cling to the cold mountaintops. Some see it as a sign from their gods they were not forgotten, joyful tears springing forth at what they see as a sign. They mark this place, where they see as a symbol of their new start, as a place to later build a wayshrine before continuing into the forgotten vale.
The land is covered in thick layers of snow and ice, hardy tress poking out from the snow mounds. Bits and pieces of their ancestor's architecture dotting the landscape. Animals roam the land, covered in strange natural markings that almost seem to glow. In the distance they see a structure, a building that still stands after long years of neglect, at the front of which stands a statue of Auri-el. Signs of battle can be seen, though they are old, not between snow elf and Nord, but between the snow elves and the Falmer. Some bits and pieces of Falmer structures, those made with chaurus hide and carapace, can be seen on the far edges of the vale, far from the temple, though no sign of the Falmer themselves can be seen. Not all answered the calls to be remade, but whether these Falmer remain cursed or not remains to be seen.
Camps are established, still of Falmeri style, though to prevent confusion they mark their homes with a paint made from the glowing plants of the local cave systems, giving them a glowing bluish tint, easy to make out in the dark. Small expeditions are sent to the chantry, though none can find a way in. they begin to make some use of the lessons you gave, trying to build more permanent housing for themselves beyond the camps, having some luck though they will not last long. They begin to work at gathering plants, where you instruct them on how to take the seeds and plant them, though they still need more staple crops. In the meantime they hunt the native animals, attempting to capture some for domestication, while others they take for pelts to try and make clothing.
It is meagre. Small, isolated, and in a precarious situation. It is far from any other people they could reach out to for aid or friendship. They know few of the necessities for being a settled people. But it is a start. A new beginning, a new age for the Falmer to once again feel the warmth of the sun and bask in its light, to raise their children to know more than the cramped caves where they thought they would be doomed to live and die in, to once again live and not just survive.
The Falmer now call the forgotten vale home once more.
---
You've taken the liberty of inviting yourself to the shivering isles after a long period of silence from the mad prince. You had a mind to request his help with the creation of an artifact, but you need to be sure he's of a mind to do so. You once again take on a mortal guise, walking through the streets of new sheoth, to the palace doors, ignore Haskills telling you to be patient while he gets his lord, and walk straight in. he isn't on his throne or hall, so you continue searching until you find him in a study of sorts. Torn paper lies scattered around, written in shakey hands that switches between the languages of man, mer, beast, and Daedra.
Sitting at a table in a chair damaged from presumably being thrown into a wall if the dent in the two is anything to go by, is Sheogorath. Sweat drips from his hair onto the paper they're writing on as he writes feverishly. It takes a moment for them to notice your presence, but when they do they throw on a fake smile, that of the courteous host. "Jyggy, what a wonderful surprise! I was just hoping that somebody would come to interrupt me unannounced in the midst of writing down such important things. Come, do you want tea, wine, the blood of my enemies?" he tries to walk past you, to lead you out of the study, but you instead move over to the desk and take a look at what he was writing.
"Theodor Draian, seventh son of House Draian of the kingdom of high rock, imprisoned by one of his fathers political enemies in Cyrodil. Fled the prison, seeking to enact revenge but instead found himself in the midst of an invasion of Daedra unto Nirn. I suppose this is one of the many minds that make up yourself?" the smile becomes more forced, hiding anger now. "You know, its awfully impolite to read an author's works before they're ready. But yes, Theodor. Wanted to be a big hero, and succeeded. Was a knight of the nine, perhaps the greatest honor one can hold, saved the world from the Daedric invasion, then ended up throwing that away and becoming a Daedric prince. Fun times."
You look at the desk and see many other pages, Derikesh the assassin, Sillanach the warrior, Azjiti, the spy, and many and more besides. "Are you attempting to chronicle your pasts?" "Oh and there's the prince of deduction, who else could have possibly figured out that. Though you're slightly off. I do intend to chronicle them and send them off to mundus with the princely bits cut off, but it's as much to separate out who did what. Causes a hells of a headache when one of us remembers doing something the other did."
You pick up the quill next that he dropped, some ink still fresh. "But when one of you starts to write the others start to add their details, defeating the purpose." A slow clap comes from the madman. "Bravo, now like I said I have treats and drinks aplenty to distract and relax, so let's get moving." He turns to leave but you hold the quill and open the book he had been writing in. "I could scribe for you. write down what you want to say without the other minds tripping you up."
Finally, he stops trying to leave, and turns back around with a much brighter smile filled with relief on his face. "Well who am I to say no to such an offer. I expect you to record it as accurate as you can, and I'll be sorely disappointed should anything be even the slightest bit out of place. Let's start with… hmm, let's say the Breton."
And so you help the prince right down the stories of his past, of those who became him, of the paths they walked, decisions they made, and who they were. Many had lives with goals left unfulfilled, with promises broken, with mistakes made. Others had triumphs, victories, and tales to tell aplenty. In total there was roughly thirteen of these minds altogether, with at least one of each of the major species. Some were mages or knights, thieves or assassins. Some deserved the prison they found themselves in, others did not.
By the end, once the thirteen books of the hero of Kvatch have been written, a process that takes a fair while, Sheogorath has lost much of the energy he once had, each of the souls making him up tired and pensive, now fully faced with the lives that have been lost to them. A copy of each book is made, one he intends to stow underneath his throne, the others placed throughout Nirn, where they are to be found by those dear to the individual minds or simply where their story can best be heard.
When you and Sheos work is done, you notice the quill you had written had become changed. Once it had been a simple thing, made of the feather of a swan from a lake within the realms of madness, but by your hands and the work put into it it has taken on new properties. The vane of the feather had slowly turned silver, though light reflects off of it in myriad colors, like light reflected off of oil, and the point had become slightly crystalline. The touch of two gods leaving their imprint.
You show it to the mad prince but he has little interest, worn as they are, so you take it for yourself. The intentions of the both of you has caused it to take on properties of those desires. The quill now writes precisely what your soul intends, to the letter. Even if you try to write a falsehood with it, your intention is written as well, your hand becoming subservient to the quill. As the mad one had little desire for it, you also decide to add on an extra piece, the only intentional part of this quill.
You pair it to one of the book shelves in the library and fill it with blank books. Then to test it you write upon a piece of stone 'I am Lord Jyggalag.'. you then return to the library and check within the first book, and there written upon it are the very same words. An artifact, unintentionally made but perhaps of great use.
Relations improved with sheogorath thanks to your help organizing his lives. Relations are now tepid.
The soulscribe Artifact has been made. any that write with it shall write precisely what their soul intends through any enchantment or sickness that may take hold of it. Anything written shall appear within the blank books of your library. It also doesn't run out of ink, very helpful.
---
The cult of Winterhold has hit something of a snag as tensions continue to rise in the city. Thanks to Dunmer immigration, whether staying in the city or moving on from there, as well as continued political stagnation, tensions are rising more and more in the cold city. You worry if this is all to grow further into the cataclysm you knew would spark the collapse, so you order the cult to be prepared. The guards are to keep an eye on the tensions between Nord and Dunmer, while the students pay attention to the college, waiting to see if some spell is cast.
What's worse is that you aren't the only one to notice the growing tensions as the local jarl has called upon the imperial legion in one of the nearby forts to help maintain the peace. The imperials have taken to the job with gusto, going above and far beyond what was requested of them according to the guards. They bring a heavy cudgel against any forms of disruption they see, gatherings too large, of too many people, and especially against the mages who they deem to inquisitive. This has resulted in the cult needing to forgo meetings and prayer for the time being.
---
The Falmer found someone. Well, to be more accurate they were found by someone. A snow elf, one from before the betrayal who calls themselves Gelebor. He had come to them, believing them to have been snow elves such as he who had escaped the Dwemers predations, but his tone changed when he heard their tale. He still treated them with respect, but he wasn't as elated as he had been, now somewhat melancholy. When you followers tried to ask him what he knew of the snow elves, to teach them of their long forgotten past, he suddenly found himself quiet on the subject, asking for time to think before he did so.
While it may have amounted to little In the end, learning one of the old elves still lived to this day filled your followers with yet more hope, and while he may be reluctant to speak, in time they hope he will tell them of their old stories and ways.
---
Overall things are going well for you for once. Not perfect, and of course some things may need some attention in the future, but overall you have a feeling of contentment you have not felt in some time. Perhaps you can take a moment to r- "Hey Jyggy!" oh you damnit. You look out the window of your keep towards the garden where a certain madman stands. He beckons you towards him with a movement of his hand before saying "Got something we need to talk about, needs your help." You let out an annoyed grumble before making your way outside.
"This had better be worth my time Sheogorath." You say sternly. "Oh no worries about it being worth our time friend." They're much more energetic than the last time you had met. He emphasizes the word our, equating their worth. "Got a message, a missive, whatever you'd like to call it from our dear brother Sanguine." The words are dragged out in a relaxed way. Faked, of course. He'd be a fool if he were….. "You're treating this carefully, I hope?" and with that the smile fades from his face.
"Of course I am. He sends a welcome back letter, asks to come have a drink in the ruins of new sheoth, have a game of wits, a whole little shindig. Why? From what memories of mine, the old me that is, that I can remember sanguine was never too close to me, so why now? If he had really wanted to have a welcome back party like he says it'd have been sooner. And while one of us was his champion before all this-" he says, both hands gesturing to himself "-I doubt he cares enough or realizes what happened."
The two of you are silent a moment, worrying. Neither of you wants to sat it, but one of the minds of Sheogorath gathers the will to do so. "Do you think he knows? That we became a prince and you were released?" you want to snap at him and say no, but you instead ask "How could he? You haven't talked to any of the other princes yet, have you?" he shakes his head. "Nah, we've been quiet, and until now they haven't really cared to speak with us."
Again there's a period of silence, one that he breaks. "We trick him, or try to at least. Give no sign that anything's different, that the Greymarch went as it was supposed to. He's expecting to drink among the ashes, so when he sees the isles as lively as ever, the truth would be obvious. So, we need to make the shivering isles a desolate wasteland. Problem is, I like how it currently is. So, I have a plan."
"No." his response to your immediate rejection is a smile he forces on his face. "Look, just hear it out before you dismiss it." "Why? Do you have enough control over yourself, mentally and divinely, to have a plan that can fool a god?" You say expecting to be dissapointed. "Yes actually, now still that sharp tongue before you cut yourself on it. The plan is simple. He wants a party in the ashes, we give him a party in the ashes. We make a plane, just a simple, small, and boring one, that way you will feel right at home making it. Fill it with ashes, a few bits and pieces of broken masonry, vegetation, a corpse or two, and you can plant a couple of your crystals wheresoever you like. I party with him a bit, drink whatever vile concoction he has, and send him off with a drunken smile."
You won't admit the plan isn't the worst you've heard. What you will say is all the flaws in it. "Do you think the prince of revelry is that simple minded. He's more clever then he lets on, even if he doesn't make use of it for more than petty amusements very often. How will he not notice that the entrance to the isles doesn't lead to the isles, or that whatever entrance you tell him to use isn't the right one. And more than that, how do you think you will react when face to face with a god."
A small bit of laughter comes out of that fake smile. "We have plenty of experience dealing with gods Jyggy, they don't scare us anymore. As for the rest, I simply tell him that this way is the quickest route to the place with the best view of desolation. And besides, for how much guff you've given over this plan, I haven't heard any better ones from you." You glare his way, your dislike of his tone obvious. "Here's one. Refuse him. Just because he is another prince does not mean you need to give him any courtesy."
The princeling raises his hands in frustration "The fact he is a prince is the exact reason I need to see him. We have to interact with them sooner than later, and if I'm hiding away in the palace for as long as possible they'll only grow suspicious. Better to make them think I'm just having a late start of returning to form. So, were going to do this. Not that you have a choice. I already sent a letter to him."
Of course he did. You let out a long sigh. "If this doesn't work you'll have made us putty in his hands. So you had better put your all into this." The crafting of the false plane over the isles isn't easy. Planes don't follow the laws of physics or thermodynamics, but there are some rules that do apply. Firstly, any planes close to one another will eventually form borderlands between them, not controlled by either ruler by taking traits of both lands. So, to keep up the ruse the plane needs to be made shortly before Sanguines arrival.
Thankfully, as Sheogorath said it would be a simple construction. Ash is simple, placing a few of your crystals around and ruined buildings is easy. The corpses prove tricky but apparently one of the madman's vassals has plenty to spare so they are tossed about the landscape. From there the two of you touch it up to make it believable, and Sheogorath sets up the meeting grounds. A Carpet from one of his finest weavers, a century old and given a bit of a tumble in the ashes to fit, a broken parapet for a table, burned flowers and shards of colored glass for decoration, and a broken version of his throne and the seat of one of his councilors the chairs. Food is laid out, whatever bits and pieces that are sacrificed to him to make a decent array of snacks, and a bucket filled with ice for whatever sanguine decides to bring. It's here that you leave, giving Sheogorath a few last words of advice.
"Like I've said, he's more clever than he lets on. He'll get you talking like he would any other drunk, and while you talk and talk and talk he learns more and more. So blather, talk without saying anything that means anything. You are not a hero of mortals, you are the prince of madness, embrace the mantle, fully or be made his fool." And with those words you step out of the realm, making your way to the far edges of oblivion where you will not be detected, and await Sheogoraths sign that sanguine has left.
---
'Alright, we've got our attire on yes?' speaks the Breton in the mind of Sheogorath. 'Aye, gold brocade tunic, red and purple jerkin over top, dark pants and boots, and a hat' says the Redguard. 'I've told you so many times, no hat! it makes us look horrible.' Says the Argonian. None of them truly speak, the thoughts make themselves known whether you want to hear them or not. The arguing continues over whether or not the hat stays until the Khajit throws it away to end the argument. Its at that moment that he shows up.
His portal opens at the far end of the table, and stepping out is lord sanguine. The form he takes is stockier, slightly on the shorter side, body covered in thick and dark hair. He wears a loose robe, hung from one shoulder, and little else but a pair of sandals and a simple rope as a belt. The hair on his head is as dark and thick as everywhere else on his body, but curly and short, exposing two short horns protruding from his head. A similarly short and thick beard covers his face, but doing little to hide the mischievous smile on his face nor the twinkle in his eyes.
He holds a bottle, glass a dark green without any labels with the cork held down by wax, in his off hand, the other scratching at his chest. "Sheogorath in the flesh! Been a little quiet lately though I'm thankful you accepted my request so readily. I must say, I love what you've done with the place, truly I do, perfect for a celebration." 'Okay we need to get our shit together, stop arguing and talk' says the Khajit in their mind. "Well hello to you to Sanguine, and thank you for the compliment on our décor, I worked so very hard on it and it feels nice to be recognized for it."
"I can only imagine it's taken a load out of you, but don't you worry, I've just the spirit to raise your own. I'll fill ourselves some cups, you just take yourself a seat." While the mad ones do just that the prince of debauchery takes two of the golden mugs, one with a slight cut on the edge, and fills them with the contents of his bottle. The liquor is dark, and a thick, fruity smell cuts through the scent of ashes in the air. He hands the cut cup to his drinking partner and takes the other, along with the bottle and a platter of snacks, to the other.
"Go on, take a drink and tell me what you think." With the request they can do naught but comply, so they lift the cup, give a salute to their guest, and take a sip. Its not a large amount, but it nearly knocks out the prince. Their senses are assaulted on every end. A sense of euphoria, followed by dread, then a moment of calm within this storm before recovering. Over the drink they can hear deep laughter, straight from the belly, coming from sanguine.
"Oh ho ho, either I've become a better brewer or you've become a worse drinker. Ill take the reaction as a compliment either way!" he says as laughter escapes him only to be drowned as he downs his own drink in a single go, refilling his cup the moment after. "I admit, I wasn't prepared for that. You said you made it yourself? What for, if you don't mind me asking? I might give it a shot myself, see what I can come up with." the prince of madness says, trying to regain some composure.
"Oh just a little of this and that, grapes mostly though I also threw in some sweet berries. The important part was the quality of the ingredients you see. Carved out vineyards back home, forced some of the party goers to tend to them. The grapes used for this particular bottle were special however. Y'see, last time you lost yourself, I popped in over here and grabbed myself some of the ashes, mixed it into the soil. The fear, the hate, the raw emotions that were captured in the ash were so strong I just knew I had to grab a handful. I had planned to ask this time around since you weren't really doing much with them, but I've gotta say, it just seems to lack that same level of raw emotion as last time. Did you not go as hard on wrecking the place as before or were the people just drab and boring?"
'He knows' 'He doesn't know' 'We don't know what he knows, just stay calm' the voices argue before Sheogorath says "Afraid your wrong on both accounts. You see, I brought my champion here to try and stop the whole thing, but that failed and he is now just another of the corpses, that corpse over there actually." Sheogorath says before throwing an apple core at the corpse he claimed to be his former champion, striking it in the head. "He did soften the blow a little, but not near enough. Next time this all goes down though, ill promise you a mountain of ashes for that garden, but only if you promise me another bottle of that, and perhaps a few of the grapes and other produce." Sheogorath says with a smile.
"Hah! Cant say no to an offer like that. I'll be holding you to it. Now, what's say we spice up this picnic, eh?" the god of wine says, now on his fourth cup, as he pulls out a deck of cards. "A simple enough card game, just something for fun, no stakes included." And with that the princes start a couple hands while enjoying their food and wine. After some time into of the game however, sanguine changes the conversation.
"So, gotta ask, any of our old buddy Jyggalag still rattling around in that head of yours?" sanguine says, looking at his hand of cards. He's nearly emptied the bottle at this point, now drinking straight from it. "Bits and pieces unfortunately. Really hoped he'd be gone this go around but it is what it is." Sheo says trying to hold back any potential sign of emotion from the Daedra. "Iunno, seems you did a pretty good job, can hardly smell his stink on you, so id say you might be rid of that boring, stony faced prick next go around. Oh, by the way, I win." He says as he lays down a perfect hand of cards.
The mad ones laugh before saying "Id ask you to tell me how you do that, but I fear what the cost may be." This makes sanguine chuckle some as well. "Id be more than happy to tell you the cost. Itd' be the answer to a question of my own. Why're you wearing that face?" his smile shrinks, now less raucous and more cunning. "You haven't used that face in ages, using that doddering old man act more than ever. You said before it reminded you too much of Jyggalag, but now you wear it proud. Why is that?" his words are stripped of any of the slurred speech from before.
The heroes of kvatch struggle to throw together an answer, eventually ending up with "I merely thought to try something I haven't in a while. The old face was growing a touch boring you see, so I thought id step into something older and slightly uncomfortable, spice things up. Now if you'd be so kind, do show me the trick." They say it confidently and nonchalantly, but each if the minds wait with breath they don't need to hold, waiting for the answer. Theres silence for a moment before the lord of revels lets out another deep belly laugh. "The trick is simple, you need only bring your own deck. Mark the cards however you like, and you can win any game you desire. Now, this has been fun, but were dangerously low on wine, and you don't want to see me sober, it's a ghastly thing. So, ta ta, and have fun cleaning up your mess." He gathers up his cards, drinks the last of his bottle, then what remains in your cup, and teleports away to the myriad realms.
The prince of madness lets out a long held breath, letting go of the stress of the meeting. Did he know the truth, they cant help but wonder. They wander away from the picnic grounds, snatching up the hat that had been tossed away, then fall back onto the ashes. With a snap of their fingers the false plane disappears, leaving them to freefall back into the shivering isles, crashing right through the roof and falling onto their throne.
---
With the pact with Sheo you can have him do an action for you, still rolling for it of course, or give +25 to a roll
What shall you do in Nirn? Choose one
[] The ghosts of the vale: currently the falmer live among ruins, the same as they had before your intervention, the only difference being that the ruins belong to their people. While you would love to simply give them the secrets to thrive, that wont work in the long run. They will need to show themselves eventually, but for now they can do it in a limited way. Have them venture down the mountains and seek out teachers. DC80
[] Seek out a champion. There are those among the mortals who realize the need for order. Seek one out to act as your agent, to go and do what dyus cannot. Recruiting them may prove challenging, especially without an artifact to tempt them and offer in exchange. DC60
+20 to the roll if you offer an artifact
[] The gifts of man: many artifacts already litter the lands of Skyrim, one needs only look. Of course, looking doesn't mean you would have the artifact for yourself, you would still need to send someone to collect it, but if you could find something you could imbue with your will, spreading your influence would be all the easier.DC80
-the higher the roll the better the item you find.
[] A Gods Blessing. The mortals are an ever predictable lot. While some will follow you for your ideals, others need a nudge of incentive. Craft a blessing that your priest might weave into a shrine to you to attract followers. DC55
-[] what shall your blessing do?
[] write in. up to qm discretion
---
What shall you do in oblivion?
[] Conquest. While your power is diminished, it would not be impossible to find some corner of oblivion held by a weaker Daedra for you to take for yourself. So long as you don't make too much noise, none would assume you were there. DC60
[] seek out subjects. Daedra are inherently creatures of chaos, but many value strength over ideals. Convince them of your strength, and they will follow. DC70
[] Seek out the other planes. Many are the planes of oblivion, and many are their occupants. You know enough of your kin to know where to avoid, so you could find allies or a realm ripe for the taking. DC70
-the higher the roll, the better plane you find
[] Find allies. without the might you once had, you need allies so that you might not be blindsided. seek others out so you might make an alliance.
-[]who will you seek an alliance with? different daedra will have different dcs, and you need to seek specific Daedra
[] diplomatic efforts: friends and allies can be difficult to keep, so better to maintain contact so that relations don't break down.
-[] who will you try to improve your relationship with.
[] Write in. up to qm discretion
---
What shall you do in your realm?
[] A heart of order: Every prince has at least one Daedra, created by their own hand. You, however, could never make one as ordinary Daedra were antithetical to your nature. The closest you could get were your knights, humans who burned up their soul to empower themselves to serve you. now, however, you might be able to make something of your own with a true spark of life. Dc80
-feel free to describe what you want them to be, otherwise the qm will design them
[] Creation. more artifacts are always useful. You could use some of your remaining power to make something of crystal that you could send unto the planet. Dc75
-[] what shall you make, and what shall it do? Up to qm if your idea would be allowed/ if its too strong
[] Rebuild your library. Once your library rivaled that of Hermeus mora, you imagine it's the reason he played a part in your downfall. Now you would rebuild it. Gather what tomes you can find in oblivion, and begin the calculations of the future as you once had. Dc 60
[] The crystalline Host. With but 8 knights remaining in your service, you need more to serve you. while it takes a follower with a soul to create a true knight, you may be able to create something lesser that could still serve your purposes. DC70
[] Write in. up to qm discretion