Memoirs of the Abyss | Follower & Quest Mod for TESV: Skyrim (Round Two)

"I had a choice. I could be all noble and righteous and good, or I could be a thieving, filthy rat. That's what the Duke sees. What he doesn't see was the conditions for each choice - the noble and law-abiding girl being gutted and slaughtered in the snow, whilst the lowlife rat survives - no, *thrives* in the dirt.  Hunt the rat all you want, but she's got family relying on her. She's no good to them dead."

(This line should be delivered with frustration, as if Walks-in-Ash is venting to a confidant regarding a matter she feels strongly defensive about.)

"Hey. Hey, look at me. I know how you feel. I really, *really* do... and I promise that we're not hurting anyone anymore. Those Talon guys? I'm just going to go in, buy the medicine, and get out. Okay? No tricks, and I'll be back really quick. You'll never even know I was gone, you'll see."

(This line is being delivered to a child who is having reservations about trusting Walks-in-Ash. She is trying to explain her actions and get the child on her side.)

"No! Don't you *dare* - don't you - no! Get off him!"

(This line should be delivered in the form of desperate, enraged screaming. Someone the character cares deeply about is being accosted, and she is trying to get to them as fast as she can to protect them.)

"You sly little skink-- I'm starting to losing my patience! Open this Hist-forsaken door, NOW!"

(This line should be delivered as an enraged roar - he's being played for a fool, and is growing increasingly furious as a result.)

"Black horns blessed among morning dew; Whispers of the Cradle I am all but blind to; In Their eyes alone, I trust for my Blade; Be this undone that I am Unmade."

(Uran-Tii is whispering a near-religious chant to himself under his breath.  It's clearly something he repeats often, though there are genuine hints in his voice that he believes strongly in this strange mantra.. His tone ought to be respectful and almost quietly dogmatic.)

"Maybe it was the night air? I'm not sure what she was thinking, Oco. I mean, just look - she *broke all the windows*. Possession, in the purest sense."

(In this line, Uraan-Tii is trying to explain to somebody why somebody did something, even though he doesn't quite understand their actions himself.)

"Your role in all this is... unexpected. But not unwelcome. You have something the skink doesn't - something behind your mask. Not quite a fire, no... Something far less impressive, yet all so peculiar. What name would you give your heart, Son of Sand? Is there even a word for it in your mother tongue?"

(This line should be delivered in a tone that is strong and commanding, but also deeply intrigued. Dazur is almost evaluating somebody's character out-loud whilst they're standing before him, and whilst he is confident and in control, he finds what he sees fascinating.)

"... and you thought Iruli would seek counsel in the arms of his doting mother. It's not an altogether flawed theory. It ties the threads together nicely. Yet, unfortunately, you seek to solve the puzzle before you have all the pieces. Archaeology aside, that's not a healthy approach in any problem-solving technique."

(Dazur is having a rational conversation with an acquaintance. His tone is critical, but in the manner of a teacher giving a lesson rather than in the form of an insult or intellectual put-down. He is clearly knowledgeable and knows fully well what he is speaking about.)

"Go, then! Call out to your Divines - to your idols, your objects of comfort! Bask in that ignorance, that you may forget the horrors of the war, of the return of the dragons, and of your own flawed Being! Indulge, and crave chaos!"

(In this line, Dazur is loudly calling out to many people around him who are suffering. His tone is in the manner of a preacher who is demanding repentance, with the message of 'Go ahead and ruin your own lives. See for yourselves what good it will bring you.')

"There's a lot to be learned from the bottom of your mug - a whole lesson. You know what? That's lesson one, right there. Your mug's empty- it shouldn't be.  Lesson two - always carry a REALLY heavy mug. It's the first thing in your hand when you're attacked, if you're doing this right."

(Jhalo is giving his strange brand of combat advice to somebody. He seems genuinely invested in being a good, noble mentor figure, but also sounds somewhat like he is making up his curriculum on the spot and is struggling to prioritise which tips to share first.)

"That's where you come in, lil' bee. You're gonna flatten her ON MY BEHALF." [pause, with a long drink] " 'Cause payment. This is your chance to cough up by making someone else cough up for you - their innards, Divines willing."

(In this line, Jhalo is very suddenly, and very casually, insinuating that his 'student' needs to now beat someone up on his behalf in order to compensate him for his services. He sounds incredibly nonchalant about the whole affair, as if it's perfectly normal and expected.)

"If I wasn't spiritually nailed to this table, Aphid, I'd be right there beside you, running the full laps. Well, probably riding 'em on a horse. But I'd be giving you that encouragement *aaaaall* the way - you know I would. So make a mini-me in your head - a me away from me, to shout at you *for me*. *You hear me?*"

(Jhalo is trying to explain his own laziness in not helping his student out on an exercise run. As he starts using the word 'me' a lot, he begins to sound like he's getting himself confused, but doesn't stop to correct himself at any point or allow doubt that he's talking any sense.)

"In waking, we know not of our waking, nor in sleep, do we know of our waking- RATS. Twenty thousand and three rats, all crawling in the walls, one by one by one by one and *crawling, crawling, right under it all and into them as they wake...*"

(The man is babbling away in an incoherent string of sentences that seem to make no sense. He is fearful of his own words, and deeply troubled.)

"I wanna be home. That's all. Wanna be home. Anywhere but here."

(The man is near-silently begging to be removed from where he currently is, but seems to lack the willpower to even just ask for it - he is only able to express, at a basic level, that he wants to be 'home'.)

"They didn't look at me right - no, didn't look right. Not them. Not *themselves*. Something *else*. He wouldn't stop staring - I couldn't get away, he just kept *staring* - and with those holes. With ink, *black ink,* spilled across the pale sea, pulled and stretched and tearing and cracking..."

(The man is attempting to give a testimony of what he's seen, and is clearly greatly distressed by the recollection. He words are quick, feverish, almost as if he's battling himself ferociously to keep talking.)

"The Lung is just that, Beholden. Tool and twine, endlessly reshaped for your express desires. Is it not of your own culture to repay debts of service? Is it not the dwelling of thieves and con artists to flee, desperately, from a debt?"

(Thamane is posing food for thought to the player, asking them to consider another angle of thinking and open their mind.)

"The touch of Gnosis is not alien to your Being; and so, you ought know well of its perils. Do you not long to caress that truth as if a shield? It is hardly ironic that you turn to Chaos to enforce Order, but 'tis certainly the path of the Fool."

(In this line, Thamane's tone is somewhat questioning - not disproving, but morbidly curious, as if they find the player's desires as amusing as they are self-destructive.) 

"They are but dust in the wind before your presence, Beholden. But let that not lull you into comfort; given the opportunity, dust will choke. It will erode,  bury and erase. All it seeks is but one minuscule crack in your armour. Do not suffer dust this weapon."

(Here, Thamane is giving philosophical advice in the form of a lesson to the player.)

"You're a scholar, am I right? Maybe we could exchange books. I wouldn't mind a look at anything you've got on Bosmer culture. I've got a rather hefty volume of Ayelid poems that's been sat on my shelf for the better part of a year, now. Perhaps that would interest you in return? It's dusty, but... not unappreciated. I've read the whole thing back-to-front thrice now, and cannot bring myself to read it again - yet, I also cannot bear to part with it. Not completely, at least. It's been too... transformative. Hah, I do apologise if I seem to be speaking in tongues. Captivation is a virtue few men are willing to express nowadays - that, and nobody steals from libraries anymore... it's sad."

(The Heir is convening in a welcoming, friendly and gentlemanly tone.)

"You're a smart man, Dovahkiin. Your Breton blood serves you well - I often think about what you told me, you know. About your own private study. A child left to his devices in the playground of language and ideas. I can only dream of what I might know today, had I worn your shoes then. And you too, young man - I'm surprised, knowing what I do about the Saxhleel. A fine people, a fascinating culture, but so obsessed with the NOW. Yet you've become quite the little historian, haven't you? Both got good brains in those heads. Iruli's architect WAS a bit of an oddjob, wasn't he? Stalking the streets at night, kidnapping the castle vultures... building something Iruli didn't ask for. Something he didn't know about. Something NOBODY was supposed to know about - and yet, you cracked it. No, I mean it, well done. I almost missed it myself. I thank you both for your... helpful endeavours." 

(The Heir is pacing back and forth, picking up things and examining them, as he spiels at someone who his men have captured and are at his mercy. He sounds like he's enjoying explaining what he knows, with a very slight threatening undertone. He may pause at points or make a breath of exertion as he lifts and moves things - imagine heavy stacks of papers, or passing hefty stone objects to others.)

"They say the blood of dragons floods your veins, Dovahkiin. As your heart pumps with the vigor of dread and winged terrors, my own is that of even rarer ilk. I have the blood of Architects. The blood of Founders, and Seekers, and Slayers. Whose to say which is stronger without the divination of blade and spell? Come, Dovahkiin. Let us exchange hearts, that we might answer that age old question - does the hero slay the dragon?"

(The Heir is challenging the player to a duel - one that will end fatally in blood, for one or the other. His tone is serious, but he still carries that same scholarly air in his speech.)

"To understand horror - true horror, that which strikes the soul so deeply that fissures open within - you must be either the wasp, or the larvae. You must either act on another, knowing you will is being exercised to corruptive effect; or, being eaten from within. Through causing the suffering, or by bearing it, you feel how deep that agony goes. How it rips at Being, surges through bone and nerve."

(The Shaman is teaching a depressing but, in his eyes, true lesson about the nature of the world.)

"You listen. No more, no less. When the First Men received the gift of writing from their Ayelid oppressors, they became wiser and more co-operative. Why was that? Was it because they could understand what drove their masters? Because they could create new ideas and physically store them for later recollection? Ne'kka. It was because it let them listen to the many. The Men could listen to those who came before them, to those who were far away or whom they'd never meet. They could share what they'd learned through listening, and in turn, they didn't just understand the world around them better - they understood THEMSELVES better. If your home is infested, how are you to know that from outside without a window? If you don't know what your own disfunction looks like, how are you to judge it in your kin? Listening is the cornerstone of jhaa-u'roh; wisdom, Dovahkiin. If you wish to learn, start with listening to yourself, long and hard."

(Khyakh is answering a question. To illustrate his point, he tells a story about history. His tone is that of a teacher explaining something fascinating but important to a child.)

"You know not what you seek, Dovahkiin! What is it you desire here? Power? Fortune? Prestige? There are greater strings being pulled than yours alone - fragile strings! You break them, and you'll see that they were keeping you aloft, above the Abyss! Do you crave calamity?!"

(The Shaman is shouting at the player whilst fighting them, all the while slinging spells and shifting in and out of space around the arena.)

"I'm just curious. We're all running from something, aren't we? So, dragon, I'll ask again - what do you fear? What makes a king of the sky spasm and quake?"

(The Haruspex is asking deliberately provocative questions, but in a manner that suggests she is genuinely very interested in the true answer. Contrary to her words, she is not speaking to a dragon, but a person.)

"You think so?" [soft, light laughter] "I think she saw something in those men. Like coins - two sides, vastly different, but one can't be without the other. They rotted and wept, threading their plague through pores clean and clogged alike. Equally, they were.... a family. A community of men and women who understood the same pain, the same awful fate that awaited them. Maybe they even liked spreading it. Maybe it grew their family. Maybe an identity like that is worth suffering for."

(The Haruspex is talking in a slightly unnerving and stilted manner, but is not hostile, and actually seems very open to an academic conversation.)

"I reached into black, but only gold and silver and ruby and charm flowed back, into my veins.  It is harsh, but fair. It is cold, but watchful. It loves me. It always has."

(The Haruspex is talking in an eerily calm tone as she approaches somebody she is about to commit some rather brutal acts against.)

Please begin the audition with a compilation of wheezing, laboured breaths and coughing. About 10 - 20 seconds of these 'clinging to life' clips are ideal.

"Isn't it obvious, Groundling? My performance was a flop. I'm not... fit for purpose. Never was, so it seems.  Perhaps I was too rigid. Too lax? No..." [strained chuckling] "A man cannot be everywhere at once. That is the domain of the Divines... not charlatans nor chirurgeons. Wonder which of those I fall under? Hahaha...."

(The doctor is on the verge of death. His/her words are self-reflective and deeply nihilistic in tone - they laugh, but it is hopeless, despairing laughter.)

"We spent so long asking 'what'. Asking 'how'. How fitting that it is only now - here, at the end of all things - I can see the truth. I should've asked 'why'. Or maybe I shouldn't have any questions at all, eh?" [strained, soft laughter, intermixed with coughs]

(Once again, the doctor is monologuing as in Line 2, approaching their life's end. They are being asked questions, but are giving vague answers that only seem to make sense to themselves..)

"Traveler, you look the sort to be in the business of wanton slaughter for the odd shiny coin. Tell me - might I ask you to go into the woods and find my dearest chicken? He has grown to enormous size." 

(The man is making a request in a tone that suggests his words are completely normal.)

"Well, now. I'm not one to judge a mercenary by his helmet, but I would've thought you'd know what a chicken looks like, of all things. Never the matter - you see, a chicken is a ferocious avian beast with innard-raking talons and the all-consuming hunger of a particularly blind, idiot Daedra..."

(The man is, for whatever reason, explaining his vision of what a chicken is. He is not being sarcastic and is completely serious in his delivery. He is interrupted by a speaking traveler towards the end of this line, and trails off.)

"You can certainly try. In such a case, might I recommend purchasing one of my fantastical Scrolls of  Immediate Vicinity Removal? Perhaps two, if you know you're a glutton for punishment and might go back for a round two!"

(This line is delivered with a sinister, almost half-threatening tone. He's now attempting to sell the traveler bizarre, unique magical scrolls to help keep them alive if they attempt to carry out his task in a manner besides the one he has suggested to them.)

You fought long and hard for that trophy. You clashed against the machinations of masterminds deceased, stalked their cold halls with lamp and blade, and unraveled the mystery behind each and every piece. It is a powerful prize indeed, and one no greater-deserved than by yourself. 

(The Steward is, at the player's request, narrating the trophies and artifacts the player has collected. With each narration, her words hold admiration, encouragement and pride.)

You - and I. And them. We are all, with the sun's kiss, one Being - yet as the soothing embrace of sleep takes us, we become the Many. Do not fear it - it is not as frightening as it may sound, as it may now feel. Calm. A deep breath. 

(The Steward is slowly soothing an unnerved player, whilst providing an explanation of the strange events around them.)

They are your Within. Not individually alive - not independent. More like pieces of your mind's puzzle. Each is a soulful fragment - gently compassionate, but moderately useless. Yet, together, single thoughts become echoes of greater things - ideas. Inspiration. Solutions. Sometimes, to see the bigger picture, you actually need to get closer; examine each tiny thought alone, before you put them together. To that end, this place - this Palace of the Mind - is your home in slumber. I hope the decor is to your liking!"

(The Steward is explaining the purpose of a strange place the player is in, and gently encouraging them to see it as something positive - something to their advantage.)

"You know what he's done. You know that he's been USING you. What does he even matter anymore? He can't do this without you. Why does his say trump yours?!"

(This Within is angry, struggling to contain their rage.)

"The Jhiik had no reason not to be loyal to the Iruli family. She was well-fed, housed, raised by them throughout her life... But no-one could have gotten enough information to kill Khaavi without the Jhiik's documents. Were her ranks compromised? Did she have a hidden agenda? What am I missing here...?"

(In this line, this Within sounds confused; lost, in a minefield of logical dead-ends and their own doubts. Despite this, they desperately strive to reason with themselves.)

"  '... but of what use is a leper?' she spat. 'An untrained peasant, demanded to rot alive; yet you would have us garrison forty, as if they knew but the first thing of martial warfare!'.

'I would.' The Jhiik's eyes were cold, stern, but resolute. 'See to it that they receive their fair rations each eve, and clean beds below the Observatory. Each hand spare to carry a spear is another eye for the sickness that endangers us all - fitting, is it not, that our watchmen understand the dreadful adversity of a Being decayed?'  "

(The Within is sat around a fire, reading a book aloud to other Within, who are listening to their intently.)

"Well, I'M not doing it. What'll they think if they see the face behind Raelor ALSO playing the plumber? No, no, boy, use your noggin! Have you ever even heard of Chekhov's Crossbow? Anyone with a deconstructive mind for media such as MY audience will immediately assume that Raelor is moonlighting as a down-on-his-dumps salaryman! Do you want that? Do you want to defile the greatest playwright of all time?! Do you want to piss all over his corpse?! NO PISSING IS PERMITTED! NOT UNTIL AFTER THE SHOW! Then we'll do it. Together. Blasted playwrights, all pretentious and decomposing on me..."

(Khyakh has found the player's suggestion to be utterly mind-boggling, and is growing increasing dramatic and loud as the line goes on. It appears to be anger, until at "Then we'll do it.", he/she suddenly goes back to a reasonable volume, and speaks as if what he/she's saying is completely normal.)

"Ooooooh. You've stumped me there, girl. A real skull-cracker. HMMMMMMMMMMM. Is it supposed to be a... hm. Some sort of... interpretative tribal dance? A greeting ritual? An invitation to exchange something scandalous? HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM."

(Khyakh is merrily playing along with a riddle. His or her every word is overdramatic and concerningly enthusiastic.)

"PfffFFT. What do THEY know. The only PEOPLE they see are Dusters. DUSTERS, by Azura! You'd have better luck discerning the depths of the human condition from a narcoleptic skeever stuck in a sewer vent."

(Khyakh is speaking in his/her usual loud tone, but is expressing clear disapproval over the act he/she is referring to.)

"She knows to be scared is to be sane. That, she has no doubt of. It is the very depth of her own understanding that puts her sanity into question. She's scared of how well she knows this. She's scared of knowing her feelings are not real."

(The Veil is speaking sadly and empathetically, as if reflecting on a tragedy that is actively taking place.)

"Except you are no hero, Child of Elsweyr. You are a fool who plays into the convenience of a prophecy for a moral compass. It's not abnormal, worry not. It's merely a symptom of a disease much, much beyond your aid."

(Despite the words spoken, the Veil sounds mournful rather than anger or accusatory.)

"Hardly. Tulpa Memoria means nothing to him. He thinks himself of good heart. A shame. He is blind to the truth - to the fury that drives him. The guise of a hero is little more than an object of comfort. Something he clings to when he begins to doubt himself. Lying to oneself is rarely anything beyond sad."

(Here, the Veil is correcting a player's incorrect assumption. They should, again, sound curious, and somewhat mournful.)

Pretty. Pretty. It's yours. Clink, clink. Pretty. Clink. It's yours. 

(The voice is coaxing, but has a threatening, pushy undertone to it.)

They're looking at you. Why are they looking at you? They're all looking at you.

(The voice is hasty, paranoid and conspiratory in tone.) 

You don't know how to help. You can't help. You don't know. He'll die. You can't.

(The voice is defeated, pleading, as if it's the only voice of sense around.)

"Forgive me if what I'm about to say sounds somewhat... well, simple, but have you seen much Vampire Dust in your career? It's dreadfully difficult to source - and no, not just because it literally comes from vampires, as I'm sure you know..."

(Kyraan is carefully trying not to offend an Alchemy-savvy player by assuming that they don't know what Vampire Dust is, and seems to be awkwardly trying to set up a pitch for a request involving this material. He sounds somewhat unsure about how in-depth he should go with his explanation.)

"Ahh - you're that woman who... well. Flayed a dragon's soul from its corpse. Didn't think I'd see you this far north. Come - please, sit. I've got a brew on the fire. Do you mind Riverhold Chihati? It's a bit sweeter than the stuff you likely have back in High Rock, but... Ahh. I apologise. My manners have escaped me this eve. Are you well, my friend?"

(The player has stumbled across Kyraan's campfire at night in the cold north after not seeing him for longer than 10 days. His previous interaction with them was enlightening, terrifying, and jovially friendly, all in equal measure. He's curious about the player, and is eager to speak to them further.)

"Fascinating. You know, my friend, your story draws some interesting parallels with another certain tale that comes to my mind. Are you familiar with the Nine Scriptures of Saint Dallis? The war general with the Kyne-blessed hammer? ... and yes, it was a hammer, not an axe."

(Kyraan is having an enjoyable intellectual conversation, and has finished a line of enquiry into his conversation partner's past. He now intends to share some wisdom in the form of a story. The last sentence is added suddenly, as if he's only just realized that his conversation partner might mention a common myth about the story he intends to tell.)

"Bokkh-anhorh. The sun rises shallow in the skies these days. Does your blood sing?"

(Rather than asking the last sentence as a question, it is presented more like a greeting, as if she is saying 'how are you?'. Her tone is soothing and friendly.)

"Ahh. It sings as vhaal? That finds a glow, imuun. A treasured caste. Your fortune precedes you. For my Voices, vhaal trade in equals. I have many Songs of my own. Exchange would strengthen us both... in moderation."

(Bhari is proposing a mutually-beneficial opportunity to the player. She sounds calmly persuasive and convincing, and is not excitable nor anxious to pose the opportunity.)

"As you wish. What is it you give me, vhaal?" [pause] "I accept your pain, torakh, lung. May this ease your burden, lighten your heart. For you, I give... a piece of my joy. It is little, forgive me, but it glows warmly in these frigid climes. May it bring you closer to wealth. Bokkh-tahn, and colour your Tapestry."

(Bhari is making an exchange with the player. Upon accepting their 'pain', her tone becomes ever-so-slightly sympathetic, but otherwise continues to be smooth and stoic as they complete the trade.)