Shor of the Shore

First Adjunct,

I have found the Nord you were looking for. He was working the wharfs of Windhelm, loading cargo onto ships. I told him that he was of great interest to the Synod, but he merely laughed at the notion and informed me that I most likely preferred libations of the lactic variety. As I suspected, an appeal to the scholarly pursuits of our organization did not sway the brute. I offered to buy him all the meat, cheese, and ale he could drink at the local tavern once his shifted ended, and the grunt he gave in reply sounded agreeable enough. Skjornheim Floe-Pilot, known since his return to Skyrim as Skjornheim Pearl-Eye, was indeed more inclined to talk about his time in Pyandonea once he had ingested a few flagons of foul-smelling ale. I have included the interview, but please note that he was quite inebriated and taken to exaggeration; I am not certain how much his account can be trusted.

So I understand that you were, until recently, stranded on Pyandonea.

Aye, so I was. I’ve got this lovely little thing to remember my time there (Here he tapped his left eye with the fork he had been using to eat cheese).

I had assumed the name Pearl-Eye was less…literal.

Well, it ain’t. This here’s a pearl, given to me by them Maomer. I lost the real one in the wreck.

Let’s talk about that, shall we? How did you end up on Pyandonea?

I were runnin’ cargo to the Summerset Isle from Valenwood. Can’t say I much care for no pointy-eared fops like them High Elves, but they pay good. More like High ‘n’ Mighty Elves, you ask me! (He roared drunken laughter at his own jest). Anyhow, we was lost in an awful storm, blown far off-course. We found ourselves lost in a fog so thick Yoni Hog-Mane couldn’t see his own beard! We pushed on, though, until all at once the fog went ’n’ lifted. We was low on supplies, so we was mighty glad to see the island when we did. ‘Pon our approach, though, our ship got carved up real good by some hidden reef. We was takin’ on water real bad, hittin’ more reef as we went along. I was down bailin’ water when we hit another reef, and the splinters is what took me eye.

Is this where you lost your crew?

Only a few. We did get the ship to shore. When the men sprang out onto the beach, that was when the Maomer got ‘em.

Were there archers lying in wait?

No. Y’see, them Maomer is, well, odd. They saw the ship way in the distance, so they set up a trap. Their skin is real special, see? They had twenty or thirty men waiting for us. When those elves lay down real still-like, their skin starts to take on a color like what’s around ‘em. So they was layin’ on the beach, and the men was so eager to get off that splintery wreck of a ship they didn’t notice ‘em. Once they walked past, the elves grabbed the men by their ankles and shoved the men’s faces into wet sand. I later learned they called it land-drownin’, and it’s a common enough way for ‘em to greet intruders.

The sneak-lizard of Valenwood has a similar ability.

It ain’t like a lizard’s skin. They control it. Their language, see, it sounds all busted-up to me ’n’ you. But it ain’t. Some word’s they say with their skin, not their mouths. That’s why they don’t like armor so much. Makes it hard for ‘em to communicate.

They spared you?

Yes. Me Da gave me a belt buckle when I were real young, see? It had the face of Shor ‘pon it. When that Sea Elf grabbed me, he paused when he saw that. His long fingers were tight like iron around me ankle, an’ he just stared at me. I could hear the muffled screams o’ me ship-brothers being smothered in sand all around me. He gave some order in his strange language – sounded like birds chirpin’ to me – and the attacked stopped. By this point there were only ten or twelve men left alive.

Your Amulet of Shor gave them pause?

So they did. Them Maomer took us in, kept us alive. Maybe they felt bad about smotherin’ the crew. The time I lived them I learned much about ‘em, which I suppose is why yer here.

This must be incorrect. You expect me to believe that they revere Shor?

I don’t much care what you do and don’t believe.

I had assumed they worshipped some corrupted Elven pantheon.

They worship a goddess called the Sea Bitch, as well.

Is this some strange, coarse Nord humor?

Sea Bitch is what they calls ‘er in our tongue, but maybe worship ain’t such a good word. More like…carefully observe, maybe. They call ‘er E’ya-Mala in their language. She’s like the sea, see? Always changes, never the same. Unpredictable. Brings delicious little fishes to the village one day, drowns an entire island the next. They got thousand’s o’ little islands all about, you know.

What do they call Shor?

Now Shor they call Or’Haan.

While this is fascinating, I can’t really accept any of it.

(He ignores this and continues) The Maomer claim that they been worshippin’ Shor since way back on Summurset. Back then they did it all secret-like. Some of ‘em say that’s why they was exiled. And they attack them High Elves every now and then, ‘cause them High Elves got it out for Shor. Or so they say.

Moving away from the religious side of things, did you learn anything about sea serpents?

So I did. They ride ‘em and hunt on ‘em, like is said. They believe that the sea serpent’s were a gift of Shor. They say when Shor was killed by t’other gods, they mutilated him to shame him. His heart was cast far off, his skin to the sky, his blood to the earth. His entrails ‘n’ bowels ‘n’ things spilled into the seas, and there became sea serpents.

How absolutely carnal. Do you know anything about this King Orgnum?

Not much. A bit. He led a secret cult of Shor-worshippers back in Summurset, before there was any Maomer. They told me he’s touched by Sheogorath these days, thinks that men are too far tainted to be the true heirs of the world. ‘Course, he ain’t been seen for years. The Maomer we was with didn’t think too highly of ‘im; regarded him as a bit of a what-d’ya-call-em’s, a zeelit.

A zealot?

You tell me, fancy-boy. Zealot, sure. It ain’t every Maomer what swears fealty to him. The ones we knew seemed friendly enough to men.

So how did you end up leaving?

I’ve no taste for the air there. The sun burns so hot! The air there is like… is like there’s water in the air, all the time! No thank ya, no sir. Did you know that after too long in the sun yer skin starts to turn all red and painful? Unnatural, you ask me. So one of ‘em stuck me in one o’ them boats they got made out of an insect shell and brought me back to Valenwood. From there I came back to Skyrim. Me home.

Wait a moment, you expect me to believe that they have ships made from the hulls of giant insects?

Oh, come off it. I ain’t a liar. Not about them Maomer, anyways. They was good people, especially for elves. They saved me life by takin’ that bit o’ boat outta me face, an’ they gave me a nice shiny eye, to boot. Now then, do ya reckon’ that yon maiden has company this evenin’?

Alas, First Adjunct, Skjornheim would say no more, choosing instead to sing bawdy songs to an under-dressed mead-girl. So there you have it: The only known person to return from Pyandonea, and he’s a drunken Nord simpleton who believes they worship Lorkhan and can change their skin color at will.

Since I have done as you asked, this may be a good time for me to request a transfer of research. While I am sorry about what happened to my three underlings during my investigation into Flesh Magic, I feel that being sent to hear fantastical barroom stories is a bit excessive for punishment. Please reconsider my application for research into the Suspended Man of Hnes Rax.

Through Magic We Are Freed,

—Third Attendant Tertullian Falx