Cruelty for the Sake of Utility

Part 1 of Lyenwen’s writings

My darling Ibthld,

You were a gifted conjurer and enchanter, perfect for working with Soul Gems. Before you ever told me what you were, your voice deep and sad, I knew you could work great magics.

I am a hunter-turned-raider and thief. Unless you can cast illusions or healing, since the Snow Prince was killed, our skills were best used hunting and hiding. Had the Nords never come, I would have been noble, I suppose, descended from a great Aldmeri family who could trace their heritage back to Alinor itself. But I still would have hunted, and it is possible that I still would have stolen.

Or perhaps I should say I was a hunter-turned-raider and thief. Then I became a most willing captive and apt pupil. And now what am I? Other that completely alone.

I hear them sometimes. The Falmer, my people, yet not my people. You had described them to me so many times, and I have yet to get a good look at one. I am petrified of being caught by one. When I hear them, their heavy breathing, their shuffling gait, the occasional angry outburst. They do not speak, not any language I understand. And yet when you say they are what is left of my people, those who fled underground so many generations ago. Sometimes I think I hear the children singing…

Being a hunter by calling, I was never much given to academic pursuits. Here, in my cramped and dark quarters surrounded by food and books, a trickle of fresh water coming from a leaky pipe above, I am proud to say I consider myself a scholar in any of the eclectic tomes you managed to siphon off to me over the months of my captivity.

But I will never forget what I consider to my first true lesson from you; Why would the Dwemer do such a thing? Why was it necessary? You told me yourself that the fungus would have been effective at blinding the population long term on a fraction of the dose that was being forced upon the Snow Elves. Why feed only these mushrooms to them? They were already servants, refugees, humiliated and helpless. Removing any thoughts of compassion and the fact that it was my own people we were talking about. It did not make economic sense to sense, they were stupider, less obedient and increasingly hostile.

You were quiet for some time, your strange luminescent blue-green eyes standing out from your ashen features and fine white hair that curled around your high cheekbones and pointed ears.

“You may be an uneducated savage in many ways, but you are not a stupid woman.” It was a statement of fact, no condescension or intent to insult me. “So I will tell you the truth. The place you hide in is called FalZhardum Din, Blackest Kingdom Reaches. The few men with the misfortune of having come here call it Blackreach. This place is rich in Aetherium Crystal, which is incredibly powerful and pretty much invaluable. It is also rich in Geode Mines, the only natural sources of Soul Gems that we know of.”

“Back near Red Mountain, we can power all our machines using power from the Heart of Lorkhan. There is a limited range to tap its energy, so in places like Skyrim we must power our creations with souls. Smaller machines are powered with anything from a common soul down to a petty soul. But larger machines require grand souls, and here we have a chronic shortage.”

“We are not a society of hunters. We can farm spiders and chaurus, and harvest their souls, but at best we get a greater soul, and that is rare. We cannot just go above ground and kill trolls, hagravens, sabre cats and other big powerful creatures and soul trap them, that is horribly inefficient. We fill as many Black Soul Gems as we can with criminals and other undesirables, but even in Blackreach, Black Soul Gems are hard to come by.”

“The mushroom does more than blind the consumer. It makes fundamental changes to their very being. Whatever protects us from being trapped in a White Soul gem, Arkay’s blessing, or whatever you want to call it, sentience, is removed. On an exclusive diet of those mushrooms, over generations, even the most steadfast of Mer would be degraded enough to be placed in a White Grand Soul Gem.”

“Those gems are much more abundant than the black ones. It is simple economics.”

I remember how sick I felt because every time I think of it I get sick all over again. All those years on the surface, imagining what became of our brethren who fled underground, I had never imagined that.

After a while, you continued, your voice still deep and pedantic, but with a tinge of worry, “Other things changed, along with the quality of the soul. Their sense of individual identity seemed to kind of vanish, and they were imbued with an ability very similar to the Calling, except it is more comparable to insect mentality than Dwemer intelligence. They are like a hive of ants, acting in unison. We… are… losing control of the situation.”

The War of the Crag, as you called it, broke out a few days later.

I could hear death all around me, echoing through the pipes, but in this tiny abandoned miner’s dwelling nestled in a maze of similarly abandoned dwellings, no one found me.

Your visits were the only thing that kept me sane. But secretly, I hoped the Falmer would have their justice, even if it meant they tore me to pieces. Tore you to pieces.

What cowardice keeps me alive here? I must rest, more another time. All my love,

Lyenwen