Writings of Polynira

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Submitted to: CULTUREARCHIVE:DESIGNATION-C0DA-

Fellow scholars,

Allow me to submit the following document for your approval. Polynira was a mysterious poet, believed to be a pseudonym for a Dunmeri woman who lived around the time of Tiber Septim. While her texts were believed to be wholly lost during the landfall events, an old tome was recently recovered from within a dying Telvanni fungal archive.

Though the subject matter is somewhat ribald, I must insist that this is a work of cultural significance and worthy of preservation. There are those among us that believe her to be the scribe of the now famous “Less Rude Song”, and she was frequently and fondly mentioned by the famed Crassus Curio as one of his chief inspirations. Presented below, for your perusal, are a few samples.

Yours forever in service to the saints,
Aldos Hlarys,
Vice Provost – Ald Balmora University,
House Hlaalu prefecture

The Hundred Redoran Knights

If I were a liege lord,
With a hundred men concerned,
I’d line them up for inspection,
and let each have his turn.

My heart would be not cold,
nay, not even for the old,
and each would fill my valleys
like Reman in the hold.

Each soldier could ride far
and I would be their guar
over mountain, under tree
under light of star

From their ranks I’d pull,
and never be I full,
To take delight, in such male might,
like Alessia and her bull.

In praise of the woman half-there

A man is a fine thing, stout and strong and bold,
he holds you rough and has his way,
leaving you aching for more.

A woman sometimes better, lean and soft.
With gentle touches, soft caresses,
and lips just made for love.

In search of means to satisfy,
desires of flesh and hair,
I traveled far and wandered wide,
to find a woman who was half-there.

She lay on the bed like an alabaster island,
golden peaks and bluest seas
and though two breasts on her chest did bear,
on her lap there lay a spear.

She bit my ear and pulled my hair
licked my neck and smacked my rear
and never in darkness did I dispair,
against the woman who was half-there

She showed me so many things
satisfied hungers, awakened dreams
And though thirsty before I lingered,
The milk of mountain and spear is mine forever more

So sing ye joy, to the woman half-there,
Hold her highly, as a paragon of all things,
and revel in her glory,
Call her god, For she is as close as any would be.

For Falion

I’ll never forget my fingers in your twisted hair,
or your eyes like black glass almonds,
or your skin, so perfect and brown,
or your touch, so soft.
or your scent, like forest mist and rain,
or your sweat, your tongue, your breast, your name.
If I could only have you, and only you, forever– I would.

Dreugh

Hold me down with twisted muscle
Drown me in salty sweat
Take my breath in the deapths of desire
Make my flesh turn wet.

Press me into the sand
Touch my flesh all over
Move your tentacles into…

[THIS PORTION OF THE TEXT HAS BEEN BLURRED BEYOND REPAIR BY SOME KIND OF FLUID DAMAGE]

… forever my ruddy man.

Four Hands

Four hands hold me,
rub me, touch me.

Two spear pierce me
wound me, kill me.

One man loves me,
hates me, cries for me.

No regret takes me
binds me, curses me.