A Hist Story: The Im-Kilaya

“...Ash and fire covered the Anhydrous Land again, falling every-which-way. The Dunmer, ever-faithful, prayed to their stars and found them gone, lost in the storm. But where they are blind, we see.

“They kept us in cages of dead-chitin-bone, which cracked to our touch. We kept ourselves in cages of breathing-scale-home, which we shed like old skin. We took the shape of a trembling giant, more biome than blood, our number myriad or one. We lit the way to freedom, which is to say we lit nothing at all. Our path through the storm was clear.

“Like trees taking root, we rose from the murk and delivered a bitter eulogy, composed of every tear shed and every egg-cracked-inexact and every katcha katchak’d.

“Argonians? A word. Vessels. An idea. We are the Hist.”

THE BEGINNING.