Troll-Bitten, Worm-Burrowed, Stag-Tramped, Dredged By The Octopus

The following is a transcription of the Roscrean tale of how they learned to use the metal Mithril. While the myth is available to outsiders, the Roscreans closely guard the actual mechanics of smithing using the metal, and all exported Mithril undergoes a special process prior to export that enables it to be forged by normal means.

"When our ancestors came to this island, they fled war in our homeland. They had left in smaller numbers than did the others, as they knew that if they went along with the rest to Tamriel, they would not be free of what they first left Atmora to escape. If the war forced all out of the homeland, the warriors were all sailing to the same place.

Our forebears had borne among the worst of the war; they left not because they were losing, but because they would not fight. Former members of every faction who would not go to war with their brothers. If our brethren today held the same attitude, things would be better, but that is a topic for another day. Because they would not fight, they fled, and when they landed, they were worse for wear.

But they were a resilient people, and they clawed and scraped against the land and eked out a life. A hard life it was, for there were many ferocious beasts and little iron to be made into weapons. Many of our kin died then.

One day, a scout searching for a vein of iron in the mountains chanced across a glimmer of pale silver, almost white, shining from within a great rock. He chipped away at the rock, exposing more and more of this substance, until a great mass of this metal was exposed. Even so, he eventually could not break any more of the rock, and so he decided to take one swing at the metal itself, which broke his pickaxe.

The scout remembered where he had found the strange metal, and so he returned to his city and told of it, and his city told the next, who told the next, and so on. Though the people were very spread out, they were still one.

When the scout returned later, with a party from each of the cities, the vein was gone. In its place stood a troll, a worm, and a stag. For this reason, this place is revered today.

'Who are you, and where have you taken the metal?' the scout said to the animals. 'You have no Cults that I know of.'

'We are different from your Gods,' said the Worm, 'but we are similar. We have taken your vein from this place, but do as we say and you will shield your eyes from the glare of all the metal you will dig up.'

'What, then, must we do?' the scout asked.

'First, come with me,' said the Stag. The Stag led the scout away from the others, and when they were in a vacant crag, the Stag held up a small speck of the metal. 'Take this into your nose, know its smell. You will first Hunt for this metal you desire. All your descendants will do the same.'

The scout did so. 'Find your metal, then,' said the Stag. So the scout did. He crawled along under the width of the island, scaled the mountain peaks, crossed many a gorge, until he found his metal by a single glint of moonlight. A pickaxe of the same metal appeared in his hand, and the Stag climbed up behind him, beckoning him to unearth the ore. To this day, Roscreans can smell the Mithril, and that pickaxe is an artifact lost to the ages.

The scout mined the ore, and when he pulled it up from the rock, he watched it change in his hand from ore to a sword. He looked and saw that the Troll towered over him, an Atmoran, which was truly a feat. 'Your ancestors will forge this metal, but first you must be forged. You will earn your metal.'

The scout's furs were gone, and all that remained was the sword. The Troll kicked at the scout, who narrowly rolled away. For a fortnight, the Troll tried to crush the scout, and the scout tried to wound the Troll, and the fighting was relentless until the sunrise came. The scout grabbed the Troll's fur and began to scale his back, where he could not be reached. Eventually he came to the Troll's neck, where he plunged his blade. The Troll grabbed the scout and set him on the ground with his sword, the wound healing itself immediately. The sword would one day be lost to the ages. The scout's furs were returned, and the Troll said, 'You have earned this metal, but only you will mine it. It is your strength; be wary of giving it away.'

When the Troll was gone, the Worm crawled onto the scout's shoulder. 'You have earned the metal, but it will not come when you call as a dog might. To prosper, you must go where you do not want to. There is a great vein of the ore beneath us, I know you smell it; dig for it, through the great darkness and pain.'

The scout began to dig, from the top of the mountain down its center, never resting or letting up. He could not see, digging a tunnel only deep enough for his body to fit, and the top had caved in and trapped him a long time ago. Still he pressed on, until he came to the metal, surrounded by rock on all sides, deep below the island; he chipped away at the rock, and eventually the ore was freed, but it was still below the surface. So the scout dug up and up, until he had dug a hole to the open air, through which he carried the ore. The location of this hole has been lost, but it is said that it is on one of the northern cliffs at the coast.

When the ore had all been unearthed, the Worm returned and said, 'You have braved the dark and brought up the metal. Your people will do the same, and they will be stronger for it.' With that, the Worm was gone, and through the howling wind and crashing waves below the cliff where the scout stood, a deep voice boomed.

'Cast yourself down to me, be enveloped in my folds, and I will teach you to use this metal. You will teach your people in turn, but they will come back to me every generation.'

The scout hurled himself into the deep, and the long, black tentacles of an Octopus wrapped around him. The last the scout heard was the secrets of the metal.

After the Octopus let him go, the scout floated off into the sea, but his knowledge was in the water of Roscrea; the people drank from it and learned to smith with the metal.

Every generation, our people send four out to reclaim the metal; one to perform the Rite of the Hunt, one to Earn the Sword, one to Brave the Dark, and one to Learn the Secret. The metal is Miin-Thur-Iil, Eye-Overlord-Help, because we search for it tirelessly, because it was given by forces higher than us, because it is a great boon to our people. It is Mithril."