On Pyandonea, the Faith of the Maormer, and King Orgnum. Penitus Oculatus Report. Part 1.

After the assassination of a certain Colovian baron approximately one year ago to date, I was personally tasked with the investigation. Not an investigation into the assassination, but further, into what may be active probing of the Empire's defenses by the Sea Elf kingdom. I opened several unsolved cases of assassination across the empire for clues that may hint at Pyandonean involvement, and have found a scarce handful of possibilities. Unsurprisingly, all victims but our late Baron are Summerset High Elfs. I speculate that the motivation behind our outlier lies in the fact that the baron intended to finance a trade venture that may have benefited Pyandonean rivals on Summerset somehow.

While perhaps comforting to think that the Sea Elfs are not deviating from their usual modus operandi, of continual harassment of Summerset affairs, they have not directly threatened the Empire outside of Summerset since Orgnum laid with Potema Septim in the second century of the Third Era. Since Pyandonea is inherently isolated from the rest of Nirn, only a scant handful of High Elf sailors have ever laid eyes upon it. It's internal politics have only been vaguely gleaned from the surface by their foreign policies, it's language. Only one ship has been within the veil of mist that surrounds Pyandonea and returned from it, a Summerset Warship that, along with countless others, was ambushed in those deadly seas. It is not wrong to say that Pyandonea is a great unknown to the Empire. More is known of the planes of Oblivion. For these reasons I decided early on that I must venture to this exotic land personally, and take an account of this people and land. For the Empire and The Emperor; Tiber's Eye sailed south, the second ship ever to return from Pyandonea.

Tiber's Eye was constructed in the Topal Bay, in the port of Leyawiin, custom built to meet the harsh demands that would inevitably be placed upon it, under the advisement of a number of commissioned High Elf and Redgaurd Shipwrights. It is a wide vessel, that sits low in the water. It's hull, deep and sharply shaped, is clad with steel, at great expense. They say that the waters around Pyandonea are especially treacherous, not necessarily by rocks or sandbars, but by dense forests of kelp that tangle oars, snag on wooden hulls, and hide deadly sea serpents in their depths. The steel was intended to protect the vessel from either threat, presenting a smooth, polished surface that no creature or plant could grasp. The ship is also exclusively propelled by it's sails for the same reasons. Finally, it is crewed by High Elf veterans of Pyandonean conflicts, and expert Redgaurd sailors who have been manning trade missions around the treacherous waters of Yokuda for years. The danger inherent in this mission, to them, was routine.

We set our sails for Pyandonea in Autumn, intending to brave foul weather for the first part of the journey, and arrive in Pyandonea in Winter, when the climate may be hopefully less hostile. We braved the unbelievable rain and winds of southern ocean storms that made men remember the deaths of those that went before, but soon the days grew shorter as the seasons shifted, and the storms and the heat gave way to somewhat more pleasant temperatures, and long nights, though not as long as they might have been, in Tamriel.

The First sign of our destination was the mythical veil of mist the surrounds and defends. It appeared from a distance to be rolling clouds far on the horizon, but as we approached we realized it was far closer than thought, and far lower. When the ship penetrated the fog, it was like the rest of the world ceased to be. All frames of reference vanished, and it was difficult to know if the ship was moving at all some times. It is known that the Veil is carried in a great circle around Pyandonea, but the wind is a slow and gentle one. Still, we strove to ensure that we sailed perpendicular to the wind, keeping it always to our left. The sea seemed to be a shade more green here as we approached Pyandonea, but the change had been so slow and subtle over the course of the venture it was difficult to know if it wasn't imagined. It was here that we saw our first sea-serpent, a dark shadow that moved beneath the waters, lingering, and watching.

Eventually after days feeling lost beyond hope, the sun rose brightly over Tiber's Eye, and the wall was behind us, and ahead, the most all at once beautiful and imposing sight I'd ever witnessed. The Coastline of Pyandonea is a jagged maze of stone. It has no real shore to speak of, as much as it has sheer cliff faces of ocean battered stone stretching dozens of feet above sea level, and upon the plateaus, layers of further plateaus, with their own sheer walls towering up. all of the Pyandonean islands are like this, great layer-cakes of stone, and atop each layer of the plateaus, dense, wild jungle, as impenetrable and dark as the night sky, but outwardly showing plants of every color, and every shape. And among the trees and skyward stretching stone, white whips of mist and cloud mingle with the jungle canopy. It rains upon the island almost as often as it does not, even in winter.

The waters around the coast were crystalline in their clarity, one could look down and see the shapes of great beasts swimming beneath the waters, or the immense long leaves of kelp plants like thousands of towers stretching up from the murk below. Having little choice in the matter, we anchored Tiber's Eye some hundred or so yards from the cliffs and I, along with a small support team, left the ship aboard a dinghy, while the crew was left to survive off fishing and what stockpile was left. Scaling the cliff walls of Pyandonea was a feat all it's own terrifying, and by the time we finally set our feet on the solid ground, my left hand was near useless from pain. Our medic supplied me with an herbal tea that left me sedate, but pain free, as the support team set up our camp. My first notes on Pyandonea were written in that camp, in a tarp tent, under gentle but unceasing rain and the harassment of stinging insects.

-- Rolland Aelius