A Story of Standing Stones

Can you hear the song, boy? Quiet, now, and gather ‘round the fire, and ole Skandarr’ll tell ye a tale of the old times.

O’er the hill, behind me head, ye can see the Stone against the backdrop of the stars. That's as close as you’ll see it for many a season yet, though, for on those hills, the land itself is sacred. You might hear some of the young Imperials tell you that they’re just stones, just old charms, but don’t you go listening to them. The past and future both can be heard through those stones.

Many an age ago, back when our forefathers walked the tundra, the lady Kyne looked on man and blessed us, gave us our voice, our Tongue. By her good grace we stood against the World-Eater, the great worm himself, Alduin - and our forefathers were victorious! That’s why you and I can stand here as free Nords, boy. The old Tongues praised Kyne and thanked her for her gift to us, and they set about to compose a song, a song of praise.

Thirteen Tongues of Skyrim gathered, and together they set out to write a great epic - but there was a problem. Not one of them could agree on way the song was supposed to go.

The Warrior said to them, “The song should tell of the valiant Nords who fell to the cause.” Some agreed, some said nay.

The Mage said, “The song should show the methods by which the dragons were felled.” Some agreed, some said nay.

The Thief said, “The song should reveal those who worked hard behind enemy lines.” Some agreed, and some said nay.

The Warrior, the Mage, and the Thief spoke amongst themselves, and found they agreed with each other, so they set off to write their own song, away from the others. And it went this way for all the rest, each disagreeing and agreeing with others, and the Tongues each set off to write their own song. The Lady believed the song should heal, so she stood by a lake to write. The proud Lord wished to tell tales of conquest, so he climbed a high peak, and watched over all. The Shadow managed to get away without the other Tongues noticing, wishing only for some peace and quiet, and the Steed laboured through hills for his own inspiration.

Finally, alone, sat the Serpent, with an idea. Now, the Serpent had the quietest Voice out of all the Tongues, but was quick of wit. So he said to himself, “I know just what to do! I’ll find each of the other Tongues, and with a special Whisper of my own, I’ll take the best words of their songs!” And so the Serpent set out.

The Serpent came upon the Lady, first, singing alone at the edge of the lake. With his cleverness, the Serpent came up behind her, and used his Whisper to steal her words. Chuckling merrily, he snuck away, leaving the Lady alone.

The Lady knew not what had happened. She had been singing, the words were with her, but suddenly, nothing. The Lady, confused and filled with sorrow, began to walk not minding her steps. She stepped forward, and right into the lake, and weighed down in robes, she drowned.

So it went with the Serpent; he would slither behind the other Tongues, use his Whisper to take their words, and leave with haste. And like with the Lady, the Tongues became confused and angry beyond all sense. The Lord fell off the high crag he’d been singing on, the Shadow refused to open his mouth, and starved to death. Full of wrath, the Thief, Mage, and Warrior fell to blows because of their confusion, and since that day, no thief has been welcomed by a warrior or mage, no mage by a thief or warrior, and no warrior by thief or mage.

The Serpent, stolen words on his Tongue, retreated to the most remote part of Skyrim, far in the north, to put together his song. Under the stars he sang, the words of the Apprentice and Atronach, Steed and Shadow, and rejoiced at the product of his thievery. To the sky, he shouted, “My Lady Kyne, this song is truly fit for you!”

And Lady Kyne looked down on him, and said in wrath for his betrayal, “And this serpent is fit for you!” And out of the very ice that the Serpent stood on, a snake reared up and bit him, so that he died.

Lady Kyne looked and the fallen Tongues, and took pity on their Voices and songs. Out of the earth, she raised stones for each of them, holy and unholy, and gave life to the earth and ice around them, as a protection.

You can still find those Stones today, listen to the wind; do you hear it? The song that whispers through the holes in the stones? A pure song, not stolen, but crafted with talent and dedication. These are their songs, if you choose to listen to them.