The Orcish Parables of Cartography, Vol. 1

The Orcish Parables of Cartography, Vol. 1

by Nyubela Aurbir, of Winterhold

The orcified have made great chase to the four corners of the Nirn; once to Atmora, seeking out the stolen Volendrung — twice for Admeris, to warn Dunmer pilgrims. Perhaps once to Akavir, for a great stand... and many times to the West, where the reasons have been long since lost. Although I do prepare these serial publications, I am not an Orc. And while I consider a portion of my findings to have dubious sources, a semblance of truth may yet be found in these Orcish tales. I will detail them in a clockwise order, and so we begin with the pursuit of Mauloch's artifact in 1E 640. As has always been its most apparent predisposition, Volendrung was found to have vanished once again. This time by the doing of a Dwemer whose ambitions did not align with the rest of his people. In some accounts, his name was Nchuzfek... while in others, he wasn't a Dwemer at all. The common pith is that he dallied in the art of prophecy, lost his sense of vision at an early age, and was considered a lunatic by nearly everyone he spoke to. He would not be missed when he sought for Atmora, but no one can truthfully say that he did not leave behind a handful of clues. Nchuzfek painted the same illustration a hundred times and it was to be ridiculed a hundred times; the carcass of a fox being desecrated by a scorpion.

"Its claws were wrapped in gold," he would point to his canvas and cry. "Its tail was a blade! And its head was a hammer!" The other Dwemer considered his prophecies to be fabrications, and insisted he prove himself with more than hearsay, or be thankful they even allowed him to ramble in soliloquy. "The arachnid is damned to be turned inside out! It shall be worn by the white and red cadaver," went on his raving hubris. On the 8th of Frost Fall, the dejected Nchuzfek had disappeared. Being the Daedra of the spurned and ostracized, Malacath was watching him with great interest. The mad dwarf took Volendrung with him — if not for its verve, then for its power in magicka — and the Father of the Orsimer waited for eight years. Nchuzfek trudged further North, until he froze with Volendrung firm in his hands. He was now in Atmora, and he must have known this would happen. The dullest of Dwemer are still among the wisest of Ada, be it in Mundus or beyond. "To seek out the North is to never return, for time is too heavy at the apex of Nirn!" This was an old rhyme that most scholars of the day were familiar with. Whether this dwarf was earnest for suicide or something more is unknowable, but such great efforts would suggest a more grand intent.

Malacath called upon a tribe in Resdayne, and instructed them to retrieve a certain hammer. The chieftain Yazua Fulanok XII had led her folk to the shore of Atmora, first by carriage and then by boat... and they were wary. Moments do not come to pass in Atmora as they did. So careful as they were, chief Fulanok became afraid that they would never return home. At first, the haste of their thoughts became sedated. And then whenever they had need for sleep, they rested for days, not hours. It only got worse with every passing breath, for they could not register moments anymore — so yes, they instead established a full exhale as a unit of time. They could not navigate by the stars, for there were none. And neither by the moons, for they simply hung in place. Only the phantoms and wraiths would move at all, and they proved to be quite malicious. "Will appeasing our Father be worth it in the end," the Orcs had found themselves asking. For there may be no end. Yet at last, they had finally stumbled upon Nchuzfek. Bearded and even crowned, holding his fists before him in a throne of elegant marble. He looked oddly content. But Volendrung was not with him. Instead, there was only a note in his lap. "Volendrung has lost its enchantments, accursed by the influence of these lands. In ways, it has already inherited the nature of the North, for I have noticed that when it strikes an opposer they now freeze in place. The Hammer will be in Mournhold," it said. "But I fear you will be in Atmora."