Aldmeri Case Study: "Deep Waters"

4E205

To the Facilitator Adept,

The following is the case study you requested, conducted by the preeminent logicians of our most revered Order of the Dream Weavers, in relation to the phenomena code-named “Deep Waters”. As requested, we have included all sources drawn upon in the course of this investigation, as well as the conclusions (as of the current moment) of the logicians directing the investigation. For the sake of a deductive analysis, we are required to inform you that the majority of these sources are drawn from areas beyond the “official” borders of the Dominion’s sovereignty, or otherwise provided by the newly formed Khajiit states in the former province of Elsweyr. For this reason, a healthy degree of skepticism should be applied, to properly root out those grains of truth not tainted by the superstitions of those not yet indoctrinated into the Aldmeri truth.

We hope you profit from the revelations contained within.

Sincerely,

Justicar Kalara Undil Lithnilian.

Document one: The following fragment was taken from the diary of an argonian prisoner, provided by the Pelletine government after a raid into the southernmost corners of Black Marsh. Though simplistic, the Argonians description of the so-called “oil water” seems to match the properties observed when studying “deep water”; namely, its thick consistency and hallucinogenic effects.

25 Last Seed, 4E097

Ei-jush is still under. The spasms have stopped; I think too many of his muscles have been torn for him to move so violently. Now he only turns, whispering to the air.

The Hist have not responded to his cries. They will not answer my pleas on this matter, either. The medicine man, Jal-rush, says this has not happened before. He says there is something in their roots, something akin to fear, or at least as close to fear as the almighty fathers can bear.

Jal-rush has taken the oil-water from us. He says it is unlike anything he has seen. Again, the fathers will not speak on it. The others in the village think it should be burned away, that the Hist’s silence is a sign that it is unnatural. As if that were not apparent enough already.

The water, so thick it verges on honey… Why did we take it from its resting place on the bay? Because we were fools. Because it was as still as glass against the waves, and we thought it an oddity worth taking for ourselves. Even when it nearly dragged us overboard trying to haul it up in our buckets, we thought it only a toy. Poor Ei-jush. He should not have drank the stuff. We should have been like the Bosmer, silly as they are. We should not have trivialized nature.

Ei-jush stirs sometimes. He often screams when he does, or begs us to kill him. Sometimes he is confused, like he is someone else. Sometimes he speaks to us in a tongue not his own. Once, when he stirred, he looked into my eyes, and said to me things I could not understand.

“They’re all there,” he said. “Every shinning one of them. The elves and the men, the fire-cloaked daedra, and the winged beasts of the sky. The gods are there too, Moor-Gai, and the Khaj. They are all there. They are all fighting. But we are not. We are not there. Why aren’t we there, Moor? Why aren’t we with the gods?”

He began to cry, then. He said something about the sky, about the jungles becoming grass, about ice overtaking a wood so thick he could not see the beasts within. Then his eyes rolled back in his head, and he was turning again.

I do not know if he will come out of this. I do not know if we should kill him. Perhaps we should. No one emerges from such things unbroken.

Document two: This was taken from the archives of the Arcane University, stolen by one of our paid informants, who was hired to find anything that might pertain to the subject at hand. According to his notes (which, because of threat it poses to the anonymity of our other agents, has not been included in this compilation), it seems that the magi of the Imperium had at one point taken interest in the studies of a young explorer by the name of Thomas Thorley, who lived around the end of the Second Era. Inquiries into man’s life have proven to largely fruitless, but it appears that Thorley disappeared around the year 2E 891, when the ninth spoke was finalizing its place in the aether. The magi seem to have lost interest in his works soon after; however, with the properties conveyed “deep waters,” and the accounts made by Thorley during his travels, it can be assumed that his studies hold more relevance today than ever.

Note: Possible propaganda uses? Thorley's bloodline is more obscure than the man himself. Perhaps we could skirt around his name, and claim his mother was one of our own?

Morndas, 2E 285

Transcription of a lecture given by Thomas Thorely, explorer, zoologist, and cartographer for his Majesty’s army.

It is the common belief by most citizens of the now largely united nations (or should I say provinces? What strange times these are) that the deep seas are a realm entirely inaccessible to the mortal races. The citizens of Vvardenfell seem to hold a great reverence for the emerald depths just off their ash-blasted shores, claiming only dreugh, blighted as they are, are fit for knowing its great mysteries, which they seem to associate with one of their triune gods. Many of the Nords I’ve known hold it as the realm of the accursed dead (something Haesmar never ceases to remind me of whenever the topic of my studies come up in the Guild halls), and the Redguards, seaworthy and brave as they are, seem interested only crossing the great waves in search of enlightenment, rather than diving beneath them.

Those that choose to pursue a more scientific reason as to the ocean’s inaccessibility tend to argue that the depths of the sea are somehow pressurized, and that the vast weight of the waters above make it impossible for any creatures other than those heavily armored to survive in the darkness of the ocean floor. While I’m glad that at least some of my peers have tried to apply a more reasonable explanation to the matter, I still believe that this explanation is just as faulty those of sea ghosts and mechanical Dunmeri deities. For if the oceans are a pressurized environment, then how does one explain the great squids which traverse their depths? We seem to agree from common conjecture that the beasts and other such armorless monstrosities dwell in that unfathomable darkness, so how can it be said that the oceans are but a great boot, which would so easily crush the boneless things?

No, I do not believe the oceans are pressurized. I believe- and hold with me here, for you will most likely burst into laughter if not prepared for my theory- I believe that the water in the deep ocean is simply thicker than that of the upper levels of the sea.

Yes, yes, laugh away. Are we done now? Good. Then let me explain why this may not be as preposterous as it initially sounds. Over the years, I have travelled to many a far place. I have crossed the Padomeic Ocean to time-ripped Akivir, and have skirted past the ever encroaching shores of Atmora. I have spoken to the Tang Mo, and have even spied the coral towers of Thras. And no matter where I’ve gone, friends, I’ve always encountered at one time or another the same, chillingly similar stories; tales of water, thicker than molasses, floating on the turbulent waves like chunks of ice.

Now, you may think that such stories are simply that- stories created by ill-informed foreigners. But I ask you, how could cultures that lie so far apart speak on the same topic, or at least on things which seem so alike? So many of our conjurors already believe in that ridiculous “mythopoeia,” so why should the idea that the ill-informed might know of something without communicating surprise us? Such common truths are- well- common.

Now, from all the stories I’ve gathered, this mysterious substance seems to carry two chief characteristics. Firstly, it seems to be of a much greater density than other liquids; as I said before, most accounts compare it to more a viscous, syrup-like consistency than the free-flowing nature of normal water. Secondly, it always seems to have some sort of hallucinogenic effect.

I once met a mer who had experimented a great deal with stuff. He claimed, in conjunction to many of the tales I had heard before, that whenever the he had introduced the substance to animal subjects- often, I’m afraid, quite forcefully- they all seem to have entered into varying levels of intoxication and mania, often in relation to the amount of the stuff they had consumed. The elf himself had even taken a small dose. He claimed that only moments after ingesting a small thimble-full of the liquid, he was overcome with a high more intense than any he had experienced in his life, a high filled with hallucinations more vivid than even the finest Skooma could provide.

Despite all of this, he claimed, the substance was, in fact, still water. He claimed to have fed it to a number of plants, and to his surprise, they all took to it extraordinarily well. They often grew far past their normal size, and some- nirnroot most especially- actually seemed to produce seeds and fruit more readily than they normally would have. Now, normally I would have been skeptical of such tales- the mer himself had claimed he had used up all of his reserves of the stuff in his experiments, something which greatly increased my skepticism- but when he took me into his greenhouse, all of my critical thoughts were done away with. There, just like he said, were common plants larger than I had ever seen, vibrant and practically glowing with the life that flowed through them.

Now, if what the mer said was true- something I have full faith in- then it explains perfectly why so few creatures can survive in the deep ocean. If any common mortal were to attempt to try to dive deep below- even water breathing mortals, like the argonians- then they would eventually find themselves pushing against, or even stuck inside, a great expanse of dense, tightly packed liquid. Without the proper strength to move, they would quickly become exhausted, and expire. Even if they could breathe water, they would still succumb to the hallucinogenic effects, and either expire from the ravaging effects such a high would have on their bodies, or otherwise enter into a stupor so intense they would not move at all, left to either starve or be devoured by those creatures that can survive in the darkness.

Which, of course, brings me back to the topic of squids, dreugh and the like. The magi in this fine establishment claim that any creature not properly armored would be crushed by the immense pressure of the sea, yet we know that the boneless and armorless cephalopods of the ocean most likely dwell as deep as the very bottom of the great waters. In a world where the ocean was highly pressurized, this would make no sense whatsoever; in one where water is simply thicker the deeper one goes, however, it makes perfect sense. Only the strongest of creatures (such as the great whales of the world) would be able to propel themselves through the thick material, boneless and otherwise unprotected as they are. For we know that the squid and the whale are of immense strength; it would only make sense that they would thus make their home in area meant for the strong!

Do I have your attentions yet? It seems I do, but I still see some of you snickering. Let me ask you this, then- is my theory no more sound than that of the khajiit, who claimed so radically that the void is not, as we had thought, a vacuum, but instead robbed us of our memories, quite literally taking our breaths from us? Ridiculous as it seems, and as unlikely as it may be that memory has anything to do with it, we know now from the brave explorations of our soldiers that such claims have some merit to them. Is it not, then, possible that I am correct?

Yes, there are some things that do not fit. Why the water produces such a violent reaction in more complex life is one, though I can assume it may be the product of some algae living in the fluid. Why the water sometimes rises in such small chunks to the surface is another mystery. But these are things that can be answered, if only we look into them more.

That is why, as of today, I am announcing my plans to make another great journey, this time not to a far off shore, but to the deepest depths of the sea. With your support, I believe we can create a vessel strong enough to survive the great demands such waters will place on us, and finally breach, if not the depths of the ocean itself, the mystery which has surrounded its inaccessibility for so long….

Note: the transcript ends here. What few notes from the University we could find suggest many of Thorley’s peers were critical of his theory, and he never got much support from the Mages Guild. Perhaps he made the journey on his own, then. Perhaps that is why he seems to have disappeared from history entirely.

Document 3: This text, retrieved during a raid on daedra adherents in Valenwood, was not initially thought to have any bearing on our inquiries into “deep waters.” Indeed, its heretical nature had it marked for immediate incineration. However, one of our justicars, who was somewhat familiar with the matter, and more than bit prying, recognized the thematic similarities to our studies, and quickly informed his superiors. While he was summarily executed for indulging in such texts despite our orders, he did manage to save a valuable source of information on the topic. However, it is highly recommended that, while reading this text, you do not try to make much meaning from the account of its writer, or the words spoken by the deceiver he seems to have come into contact with.

7 First Seed, 4E 173

I have spoke with Hermorah, sticky one, who is the tides. He appeared as the fishes, but smelled of moon sugar, and made many bird-sounds as he made himself known. The others froze at his coming- at first I think they are just scared Bosmeri, before I see the leaves have stopped, too. Hermorah stops making bird sounds then. He looks at me with many fish-goat eyes.

“...and have you not served me greatly, oh moon dweller, who is more my child than deaf-eared Azurah?”

I am confused. Bosmeri told me wood-man does this to khaj, but I did not believe them. I try to speak in word, but no sound comes out. Remember what khaj brother said. Speak in mind.

“Who do you speak to, tide-father?”

Sticky Hermorah looks at me. Has no mouth, but I know he smiles.

“Ah,” he whines. “Forgive me, oh child. I did not speak to you now in the lattice, but the future gradient of you, which is many folded. For you are destined to be such, if you serve in the course I have set for you… now, what is it you wish of me? Today is my summoning day, and it is you who have the power to ask of me... anything.”

“Anything?” I ask. Hermorah nods with thousand snake-fish arms.

“Fine, then,” I say. “Why do you look like fishy food of the sea?”

Hermorah blinks, laughs with snake-arms.

“An unusual question!” he says. “Few would be so daring as to make assumptions of the appearance of a lord, let alone ask them face to many-faced visage about it. And yet it is one which has not been asked in this turning of the world, and one which screams with the secret it binds to itself. So I shall answer you, mer, for the meager price of your time.”

The world changes then, like the shifting of Vaermina. I feel the forest on my skin, but am surrounded by water. I see from fish eyes, and know fish-things. It is in my blood.

“How do you suppose the fish of the sea survive?” Hermorah asks. “How do you think they know where to breed, as if they were the very antecedents to their existence? How do they perceive the invisible paths laid by their ancestors, pursuing the past lusts of their predecessors more fervently than the treacherous dunmer? I know you have thought on this. I know you suspect.”

“The water,” I think to the tide-father. “Breath-giver. Life-coder. Song of Lorkhaj and Alkosh.”

“Indeed,” Hermorah says. “The stuff of life, made by death. A record as extensive as myself. For is it not the span of my memory, and all of Nirn?”

The world changes again. I can still breath the tree-air of the bosmeri’s land, but the waves now crush my mind. I focus, as khaj brother taught me to do before pilgrimage. Focus on Hermorah’s scent.

Great, snake-armed thing approaches me. It grapples with me, wraps me in its folds. I bite with mouth not my own, mouth filled with teeth of whale. There is blood, and I feel at home, like I dance an old dance.

“Life in the depths of the sea is violent,” Hermorah continues. “It is a repetition of the first memory, one of war and betrayal, between the tusked drake of the sea, and the far-reaching abomination of the dark, ever-changing and striving for the light.”

With one snake-arm, the Tide points to squid’s corpse. In the blood, a picture of golden men forms. Khaj can barely stand the sight, for it is too bright to bee seen with eyes meant for the dark.

“So few can live in this place, where memories of betrayal run thicker than water. Only the strong may dwell here, imbibing in its knowledge, trapped by the knowing of all they see.”

Hermorah spreads his arms. He is a thousand faced fish, covered in dark.

“I know such feelings well. For it is as my Apocrypha, and my Apocrypha is as it. For I am the lord of tides, the twin moons of heaven, the two tides which bring your precious sugars to the cane. I imbibe on the knowledge of your world through memory made manifest, thick as honey with their age, and mold myself to be as those who are so blessed to know it daily. I am the squid and crab, whale and dreugh, and it is this, the seas which Seht and Baal have claimed in past and present, that is my true home.”

Suddenly, the dark has shape. I see books as the water, and taste the moon-sugar in their honey pages. The face of Lorkhaj and Alkosh, Magrus and Mara, roar at me like the Senche of my home. For one moment, I see the ebony heart of the world, and even that which came before.

Then I am in khaj body again, and Hermorah is but a voice in my ears.

“Imbibe, now,” he says. “Drink of all the knowledge you see. When you taste of skooma, or dance across the red sand of Jode, be intoxicated with the fresh secret of their hidden nature, steeped in myself. And know, child, that I am always with you. I will be calling on you soon.”

Then the voice is gone, and the leaves move once more.

Conclusion:

From what we have observed in studying these cases, it seems clear that the increasing rumors of such “deep waters” off the coast of our own shores bear more weight than previously thought. Investigations into coastal ports of Firsthold have commenced following a number of these reports, and a number of our own justicars stationed in the area have noted an increase in hospitalizations of the local populace, bearing significant resemblances to the symptoms described in Documents one and two of those who consume this new substance.

As to the exact mechanisms by which “deep waters” works, we have our theories. It has been guessed by by some of our senior Alchemists that the properties of the water may pertain to the theory of water-as-memory, something which we are still skeptical of, but which would have an immense impact on schools of bletonism and hydromancy if true.

Our chief concern as to the accuracy of this theory, of course, is the ties it would have to the claims made by the author of document three. While it is known that the words of a daedra are often lacking in their truthfulness, it has been the opinion of our more radical conjurors that the information imparted by the Lord of fate often bears more validity than those of the other princes. If this is the case in regards to the information imparted in the document, then it would challenge a great deal of what we know about daedric influence on the Mundus.

We hope, as we have always hoped, that your wisdom will prove more than adequate in bringing a sound resolution to this issue, as it has time and time again.