The Janus-faced Isles

The Janus-faced Isles

by Catharsis

West of the mainland, in the warm waters of the Abecean Sea lies the blessed isles. Here the Altmer perfected and sculpted the land over many generations. White, sunkissed shores surround the pristine forests and gleaming cities of Light. In shiny castles, kings and queens rule the many kingdoms of Summerset, while the the Wise and Learned advise them from towers of books and magic, and the happy and loyal farmers toil hard and dutifully in the fat and fertile soil.

Perhaps this is what you have been told about the Summerset Isles. Perhaps you have been told that across the waters of Valenwood lies a realm of paradise. I have seen this paradise. I have seen its shores and forests and cities of light, and what I’ve seen, is a land in decay.

The shores are dyed pink by the blood spilled in the countless battles fought on them, and the forests are indeed virgin, for no mer dares enter them, for they are full of horrors the likes of I’ve never experienced. The Isles are deeply divided into various plotting factions, with various members of the city intelligentsia, occasional farmers’ unions, the deeply secret Coral Syndicate of Cloudrest, rogue warlocks, Temple cultists, Imperial representants and fiercely commited royalists all conspiring against each others in eternal intrigues of gold and power.

The cities are relics, ruins from long gone eras no one no longer remembers. The art of building glass spires and palaces of mithril has been reduced to simple dwellings of thatch and plaster. Innovation is a heinous crime and what hasn’t been made before should never be made at all. The monarchs are prime examples of this static society. Bound by rigid rules and outdated practices, they live their lives in degenerated wrecks of old Merethic courts. Their cumbersome regalia are ancient and ragged, as they have been inherited for centuries, never repaired and never replaced. Since the monarchs only converse in Elder Aldmeris, their rule is dependent on translators to carry out their will to their subjects. The translators of course, are often bribed by the nobles to limit the actual power of the ruling class, making the monarchies pointless leftovers of another era. But then again, so is everything else in this time resistant realm.

So this is what remains of the old kingdom of the Ehlnofey, once a enigmatic civilization powered by advanced magics and feats of heroism, now reduced to a squabble of dogmatic elves. Gone are the days of Torinaan. Gone are the days of glory. The Altmer are nothing more than rats that scurry in the long abandoned wreckage that is the Summerset Isles.