Why Cyrodiils Hate Mudcrabs or the Tale of St. Castus Citiorus

(Editor's Note: This story of St. Castus is not widely attested in other literature of the time, with his cult seeming to be a very reclusive organisation. It is possible that with the rise of the Alessian Order, worship of Castus was seen as heresy and thus we have only this poor fragment left. In any case, whether there was an historical Castus or not can never be known. )

Marius Certionis,

Imperial Scholar of Merethic-Era Religious Cults at the Arcane University

In the days of the blessed Mother-Ut-Cyrod, Alessia (May Akatosh preserve her and her kin) Cyrod was under the yoke of the tyrannical Ayleids, the merciless slave-masters of the proud Nedic race. At this time, all of Cyrod was divided into many kingdom city-states in an Ayleid hegemony. Her people suffered under cruel masters, burned for sport, thrown to jungle tigers, and their flesh rent open upon torture racks for the despots’ pleasure. While Sard saw Alesh rise to greatness, casting off Ayleid oppression by the grace of Akatosh (May he forever bite his tail in glory), other cities slumbered in their vices. Colovia had Alesh, Mor Breath-of-Kyne, and the Star-Made Knight, Pelin-Al, but Nibenay, the most verdant of jungled Cyrod, had no one.

As was common at the time, Nibenay’s slaves toiled endlessly in rice paddies, the sun sapping their limbs of all their strength. They worked until their bodies gave out, dying at their labour, lying wherever they fell. The stench attracted all kinds of marsh and jungle creatures, such as the giant flesh-flies. As big as a Nord’s hand, these monsters prodded and jabbed every artocus (a unit of length derived from ghartok roughly equivalent to an inch) of exposed flesh, injecting foetid plagues and virulent diseases. Thus did bodies begin to pile up in the paddies. Such savage and pointless gore would be bad enough without the added threat of cruel slave-masters. For, the Ayleids themselves did not eat the slave-picked rice, knowing that all manner of diseases abided in these grains as they were watered with much blood from dead slaves. The slave-masters were cruel and used a portion of the rice to make a poison to silence the voices of their slave-cattle, using flesh from corpses and human hearts. Moreover, once a month, all the slaves were brought together in a profane banquet wherein they ate their meal, a slurry of rice grains, garlic, mandrake root, and pumpkin rind, from large troughs, with no dignity, like common beasts of the field. This served to weaken the slaves both in resolve and strength, making their labours much harder.

Amidst all this gore lived the beasts of Cyrod. These beasts brought no solace to the slaves, echoing their masters’ cruelty. It was common for tigers to pick off from the gangs, the weakest slave, tearing their necks open with powerful jaws. A mercy when compared to the worst creature. The gore and slaughter brought mudcrabs from far and wide and a single bite was enough to drive the crabs to an insatiable hunger for human flesh. The bitten slave would then be pursued by the crab until it had devoured all of its quarry. Then, one day, when news of Alesh’s blessed rebellion had reached this nameless paddy field, a young Nede not yet adorned with the flower of manhood, had a glorious vision bestowed upon him. He saw great bands of slaves, sickles, scythes, and all manner of weapons in hand, marching in orderly fashion, screaming hymns of war and vengeance, invoking the Divines: Stennar He-Who-Is-the-Cool-Day, Diba She-Who-Keeps-the-Labour’s-Rhythm, Kynar She-Who-Herds-Oxen, Mara She-Who-Pulls-the-Strong-Plow, Akat He-of-the-Short-Days, Julani god of Where-Best-to-Harvest, Zenthi Success-in-Toil, and Arka god of Sun-Sets-Quickly. This slave known as Kaeštu (or Castus in modern Cyrodiilic), emboldened by his revelation and the coolness of the sun’s heat on that day, took in his right hand his sickle, the left he made of it an empty fist. He snuck towards the Wild Elf overseer, a tall golden-honey-brown Ayleid, who was covered in brightly coloured feathers, armour brazen and burnished, decorated with necklaces stringed with beads, and struck him, as the tigers do, with a slash to the back of the Wild Elf’s neck. The elf fell down to his knees, sputtering blood from his slaving-mouth. At once, the entire field came alive, all the slaves shouting victory and cursing the Daedra-loving Ayleids.

But victory was not so close at hand and the master of the paddy, rex paludis, with merciless glee, sent a torrent of flesh-searing lightning against the slaves, roasting them and causing their bodies to jerk uncontrollably as though they were mere meat-puppets. Kaeštu, seeing this horrific display, charged towards the master and with one swift stroke severed the elf’s hands. His hands removed and the stumps now bleeding, the elf began to scream in his devil tongue for his compatriots, saying that the slaves were rebelling. Kaeštu to silence the master threw him down into the water, not too shallow for his purposes. Grabbing the elf’s head, he forced it under the water, drowning the tormentor. This done, the slaves began to cheer and to call upon the Divines, taking up any implements for weapons as they could. They made their way, a thousand-strong warband, towards the city, hoping to free the rest of their people. But the Masters had heard the call and a volley of arrows met the rebelling slaves as they approached the citadel. They were routed and in their haste they trod upon their own people, smashing their heads like earthenware pots, fearful of the Ayleids’ passion for cruelty in battle. Those who were fleeing abandoned the citadel and made their way towards the river, but not one was able to cross it; some were killed by the current dashing them across sharp rocks, others were ripped to shreds by angry schools of slaughterfish. Those who yet lived, both on land and sea, were now unsure of victory, and threw their arms away, raising their hands into the air as a signal of submission.

The Ayleids rounded up the survivors and brought them to a great blood-drenched altar. Here, they broke Kaeštu’s legs, slit the tendons of his arms, and using his own sickle to tear his flesh, ripped out his heart. When he gave his last breath, the Elves threw his body into the place of greatest shame: a tank of flesh-crazed mudcrabs. Not but a few days later, Alesh and her band liberated the city, putting to the sword the cruel masters. Upon her victory, Kaeštu’s people begged Alesh to honour him as a saint in her new order. For they said that one of their number had by guile procured Kaeštu’s skull and had late at night, when Jone and Jode shone fully in Nirn’s sky, heard Kaeštu’s voice promising that Alesh’s arrival was imminent. Thus did Alesh make Kaeštu a saint, and in remembrance of his horrific treatment after death, cursed all the mudcrabs of Cyrod in the name of the Divines. It is for this reason that the people of Cyrod despise mudcrabs above all other beasts.