Risen Flesh

Gadeneri Ralvel

You are uncorrupted, wanderer.

Your shine is in contrast with this saddened ground. You are fresh and feeble like morning dew, that in the gardens I used to love so well. It takes guts, my friend, to roam these lands with a mind still as clear as yours.

I wonder what brought you here. To me, it was the color of this place. The twisted soul which lay behind them, a soul so like my own, meant nothing — I yearned for this sky, and wanted to feel each petal between my fingers.

I wasn't ready yet. Way before I knew, I lost myself.

Once you cross the doors of folly, there is no turning back. If it was a mistake, you will find no mercy. Your heart will eventually rise over the sun, tinging your deepest wishes in blood.

I spied on the Red Mountain from the windows of my room. It showed among smoke and mist, just beyond the veil of this world. I never wanted anything more than belonging there again.

I could almost touch that image. The flow of my thoughts felt seamless — in that moment, I believed my dagger could open the only way back home. There was light in my eyes when my heart stopped.

The faded illusion made mine the bitterest awakening. I am still here. I left my brother behind.

Help me, good friend. Draw a different path for us all.

Lorenz Bog-Trotter

My mind may be healed, but my robes never abandoned me. He wants me imprisoned, chained to my mistakes, till the ages themselves lose their meaning.

He is not His aspect nor His voice. His fury has the terrible might of father Akatosh. Nobody can see it better than us — servants of one equally mighty and merciless, trying to warn the others of what was and will be.

Those who don't listen, we slay. Their entrails spill to make up for their wrongdoings, or so we believed. Uncertainty was born inside me the very first time I was forced to witness a sacrifice.

Doubt is crimson. It drips from invisible wounds, leaving no room for a blind creed like mine. I began to doubt all of Him — His motives, His lack of any, with the smell of dead things ever flashing in my nostrils.

I used to take care of the sanctuary which still holds my remains. The choice was mine — I got closer to the most repulsive beasts, so I could find the courage to become one of them.

I pretended to be devoured, while my sword, hidden, sank in the mud. That little show was all it took. By my wretched brothers, I was buried with the utmost honor.

He still knows how I really died. He still holds me prisoner. As my cursed spirit proves, He is not the god of laughter.

M'desi

M'desi gave in to the stench.

This one was naive, you see. Such simple flesh is never salvaged. M'desi is the soul to flee within the walls, with the fire of anguish in its eyes, while people like you rush to fight off the monsters. But you, yes, you have the eyes of one who knows. The signs never fade — you have been there and returned. It takes no less than you to walk the planes of Oblivion.

Maybe, the horrors of the Isles — maybe you don't know those yet. M'desi was naive. He followed their call. Their curse can do so much more than their hunger.

M'desi was inside their den before he could tell. And then, just then, he realized it would be forever dark.

The lights did the trick. They led Khajiit deeper in the mud. M'desi only felt their horrid smell, and their steps coming for him — he imagined their fangs as they sank in his limbs, fur torn by their claws, a noise echoed and multiplied by fear.

The beasts were coming for M'desi, louder and closer each second. He was not going to be eaten alive, no.

Khajiit drank poison, bitter gift from the flowers of the Isles. The dead flesh killed them all, in a slow agony, later. And this one was lucky — by the time they were crushed by their teeth, his bones could no longer feel. But this one begs you, friend, even from here. Tell your Lord what he refuses to see.

M'desi did not take his own life. It was terror. Terror, deceit — and the horrid stench.

Limark

I went to die among the walls.

You would do it too. Perhaps you will, someday, charmed by the glistening lights. Perhaps. The feet which led me there walked differently than yours; the truth was my treasure, curiosity my fever.

You might tread my path someday, but not like me. What I sought after, you will not look for. Those who do not care for treasure are the only ones to hear the voices in the stone – they speak to ears open on the past, through patterns left thousands of years ago.

I followed them with my fingers, terrified. They told me things no other man had ever heard. They spoke of what came before us – they unveiled the secrets of my Lord, and of his merciless rebirth.

I was in Milchar when I knew for sure. There was no staircase when I lowered my gaze on the future. I found a terrible vision instead – an ocean of blood, with ghosts of the past cycles prowling in its waves.

I could not bear so much horror, wanderer. I dived in it, just to crush my skull on the floor. But you, believe me, you still stand a chance. Raise your eyes from the riches, from the lies, and run away.

You can avoid the coming storm yet.

Salonia Viria

I never lied to anyone, pilgrim of Sheogorath. Not once I lied to myself. It was my fear of slander, in fact, to lead me here.

There is a silent agreement in the world we both came from. The whispers from the future, the ones which never ceased in my miserable soul, are more forbidden than any other sin. My walk on Mundus was a long exile, a journey ended in madness as my resting place.

You certainly understand what it means. I was a true prophet, hated and feared as such.

What you may not understand, cursed mortal warrior, is how the flow of time warps in the Isles. The signs assaulted me, tore through my quiet life in New Sheoth, because those higher truths wouldn't leave me alone yet.

Even where I was well-loved and trusted, few believed me. But you too will unveil, o miserable brother, the curse of this realm. The future happened too many times already.

My Lord curses me for no reason, as he knows better than me. I took my life the moment I was sure; I wanted to avoid that end, the end he is bound to submit to himself. You, though — you shine in other colors than him. You see even farther.

If you come back to the Hill, wanderer, we will bestow a gift upon you. More than anyone else's aid, you need ours, here and now. The power to make the change lies within you. I wish you could read the prophecy through me, beyond my sealed lips.

Maybe, unlike us, you will find a way. We ask you to try — do search for your potential.

Truly, you would never guess what you have the power to become.

Nothing more than backstory for the Hill of Suicides quest characters. I thoroughly researched the little background they had and the locations of their skulls before writing.