"The coral kingdoms of Thras, a set of islands southwest of the Chain in the Abecean Sea, are home to a godless tribe of beastmen called the Sload. These amphibious slugmen, perhaps the most hated race in all of Tamriel, were long thought to be extinct. After the Sload released the Thrassian Plague in 1E2200, which claimed more than half of the continent's population, the largest allied naval force in Tamrielic history sailed to Thras, slaughtered all the Sload they could find, and, with great unknown magicks, sunk their coral kingdoms into the sea.

Sadly, it has been reported that Thras has risen again, and that its masters, the Sload, have recently been seen in various areas of Tamriel."

-Pocket Guide to the Empire, First Edition

Sun's Dusk 2, 2E 559

(Shows-his-interest): South of Stormhold, Black Marsh


The chirping insects, the crackling fire, and the russeling of the leaves all blended together placidly in the night outside the teepee. But it was the silence of loss and death that had brought me here in the first place. It was the yearning for change that showed me what was behind the supposed divinity of our trees, and showed me there was a cold and empty void in our lives that we had wrongfully assumed they'd filled.

And even though there shouldn't have been another terror for miles, there was a hint of fear in me. A tension wrapped tightly around me as I plotted things they would hunt me down like no other Argonian for. I always felt this way in my second life, my secret life as an avenger. But now there were new feeling mixed in as I knew tonight would be the beginning of my experimentation; the initial research was finished.

I wasn't used to being on the brink of something that could give us the upper hand against those seemingly unstoppable forces of outside, though, so I couldn't help but feel uneasy and doubtful of my findings, fearful I'd lose them somehow, or overthink things and have my plans eroded by insanity. We Argonians were all used to oppression, so I supposed I wasn't all that odd for this feeling of insecurity. It felt like I had to fight my own mind to not let my instinctual doubt dissect my plans again. I tried to keep them in the back of my mind so they could emerge fresh when it was time for them to be applied. I just hoped N'Shanta would arrive before I could corrupt my own plans in another moment of self-doubt.

I decided to look over the tablets again, trying to reinforce my theory. The shadows of the tablets twitched against the walls of the tee-pee in the orange fire light. Each tablet was donated by a separate tribe after rigorous hours of negotiation, and handed over only because they knew I was the thread that could bind the tribes together and make us an intimidating force for our enemies.

Every tablet showed the Hist trees and the Argonians in some sacred tale of some tribal religion. The rest was variable: On one it looked as if lizards were coming into one side of the Hist tree and Argonians out the other. On another it depicted the trees smacking away the an invading human menace while the Argonians stood behind it, the sacred tree the only thing between them and death. On yet another, it showed a maniacal looking khajiit supposedly desecrating a tree, while Argonians charged heroically to bring the defiler to justice.

Each was a tale from a different religion, but the Hist was a divine parental figure to every tribe.

I had once been immersed in such religion, but now my career as a "shaman" was just a mask for the fact that my interest in the trees had become dry and scientific. The more I researched, the more my belief in their divinity waned.

I had searched so deep for answers to our problems because I was so desperate to find a way out of the storm of anguish caused by my tribe's constant losses at the hands of slavers and warlords. My findings had allowed me to emerge from the storm, but my journey into the dark edges of our history had not come without cost. I had made my way back to a world I used to know, one with hope, but founds its sky gray; to find a solution to the foreign menaces, I was forced to look at the Hist pragmatically. I was forced to shed my belief that the Hist had held an invisible embrace around our people.

Every tribal religion had a piece of the truth of what truly happened to shape Tamriel before the arrival of the terrors that plagued us now, but with its crucial details distorted by the winds of history.

We had all gawked like fools at the trees when we had barely begun to understand their powers. But far worse, we let purely chance events related to the trees control us. For so long, we were really tugged around by unthinking forces of nature, putting our intelligence and emotion below them. But I was here to try to understand these trees and control them, so we could become something at least marginally like what we perceived the Hist as. We could finally remove our souls from the imprisonment of worship, and use the Hist to remove the injustice that preyed upon our people.

Then I heard something outside. Something large was emerging from the water. I knew it was the Sload I had scheduled a meeting with.

N'Shanta exchanged greetings with the look-outs outside the teepee.

My anticipation grew. I would finally get to put the plan I'd constructed out into the world to leave its mark.

The Sload emerged through the front entrance, the flaps brushing against the sides of "his" massive girth. The Sload was telekenetically carrying a bundle of sealed jars. Eight in total, but coming in two versions that differed in size and color. I knew what they were: the disease and the cure.

N'Shanta set them down on a cloth I'd laid out.

The Sload began to turn towards me, a slow and cumbersome process for any of their kind on land.

I knew from the plan we'd layed out that in those jars was the future of Argonia. If this went according to planned, the potency of their contents would sweep across the land, destroying all the forgien menaces in its path while leaving my brothers and sisters unharmed. But for now, we needed to remain inconspicious, studying the power at hand, manipulating micro matters so that they might grow into epic solutions.

When the Sload was facing me, "he" gave me a goofy, almost deranged looking grin. But I knew it looked so awkward only because our body language was not instinctual to him as it would be to a man or khajiit, a phenomenon our true history explained. I smiled back in a quick greeting.

N'Shanta began to speak, slowly and with odd emphasises, not a seasoned speaker of our language. "I brought the cure and plague samples, but remember our previous conversation: learn from our mistakes, as they learned from theirs." N'Shanta said in a low voice. There shouldn't have been any Dunmer or Cyrodiils for miles, but it was only natural to speak conspiratively on such a defiant and fragile mission. "The orange liquid is the cure. The clear liquid is the plague. You must be very careful. The cure will kill the plague, but you must be sure you do not lose your control on the plague. This is very important for your people."

"I understand." I replied, a lot more crisply. We'd gone over this before, but with the severity of the stakes at hand, I couldn't blame him for repeating himself. "I promise, I'll make sure it's modified before I let it touch anyone but me."

There was a touching feeling of unity through this all. We were all united against the exploitive foreigners, and I knew they'd done far worse to the Sload than my own people.

"Good," he replied "It is a very noble thing you are doing. But for discression, I must leave you now. Goodbye. I want your idea to work."

He turned again to leave the tee-pee. I felt almost guilty as I reflected on what he was doing for me and my people knowing, as of now, I could give him nothing back.

N'Shanta made "his" way out of the tent, leaving me alone with the chemicals. Everything else around me was rhythmic, the night putting all its attention on me as my friend had faded into the grace of the nearby river.

I looked down at all the substances once again as my feeling of inner-charge grew. I already had several cups of Hist sap prepared, and I could think of nothing more necessary to begin the experiment. An excitement began flowing through my veins. I could feel it in my hands as they moved to touch the jar.

I stroked the glass on the jar of clear liquid, forcing myself to confirm that I was willing to touch the plague. I could feel an odd sensation in my hands as I did. I could feel the adrenaline, thrill, and fear digging deeper than ever before as I knew I was close to the beginning of a breakthrough or the end of my life. But I knew it was worth the risk: when the warlords and slavers fled or died, I would no longer have to wake up tense as I waited to hear if anyone else in my tribe had been taken away, I would no longer sleep with nightmares that nearly matched the mornings they preceded, and nor would any other Argonians.

Now it was time to demonstrate all the mental ground I gained, giving it an imprint in reality before self doubt could set me back from my potential. I grabbed the glass of the jar and grasped the lid tightly, then strangled the edges of the lid with my hands as I twisted it until the top loosened.

The jar was opened to the air in my own little sanctuary of quiet progress. The liquid was a habitat for tiny creatures, too small to see, according to the Sload. It was a new age for Argonia in my hands, while those to the North and West continued their clumsy, arrogant destruction habitually.

I moved a cup of Hist sap closer to the jar, ready to test my first theory. Then I wrapped my hands around the jar of clear liquid and slowly and carefully titled it towards the cup of sap. As soon as I realized it was breaking the threshold of containment, when a subtle splash hit the contents of the cup, I turned the jar back upright.

I picked up the knife, sharpened to perfection for a precise cut. My first theory would be my first test. If it worked, I could drink the clear liquid and not get sick.

I stuck out my left index finger, which would be donating blood for the experiment, and looked again at the sharp edge of the knife.

Then I held my shaking finger over the mixture in the cup. I brought the knife over to my finger, and made a silent, shallow sliced.

I felt an urge to shudder at the exquisitely acute, albeit subtle, pain, but simply dropped the dagger and squeezed the lower end of my cut finger. First just a subtle rupture in my flesh, the blood was soon to arrive. A drop formed on my finger, ready to mix with the sap.

There were subtle ripples as the first drop plunged into and permeated the mixture. I planned to wait for a second drop, wanting to make sure this first test counted. Maybe even a third.

Another drop of blood was forming on my finger. I continued my deep breathing in my state of excitement, odd sensations flowing through the viens and bones of my arms and hands.

If these subtle mixings could change those tiny creatures as I hoped, it would give us a weapon unprecedented in the Second Era, and open the door to further research that might give us power over the Earth bones unprecedented by mortals in all of Tamrielic history.