Elsewhere stinks. That's the first thing she notices, the almost overpowering smell of decaying plant matter. The second thing she notices is that she is calf-deep in think, goey mud, and slowly sinking further. The third thing is the line of bright white cutting across the otherwise dark night sky.

The fourth thing is less obvious, so it takes another moment to come to her attention. The fourth thing is a vaguely elvish looking man, lying on his back in the mud about ten feet away, wearing nothing but the most impressively bored surprised look imaginable.

She's more curious than annoyed; she can always avoid sleeping and reset if this gets bad.

Malielle tries to access the little pocket dimension where she keeps her stuff - she does not like the clothes Sheogorath's stuck her in. 

It doesn't work.

She tries to call Dawnbreaker to her hand, fails, tries to summon Zephyr, also fails. She frantically pats the pockets of the outfit - fine clothes like nobles might wear - and finds nothing: no gold, no daggers, not even a sprig of lavender.

Okay forget this; she goes to reset. Having to do the day over will be annoying, but at least she can refuse to help Dervenin this time.

Resetting completely fails.

"Fuck you, Sheogorath," she mutters, then calls out to the man (ignoring the nudity; he probably got looted by someone not too picky about vital status of their corpses), "Any idea where we are?" While waiting for an answer, she tries to jump, and if that fails will try to identify the nearest solid ground. 

It's swamp nearly as far as the eye can see - there are maybe some hills off in the distance thataway.

The man responds, but not understandably. "Ma nátyë. Ma quetat yaisalambë."

-Oooo a new language. 

She says hello all the languages she knows (which is like five of them, including the dragon tongue). 

...Is she in danger of the muck getting above her waist anytime soon, and are there climbable trees nearby?

There are reeds that might be climbable if she were very very small. She probably has about half an hour before she's waist-deep, assuming a constant rate of sinking into mud.

The man pulls sits up at her words. "Ma quetat canta lambi."

Perhaps recognizing that words are not getting the message across, he repeats them again, slowly. "Ma" - he tilts his head, makes a thoughtful expression, and shrugs. "Quetat" - he points at Malielle and pantomimes speaking. "Canta" - he counts to four on his fingers. "Lambi" - he grabs his tongue and pulls it slightly out of his mouth.

"Finyalambë" - he points to himself.

Does moving and trying to step so her feet lift clear of the muck slow that down any?

And a new language - she thinks unrelated to any in Tamriel, wow Sheogorath dropped her far - is way more exciting than muck, or trying to whirlwind sprint towards some maybe-hills. 

She thinks, and points to herself, saying, "Malielle." Then she holds up her hand and counts to five in Tamrielic, pointing to each finger. "Quetat five lambi."

He frowns, then counts on his fingers as he repeats her five 'hello's. He had mashed two of them together. He does it again, this time correctly separating them. He grins, then stands up - on top of the mud, not sinking an inch - and reaches a hand out to Malielle.

- That's easier.

She takes his hand.

And he pulls her out of the muck and sets her down. She starts sinking again. He frowns. "Ma lavat yulunyet." He pantomimes lifting something and walking, then points towards the hills in the distance. Tilts his head, shrugs.

She thinks, securing the Wabbajack on her back as she does. Whirlwind sprint will probably make a huge mess, isn't very controllable. 

Being ethereal can get her past traps; it should let her wade better. 

"Feim zii gron," she declares, voice ringing, and unless there's something strange about this world, her colors will drain away and she'll fade half from view. If it works, she heads towards the hill at a sprint; if not, she starts trudging. Unfortunately she can only hold it for eighteen seconds, and its recharge is forty seconds, so she'll probably be switching between sprinting and wading a good bit.

Finyalambë follows, at a light jog across the top of the mud (And the water, when they come across pools of it)

It takes about an hour and a half at their pace, but they make it to solid ground. There are gently sloping hills - beyond them, mountains. To the south, a forest. 

Finyalambë lies on the ground. "Ma natyë. Ma casta."

Ma natye - he'd said that before, when she first appeared. And 'ma' seems to indicate questions. Maybe something like 'where are you from'? She's uncertain about the second phrase.

She hasn't ever met anyone who can just jog across water like that, and she didn't see him casting a spell for it or anything. 

She wonders, idly, if there's a Shout for translation.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand you. Ma natye? Ma casta?"

"Nanyë Finyalambë." - he points at himself - "Nanyë Anno." - he touches the points of his ears - "Natyë Malielle. Ala natyë Anno." - he gestures at her ears - "Ala natyë awarthad. Ma natyë."

So natye must mean something like 'to be.' "Nanye Malielle. Nanye dovahkiin. 'Feim zii gron' natye thu'um. Thu'um natye... Dovahzul lambe?" she says, guessing at the grammar: I am Malielle, I am the dragonborn, 'feim zii gron' is a shout, shout is dragon language.' 

" 'Feim zii gron' nasë thu'um."

"I'm sorry. I don't understand you. I'm. Sorry. I. Don't. Understand. You. You don't understand I. You understand don't I. Youm sorry. Youm dovahkiin. 'Feim zii gron'm thu'um. Ma nasë 'don't' understand'. Ma nasë 'Sorry'. I." He points at himself, "you." He points at her. "Ma mára."

"'I'm sorry, I don't understand you' nase Tamrielic lambe," she clarifies. "You don't understand me. You are sorry, you're sorry. I am sorry, I'm sorry. 'Feim zii gron' is thu'um." She has no idea how to translate 'sorry' or 'don't understand' with charades. Maybe - "I understand Tamrielic. You don't understand Tamrielic. I don't understand 'ma mara.'"

"Am. Nanyë. Are. Natyë. Is. Nasë. I don't understand Tamrielic. You understand Tamrielic ar Dohvazul. Ma you understand 'ar'."

"Ma 'understand' nasë 'quet'." - pantomimes speaking - "Ma 'understand' nasë 'hlar'." - cups a hand to his ear.

"Understand is," she taps her head. "Quet is speak. Maybe," she shrugs, "understand is hlar. I speak and understand Tamrielic and Dovahzul and Ta'Agra and Daedric and Orcish." She then lists each greeting she'd given with its language. 

"I speak and understand yaisalambë and analambë and yelillambë and amollambë and casallambë. Yaisalambë and analambë and yelilambë is lambi Annalieva. Amollambë is lambë Awarthatwa. Casallambë is lambë Anglieva."

"Annalieva is... annalië speak and understand lambi Annalieva. Annalië don't speak and understand lambi don't Annalieva. Annalië is anno and anno and anno and anno and..."

"Yaisalambe and analambe and yelilambe are lambi Annalieva," she corrects. "They are lambi. They are languages. Annalie don't speak non-Annalieva languages. I don't understand 'anno'. Annalie is many anno? Natye anno?"  Then - "We" with a gesture to the two of them "speak Tamrielic. We speak yaisalambe?"

They can probably go on like this for a while, can't they.

Finyalambë certainly doesn't seem to have any intention of stopping!

Malielle's fully willing to keep going until her stomach grumbles for lunch, for sure.

The sun is just starting to rise at this point. Finyalambë has, over the course of the past few hours, transitioned from lying on the grass to sitting up. He notices the grumbling.

"I don't have eat-things. There are animals in the forest." - he gestures south - "I am not good at grabbing animals, and the forest is not very safe but we need eat-things." (He repeats all this in yaisalambë, somewhat more fluently.)

She corrects his grammar, adds new vocabulary, and delightedly absorbs the new words. "I am good at hunting. I do not have a bow," she pantomines shooting an arrow at 'bow'. She repeats herself in yaisalambe. 

(She really regrets not learning the bound bow spell.)

He fills in the gaps in her vocabulary. They have a good system going, here.

"I am not good at hunting, but I am not bad at hunting. I also do not have a bow. I can hunt without a bow, but not every...aurë" - he points at the rising sun, then sweeps his hand in an arc across the sky - "and food does not stay food long enough. It will be enough for now."

"Not every day. And one thu'um makes ice. Ice is cold, cold food stays good longer." She remembers the little trick with ice wraith's teeth she learned from Marice; making her frost breath smaller so she could use it for the same thing had been the first time she'd ever properly meditated on a shout.

The forest is a bit farther than they traveled through the swamp, but they are not travelling through a swamp so getting there is a little bit faster.

"Stay close, be careful," Finyalambë says in two languages before heading into the trees.

After a little bit of searching, he finds a small clearing, and starts to sing. His voice is smooth and clear and deep, and echoes strangely through the trees. He sings of how a clever woman stole a star from the sky, and took it apart to see how it was made. With that secret knowledge she gained, she made another. She taught her children, and her children's children, and together they made stars to rival those in the sky above. And though she passed away from this world, her successors took the stars and laid them upon a hill until it shone with day unending, and they raised a city there and the light kept it safe from all evil. The city was safe and people came from far and wide to marvel at its beauty.

A deer wanders into the clearing. Finyalambë sings to it about the beauty and safety of the city of stars and strokes its fur and snaps its neck.

"We should leave, now, people will have heard that. Bad people live here."

Malielle watches in fascination. The sound reminds her of words of power, in a way, and she wonders if it works like the dragon tongue.

She nods at his words. "Lead the way; I can carry the deer."

It's definitely magical in some way. She had a feeling of trust and safety and curiosity that had built up gradually over the course of the song - not really noticeable as it built, but much more so as it quickly fell away after Finyalambë stopped singing.

Finyalmbë hands off the deer and heads back out of the woods at a brisk walk, not stopping until they're a good quarter-mile from the treeline.

Yeah she doesn't really approve of mind-affecting things that affect her as well, but she's more curious than annoyed.

"Is it safe here?" she asks, stumbling through the translation in yaisalambe. 

"Safe enough for now. We will need to walk more far from the forest for sleeping."

"Walk farther," she corrects as she sets the deer down, along with the bundle of kindling and fallen branches she'd gathered as they first walked in. "If you want to start a fire, I can get more wood."

"I don't have a flint, and I don't know how to start a fire without a flint."

"I have a spell. A spell is like a thu'um."

"I have spells - songs and also other kinds - but recovering spell energy takes many days. Does your energy recover faster?"

"Much faster than that. I used to have potions that would make magicka - spell energy - recover faster, but not anymore." She still hasn't explained how she ended up here; she can do that over food. She sets about starting a small fire and preparing the deer - just small amounts, from the cuts that'll cook fastest. 

Finyalambë seems confused by the explanation. That's not terribly surprising - it's a confusing explanation.

"So... you were sent here by an Ariâ, you say. And you are like an Ariâ - you have strange magic, and much of it."

"The different between me and a Daedric Prince is far greater than that. I think my plane might have more magic than this one; I know few spells, out of all there is to know."

"I think the difference is not how many spells there are - we have very many spells - the difference is how fast your magicka returns. The Eriai - the word is from yelillambë, so that's the plural - vary in power. I have fought an Ariâ and won, but the greatest of them... A long time ago, when I was young, there was a second light in the sky, like the sun but white. The Eriai put it out, in their war. Other Eriai built the Bulwark in its place." - he points to the band of white in the sky, still brightly shining even in the daylight.

"The word means, hm. Something like 'a great person from the place outside of the world'. It is not a good translation, my Tamrielic is still not very good. But I think you fit."

She thinks for a bit, then says, "I do not think I would fit that with just my world's magic, since our spells aren't always all that - flexible. I can't hunt very effectively with them, and would be limited in a fight. The thu'um might qualify, though, especially the way I use it."

"I suppose. This is very strange. I would think this is a trick, but..."

"But? And a trick by who?"

"I suppose if you are truly from another world you would not know. I am from Elinost, the city of stars. We have an enemy, who calls himself Gorvaethor - "dread warrior" - and has urged our neighbors to attack us. We went to fight him, because we thought he was weak, but we were wrong. He took me, and hurt me, and when he was done he left me in the swamp and told me he was leaving me alone to die."

"I'm sorry."

"He - I do not know if you have the word for it - he said truly that I was useless to him and useless to Arélen and that he and his servants would not trouble me any more. So. You are not a trick of his. He liked tricking people, but now I'm free of that."

"I'm uncertain how you could tell if someone was speaking the truth without a spell, and that wouldn't keep them from changing their mind later."

"You probably don't have a word for it then. Since you don't have the concept. An Anno or Angli can say things in a way that the words cannot be lies and they cannot change their mind. Ewerthaid cannot. You seem a lot like an awarthad, apart from your magic. And your skin, which is darker than theirs usually gets."

"That sort of tool sounds both useful and dangerous. If you attack Gorvaethor, can he then still not trouble you? And it's interesting; your world's ewerthaid sound similar to my world's men, and the annalie to my world's mer. I'm a Breton, halfway between the two."

"He is not foolish. He had escape clauses. If I actively trouble him at all, if I return to Rainë or to any of a dozen other places he listed. If I send word, directly or indirectly, to Arélen. We don't Truly Say things often, especially not about future actions. Gorvaethor does so more frivolously, but he's still very careful."

"How indirectly is indirectly? If I gather the information separately, and take it to Arelen, will it count against you? Does he have to learn about your return to be able to trouble you? And careful enemies are very annoying."

"He would have to learn about my return - it only works off of the speaker's thoughts, not facts about the world. If you were to go to Arélen and tell her that I'm here, he could come and hurt me as much as he wanted. Same goes for anything else I tell you. But if you gather other information without my help and take it to her I'm safe."

"So the amount of help you've provided already wouldn't count? Can I regather the same information you've given me? Can I just refuse to say where I got my information?"

"I've told you about the world and that he exists. Not exactly secrets he cares about keeping, at this point. If he suspects I told you things he could find me and make me Say that I didn't tell you and hurt me when I couldn't, he probably thinks a refusal to Say otherwise is sufficient proof."

"So I'll make very certain to have believable sources of information for everything. Can you tell me where the cities and such are, at least?"

"Nimchobas is on the other side of the forest. If you head north you will come to Inzilkadar, which is an Ewerthaid city. In either case, you can probably find someone there who speaks yaisalambë - most of the population in each speaks yelillambë. Which they will call 'yelinlam'. And they will call Yaisalambë 'cillam'. Nimchobas is easier to find, it's on the coast. Inzilkadar is at a river fork. The space between here and Inzilkadar is safer than Balch Dawar - the forest - though. Either city, you should be able to take a boat to Malchobas, if you can earn some money. From Malchobas to Elinost is easy, just follow the road. Also, you can sometimes see Elinost at night, even from here."

He sighs.

"It would be easier if I went with you - You don't speak Yelillambë at all and your yaisalambë is poor. But. I do not want to go. Does that make me a coward?"

She wishes she had materials for a map. Or at least a journal.

"Not at all. I can stay until I have learned yaisalambe better. At the very least, I'd want to teach you some of my world's magic before we part, so you'll be safer. If you do want to come with me, though, I can protect you."

He smiles, but the look in his eyes says "no you can't."

"He can still hurt people I love. That is why staying is cowardly. If it was all just... 'fate of the nation' 'fate of the world´ 'tens of thousands of innocent lives'...Everyone ignores that. There is no shame in it."

"I don't know what I should do. I will need some time to think on it. I can think at the same time that we study languages - and magic, if I can learn yours."

She really wants to hug him, but feels it'd be probably unappreciated.

"I tend to take the fate of the world a bit more personally than that, but I see your point."

"It's not going to end, Gorvaethor is not that powerful. He will probably not even conquer much of it, Elefthâni and Airâlad are larger and more militarized than Rainë. He wants to though. Conquer it, not end it."

"It won't matter much to the people he kills what his intentions are. I don't have any angles on returning home, and I'd like to at least take a shot at helping. It's what I do." She sighs. "Though usually I have more resources than a few shouts and the Wabbajack. Sheogorath could've at least left me my sword. Taking other people's artifacts is rude."

"It's... Yes. Stopping him matters. It's important. It's just not personal for most people and so they don't care. It won't be your sword, but if you make it to Elinost, there are many smiths there. You could get a sword elsewhere, but ours are the best."

"Thank you. I think I'll do that. I'm upset at the loss of my sword largely because it was magical, and very useful against the undead. It was also a gift from Meridia, to me as her Champion. How much money would I need for a sword?"

"A non-magical sword you could purchase for... anywhere between ten and a hundred Swords - uh, that probably sounds confusing - silver coins. A magical sword you can maybe acquire if you have the good-will of the smith... Cestandoel is known to be generous with his creations, but doesn't talk much to strangers - it's not a good use of his time, with a war on. You could try talking to Lendwae, she's young and impatient and a little bit naive - more approachable, and she's close to Cestandoel. If she won't see you right away, talk to Rocan Ignis if he's still alive, he's an awarthad and knows both Lendwae and Cestandoel."

"I should be able to make do with a non-magical sword." She huffs. "Wish I knew how soul gems are made. I could enchant one myself, then. Wouldn't be as strong as Dawnbreaker, but it'd be something. I'll also talk to the smiths you've recommended. I suppose it's most likely I'll have to get used to fighting with the Wabbajack, though." She pauses to think. "I do have part of a shout that I almost never use, since it only works with non-magical weapons, that makes strikes faster. Won't be useful as the Wabbajack might against something powerful, but'll likely be easier to adjust to."

"Cestandoel is a smith. Lendwae is a diplomat and a singer - because she's a diplomat she'll have some time reserved for talking to people who need things - that's supposed to be just Sunlit Islanders but unless she's really busy she won't turn you away. Rocan is a - kind of lord who rules a border territory and commands armies, do you have a word for that? - so he also has time to see petitioners. He's less important than Lendwae so he might have more time available, depending on how the war is going. Either of them will also likely be able to secure an audience with Arélen, and they can direct you to where you would be most helpful."

She smiles. "Thank you for the correction. Depending on how powerful Rocan is, from your description I'd say either a March-warden or even a Jarl. I'll want to talk to either Rocan or Lendwae first, then. Rocan might be my best bet, since I'm offering essentially military aid. He lives in Elinost?"

"He has a keep near the Amonthâni border, south of Elinost. He is there sometimes, in the city at others - best to check Elinost first, there's a road between his keep and the city but not really any other roads that lead to the keep.

He also might be dead. He was in the battle where I was captured, his flank was hit hard."

She - doesn't really know what to say to that. "I'll check  Elinost then, and look for Lendwae if he's not there."

He nods, then stands up.

"We should move farther from the forest," he says in Yaisalambë, "And speak only in this tongue so you can practice, your ability to communicate with other people is more important than my curiosity about your language."

"I understand," she replies in the same, also standing. 'Communicate' and 'curiosity' are new, but she guesses at their meaning. "I can carry what's left of the deer. Should we get more wood to take with us? And 'communicate' is like speak, 'curiosity' is like questions?"

"A fire at night may draw attention. Will you get too cold without one? If so, I can go back for wood. You are right about the meanings of both words."

"I was thinking more for cooking dinner. I won't get too cold, no."

He blinks. "Right. Yes, cooking dinner. I will get some wood, and meet you by the hill where we first came out of the swamp." He turns back toward the forest.

"Okay." And she does so, though she keeps an ear out in case he runs into trouble.

He catches up to her in about an hour, unharmed and carrying a bundle of sticks.

"A couple of these might be workable into bows - not very good ones, but maybe better than nothing - with some of the sinews from the deer. I have no idea how to do that and no tools, but if your magic can do anything for it...? And if we can properly skin it and clean the hide, I could probably use a skirt."

"Unfortunately my magic's not well adapted for anything other than combat, or turning things into other things. I know how to fashion crude tools from what we have, and I can make a decent bow that way. And, yes, I can see how clothing would be appreciated." She pauses. "Speaking of turning things into other things, I really need to test the Wabbajack at some point, preferably outside of combat."

"That sounds wise"

"It's mostly known for having a different set of powers every time it appears. And for being able to turn enemies into assorted things. Usually at random. Which doesn't really help me plan how to use it, especially since I'm not accustomed to fighting with staffs."

"Can it affect objects?"

"Probably not in the same ways, though that'll be the first test."

Nod.

"We should grab some marsh plants. I'd rather not waste our firewood and have to go back for more right away.

You are very talented. Or, rather, you have many skills suited for this sort of situation."

"I'm used to living off the land, is all. Most of my talents are more suited to my world, unfortunately. I'm not even sure how useful I'll be against an army - almost all of my fights have been against only a few people at most, however powerful." She shifts. "I should also probably go ahead and make ice for the deer."

He watches with a hint of fascination as she does this.

"We didn't thing Gorvaethor had an army, that was most of the problem. There were raids - a couple of small Amonthâni tribes, not very coordinated. He turned some of them into werewolves - Ewerthaid fused with shadow demons, they take on forms like wolves at night. We didn't think he'd be able to form them into a proper army, they are not very disciplined. We put together a force, planned to march through Amonthâni, pacify some tribes and then kill or capture Gorvaethor. He attacked in the night and he had so much more than we were expecting - more werewolves than we thought he could make, more hillmen assembled, tekidi..."

It's just the first word, Fo, and she carefully aims at the ground. The ice steams, and warms slightly until it's no longer very dangerous to touch. Still, she has to heal herself after packing it around the deer.

"My world has similar monsters. Do you know if they have any weaknesses? Also, what are tekidi?"

"They are vulnerable in any bright light, and the presence of an Elemír - the star-stones - will burn them. In their Ewerthaid forms they are no harder to kill than usual - a little stronger, a little faster, but small differences. In their shadow-wolf forms they are very fast, and tough, and nearly impossible to see.

Tekidi are Anni who were captured by the Eriai in their wars, and changed. They are stronger and faster and more magically powerful than us, their skin will turn aside most nonmagical weapons. They look similar to us, but with more muscle, and glowing marks all across their skin. Their descendants are much weaker than the originals, we call them orcs - there are not many Tekidi left these days."

"Then I'll need a magic weapon. The Wabbajack, or an enchanted sword. Are the werewolves resistant to anything, like fire or cold? Can the tekidi resist magic as well?" 

"Cold I don't know about. Fire is... Mixed. Small enough - dim enough, rather - fires will be smothered in their presence. But they are extremely vulnerable to anything that can get past that. They are very flammable, and once burning the light makes them more or less powerless. We have very little directly offensive magic, but the tekidi were made to fight against eriai who have more. I suspect they are resistant."

She sighs. "I only know one word of the fire shout, if my flame spell is too small. It takes too long to recharge to be relied on in combat, though. The Wabbajack might do fire, I suppose. I very much miss the Dawnbreaker; it glowed bright enough to light a room, and burned those it struck. Which is probably why Sheogorath took it - me cutting easily through the enemy wouldn't amuse him."

"If it were easy, they wouldn't need us." He cracks half a smile at that, which fades quickly.

She smiles back, slightly. "No, saving realms never seems to go as easily as it should."

"It would be nice if sometimes they just stayed saved."

"Seriously! My world tries to end every few centuries. Sometimes in multiple ways at once."

"It's about as bad here. Do you usually deal with those crises, or are you like the ewerthaid...?"

"Like the ewerthaid. Everyone native to my realm is, except the vampires and dragons. Currently I'm dealing with the three - possibly four, I'm not sure what's going on with Miraak - ways the world's attempting to end. Someone else dealt with the last one."

"Three at once? That's impressive. And it seems suddenly much more urgent to get you back home, if you think you're uniquely qualified to deal with that."

"I'm really only uniquely qualified to handle Alduin, maybe Miraak or Harkon. Alduin will want a direct confrontation; I suspect he can't get enough of the other dragons to follow him without defeating me, since he ran away from our last fight. And there's people in place to hold the line. Miraak... I'm not even sure what he's doing, just that it involves a specific island, and he's been sending assassins after me. Harkon I'm mostly qualified to deal with because I'm friends with his daughter. The last way the world's attempting to end might not ever even come to a head, or might resolve itself." She shrugs. "It's also possible time's paused back home, or flowing much more slowly - it's often irregular between the planes of Oblivion, and while Akatosh won't intervene directly, making time favor me is within the sort of action he'd take."

"Let us hope so. Akatosh?"

"Chief deity of the Nine Divines, the god of time and creator of the dragons. The one who gave me the thu'um, so I can fight Alduin. He's definitely actively managing time. It gets... weird when he's distracted."

"Time gets weird?" He pauses, for a moment. "What does that mean?"

"Mostly causality stops working, and time doesn't really - flow. Everything that can happen, does happen, basically, even contradictory things, and often no one agrees how long it took."

"Your world is strange. Well, I suppose ours must seem strange to you. Would you like to hear our history? It may be useful to know if you are going to try to solve our current problems."

"You're right, though my world's outlandish enough that I think I'm less... startled? It's strange but not surprising. I agree that a history overview would help, and I'd be interested anyways."

"Many thousands of years ago, the Eriai came to the world from somewhere outside of it - I was not alive then, this part is secondhand - back then, there was only one kind of people here. They lived harsh, brutish, short lives - war was common, food was scarce, they didn't know about plumbing or medicine or anything of the sort. The Eriai came and changed that - they offered technology and wisdom, and offered to...change some of the people, making them more like the Eriai. Some accepted those gifts and became the Annalië - literally, 'people of the gift' - while others rejected them. The Ewerthaid - literally 'the Forsaken' - rejected the gifts. Then, the Eriai went to the utmost south and the utmost north of the world, where none lived, and dwelt there. Even then, they were split into two factions - those in the north we called the Narvelethrim, fire-lovers, as they dug deep and drank of the fires at the center of the world and had great mastery over both fire and ice. Those in the south we called the lossvelethrim, ice-lovers - mainly to contrast with their northern kin, in truth the narvelethrim had greater mastery of ice as well."

"That's certainly... different. I'm guessing the two factions warred?"

"Eventually. At first they simply dwelt apart. That part of the tale is coming, but the lead-up to the wars are important to know."

"The Eriai had servants, which they made, called the Anglî - people of iron. The first Anglî were made from metal and diamond, and they never tired and never hungered, and never faltered in their devotion to their masters. Yet, their children were of soft stone, and pursued their own interests alongside those of the Eriai, and their children's children were of flesh, and felt no loyalty to the masters of their ancestors. In the south, the Anglî of flesh wished for freedom, and they arranged a great council of all their people, hoping to as one people depart the halls of Oromaril. But the elder Anglî rejected that desire, and were embittered at their kin for interrupting their work, and rather than coming to an arrangement they came to blows. Blood was spilled, the silver blood of the elder and the red of the younger alike, and when the conflict was ended almost the entirety of those who wished to remain were slain. The Lossvelethrim made a proclamation to those who lived - they declared that the freedom that they fought for would be granted, but nothing else, and they gave the Anglî only until the sun rose to prepare their departure, and gave them no tools nor materials nor food. Most of the Anglî perished when they failed to leave, or when their hastily-made ships sunk as they crossed the sea, but a few of them came to these shores. The Ewerthaid call them 'dwarves', for they are short and made for small spaces."

She nods.

"The Narvelethrim heard of what had happened with the Anglî in the south, and were afraid of the same strife coming to their halls. So they changed the Anglî that they had - they made them less intelligent and more brutish, and reverted their flesh to stone and their bones to iron. This was against the laws of the Eriai in some way, and displeased the Lossvelethrim to hear it, but was forgiven for the circumstances which prompted it."

"The Lossvelethrim, though, were now without servants, so they sent emissaries back to the north. Those emissaries spoke to the Annalië, and offered even greater gifts than they had given already, in exchange for service to them. Some accepted and traveled south with Eriai, yet when they passed the sunlit islands in the middle of the world many of the Annalië were enchanted by them, and chose to stay there and did not continue to Oromaril. Thus, the Annalië became three peoples - The Yelindrim, winter-elves who stayed in the north, the Ennari, sun-elves who dwelt on the islands at the world's waist, and the Cildhrim, steel-elves who followed the Eriai to Oromaril with its towers of metal and crystal."

"The Narvelethrim saw this, and desired servants of their own. But all those of the Annalië who remained in the north were the Yelindrim, who would not bow to any Ariâ. And so the Narvelethrim went among the Ewerthaid and found servants among them, and came to hate the Yelindrim. In time, the Narvelethrim grew bolder, and their vassal kingdoms performed human sacrifice and blood rites to increase the Narvelethrim's power, and were sent to war with the Yelindrim and all others who would not kneel at the feet of the Narvelethrim."

Nod.

"When word of this came to Oromaril, the Lossvelethrim were concerned, but did not at first go to war. They cared little for the Yelindrim and Anglî who had rejected them, and even less for the Ewerthaid, but they feared that the Narvelethrim might have ambitions beyond merely ruling the north. So Luiston, the captain of the Lossvelethrim's warriors, went with many of his soldiers and dwelt on the moon to keep watch. This angered the Narvelethrim, who withdrew their armies and feigned peace, but made secret preparation for war."

"It took them many centuries to prepare, but in time they were ready and the war began in earnest. The moon was shattered as part of the initial assault, and with the watchers fled bodiless to Oromaril the Narvelethrim came forth from their halls in bodies tall and strong, with skin like adamant and lances like fire. And with them marched their vassal Ewerthaid and their Anglî who had been reshaped into fearsome forms for war, and the free people of the north could not stand against them."

"But though they had lost the moon, the Lossvelethrim were not cowed and rather angered. They sent storms to the north, and the armies of the Narvelethrim were choked in flooded rivers and flowing mud, and their leaders struck down by bolts of lightning. And in place of the moon, the Lossvelethrim built a great bulwark in the heavens and set many watchers on it and warded it with powerful sorcery so that it could not be destroyed or bypassed." - he gestures at the line of white across the sky - "And the narvelethrim retreated and hid for many lifetimes of ewerthaid."

"When the Narvelethrim attacked again, they did not personally lead their armies, and so the Lossvelethrim again took no part in the fighting. The Narvelethrim knew that this would be, and that they had no need to take the field themselves, for among their forces were the first of the Tekidi, and they had many Ewerthaid, and the trolls which had been made from the Anglî."

...Nod. 

"After a time, word of the war reached the Cildhrim in Oromaril. We found the Eriai's stance unacceptable. We begged for them to intervene, and they said no, they didn't want to escalate. We told them people were dying and they asked if the right response to that was to kill more. We told them to stop the Narvelethrim, imprison them or kill them or something. They said that they would not war among themselves for something so trifling as genocide.

"So we left. We studied their secrets and learned how we might kill them and left. We joined the Ennari on the sunlit isles, and there we developed weapons which could kill an Ariâ and make it stay dead. And then we went to war, and eventually that war escalated enough for the Lossvelethrim to get involved. And eventually, we won. The Narvelethrim were all killed, their puppet-kingdoms broken up, and the Lossvelethrim retreated behind their Bulwark and have not ventured forth since. Good riddance."

Yeah 'unacceptable' had been about her opinion of the Lossvelethrim, too. "Your people acted bravely. And I think I'm glad that my world doesn't share a plane of existence with our gods. Was Gorvaethor one of the Narvelethrim?"

A look of terror crosses his face for just a moment as he considers the possibility. "The reason the Lossvelethrim gave for being reluctant to go to war is that they tend to commit rather strongly. The impression I got was that the Eriai all bindingly swore not to cease not to cease hostilities until the other side was completely annihilated. Gorvaethor is still present in the world, hence he is not a Narveleth."

"Ah. So he's a Lossveleth, or unaligned? And binding yourself to unceasing warfare is... more extreme than I had been expecting."

"Far more likely he is an Anno. With strange priorities. I told you of the Eriai's wars because those are a... backdrop... to what has followed. There are two Cildhrim kingdoms - Airâlad, in the north, was founded during the wars. When the wars ended, some of us split with Airâlad. Their leaders had abandoned ours to die when the war opened, and... commandeered... many of our weapons and tools. We named our kingdom Rainë - peace. Airâlad had ewerthaid vassal states, but most of them also separated when the war ended. Gorvaethor won one - possibly more - of them to his side, with the aim of overthrowing the Annalië and taking our lands."

"Ah. For some reason when you first mentioned him I assumed he was an Aria."

"An understandable mistake, I suppose, without the background. Especially given that your daedric princes are more prone to intervene in your world than the Eriai are in the north." He sighs and lies back on the ground.

"I believe you intended to test your weapon?"

"Yes, I had, thank you for reminding me." She walks a good bit away from Finyalambe, and aims well away from him. Aimed at the ground or at random objects, the Wabbajack produces explosions of fire, lightning, or frost, or simply sends things flying. Which. Aren't its typically described powers. 

She sighs and walks back. "I should try this on animals, too. It's not behaving as I think it's supposed to." Are there frogs or something in the swamp? 

She didn't see any but she can certainly hear them. 

Can she catch or at least find them to aim at? Or anything really, she'll also accept rabbits and birds and the like.

She does eventually track down a handful of frogs and a few small birds. And lots and lots of bugs, if those relevantly count.

Not unless they're unnaturally big, otherwise Interesting Things would've happened while firing at ants.

The same explosions still occur, but added into the mix is that one gets turned into a rabbit, one into a bottle of wine, one into a shower of forty golden septims, and one into an angry Dremora (which is when Malielle learns that a second hit undoes the changes). The rabbit turns back into a frog after a few minutes, and inanimate objects remain inanimate. Malielle strongly suspects that this isn't the extent of the staff's powers, but she's running out of easily found critters.

"Any idea how many Swords these would be worth?" Malielle asks once she's tired of chasing down frogs and birds, showing a septim to Finyalambe. "Also did the fire and lightning look bright enough to work against tekidi?"

"If those are solid gold - merchants will probably check, since it's not a known coinage - then that would cover your travel to Rainë, a horse, and a small armory. If you're just buying swords... two hundred, maybe? If you are aiming for quality but not gaudiness."

"I more meant the conversion to the silver coin, I should have been more specific. I'm not actually sure; I think they're solid, not gilded, but I don't know what kind of alloy they are. So would each coin be worth all that, or all forty of them? That's - a lot, gold must be much rarer here than back home."

"That was for all forty, yes. If they're solid gold, about two hundred Swords apiece, with the assumption that you would probably buy swords for forty or fifty Swords apiece on average... Unloving South, that's confusing. I have just gained a whole new appreciation for the noble efforts of logistics officers."

Giggle.

"Gold's definitely worth more here, though I think silver less. I'll be sure to keep a hold of these, then, since they're apparently now the bulk of my fortune. I'm guessing I'd be able to find a merchant to trade these for in Nimchobas or Inzilkadar? Are there specific money-changers I should approach?"

"None that I know of. I'm not as well acquainted this far from home, and moneychanging was never a service I needed to deal with directly."

"I suppose I can ask around some. So money-changers do exist, though?"

"Different nations mint different coins, so yes."

"There's mostly just the Empire and the Aldmeri Dominion minting their own coins back home, so money-changers are kinda rare outside of major trading hubs."

"We're... fractured... enough that there's much more need for them. Rainë needed to show it's independence, so we couldn't use Airâlad's money. Similarly, there was no way that Alamaxa would ever give the impression of subservience that would be implied by Malchobas or Nimchobas using either Cildhrim currency. The Anglî think all the Annalië are irresponsible with monetary policy, so they have their own coins."

"Yeah, for us until recently there was only the one empire on the continent."