The Seals of Triskelion (headcanon stories)

Ajaxandriel · April 2018

(Foreword: )

Hello, here I'm posting some self-translations of stories I wrote some time ago on french forums, about my characters and guild backgrounds. The release of Warden class, and Summerset shortly, reminded me how they seemed to fit actual canon somehow. I can't wait for knowing how it's the case with new ESO:Summerset lore haha
I'll link the source text for each one. I don't know if it's correct english, I hope so, but let me know grammatical errors ^^ ... Meanwhile, let's say they are translation errors from Old Altmeris

About perception of Mundus
by Celestras the Lost

My dear son,
The reality, as you believe that you perceive it, is nothing but smoke and mirrors. These illusions are our common living conditions, thus we share them, but they appear to be individual and separate indeed.
From this common illusion, our sense of working for common good arises ; but from this inherent separation, hatred and wars strem. Blessed are the beings of Nature, who still know how to fight for enduring merely, for we civilized beings have doomed ourselves to fight for our illusions.

Whoever sees his most valuable illusions to be questioned, threatened by experience of the world or by rival illusions, will be ready for killing, and even being killed for them.

It is upon you to chose carefully what illusions will guide your path. Make them beautiful and harmonic, and your way will be an enchantment. Chose them bleak and afflicted, and you'll walk amongst the hidden horrors of the celestial archway.

What kind of truth does remain to us, my son ?
The synthesis of all former illusions, probably, would display the prime truth to our view.
Yes, I want to believe – the New Mer will be revealed soon. But this path, I must perfect it before sharing my certainties.
At most, these notes will guide you to my tracks, so that you will be able to pursue this quest and be ready if it turns out I have failed.
Remember this rainbow that you chased so far, as a child, before you were able to understand its true nature, a moving entity born as an illusion of Magnus. Far from being reprehensible, this vagrancy was the start point of the path that led you to truth.
Be proud of your heritage, son of the Skyfrost Kinship, be proud of the illusions we bequeath to you, but feel free to prefer new ones, more relevant ones, and keep full awareness about their true nature.

The responses are in the observation of the triskelion.

Testament of Celestras

_

The Skyfrost Manor
a tale about the League of Eton Nir

2E581, Skyfrost Estates, somewhere in Summerset...

It was still a bit chilly, this early morning, while the sun was immersing the valley incrementally, in the pristine blue of the sky. From the upper spire of the estate, one could hear the singing birds in the ornamental groves and the flower plantations all around. Other ones were flying near the shimmering buildings. A bee-eater just landed on the edge of the belevedere.
Surprised by the twittering of the bird, Ajaxandriel lifted his head up out the pile of scrolls laying on the white coral pavement. Some astrological computations forsaw that a decisive event should occur this day, so he was looking for responses in the texts.

His father had gone many monthes ago, without the slightest piece of news. So he started to review the amount of letters his father had left. Undertaking such a reading engendered some disappointment to him.Too much questions, still nothing tangible.

With a sharp flapping, the bee-eater had flown away. The High Elf turned against the railing and looked around over the landscape, as he was feeling a gentle breeze on his face.

"So, Father, do you think, this home is nothing but an illusion too..."

He sneered.
By having had too much contacts with the Mystics, perhaps the "great" Celestras had sank into madness. Who did know? Perhaps, there were nothing to understand from his disappearance. Perhaps, if everything was an illusion, its nonsense was its own explanation. He sighed...

His gaze spotted the visitors' pathway, a geometric ripple of sand winding through the gardens.
And a visitor, as it were, was coming and disrupting the scenery. Still in his thoughts, the High Elf squinted and watched the approaching intruder.

"...an illusion which, as such, would be... doomed to disappear ?..."

The entrant remotely manifested himself by a sun radiance that Ajaxandriel convinced himself to decipher. Facing the breeze in the upper tower, he slowly spread his arms out and, slowly again, he whispered some verses to a Kinship tune.
The air - atmospheric air - thickened and began to sprinkle tiny ice crystals that sparkled at daylight between the columns of the small belvedere, creating a cloudy trail that flowed after the breeze, a wind-drifted small cloud of pristine white.
Then the entrant continued walking, with a certain poise, and was nearing the structures.

After a second sigh, Ajaxandriel decided to go downstairs and meet the aristocrate who had that bad idea to honour him with a visit.

Telernil, prince of Sunwaltz

"Prince Telernil, how glad to entertain you. Come, let's enter. Speak about the winds that bring you here..."

After long minutes of curtseys and courtesies, some trivialities and fashionable anecdotes, Telernil dared a more political topic, the probable purpose of his coming.

"Your father would have surely forsaken the disastrous turn taken by the current high reign, and that... 'Aldmeri Dominion'. Such a far-fetched entreprise... more importantly, a dangerous one.
- My father used to support such a project personally yet.
- Indeed, and the Dominion turned out to be far from his ideas. It is after this acknowledgement, that he decided to leave. To leave the Thalmor...
- I must confess I'm interested in these reasons. But please continue...
- Well, you don't ignore your House and Cloudrest ones are traditionally near, so to speak...
- Well, yea...
- Your father was, for instance, a prominent member of the league of Eton Nir.
- The league of Eton Nir ?
- Yes. You know, a mere party of people from the good society who shared a same interest in our civilisation. Nothing quite formal.
- I see... After all, he was interested in all the civilisations.
- Of course he was. It is still relevant to remind the reasons of the primacy of our civilisation thanks to comparative knowledge. But concerning the matter of today... I suppose you have your own view on the Aldmeri Dominion, right ?"

After a moment of hesitation to go into such a discussion, Ajaxandriel agreed to give his opinion.

"What concerns me, regarding this alliance, is this sudden lust for conquests and global domination. Admittedly we are the more capable, but facing the disturbing esoteric issues reported from Cyrodiil, far more careful calculations are needed. One does not simply 'seize' the ruins of the Empire. I hope that the Queen is well advised, because the aftermath may be full of setbacks.
Moreover, what will become of Alinor if we establish a new Empire ? A new bait, a new target for the appetite of Molag Bal - here is the prospect for all the reckless who covet the power.
No, selling off our intellectual dominance for vain and hazardous imperialism, this is so regrettable.
- I'm pleased to hear we are on the same lines. It's the twisting of all our legacy, the death of our values, in a word, the predictable collapse of our civilisation. Don't you think that some measures should be taken to stop our loss ? Drastic - measures...
- Measures ? Against who ?
- Well, against the Heterodox one."

Now it was clear. Telernil and his ultra-conservative allies of the Eton Nir party did plan some kind of scheme against Queen Ayrenn.

"You would like to prevent her from harming our civilisation more, do I understand well ?
- Absolutely. Absolutely. A more appropriate sovereign must replace her as soon as possible. Unfortunately, the Heterodox does not seem inclined to abdicate willingly."

To these words, Ajaxandriel grinned to cover his uneasiness.

"Indeed, why would she do..."

Telernil nodded and continued.

"That is why we have determined, with some houses of Auridon - those that are at the forefront as you know – a new 'Heritance'. Many former Eton Nir have joined up our party, and many more influential persons too. Believe me, things are going to move on. I could arrange an interview with our main Kinlady, in Skywatch, if you make the vow. Your talent would be utmost valued.
- Wait..."

Ajaxandriel frowned.

"What you are talking about... It is civil war... !
- Not if the power of the Heterodox is neutralised sharply and cleanly. Her supporters will just have to go and live among their savage friends, in continental forests, where they'll be fine ! And we - we will have preserved the pristineness of Alinor."

The heir of Skyfrost stood up, followed by the visitor.

"I'm afraid I must decline your invitation... Certainly I want my Estate to remain out of this Aldmeri Dominion, but I can't commit to what you suggest. 'Your' Kinlady... Is she her, who led you in all that ? Prince Telernil... You are valuable person... Don't let your hands soiled in such intrigues. Do you really believe that... what could be avoided by toppling the Dominion should be worth ...the crimes and sacrifices to reach it ?
- But, if I follow your reasoning, you'd rather sit off waiting snugly, watching our countries crumbling like anywhere else ?
- I'm not saying that... But Ayrenn and this Kinlady are the two faces of a same 'coin'. Whether one replaces the other or not, things won't change in fact... Think about it...
- And about this 'coin', so to speak ? You - Are you expecting to be able to cleverly keep yourself in balance onto its edge ?"

Telernil told these words giggling. He had quick repartee and his speech skills were established, which explained his recruitment in this plot by the power of Skywatch.
Indeed neutrality was not easily sustainable. Ajaxandriel replied to the mischievous smile of Telernil by another grin.

"Precisely, Prince Telernil, precisely. It is solely on its edge, that a coin can be rolling forward."

( http://triskelion.forumactif.com/t15-la-ligue-d-eton-nir-et-le-manoir-de-givreciel - 03/2014)

Ajaxandriel · April 2018

Chronicles of the Understory
Three tendril spins
by Ajaxandriel or Angelith

The High Elf asked – “What are you doing ?” to the little Mer crouched in the understory, through the heavy buzz of the forest insect songs.
“I’m engraving... a rune – I’m engraving a rune…” she replied quietly, while her flint-headed stylus ran onto the polished face of the old scapula that she was holding. Amazed by the spiral runic layout which seemed much familiar to him, the High Elf insisted.
“Do you even know what you are plotting there? I ignored that Spinners scribed this kind of things. What does this symbol means to you?
-This is a seal in order to pass between worlds.
-Between worlds? That is a thing…
-It is a node where the story threads can merge, that’s it.
-So?
-So… where you can switch among stories. Trim those that must pass towards oblivion… Unwind these that pledge a future for us.” – she explained with a beginning of annoyance.
“Anyway, you Elves from the isles, you would not understand such a thing. All that I witnessed from your kind is using the seals to wage chaos among the Bones, among the story threads, just because you get profit from it. This is not a place for you, these high forests are sacred.
- Well. I admit that. And I know by reputation those who cause trouble for you. I am not one of them… I would even be their opponent. I respect the Bones, I respect the frame, in Valenwood and wherever. But I know this plot – my father bequeathed it to me. You understand… My interest is finding other people who know it as well, in your countries.”
The Bosmer did not reply, as she was proceeding with her task.
Notwithstanding her tiny scale that might get her mistaken for a child, her silhouette - thin but marked by life in the wilderness - and her facial features, revealed her adulthood. Velvety well-developed antlers emerged from her brunette hair-bathed forehead. Her full-black eyes seemed to stare at her work, but it was hard to state where the pupil angled to.
“My father… was called Celestras.”
She stopped at this. And she opened her lips like if she was replying, but not a word was heard.

It appeared that the scribed pattern was suddenly completed, with a geometrical perfection she though she would never be able to achieve. A triskelion.

“The Lost. Celestras the Lost…” the High Elf repeated.
She chuckled, without turning her head, still staring at her piece of work.
“Of course you are a part of this story, it is obvious, oh you reclusive Elf of the insular summits. Since I know who you are! You are Ajaxandriel, prince of Skyfrost. Sunnabe, Mafrekynd.
-And blessed be your ancestors, spinner. I have to admit your talents and your sagacity – since few people get access to my history so readily. I infer that, one way or another, my father’s Word has reached you…”

In turn, Ajaxandriel kept a moment of silence, and like he let his gaze wander under the surrounding foliage, he noticed that a little mushroom circle had appeared around them. The dancing leaves of the undergrowth looked like they were trapping him. He felt a thrill through his back. Then he took the floor again to break the creeping silence and this strange feeling.
“A, N, G, L..no… E, L, I, T and… H – logically. ANGELITH that's it. Well… This name is not the most difficult to guess either, no offense intended.”
The mushroom ring had just grown away, like if dispelled. The High Elf got up slowly, with a smirk. He was now holding the bone desk with the seal in his very hand.
“Thanks for the rune, so.”
The Bosmer eventually stared at her interlocutor, after noting of the transposition of the bone – that left her with a runic print onto the palm of her hand.

A sawtooth grin spread on her face.

And she turned, she grabbed her bow, and in a swift movement she aligned an arrow of which the bone shaft was striped with illegible patterns. She shot it, aiming at a trunk some meters before them. The projectile whizzed between the shrub leaves without even brushing one, right into the thick cork. The forest seemed to shudder, like if a breeze had caressed the foliage.
She pulled another engraved arrow from her quiver, bent the bow, turned one hundred and twenty degrees, and spiked another trunk.
Again the greenery shuddered.
She pulled the last arrow and aimed at the Altmer, after rotating again by one hundred and twenty degrees. As she noticed this one was reacting with a mere look of curiosity, she watched him in a jaded manner, lowering her bow a bit.
“In general, people who see me aiming my bow like this have a glimmer of concern in the eye… then try to hide, in a vain survival reflex at least… Why don’t you react?
-Oh sorry, should I startle? Yet it is obvious that your shot will be hyperagonal. I have never got hurt under psijic projection, hehe, but why such a question? You may not have the intent to harm me, right?”
To his arrogant smile, she replied a playful grin, aiming him again and shot.

The arrow had hit the bark of a tree behind him, but the last vibration of the green gave way to an astonishingly serene silence, the noises of the forest being suddenly stifled, drawn away by the far song of wind in the sharp summits, from where leaked out some chirping of a flight of shimmering canahs.
Ajaxandriel looked genuinely surprised this time.

“Clever girl…”
Indeed, they were now in the midst of a misty glade, surrounded by blossom trees with domesticated shapes, and hedges of boxwood laying the geometrical design. Gardens of Skyfrost.
“Well done, to be honest. Thus you do know the Star Paths too, that’s definitely very interesting. Well… But it is not a place for you either… These summits are sacred.”
They still smiled to each other but in a friendly way, no more by defiance, given the irony of the situation.
“Welcome in my under-story, Elf from the insular summits. Look carefully where you walk – and above all, do not disturb my Bones.
-Thank you. I do not intent to disturb a thing. Then hurry up, little Wood Elf, if you want to see your untamed woodlands again.”

After a wave, she revoked her three arrows in her hands and disappeared in a magic portal, leaving Ajaxandriel in the sunny and fresh mists of his domain, in the middle of his gardens, at the center of his labyrinth.

He walked a few steps and set the runic scribed bone among other artefacts, on the altar of the central oratory. And he walked some steps again towards boxwood and he brushed the dew on its leaves.

“Hehe. We will see, Spinner, who will respond the big question.
Out of us two… Who is the storyteller.”

( http://triskelion.forumactif.com/t130-chroniques-du-sous-bois-trois-vrilles - 02/2016)

Ajaxandriel · October 2018

Between the slippages
by Dorguldun gro-Arash

My name is Dorguldun. The few ones who know my story nicknamed me with derision "the Lord of Rubble".

In my mountain, the former war chiefs sometimes happen to be nicknamed in order to honour their memory after death. Earning such a nickname, it's like if I were already dead indeed. Since there, I still wonder if I belong to the realm of the Living. Living amongst the dead, you know, gets the lines blurred.
Morgalda the wise did predict that my fate shall write itself as a ridge line, winding amid dark clouds... at the border between our land and the land of the spirits, she said.

My story starts in the former fortress that my tribe inhabited, in some mountains in the north, the Arash Stronghold.
We lived there, isolated from the outside world. Not by choice, but because destiny did make our birth there, for I and for my brothers.
My half-brothers, to be precise.

We were the Sons of Arash.
Oh, we liked that life. Honouring the customs and adressing the challenges, day after day, under Malacath's law.

Arash was a rigorous clan chief. By the way, the reason he did build his own court was not to compromise his idea about a perfect orc clan. Proving oneself worthy of the Code, in all respects - this, was his expectation, for himself and for his heirs. He was reiterating that a great power - that huge power he once earned - required an iron discipline in order not to fall into shame and perversion. A power that he planned to bequeath to us, so that the sense of honour it requires will convey with it. This power may be the cause why Arash chose such a seclusion, instead of following the dream of Orsinium.

We were raised to anticipate a worthy succesion, through a fight to the death against him and our brothers, as our traditions required.

Victory ensures long life and progeny to the best of all. Defeat and death, or flight and exile, should serve the wellfare of the tribe, by removing the deviant and the unfit, to preserve the clan excellence.
So was our truth.
It may seem cruel to you, as to those Elves hidden in their lounges, their towers and their vain cities... But it dictates itself, since we, Orcs, do not live in an ideal and deceptive world.
When an Orc cease to battle and cease to address the challenges of a true and rough life, then he starts to confine himself into fancies and treacherous dreams.
Yes, stranger, the truth is like a vein of manganese. It's when you believe you reach its end, it's when you consider to take a break, proudly leant against the handle, that you understand you still have a long way to go. Malacath, in his great wisdom, learnt it to me strongly.

Seclusion, which was intended to preserve us from covetousness and impairment from abroad, had a simple but unfortunate result on the tribe: we had very few women. Only one girl of our age - whom was banned there by a remote chief in fact, yet without disgrace. She was not that valiant.
Then, there were our mothers... those who survived in the hostile place, at least. The winner's one, she would become the wise woman of the clan.

But we already had doomed ourselves.
When the battle for the chief title did burst, we just had waited too long.
We just had respected the rules too much.
We just had grown our skills too deep.

In one night, a cursed night, the stronghold was wiped out. Razed from within.

Yes, stranger, we actually killed each other...

In the early morning, only rubble and cadavers were left.
And I'm its last survivor.

I guess this granted me the full right as Chief of the Arash Stronghold.
But, you may ask: what's the use of victory when there's nobody left to take note?
What's the use of chief rank when there's no oath left to achieve?
What's the use of loyalty to the Code when it betrays us itself?

This is how I found myself reduced to reign over ruins. Ha ha ha, "the Lord of Rubble"...
This has let me some time to think to myself under the dark clouds, believe me, stranger.

We may have overlooked a part of the Code of Malacath. Something must have jammed in the workings of our traditions.
Henceforth I, Son of Arash, I am seeking a new vision for the Code, that is to say, a new vision of life. Because living by the Code, this is living as an Orc.

What is being an Orc - would you ask to me?

So witness this: from the top of the rubble, the Orc is arising. And standing up, again, and again.
And he brandishes his arms! Braving the world, to testify he exists!

( http://triskelion.forumactif.com/t20-le-clan-arash-entre-les-derapages - 04/2014 - The Tamriel Chronicle, issue #56 (Fr))