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Lore:Crafting Motif 63: Dremora Style

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Crafting Motif 63: Dremora
A guide to crafting armor and weapons in the Dremora style

When possible variations in physical appearance are unlimited, it is an act of supreme will and discipline to confine oneself to a uniform semblance. For we proud Dremora, who regard all other Daedra with well-earned disdain, self-expression is nothing but vulgar self-indulgence. Heed these regulations, kynfolk, and don't disgrace your clanmates with unauthorized variations—or it's the scathe-rings for you, and don't think otherwise.


Like all weaponry of those who proudly serve the Prince of Domination, our axes evoke Molag Bal's physical presence, echoing his dread features and extravagant ridged horns. It's said that after the mace, our Prince's favorite weapon is the axe, since it is the tool of the headsman. Perhaps it is so; who would dare ask?


Our belts are layered of several straps and strands, overlapped to provide reliable support for our many tassets, faulds, weapon loops, scabbards, and tool pouches. By preference our cinctures are made of thrice-tanned human hide, but the pelts of other mortals are an acceptable substitute if manskin is unavailable.


Dremora sabatons are tough and soled with thick treads, for we stride the surfaces of worlds uncounted, regardless of the ruggedness of their terrain. Our toes and arches are protected by shields of filigreed dark-metal, but our boots' insteps and uppers are of finest Argonian hide—a lesson learned on Nirn, for not all mortal ideas should be disdained.


The Coldharbour Dremora's bow is a composite weapon assembled from horn from various sources, including the prongs and spurs of our own honored dead. Quivers are adorned with motifs that evoke the Prince of Domination.


Our many-layered dark-metal cuirasses are embossed with the swirling curlicues that represent the flow of chaotic creatia, shown in its state before it is hardened into martial permanence by the sheer willpower of the Daedra. Thus we honor the Prince of Domination, who makes every reality submit to his insatiable desires.


The daggers of Coldharbour Dremora have triangular blades designed for both parrying and punch-stabbing, leaving wounds that close poorly in the flesh of mortals unless they are particularly skilled with Restoration magic.


We wear the gauntlets of warriors, battle gloves of mortalhide under curved plates and lames of metal, all embossed with symbols of chaotic creatia, to protect our forearms and weapon-gripping hands from the ill-aimed blows of our pathetic opponents. Dread Lord, with these we raise our fists to salute you!


We wear, forged in metal, horrific horned visages of resolution and terror, designed to paralyze our enemies into fear and indecision. Frozen, they gasp, "What nightmare is this that confronts me?" as our weapons, unheeded, scythe them down, a harvest of death we offer to the Prince of Domination.


Greaves of grievance, we craft our cuisses from the tanned skins of our defeated foes, defending our hides with the hides that did not defend them. Fine-worked poleyns protect our knees, not for kneeling in submission, but to enhance sudden, vicious blows in close combat.


The mace, of course, is the symbol of our Dread Lord Molag Bal, and so the martial mace of the Coldharbour Dremora must pay homage to that symbol without crossing the line into blasphemous imitation. Therefore, follow our guidelines without deviation, kynworms!


Dremora shields are of heavy metal, for we are strong, and replete with sharp points, for we are dangerous. Embossed symbols depict the flow of chaotic creatia as it appears before Daedric will imposes order upon it.


The Xivilai think our flaring and pointed pauldrons are ostentatious and extreme—and they're right, for thus do we achieve the distinctive angular silhouette that evokes the concept of "skeir-gallyn," or discorporation-by-geometry. For what is a Dremora if not a belligerent collision of acute hyper-angles?


As proud servants of the Prince of Domination, the heads of our spellcasters' staves symbolically evoke our Dread Lord's ridged horns, with his awe-inspiring features depicted expressionistically beneath. The staff's haft ends in a point like a curved metal talon.


If, as you were trained, you impale our enemies so that they die slowly, their long final moments will be spent staring in horrified disbelief at the intricate scrollwork on your sword's upper tang and crossbar. It behooves you to follow our forging designs closely so that our Dread Lord will be honored by his enemies' dying contemplations.