Open main menu

UESPWiki β

Lore:From Exile to Exodus

< Lore: Books F

Book Compilation
Writer Andrew Young
Seen In:
This is a compilation of books assembled for easier reading.
From Exile to Exodus
A Dunmeri myth about Boethiah, Trinimac, Malacath, and the origin of the Orcs.

Part 1

At the pass, the Velothi came upon the followers of Trinimac, who outnumbered them three to one.

Though Trinimac said nothing, the loudest of his followers called the dissidents rebels, traitors, and filth to be scraped from the feet of the faithful.

And Boethiah proclaimed, "Hearken unto me, Ornim! For yes, I know you as Ornim even if your chief does not." And this caused the followers of Trinimac to quieten, for the Orsimer in that time had been so convinced they were Elves that they had forgotten their days of stone and wood, sea and fire.

"This demon seeks to ensnare you," Boethiah continued. "With curses he has shrouded your senses, making it so that when you look upon him you see only me. But I stand before you now. I who brought the Orichalc. I who showed you the way to hold your blades. I who taught you the benefits of war, whether lost or won. I who showed you the angles one must cut to reach beyond."

Boethiah then formed a sign with her hands in the shape of a triangle that could only be true. And she strode forward in a manner that revealed the way to walk to achieve an Exodus.

And all in attendance felt the curse lifted from their eyes. Where once they saw Trinimac, Greatest of All Warriors, they instead saw Malak, King of Curses.

And where they had seen Boethiah, Daughter of Blades, they saw now Trinimac, as she had always been, the Warrior of East and West, and of the Starry Heart. She who bore the burden of rending divinity from the one she loved.

Frothing with rage, Malak shouted a curse yet unknown and came unto Boethiah's throat, entering her very being. And her followers despaired, for Boethiah fell to her knees retching blood and ichor. And Trinimac collapsed, seeming to all who beheld this to be dead.

Part 2

The demon Malak, though his curse was strong, had forgotten that to contend with Boethiah was to contend with the Triangular Gate.

Thereby came Mephala, who embraced Boethiah and held her from behind. And then came Azura, bright as eightfold comets, who fell to the earth with a fury and raised her staff to Boethiah's mouth.

And the sign of the gate burned the grass and soil, searing a sigil around the triune that echoed the music of Dawn. Azura shouted a spell of her own, though to the followers who truly listened it sounded like a beautiful song: UR DRA AMATHRA! FU ROZ ISA MAL AKHA!

And with those words, which were a curse to some but a blessing to others, Boethiah with her next expulsion drew out Malak and discarded him along the stones.

Yet as he rose, covered in blood and bile, he appeared not as the wretched Malak, but as something more akin to the Trinimac his followers had loved. He wore new armor, and held a gleaming red axe, and his helm bore a tusked visage of the spurned and oppressed. From beneath that helm he growled: "You have forgotten what it means to be an exile."

And then Malacath shouted words that had never been uttered. The sky split open with thunderous rain, and the wind howled a killing gale. The very earth beneath him was sundered, and from those pits rose fire and death.

What happened next is not truly known, but this is what the Wise Women of Northern Resdaynia say: The triangular field of divine chaos held for long enough that Mephala took a third of the followers in attendance and swept them away to the southeast, for she alone did not fear the Hist.

And Azura took a third of the followers in attendance and bore them to the star-wounded east where they belonged.

And Boethiah, tearing out the last of her guilt under the sun, transported all who remained into Oblivion. The land they had occupied would drift into the sea, but she had made it so that it was not destroyed. And it would have stories to tell in times yet to come.

Malacath, Boethiah, and all of the remaining followers found themselves in a deadened realm of smoke and ash. The worst of Malacath's fatal curse had fallen here, just as Boethiah designed.

Malacath laughed. "Your idyllic paradise. A gift for your service to the king. You let me destroy it."

"I have no need of it," Boethiah replied. "My spheres are many and my houses innumerable."

"I will never stop hunting you," Malacath snarled. He raised his axe and charged. Boethiah simply waited, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword.

And with a single precise cut, the whole of Malacath was cloven unto the ashen wastes of this dead realm so that his very bones formed a new foundation. His blood mingled with the ash and soon the realm was his.

Boethiah sat for a time with the followers who survived, and both by her teachings and the echoes of this realm, their skins began to change. At last, the spirit of Malacath reappeared, but he remained quiet and listened to the teachings.

Boethiah addressed the spirit. "You enforce your will with curses both you and your followers know are not true. This is why you are never satisfied. To achieve glory through struggle and pain, you must learn the way of the Word and the Sword. You must be tested until you bear the proper tendencies of the hero. You must come to understand the Will Against Rule. Only then might you know something of Love."

And Boethiah formed a mighty sign with her hands, one she would never make again, and Malacath and all of his followers were balled up into a singular sphere as the scarab bears dung, and she cast that sphere all the way from the ashen pit back onto the mountains of Nirn.

There emerged the god Mauloch and the great Orcs, who would from then on build their strength through adversity. And Boethiah set Mauloch into a corner to test her people. And Mauloch guided his people to weather the many assaults that Boethiah sent for them. Together, the adversaries hardened each of their chosen peoples, and therefore guided them further toward an Exodus.