Can be found randomly in loot containers, and is randomly sold by general goods and books vendors.
|Gather, sit. Drink to Papa and tell Morwha you're sorry for what you've done wickedly this day save for the customary curses allowed towards our enemies, the fair skins and the green skins and the sataks that roll in the dirt with no skins at all. Most importantly, listen, here's another tale of Sura of the Bend'r Mark, the Maverick-Sword of the Crowns, called Cyrus in the tongue of the Septims.|
Mind you, this story isn't necessarily true, for no tale of Cyrus the Restless is true in its entire, and yet that has never really mattered. Indeed, you'll come to see that sometimes stories that aren't necessarily true can still sometimes win the day.
Now these were the days after the Tiber War had come to Hammerfell with its banners and phalanxes and its skill at sea, which came to nothing except for treaty, for no empire of men may rule the sons and daughters of Yokuda. We are superior in every way to all the other races of this world and they know it. The Hoon Ding guides us; all others can Make Way.
That is, unless those others do not come from this world at all, and are instead spirits of the Far Shores or the In-Between-- against these gods and demons and mad shapers, all men can be humbled. But is that not the point? Different rules apply to gods and demons and mad shapers.
Of these, I talk now of the demon-king of the Star-Wounded East, Vehk and Vehk the Circle Talker, anon Ansu-Gurleht in Yoku, the God of Makes Us Women, whose powers are so terrible that even Redguards must bend to His will, though foreign and thus benighted; if He comes, we run until we can't.
There is no shame in this; we are allowed to run from disaster; witness the loss of Yokuda, where our running was blessed by windy Tava who filled our sails with escape. And Ansu-Gurleht is surely disaster.
But there was one of us that didn't run from Him. Cyrus never ran from anything except for the killing of Hakan, and that was so long ago that it doesn't really count.
The captain had them restow the Carrick at Herne and once more at Jabbur before moving into the waters of the Abecean. The map to Old Yokuda came from the Lame Cat of Wayrest, like always. There was no agenda save the looting of a particular temple; at least that's all Cyrus would let on about; but some of the raga of the crew were eager just to see the homeland of their forebears. True stories had come that Yokus still lived among the stark remains; that some did not or could not flee when cataclysm came; others that the orichalc isles were a place of censure handed down from the no-totambu. And everyone knew the self-exiled ansu still lived there who did not witness the ho no shira, or the capture of Volen, or the Make Way of Diagna, and so were left to the sword-singing of their histories behind the Curtain of Run.
The captain set their course south-southwest, slanting across the spring trades into the Sea of Pearls to the puzzlement of the crew. Some of the older among them muttered darkly of the guardians of the western approaches, but nothing was sighted during the long weeks of smooth sailing. At twilight on the 12th day out of Jabbur, Coyle, long-learned in the navigations, took sighting of the non-constellation of Sep and abruptly Cyrus changed course to the north. The old hands explained to the new that they had crossed the Line that day and it was now safe to bear up for Old Yokuda. The winds, which had been fair, now turned into the north and gusted with growing ferocity, often threatening to lay the Carrick on her beam if not for the skill of her crew. After weary days of this, they finally made landfall on the 17th day.