Can be found randomly in loot containers, and is randomly sold by general goods and books vendors.


Coyle, stay with the ship and start the trim. If the locals come, you speak the language. Anchor's dropped right, sir, and Borden's already got his raiders filed. Good, we move soon, night's falling. Take Haekele with you, Captain, he speaks Yoku, too, and reads it if he don't lie. Noted. We go to the spot S'rathra marked and nowhere else. Sen nung ni-Bateki tro ki-lodo. What? It's a prayer, Cap'n, to the God of We Like Our Bodies Just Like They Are. Fair enough. Ach, heathens help us. No offense, sir. It's a just tradition, Captain. Aye, these isles tro zhang-ga let. Shut up and get your kit.


By torchlight they made for the interior, badlands all of it and worse. Sharp drops would appear along the stone pathways or the high wet walls, all of it jagged from the mythic wars against the Aldmer and still gleaming with eldritch-foam. Cyrus was reminded of the geographies of Morrowind and Masser, though the wind smelled sweeter here. He choked out an order for rope to get them across the Tendu Shreds that was coming sooner than his crew had thought possible. Their captain had memorized the map, since he knew they would approach the temple under cover of night. He passed some licorice to Fornower, the youngest of those present.

The temple was nestled in the Shreds, unlit save for the foam that gave it an underwater glow, and Borden said a small word to Tsun to keep his cool. "All in a day's," he said.

Broken and worked, the temple held a glimmering language above its entrance. Haekele of Alik'r moved closer. Cyrus raised a hand.

"It's Daedric," the Captain said. "I can read that."

At the mention of the Lords of Misrule, the crew of the Carrick were set to a heavier unease.

"'The Virtue of the Little Reward'," Cyrus read aloud. Then he frowned at the writing. "Well, I'm glad I could work that out for us." And then he guided them in.


The statue looks dunmer. Shh. But that makes no sense, sir, they ain't much fer sailin. Just find the jewel if we can, this place looks pretty bare. Doesn't look ransacked, though. Cap, look there, that's probably why. It's a gate. That'd keep anyone out. Hand the torch. Move up, Gar, what's its aura read? Look on the walls. Shh, what's it read? We're fine, sir, it can't open, it's ‘fire-locked. The Emperor's good for something then. I'm serious, look on the walls. Those kings, they aren't dunmer, they're raga. No, they're women, see. All of them is with child. Look. For. The. Jewel. Oh no, Captain, this is a temple to Ansu-Gurleht! Who the hell is that?


They found that the jewel was in parts, three by three, one for each etching of the pregnant Yoku kings of the Temple of Ansu-Gurleht the Seed-Bringer. With careful knives they pried them out and by Gar's small enchantments they formed them into one, the Glass Opal of the Nogru.


Borden took out his sword. "That came from the gate, sir."

Cyrus looked at the arching columns of the temple center, long cracked by age and with traces of wheel-carvings. "Yeah," he said.

The gate spoke again. "Drop the bauble, rude shapes, I am bathing in pico-filament moltings that come in six beautiful colors the Aurbis hasn't even revealed yet, and I really do not want to make this journey. You should also know that I'm very dangerous."

"Move," Cyrus said, and the crew of the Carrick ran.

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