Gristle (aka Omelette), Zath's Frostborn Mangler Durzog which he almost ate at one point, stolen as an egg from the gro-Shurgak Estate.

I think it's important to give scary fantasy dogbeasts a chubby baby form that says "pee-yok", and an awkward juvenile-adolescent form with beeg paws that's as destructive as a 3-month old husky.

Separated images under the cut

Got a new puppy today! He growls a lot but we love him anyway.

Durzog - loading screen

Art asset for The Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind

Tribunal DLC

"I did not stop blowing the whistle, but held the note until I saw the durzogs emerge from their lair, teeth bared and lips curled. When I stopped, they stopped. For a moment, we stared at each other inquiringly. They were not more than a few paces away from me. They waited, as if for a signal. I put the whistle to my lips again and blew another note. The durzogs again approached, but their malice did not seem to be aimed at me. In fact, they seemed to implore me for instruction. I tested this theory by gesturing upward as I had done many times with my dogs at home. Like the dogs, at this gesture the durzogs reared on their hind legs, in unison. I tried again, blowing the whistle along with the gesture for "sit" and "lie down." The durzogs responded readily."

RIP

[ 2 ] They fell one by one. We progressed deeper into the mines as we wrestled for footing. As the final spirit dissipated, I looked up and saw the strangest of contraptions overhead. Pale metal, black and gold. This was not dwemer. I had stumbled into the halls of Sotha Sil himself. It felt odd and I saw many odd things. My recollection of the next week is blurry at best. I met some people down there, they spoke as people anyway. They fed me and gave me a place to rest before adorning me in accessories I couldn’t understand and sending me back to the surface with tasks.

The visor distorts my vision. The world becomes contrasted, sharper, natural colors find otherworldly shades. There was an obligation to keep it on though. Through the visor, a beacon marked each of these tasks. A measurement of the distance ticked down, though in a language I could not read.

I remember little of the journey, but I was bound for High Hrothgar. I had been up there a few times. I treat it as a pilgrimage. Visiting each of the shrines and leaving something of importance, a single septim or flower usually.  Just some proof that I made the climb. The grave is another shrine to me. Father showed me the grave where he laid grandfather’s armor when I was younger. Perhaps 10 or so years old. We had bundled up and made the journey as a family, camping at each shrine. We made a week of it while Aunt Nita cared for the livestock back home. That memory alone made the trip worth it. The marker is worn and snow-covered but finding the spot was easy enough. I scuffed my boot against the mound, heard the heavy plates clank beneath a fine coat of dirt and snow. 

This climb was no less dangerous than the last. The number fell to single digits just past the final shrine. I continued up toward High Hrothgar when it revealed a structure in need of my attention. A pole rose from the pedestal and emitted low hum. I did as directed then set off for the next site.

[ 1 ] I stopped by the temple...

[ 3 ] Behind me the beacon...

[ 4 ] Up the hill ...

[ 5 ] And so they did...

[ 6 ] The tasks continued...

[ 7 ] Down the long tunnel...

[ 8 ] One of my trips...

[ 9 ] Like the monstrosities... 

[ 1 0 ] A dream. Maybe...

[ 1 1 ] The End...