#evermore project

-2nd era-

Chantal Gardinier

Highest rank received: Master Stonemason of Evermore

Known for: Establishing a notable market founded and lead by middle class workers.

Short Biography: Chantal was born into an impoverished family but used his talents in stonemasonry to bring in a profit that saved them. He was a quiet and stern man who held a small flame of ambition that led him to greater horizons. Married a Wyress and studied his craft to better suit the spirit of nature itself.

Wyress Estelle Gardinier

Highest rank received: Mage’s Guild Leader of Evermore

Known for: Promoting the ideas of Wyrd magic to the guild of Evermore and helping magic users recover from the effects of the Soulburst.

Short Biography: The daughter of a Wyress, her mother left Glenumbra to study a peculiar magic within the woodlands of Evermore. When Estelle’s mother passed away she traveled about the Bangkori region until she met Chantal. After the two settled and had a pair of children, she became a well respected member of the Mage’s Guild and offered to educate many on the aspects of nature magic and the Wyrd. Estelle passed away shortly after succumbing to the effects of the Soulburst, but was able to use Wyrd magic to save her associates.

Elyse Gardinier

Highest rank received: Mage’s Guild Leader of Evermore

Known for: Promoting the ideas of mysticism though bretic origin and not the Artaeum. Discovered Magnus’s Code.

Short Biography: The younger sibling by a couple years, Elyse had far more accolades than her brother. She had taken her mother’s place as the mage’s guild leader and began working on study of mysticism and reach magic. Through this, she was able to theorize the ideas of malleable matter through a specific magic that she named ‘Magnus’s Code’. This was later combined with her brother’s stonemasonry after he inquired of a similar structure, creating the first ‘Gardinier Stone’ that was able to be manipulated and lifted with simple magical spells.

Corentin Gardinier (Current ESO character) 

Highest rank received: King of Evermore

Known for: Being the first of House Gardinier to take the throne. Employed thousands into a safer practice of magical stonemasonry and brought fortune to Evermore.

Short Biography: A boy with a lot of misplaced ambition until his younger sister employed a trusted bodyguard to send him off to ‘see the world’. Corentin was born with a lot of expectations and sought to understand the truer meanings of nobility and what he could do to effect the world around him in a positive way. His bodyguard--a redguard named Shezade--would later become an enigmatic mentor who inspired his new methods of stonemasonry in the future. Corentin had a politically arranged marriage to a princess and became the King of Evermore, beginning the eras-long rule of House Gardinier.

-3rd era-

Elodie Gardinier

Highest rank received: High Lord of Evermore

Known for: Establishing the Order of the Crow, maintaining a civil protest against Imperial propaganda.

Short Biography: A shrewd noblewoman, Elodie was the first to denounce an official monarchy in Evermore and begin establishing a secret society that would maintain the traditions of House Gardinier. The rank of ‘King’ was now officially elected by a council and called ‘High Lord’ instead. The Order of the Crow was formed by a few high ranked members of the family lineage and their respective associates. The house would allow certain non-related members to take the Gardinier rank once they had proven themselves in mastering several arts that include magical stonemasonry, philosophy, metaphysics and mathematics.

Marcel Gardinier

Highest rank received: High Lord of Evermore

Known for: Taking up the mantle of his sister when she disappeared, assisted in reestablishing the Primeval Seeker cult and their association with House Gardinier.

Short Biography: Marcel had quite the full plate on his hands at the time of his birth, being involved with several different factions that were involved with House Gardinier. Initially his sister was going to take up the rank of High Lord while Marcel handled the diplomatic connections but due to her disappearance he had reluctantly taken on that role as well. The Primeval Seekers were asked to step in to assist temporarily.

Laurence Gardinier

Highest rank received: Envoy of Evermore (appealed to Queen Berenzia)

Known for: Promising prodigal diplomat of House Gardinier who disappeared.

Short Biography: Laurence was a free spirit born with far too much responsibility than she was comfortable with. Her brother was far more focused on internal affairs of the city which allowed Laurence to expand her horizons to Morrowind and reach out to the allies of House Gardinier. During her diplomatic excursions, Laurence was ordered to study Ashlander culture and attempt to make potentially betraying offers to their people by the Great Houses. Laurence was able to genuinely reach through a portion of the distrusting clans, but later fell in mutual love with a member of Urshilaku. Both were cast out, and Laurence had a child. She decided that it was best to cut ties with her family and join her newly-wed husband with a clan of friendly exiles on Solstheim where they were both happy and without regrets.

Jean-Charles Gardinier

Highest rank received: High Lord of Evermore

Known for: Controversial, but effective means of preserving a dying linage.

Short Biography: The late son of Marcel Gardinier, a very cut-throat and seemingly corrupt member of House Gardinier whom went to vast extremes to preserve the Gardinier name. Jean-Charles ruled through fear rather effectively and had taken on his cousin Theodore as an apprentice. The two’s ideals different greatly but Jean-Charles rank overruled his cousin’s pleas to consider a more compassionate approach. Many of the corrupt behaviors and insensitive actions of Jean-Charles was covered up shortly after his death due to an ‘accident’. His cousin Theodore succeeded him after for nearly a century.

-4th era-

Theodore Gardinier

Highest rank received: High Lord of Evermore

Known for: The longest ruling Gardinier, effectively established employment and housing for refugees of the Great War.  

Short Biography: Originally born in the 3rd era as the son to Laurence Gardinier, Theodore was discovered as a true heir of the lineage and allowed to study in the privacy of his home in the Alik'r desert. He was asked to become an apprentice to his cousin later, but soon regretted this offer as he was unfairly syndicated into a corrupt order that greatly opposed his sense of compassion and free will. After the death of his elder cousin, Theodore had taken up the rank of High Lord and ended the speculation of controversial actions tied to the name of his family. During his rule, very few members remained, but wholly supported Jean-Charles as time passed and Theodore was showing signs of mental instability. With the Primeval Seeker’s subtle support, the remaining members of The Order of the Crow relinquished their titles and left him to rule solely by himself. The question of his age was speculated to either be linked to his dunmeri heritage or House Telvanni, neither was proven but dismissed as the public only knew the identities of the High Lords by the mask they wore. To them, he might have been two or three generations, but was actually just one man ruling for almost a century. Theodore was eventually discovered dead in his study by a house servant, supposedly ruled as suicide after the murder of a younger servant. He was succeeded by his rival, Edmond Descoteaux who was legally able to claim rule after the disappearance of his sister, Cossette Descoteaux was politically married into the Gardinier family through Theodore. It was later discovered that one child had been born of their marriage, named Adelein Gardiner and disappeared after the murder.

Adelein Gardinier

Highest Rank received: Unknown

Known for: Connections to House Telvanni and last surviving member of a reputable noble house.

The word rarely passed through her mind until recently, a fascination returned in a sense of both cruel irony and insatiable curiosity. The journal that was given to Adelein rekindled the prospect of knowledge that her scorned past had left behind. However, one particular memory still lingered like a haze of fog in the warmer mornings of Skyrim. One solitary sense of anguish that dug itself into her skin like grass burs; the golden hair, the brown eyes of an innocence that Adelein was born without. The one person of her past that instigated feelings of friendship before Narcisse came a long to push that capacity further.

Evette...

Adelein bound the crate of parts as the God’s Thought became nothing more then an decorative throne. In a nearly mournful silence the breton traveled upstairs to rest for a moment, moving through the emptied kitchen into her room where the desk still remained. A quill an paper laid upon the surface as if beckoning her to write what came to mind. Perhaps it would relieve the weight upon her shoulders as Narcisse spent the next hour or so reprimanding the caravans to organize their belongings in preparation to relocate to High Rock. 

The metal tip of the quill pressed against the surface of the parchment as the first letter was drawn. A title to a series of memoirs unfolded in eloquent loops and and lines, the words spelled out ‘A Garden to Remember’. 

-----------

He was kind they say--generous, thoughtful, clever, charming, inquisitive and surprising. A genuinely mourned space in the hearts of others as I convey the purposefully vague mentioning of his death.

I watch in a dissonant lack of concern as each stranger’s visage falters into grief and disappointment once they fully realize that I'm nothing like my father--that I can't offer an ounce of sympathy towards their loss.

What did these fools expect?

What would metamorphose within their minds once they had bore witness the man that I knew. Narcisse had seen through my own memories a dismal existence of my father that no other believed to be true, immediately understanding why there was one solitary cut upon my own heart that remained dormant for over ten years.

I still remember the soulless expression of one’s lifeless face more clearly then when they were once living--and no, I am not referring to how fondly I recollect witnessing my his own death--what actually haunts me is the persistent image of my dear friend Evette once her life was taken by the ‘reverent man’ that so many found endearing.

That is what disgusts me.

I must admit that I have not dared to rest my eyes upon the final collection of journals that remained stuffed in the back of this mysterious collection. Without confirming my suspicions I know whom they belong to and why it was given to me. Since a few prying sort have learned of my alliance with the Lady of Weyrest it hasn't been a surprise that remaining members of Evermore’s courts beckoned me home to claim the estate and feed their greedy mouths like the desperate ilk they are. However, I didn't need to learn of my father's legacy to have the motivation to usurp the current weight that placed itself in the palace’s seat of power. I personally wish to begin taking my own steps towards the goals that a newly found ambition formulated. I wish to be rooted in my own place of authority that would further benefit Narcisse as well.

I have my own reasons that bring me to contemplate the removal of these final pages. To toss away their fragile sense of meaning into the flames of my fireplace as I watch each memory that my father meticulously recollected burn away into the black ashes that fall into the realm of Apocrypha.

...but yet I can not.

Somehow I know that it is against my own will to turn away from an unsettling truth. I had prided myself in being able to gaze fearlessly into the Tides of Fate until the echo of the Ghosts of the Past whispered the name ‘Theodore Gardinier’. Suddenly, I was apprehensive. Almost violently so.

Eventually I will read these memories, and perhaps learn of ideas that could not have been known in my previous ignorance. However, ‘eventually’ is a word that can be indefinitely pushed further and further away. I need to take a progressive action to manifest my courage, but every solution in my mind felt absurd. I thwarted several ideas before one settled itself within the loam like a floating spore.

I will recollect my memories of my father and compile them here as my own voice among the countless others that have argued me. It is important to note, however, that I do not seek sympathy for what had transpired in my childhood. I only wish to convey my own truth as I find the courage to see that concept through further.

So here I begin. With the estate, the garden, and the memories of Evermore; with those I once knew, Evette and my father…

It was by no astonishment that her family was so familiar with corvid creatures. There was no more fitting animal to represent a lineage of people that stowed away collections of scintillating secrets. Adelein gazed upon her open palms in lucid contemplation, ruminating what she read within the journal.

So her last name was synonymous with ‘transparency’ and ‘honest work’. The idea triggered an audible chuckle, a sound that escaped from the breton’s lips almost uncontrollably. However, the story that Adelein derived greatly contrasted the witch and the stonemason’s legacy. Gardinier was synonymous with secret societies, ambiguous rulers, and complicated politics. Most importantly they were rumored to be involved with the Primeval Seekers that organized Tamriel’s eldest cult to Hermaeus Mora. ‘Wretched zealots’, was a more suitable term. How equally horrid and satisfying was it to fill in this information. And yet there was still many articles to sort through. Adelein closed the letter receptacle and re-locked the spell, later in the night she would come back to sneak the book past Narcisse.

She re-entered the tower to spy the noblewoman carefully washing her hands of blood as the last vial was filled. A stray drop streamed from the dangling arm that protruded from the sheet, a cold lifeless body laid flat against the slab. Each container was filled to the brim with repugnant black blood and carefully arranged within wooden crates. Again, Adelein found herself with more gold for this reagent than she could ever comprehended using. The side effect of pursuing a lucrative subject for the sake of knowledge. It was a distraction from the arduous task of rekindling the God’s Thought. Even with the broken pieces replaced and all the assets in order, it wasn’t functioning with the same precision as it did before. Adelein ended every night with a frustrated lack of success and non-functioning calibrations. However, it wasn’t affecting her overall disposition as of late. It was depressing to have made something great and realize it’s function was purely serendipitous, but her abasement wasn’t allowed to fester in isolation. Narcisse was here, and she continued to be there without showing signs of dissatisfaction. Adelein’s pessimism expected her to leave at any moment, but each morning the noblewoman remained next to her in a physical proximity that neither of them dared to question. It was comforting, completing. Their eyes met casually, and for a racing second Adelein had forgotten that she spent nearly fifteen minutes outside. “It’s pleasant outside. I apologize for taking so long.” An intrepid question gathered on the horizons of Adelein’s mind like a foreboding thundercloud. The breton’s slate colored eyes held her glance towards Narcisse with a sense of bitter-sweet satisfaction. She cared for her deeply enough to know that this tower was a cage. Then, her gaze then shifted to the God’s Thought, it’s dysfunctional state was a cruel reminder of her failures. However, the lingering reflections of Adelein’s own noble lineage sparked a sudden epiphany. An idea struck her like a bolt of lightning.

She recalled taking the blueprints from the Gardinier library before being whisked away to Morrowind. It was possible that another machine was made and used by the Primeval Seekers to cure ailments caused by Hermaeus Mora’s influence. If it existed, it had to be there; and it was likely that the notes within the journal had proof of that. All of the reasons to stay in Skyrim dissolved like clods of soil in water. Perhaps Adelein would go to Weyrest with Narcisse and ruminate the idea of returning to Evermore. To find whomever sent this collection to her and reclaim the long forgotten details of her history. The idea was harrowing, but necessary. Adelein knew that she couldn’t exist under the shadow of this fear for much longer.  

They were all alone within the forest, but happy. Living off of its endless bounty and protection. The witch could speak the language of crows, and would kindly ask them to pilfer seeds to live off of. Each day the companions would bring stolen goods that were no larger then a marble. They brought berries, corn, grain, nuts, and pebbles. All bits and baubles that the daughter collected into sorted boxes.  The pair grew an impressive garden using their magic to coax the sprouts from the loam. Sometimes they would sing or read stories to their seeds on a sunny day. Other days they would dance by the side of the tilled soiled until the rain poured down from mauve skies. Within a mere week, the foliage would peek through the loam like tiny little hands. Vibrant green stalks grew towards the sun like pillars. Mingling with the filigree of vines that crawled up the humble walls of their home. In such a short amount of time the garden had become a verdant paradise, a miracle of the indefinite and ever mysterious Wyrd.

The witch's daughter had grown over the years as well, at the pace that any healthy bretic child would. She blossomed into a capable woman that wove magic between her fingers like a silk loom. The travelers caught sight of her visage and claimed her to be a woodland spirit. One who could pass through lucid realities like the indefinite and ever mysterious Wyrd.

The witch was proud, but worried that they had become bound to the sea of trees. Somehow, in their isolation, the two of them had taken root to the soil. The magic pulled at their feet as if they were bound to remain isolated within the woods.  The witch had a guilty feeling that she had accidentally doomed her daughter to the indefinite and ever mysterious Wyrd.

Without warning on a foggy autumn day, the witch had become ill. An ailment grew within her like tiny writhing vines. It grew and grew without sympathy. A unfair twist of fate, like the indefinite and ever mysterious Wyrd.

The witch tried to hide her ailments, but she was growing weak by each passing day. Eventually, she couldn't avoid telling her daughter the truth. Once her mother's illness was evident, she became frantic, holding onto a shred of hope that was could be meaningless. The daughter put aside food, sleep, and practice to make spell after spell, potion after potion--but nothing worked. Her mother was growing cold and weak as if her life was draining away. Her daughter cried at her side as the leaves fell from the trees one by one, losing hope in her recovery. Even within their sanctuary the world was still cruel and unforgiving like the indefinite and ever mysterious Wyrd.

The witch ran a hand through her daughter’s hair, the earthy locks brought a smile to her face. She kindly asked her to dry her tears and take care of herself. With one last breath, the forest wind whistled through the trees and whisked the witch away to a realm unseen. She was with the indefinite and ever mysterious Wyrd.

The craft itself was mastered by his father, whom passed away to the end of a stray soldiers blade. Even those that didn’t cast stones were tossed aside within the battlefields of High Rock’s kings. The boy knew this, and so kept to himself. In a way, the stonemason’s tools had a piece of his father’s soul. Speaking masterful guidance in a timeless realm somewhere within Aetherius. It was important to the apprentice, but a pointless obsession to any other.

The boy’s family called him a nuisance, disappointed that the lofty rocks he collected were neither gold nor silver. Nevertheless, he Continued to bring home larger and larger pieces by mule and cart. The boy cut the boulders into blocks of different sizes, ruminating what shape they should manifest. He drew pictures of different angles, carefully measured out with the length of string and charcoal stick. In his mind each piece was an seed, an untapped object that sheltered it’s living essence. His passion would bring it to life, like the sun graced the blades of grass and the rain fed the soil.

However, his family grew poorer and poorer, their crops were trampled by battles outside of their control. The king ignored their pleas for defense, but they were not the only ones to suffer. In time their coffers filled with dust, with only a few coins to fill each member’s pockets as they traveled to town and back for food. Their complaints rattled on like shackles.

“I wish I had a bowl to eat with.” The youngest said, holding a piece of shattered pottery. “My old one is broken.”

“I wish I could tell what time it is.” His mother added, looking out at the setting sun over the horizon. Her brow glistening with sweat and dirt. “I work for so long and so hard.”

“I am so very old.” The eldest chimed in humbly. Her voice worn like the frayed ends of old yarn, her fingers knotted like oak branches. “I would just like a nice place to sit.”

The stonemason pondered and formulated, silently taking his tools to the barn until morning. With the flicker of candlelight burning all night, his family wondered and worried. The sounds of of a rhythmic hammering prattled on until the first ray of sun snuck through the drapes.

The mother, grandmother, and youngest decided to check in on the boy.  Cracking open the door to find him fast asleep on the floorboards. Beside him, however, was the finished results of his father's work. Works in progress that the man was never able to complete. Little statues of divines and Saint Pelin. Models of animals and creatures alike. It was months--even years of work that was finally given the status of completion. The family had never noticed that he was working so diligently on his craft, and each had a price worth it’s weight in gold. “I see a new bowl!” The youngest brother explained. Cupping the stone piece in his hand and turning it towards the light. A beautiful relief of horses was carved into into the sides. “Is that a sundial?” The mother questioned, spying the circular object mounted on top of a decorative stand. Numbers and symbols followed the outer circle,as an upright carving of a maternal figure cast a shadow towards the time of day.

“It’s all I wanted, a good chair…” The grandmother sighed, taking a seat and enjoying the warmth of the morning sun upon her face. It was a stone piece modeled after a throne, but smaller and padded with wool cushions. A set of wooden dowels was already prepared to slowly roll it into the farmhouse later.

The boy was still asleep, but a letter was written on his desk. The mother took it, to read outloud. Her eyes filled with tears as she recognized the handwriting. “Whatever we need. I will make.”