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The courtyard glows vibrantly with the incandescence of Magicka. 
Leyawiin; dilapidated, moldy, flooded. 
The chapel's glow contrasts amiably with the firmament. 
Forlorn eyes search vacant space, sleepless. 
Hyacinths dance beneath the rain. 
Memoirs and histories, stories and accounts; food for the escapists, food for the scholars. 
Mist lingers over the river's surface, reflecting tranquil serenity. 
A great sentinel watches over the cozy town of Bruma. 
Diversity graces the streets of the capital. 
Galaxies dwell a great distance from Nirn, though the psyjics can reach ever on. 
Budding mages and apprentices go about there intellectual pursuits in the alchemical garden. 
Universal centering, extra-sensory awareness. Spiritual assimilation. 
Huddling from the sky's tears in their abodes. 
Shovel came down hard, upon this lump of meat's head. 
An alchemists station is rich in archaic purity, and boundaries are expanded. 
Mindless servants stand idle. 
Man lays sprawled, claymore lodged in his frontal lobe. Excellent throw. 
Gaits slow in the Arboretum, prolonging the passing beauty. 
Falling water strings lucid strands from all that is dense and opaque. 
The shanty towns of Bravil hold disease and social squalor. 
Decay, rot, and death hand over and through the slums. 
Blue daphnes metaphysically purge woe and leaves only awe. 
Ponds are perpetually fed by elevated land. 
A poet basks in the tranquility of isolation. 
Bird eyes scan indifferently over the landscape; sentience being its only admirer.
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