Jewish clan of the frozen North. Only pure-blooded Nords are welcome at our mead-hall. We do not despise the inferior races; but wish not to mingle, and ask they stay out of Nordenheim.
Our village of Skaugenhål lies near the west borders of Jaggensvald Forest in the frigid mountains of the far North. A land forgotten, in wilderness unknown, covered nearly year-round in snow and ice. The untold yearnings of nature gust in the crisp air, the spirit of glacial wildlife coursing in Nordic veins.
Timeless tales over mugs of steaming mead. Blazing hearths in the arctic nights. Our svelte maidens serve the brews and hang our blades, their features fair as the white snows beyond. Shadows dance upon the walls; songs rising over the howling winds.
We are allied with the Skaal of Solstheim and consider them Kinfolk, since we both believe in the All-Maker and scorn the false divines. Yet a crucial division lies between us. For in our beliefs, the All-Maker alone is the sole source of all existence, and in complete control of all beings. But most Skaal hold the Adversary to be of equal power. Nevertheless, there be Skaal blood in our village, some of their people having recently joined us. For after the horrific murder of Storn Crag-Strider by a Daedric Prince, aspect of the Adversary, his daughter Frea had led a band to Nordenheim and converted to our faith. A sole light in a war-ravaged land of greedy monarchs, she was deeply tormented by the manner of her father's death. It had seemed to her the Adversary had snatched his very soul along with his knowledge. For all her valor and deeds unsung; vile hordes of draugr butchered in catacombs so dreaded no man would enter, the horrors unspeakable faced alone in Nirn's deeps, she had still failed he who'm she had loved most. Driven nearly mad, she wandered the 9 provinces in search of vengeance on the Daedra. Yet even after dead uncounted, standing knee-deep at last in foul black blood on the diabolic Planes of Oblivion, she could still find no condolence. In the eerie vapors and unearthly pale lights descending the forgotten tombs of Nenyond-Twyll, she collapses upon the stone, weeping in despair. There she lays for days wishing but for death. But as her habit of turning to her Creator in time of need, she eventually understands her father's death as a sign by the All-Maker to believe in him alone, and in no other power of another deity. If one does, he'll abandon you in its hands (or tentacles). As such, her father's fate lies no doubt in the All-Maker's hands alone, since even the Adversary itself is but another of his aspects used to test his children's faith. Setting voyage from Dawnstar to the Padomaic Ocean, she then departed Tamriel; and by many moons arrived at the shores of Armaslogia. (Armaslogia is a land on the vast continent of Ravastolm, far beyond Akavir, on the opposite side of Nirn.) Some of our elders even claim we and the Skaal were once a single tribe in the frosty forests of Atmora, later sundered to separate clans due to internal strife.Trade between us though is nearly nonexistent. For the harrowing trails of the Nordenwath cannot be crossed by wagon, and little love for Mankind is borne by the seafarers of Astralyon. Ever less do our warriors trek the Path of Olbirak, passing through the hostile Ogre-lands, and mighty Goblin strongholds sprawled beneath the Alkadrath.
As our cousins of Solstheim, we hold no concordance with Ulfric Talos-worshipper and his fellow Stormcloaks. One time too many have their true colors been revealed, and we consider them but a lesser of many evils. We do however support them in the struggle to rid Skyrim of all Thalmor influence.
Among us are several Tongues as well; masters of the Voice, descendants of Hakon One-eye and Gormlaith. As the All-Maker's gift, they speak the Dragon-language freely, having never studied at High Hrothgar under disciples of the Windcaller. For the confining creeds of the Greybeards, formed but to appease the false Gods, dooms one to an existence of dreary silence and they know not the joy of life. To our dismay, Hakon himself still resides in Sovngarde, enthralled by the dead spirit of Shor, shackled in tunnels beneath the Netherworld. Subjugating themselves to the service of Kyne, he and Gormlaith will not willingly leave. Yet they are nonetheless revered in our mead-hall, and we pray to the All-Maker their spirits be freed.