ResolveThatChord

Cheers for bringing this up, and letting us know how it turned out despite lack of feedback.

Well, to make a dungeon mod more interesting and exciting, I think a dungeon tileset retexture is the ticket. I remember this working like a charm in Heart of the Dead for Oblivion. A retex can really brush off the player's blindness to the familiar, and make you feel like you're dicovering something new. In the same vein, retextures and new models of outdoor rocks, ground, buildings, etc. to suit entirely new climates and environments, like that sand dune ground retexture you were experimenting with. That would really open up opportunities. Edit: Okay, specifics: Desert, Forest-floor, Volcanic, Beach, Grassland groundplane textures Rock retextures in brown, ochre, sandstone colours Islamic, Hindu, Elven, Akavir architecture For the dungeon retextures, I don't have any specific ideas. Oh, wait: Ice cave to sedimentary rock cave. The general gist is to create resources that allow modders to craft environments that we don't get to see in vanilla Skyrim. On a slightly off-topic note, I'd also love to see some tutorials specifically dealing with creating custom static world objects: I wanna contribute too!

Hmmm. Editing the mesh would be simple enough for me, but I'm not sure how to get it to look correct in-game. So far getting materials to look right in Nifscope has eluded me. Perhaps copying only the geometry data into the vanilla headmesh, while keeping all the BSLightingShader properties and other arcane things untouched? There's a proper way to do all that, but I don't know it. Would it be enough for me to send you a non-working .nif that holds the essential nitrishape data? Another potential issue is that if you're going to use the vanilla texture, then there's going to be texture distortion on the ears. We can prevent that by baking textures from the vanilla UV map to a custom, low-distortion UV map. This would work perfectly for objects and creatures, but may see problems down the road if you're creating NPCs with individual textures. Depends on how much of a perfectionist you are, I suppose.

Well, This is always kind of awkward to tell guys who are new to this, but basically you shouldn't expect other modders to volunteer to work for you. Everyone is doing their own thing. This is why there was such a deafening silence in response to your rather excellent mod idea. Don't get the wrong idea though: the culture here is highly supportive. There's classes for using all the modding programs, people are always happy to help you with any problem you come across, and offer advice, experience and constructive criticism. This is system better for the community on the whole, and sees more great mods produced. But don't be discouraged! Everything you need to bring this idea to life is at your fingertips. Check out the CK Basics class to get comfortable with building your town. If you want custom meshes and textures, there's an exploding amount of that to be found. It's highly likely that something out there closely matches what you have in mind- just don't forget to get the authors' permission. My advice is: remember to keep it simple; make the best use of the assets you already have; if you hit a wall, post a thread; and finally, enjoy yourself!

Looks like a lot of fun. There's so many bandits out there, there's gotta be some kind of economy driving it! Just about anything feasable you want for this mod can be learned here; the community is great and willing to teach.

Hey guys, I was wondering if anyone had info on how to correctly import/export skeletons from skyrim .nifs. I've just been working on a rig for Blender that's easier for modders to animate and control, but I'm running into problems with body parts. When imported to blender (either via nikskope's .obj export or blender 2.49's .nif import), the main body, hands and feet do not align, and the skeletons do not align with their own body parts. This is especially evident with the hands, who's skeletons never seem to proportionally match anything else. Finally, bones of imported skeletons for some reason always lie flat along the x axis, instead of their proper alignment. The exception so far has been the UNP Skeleton resource on Nexus, however it's hand bones did not match the vertex weights of the vanilla hand mesh, resulting in serious distortions. Any advice or insight would be very much appreciated.

Hail, Traveller!

Ah, right. When you said "one answer per person", I read it as "one question per person".

2) Ooh, ooh! Riften has the Temple of Mara, so I'll say: Mara.

So far Raurke had faced four opponents. The first had tripped, and the stumble had broken his arm. Raurke was particularly proud of pulling that off. The second was bribed to yield, a sure sign that Ra'Kouro held serious weight among the caravanners. The third was unfortunately killed; an ex-bandit with some skill at cloak-and-dagger who's handler had thought Raurke an easy opponent. By this point the general opinion was that this pale, gaunt slave possessed some manner of supernatural luck. Now he was being pitted against far more dangerous opponents. The one-eyed specimen grinning at him from across the ring had been transported, caged, from Morrowind, especially for this event. According to Manan he was tipped to be a finalist. Manan had also warned Raurke that he was a prized knife-fighter, homicidally insane, and it was likely that the referee's coin was loaded. Sure enough, the coin landed showing the arrogant profile of Titus Mede II: the match would be knives. The knife-fighter's grin widened as he selected his preferred weapon. Raurke chose the longest dagger the judges would permit. After a moment's consideration, he made a request to his handler, who fetched him a bandage to tie around his left hand. A table had been placed in front of Gergio's tent, where the obese imperial Khajiit sat, wearing an expression that was part greed, part bewilderment. Manan also sat at the table, sheets of parchment covered in scrawling notes on the contestants, from the results of their matches to their birthsigns. “Bet on Ra'Kouro's slave. I'll be placing six hundred septims on him.†Manan handed a heavy pouch to a courier, who went to place the bet. “Are you sure?†Gergio poured over Manan's notes, brow furrowed. “Knife-fighter, Nord, Three matches to, zero against. He's survived five Gatherings, a feat I've never heard of before. Odds are four to one for him. Your choice seems to have fluked it so far.†Manan settled more comfortably into his chair. “You asked me to tip for you, and that's what I'm doing. How much did you lose the last time you ignored my advice?†Gergio winced. Last calls were made for bets. He made up his mind. To his courier, he said, “Fine. Five hundred on the pale one... and one hundred on the other.†He looked at Manan defiantly. “But this time, explain. How are you always so sure?†Manan sighed. “I told you: Raurke is under the sign of the ritual, which is currently holding court in the heavens. This other fellow is under the Tower, which is waning.†Gergio's eyes narrowed. “I don't believe you really buy into that nonsense. You're trying to put me off the truth. It's ridiculous, making me pay a hundred gold for that information.†“You'll get it back. And much more, you'll see. Trust my boy, he didn't win four matches by accident.†“I had better.†Gergio ponderously twirled the tip of his claw in an ornate bowl of moon-sugar. “You know, I'd happily lose that five hundred to see Ra'Kouro lose. I can't stand that thug. The poor slave would be better off having his throat slashed in this fight than to have him for a master.†Manan raised an eyebrow. “You don't say?†“Oh yes. Horribly brutal, so I hear. A lot of leaders here would love to see him taken down a peg. If only my Orc had been, well, a real Orc, I might have gained some prestige from beating him. As it is, it looks like both his slaves are going to win him honours, if you're right about this match.†Manan listened without comment, stroking his beard. Meanwhile, Duncan sat with black Ra'Kouro as the two handlers paced nervously. Ra'Kouro appeared calm, but he was sitting very still, eyeing the two combatants intently. “The coin, it is fake. Ri'Shazr will be betting much on his slave.†he nudged Duncan. “The dustman, can he fight with knives?†Duncan shrugged. “Never seen him. I dare say he'd make short work of that Cyclops if he could use destruction magic.†He scratched at the painted runes around his wrist. “Ha. Magic is not for slaves.†Ra'Kouro's nose caught some scent, and he suddenly stood, bowing shortly, and gestured, offering his seat. Duncan turned to see the shaman standing behind them, a stormy expression contorting the ochre paint on his face. The Shaman's voice was low, and deadly. He spoke in Ta'agra, and the sound of it reminded Duncan of sabre-cats as they fought. Ra'Kouro regarded the shaman coolly. He replied in Cyrodiilic, Duncan thought perhaps to make a point of who was in charge. “Yes, you have bought them. They are not yet yours. They will be yours when the ship sets sail, and not before. Now they are mine, and now they will fight. You are a healer. If they are hurt, then fix them. Get the old one to work if you need a slave.†The shaman spoke again. One of the handlers excused himself, the other stood looking very worried. Ra'Kouro did not move, and his expression didn't change. The shaman finished whatever it was he had to say, and turned to Duncan. Gripping Duncan's jaw, the shaman inspected his face. He placed his hands over the bruise across Duncan's eye, and he felt the tingling sensation of healing magic. When this was done, the shaman looked Duncan in the eye. “Tell your friend, don't die. Need him.†With this he left to return to his cart. Raurke stood as he watched his opponent. Both contestants were shirtless. The knife fighter was tanned for a Nord, wiry and muscular, his skin criss-crossed by scars. By Raurke's judgement, some but certainly not all of them were self-inflicted. The hubbub of the Gathering lessened as the grey-whiskered master of the ceremony stood and announced the match begun. Raurke and his opponent approached one another, beginning to circle.

“Well aren't you two just a pair of choirboys, keeping me company with all these attractions about.†The atmosphere was festive; the air was heavy with camp-fire smoke, the spicy scents of exotic cooking mixing with the smell of horse dung and the musky, sweaty smell of the Khajiit. Preliminary entertainment had been pitting the weaker slaves against captured animals. Raurke had just returned from facing a pack of ice wolves, maddened and enraged by spells of illusion. He had lost his spear, but had managed to kill the last two with his bare hands. Duncan offered him a crust of oily bread which had been dipped in seeds and spices. “Try this, I've never had anything like it!†Noticing Raurke's expression, “That was savage what they made you do. It'll only get worse, so enjoy the small miracles.†Raurke accepted the food. Manan chuckled. “I think he's more upset at being lumped in with all the weakest slaves. Don't take it personally, you just look like you've recently died. So, any chance of getting these chains off me? If we're going to try something, now's the time.†Duncan fished a lockpick from his boot and set to work, struggling with the finicky mechanism. “This would be easier if you weren't so fat.†There was a commotion nearby; the Orc they had seen before had broken his chains, and was sending his captors flying with heavy punches. More caravan guards rushed in to subdue him. “You can fight that one,†Duncan said to Raurke, observing with mild interest. “No thanks.†Finally freed, Manan stood, rubbing the blood back into his joints. “Thank you, that's much better.†He stretched and looked around. “I didn't think there were this many Khajiit in all of Skyrim.†Duncan had to agree. There would often be a small group camped outside a hold capital, but never had he seen this many. Khajiit hated the cold, but there were entire families here, cooking at fires, eating and drinking, talking and laughing as they sat around wooden tables. There were more than Khajiit here, though; quite a few Redguards, some Nords, and of course slaves of every stripe. He felt a twinge of nostalgia; what had happened to all the festivals? As a child he remembered many: bright flags, masks, treats. Games with his little sisters, riding on his back. Then there was the Great War, and suddenly there were no more games. Not even here in Skyrim, so separated from the troubles of the South. Although, he had heard somewhere that in Solitude they were bringing some old traditional festival back. “You look like there's something on your mind,†said Raurke. Duncan shook his head, gesturing that it was nothing. Duncan's handler, the tawny Khajiit, approached, looking furious. People were getting up from their tables and heading over to the ring. It seemed that the real fights were starting. Without a word, the tawny cat grabbed Duncan's arm and pushed him towards the ring. Duncan saw the Orc also being pulled, in chains. The ground had been made into a veritable arena. In a few short hours, the caravanners had dug out a flat circle for the fights, and set up a kind of scaffold around it, which formed seats for the audience. A few opulent tents were erected right at the front row to the action, reminding Duncan of the boxes at an imperial theatre. In one of these boxes, an enormously fat, tabby Khajiit lounged on a pile of purple cushions, idly dipping a claw into a bowl of moon-sugar. He grinned at Duncan, beckoning him closer. The air was noisy with shouting as the spectators placed their bets, and Duncan had to stand in the cat's tent to hear him. “You look strong. I bet you'll fetch a high price, if you survive this night.†There was no trace of Elsweyr in the tabby's accent, it could have been a Colovian speaking. “How do you prefer to fight? With your fists?†Uncertain of the degree of this Khajiit's authority, Duncan replied curtly, “I fight with two swords.†The Tabby nodded lazily. “And light armour. Very well. Well, good luck... They say that no-one bests an Orc.†The Orc, still chained, was dragged into the ring. Duncan was spotted by his handler, who promptly approached to drag him to the Black-furred slave master's box. The Black Khajiit looked angry. “Why were you talking to him? Talk to no one.†What appeared to be a referee walked out to the centre of the ring, holding up his hands for silence. In a booming voice, he announced: “Ra'Kouro's Imperial slave, against Ra-Gergio's Orc! Ra-Kou-Ro! Ra-Gergio! What manner of fight will this one be?†Duncan noted the name Gergio; a very Imperial name. Odd for a Khajiit, to say the least. The Black-furred slave master, apparently named Ra'Kouro, spoke up: “Sword and dagger!†The fat tabby replied “Bare claw!†A coin was tossed, falling in the fat Gergio's favour. He settled into his cushions, a smug expression on his face. The noise of betting spectators intensified. By contrast, black Ra'Kouro was scowling heavily. He turned to Duncan, and proceeded to rip off his armour and shirt. The Orc was already bare chested. “Sera, might I offer you a private wager?†Manan had snuck into Gergio's tent, and approached him with an obsequious, bowing posture. Nearby Khajiit looked on with interest. Gergio eyed him contemptuously. “Slave? How could you have anything to offer. Keep your coin, your master will take it from you if he sees it.†“My master is the Black one, and I have no coin. Only a secret. About my master.†“A secret?†“Aye. A small one. A fifty Septim secret.†Gergio licked moon-sugar off his claw, settling his enormous body more comfortably in his nest of velvet cushions. He considered Manan's proposal for a moment, then smiled. “I'll bet twenty Septims against your fifty Septim secret.†Manan smiled obligingly. “Done. Who do you wish to bet on?†This provoked an incredulous smile. “My Orc of course. You think that pretty Imperial stands a chance? I look forward to hearing your secret.†With this he turned from Manan, clearly indicating he was done talking. Manan wandered about the crowded scaffolds until he spotted Raurke. He was sitting on a higher beam of the scaffolds, with a good view of the ring. Manan had to awkwardly climb up to sit next to him, panting and wheezing as he pulled himself up. Raurke regarded him. “How you've survived so long with so little grace perplexes me.†Manan harrumphed. “Show some respect for the elderly. What do you reckon our boy's chances are against that brute?†“I've seen few people with a right hook as good as Duncan's. And as for your venerability, do I need to remind you that I'm undead? I was old before your granddaddy was born.†For some reason this caused Manan to burst out into a fit of chuckles. Nearly falling from the beam, he recovered his balance, wiping his eyes. Raurke continued. “He's a pro; seems to have good awareness, keeps his head in battle. Don't know much about that Orc, but if he's your typical stronghold outcast, he'll rely on his strength alone. And die rather than yield. Could go either way, but something tells me I'd put my money on Duncan.†“Well, the general mood here disagrees with you. The betting is three to one, in the Orc's favour. But they don't know Duncan.†Manan pulled out his smoking pouch, and set about filling his pipe. “I have a plan.†Raurke raised his eyebrows. Manan continued, “We can get free tonight. But to do that, you and Duncan are going to have to win.†“Just like that? I didn't know you had so much faith in us.†Manan smiled. “Oh, I do, I do. But you'll need to have good odds. They think you're sickly, use that. You're resilient; let them hit you, look like you're losing, and when you win make it look like a fluke.†Raurke frowned. “I'll try, but I'm no actor, and you're clearly not a fighter- even a weak opponent shouldn't be underestimated like that.†he noticed a figure in the crowd. “It seems my handler is looking for me.†“Better go to him then. We can't be seen scheming; if they think we'll misbehave they'll lock us up again. Go out there and win. Make me rich, and maybe we'll get out of here with our hides.†“Make you rich? Can slaves bet?†“This one can. Trust me, we'll need some things that are easier bought than stolen.†Raurke hesitated. “Alright, I'll go. But you're going to explain this plan to me- before you put it in motion, you hear me? I don't like to be left in the dark.†With that he left. Betting was closing, and the hubbub was quieting down in anticipation of the first real fight. Duncan was shirtless, but the air was warm from the hanging braziers and the crowd of people. The Orc's handlers removed his chains, and pushed him into the ring. The brute stood tall, carrying an attitude of belligerence and contempt towards his captors. The referee signalled for the fight to start, to cheers of approval from the crowd. Duncan could see Manan in the crowd, making bets with a pair of Alik'r Redguards. And there was Raurke, sitting as the black-furred slave master spoke to him. Returning his gaze to the fight, Duncan raised his fists and began to circle his opponent. The Orc stood defiantly, avoiding Duncan's gaze and making no move towards him. The crowd booed at his reluctance, his handlers shouting vile threats. Duncan lowered his fists and went to talk to the Orc. “I can't fight you if you don't fight back. They'll only make it worse for us if we don't.†The Orc nodded, and looked at Duncan apologetically. He hit him. Duncan's head snapped back. He stepped backwards, lights dancing in his eyes. The Orc looked at him approvingly. “Most people I hit, they don't stay up.†Duncan's ears were ringing. “No kidding.†He hit back. Pushing up from the ground, sending force all the way up his body, through his fist, and into the side of the Orc's face. The Orc didn't step back, but he swayed after recovering from the recoil, spitting blood and a tooth into the dirt. Duncan shook his hand, hoping he hadn't sprained it. The Orc let out a low chuckle. Duncan was ready this time, stepping back and rolling with the punch. He grabbed the Orc's upper arm, and pulled, pushing up from the ground again to drive his head into the Orc's jaw. He followed with an uppercut, sending the Orc sprawling. As he tried to rise, Duncan kicked down, slamming his opponent's face against the ground. This was repeated a few times. “Yield, damn you!†Duncan was worried that the Orc would push himself until killed. Gergio had stood up from his cushions, and was yelling at the Orc. Face bloody, the Orc turned his head to look Gergio in the eye. “I yeild.†He said, taking evident satisfaction in Gergio's frustration. The clamour of the betting spectators rose as the bets were settled. Duncan's handler came and slapped him on the back, and pulled him back to Raurke and the slave master. Ra'Kouro regarded him with approval. “You have just lost me one thousand septim. I should be lucky to sell you for that much.†If Manan was right, Duncan was already sold, but he decided not to mention that. “You shouldn't have bet against me then.†“Indeed, it is so. But who could have known that fearsome Orc would be such an embarrassment? But maybe one thousand septims is a good price to see Ma'Gergio so annoyed. Next time, you will win again. But don't stand there as they strike you, that was stupid.†He looked at Raurke. “You, dustman. They think you weak because you are skinny and pale. Let them think that. Win for me, and make me much gold.†Raurke scowled. “Why should I do anything for you? The Orc had the right of it.†He expected this to rile the slave master again, but was disappointed. The black cat was actually quite composed, and seemed to be considering his response. Finally, he spoke. “All things filthy pass through a slave's mouth. One can stop the worst of these things, the gossip, the back-talk, the lies and whimpers. You just cut out the tongue. But, it is a shame...†he sighed. “filth still passes through, and infects the cut. The throat swells, and they die.†He lazily traced a steel-tipped claw along Raurke's neck. “But you would not die, I think. Not if I cut you and cut you and made you wallow in filth. Most Khajiit, they would fear you and burn you, rather than keep you. Not this one. This one sees how you could be useful. To serve on and on, alone in the dark places, where other slaves go mad. But you are so proud, yes? You may be telling yourself, you have nothing more to lose? Trust Ra'Kouro.†He leaned closer. “There is so very much more I can take from you.†He stepped back , and waved the red-furred handler over. “See to it he fights.†He left to walk across the ring to his caravan. ----------------------------------- “No, slave, I do not think so. A promise to a slave is no promise. Keep your wretched secret, and run back to your master.†Manan smiled at Gergio. “Of course, sera. But you should know that it's you own fault you lost.†Gergio's eyes narrowed further. “Don't test me, slave.†“But it's true. You bet twenty gold against a fifty gold secret, against a penniless slave, even though you had three to one odds. Great Ban Daar could surely not resist foiling such arrogance.†“Why, you- if you think I'm as superstitious as some of these-†Gergio stopped abruptly, as he noticed the Khajiit about him listening with keen interest. One spoke up. “Vaba, it is true. It is ill luck indeed to cheat a beggar.†Grudgingly, Gergio counted out twenty gold coins, handing them to an attendant to give to Manan. “There, you lucky idiot. Now get out of my sight.†Manan was still all smiles. “At once sera. Unless, of course, you think you can win it back?â€

Cool to know- cookies for Willie!

Okay, I think this is everything:

Morrowind and Oblivion biased me heavily against the empire, but as Dragonborn I have the most legitimate claim to the Imperial throne. Skyrim belongs to the Nords? Maybe now. But soon all of Tamriel will belong to me.