By Dettethor Pantenne As a child, I was sickly and morose, a feeble stripling confined to a bed. The greater world came to me primarily through the windows of my room, high in the relative safety of my family's expansive manor. The vivid flashes of light and color that entered my room via its large windows served only to heighten the anxiety and fear of the outside world I had carefully cultivated in my bed rest. With the physical world become a place of feat and tension for my weakened frame, I retreated into the solace of the written word, and plumbed the deep mysteries of Nirn.