Stories of the Remnants have existed for almost as long as the Daedric lords have. But as with most stories there are many varieties of them being told. But none are more illusive than the one to be told about the guild’s formation. The Nedes have barely lived on the lands that today we call Skyrim, and that is where the story begins.
It started with a confused Mer of all things. Awaking from a slumber from which she remembers nothing of before. A dark robed figure standing over her chanting. A unwarranted rage fills her, a thrill of the hunt. “What have you done to me”, she screams at him. The robed figure backs away slowly and begins to run through the halls. Before she knows it she is on all fours, the vision of red mist clouds her vision, her target would be a tasty prize. The halls curve and wind, and the robed figure surprisingly is making good headway. She suddenly picks up pace, now picking up on his scent. They make their way further, the stone architecture surrounding them now a blur. She has him in her sights, a whisper in her mind, “Kill him”. The voice grows louder, more defined, repeating. “Kill him, kill him, kill him!”. She leaps, and catches him in the throat with her mouth. His blood sprays up the walls. He is no longer running… He is still….
Since then the mer drifted in and out of history, depicted in several conflicts over many years, and as such so did the remnants. Nobody knows where they came from, where they were camped. And for the sheer variety of people drawn into their ranks. The secret of the Remnants, they were all followers of the Lord of the Hunt, werebeasts of all fashions. They could walk in society, sell their blades for gold, but unleash the beast amongst their foes.