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Entire Tamriel Landmass built into Skyrim.

ppsh-41:

I didn’t know if this was posted yet on tumblr, so I thought I’d do it. The landmass of almost all of the provinces in Tamriel, has been put into Skyrim. All which are inaccessible(without console commands) and which serve absolutely no purpose in the game. Why are they there? I personally don’t know. But take a look at the effort Bethesta put into these seemingly pointless landmasses.

At the south-eastern most part of Skyrim lays Stendarr’s Beacon. 

If you’ve looked at a map of Tamriel, you’ll know this is the closest place in Skyrim, to Morrowind.

If you travel directly North East of Stendarr’s Beacon, you’ll end up finding a path to your right, in between two huge mountains.

I noticed how beautiful the path really looked. It seemed quite enthralling actually for some reason.

The path is nestled between two mountains, decorated with trees, and at the end of it some type of gateway, or arch.

But, that open archway is the end of the road. The game doesn’t allow you to go any further. I find it strange, that there’s an area like this leading from Skyrim to Morrowind. Nowhere in the lore was this stone wall mentioned. And why would it be an open arch like that? Why not closed? Why is there a space at all between these mountains if we can’t go any further? As you can see there are still trees and foliage beyond this wall, but you aren’t able to access it without console commands.

So, I went into No-clip like the BAMF I am and travelled down this path.

Landmass photos below. 

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Sylvain looked out into the Mojave wasteland, shadowed by the symbolic steel figures of civilization promising hope and peace amidst the uncertainty and fragility of a land still scarred by the Great War. In his quest for answers, he felt uneasy and utterly unconvinced by the tall tales told by the bureaucrats and drunken soldiers of NCR’s nervous bravado, all of whom had now resorted to believing in far-fetched and overly-nationalist ideals rather than any form of direct action. Sylvain was bemused and disgusted by the complacency of these elected leaders; those who called the shots and made the hard decisions without even a modicum of the understanding required to empathise with those in dire need of their guidance. He had heard stories of the civilizations of hundreds of years ago - of how the empires had built for themselves similarly colossal monuments to celebrate the narcissistic progress and wealth of but the few, only for these false and empty superficial glories built on egos and lies to crumble down onto their own faulty foundations. Noticing the soldiers and merchants eyeing him suspiciously, Sylvain knew at once, as he had felt so many times before that, even with the Mojave in the midst of a supposed time of reconciliation, the bigotry and rivalries of the old world still remained, and that he would never be made to feel welcome due to the petty prejudices concerned with close-minded ancestry and the false dichotomy of “you’re either with us, or against us”. Reading through the unification treaty of the Desert Rangers and the NCR while shaking his head at the sheer hypocrisy, witnessing the directionless troopers and disillusioned trading caravans holed up with nothing to do at the Mojave Outpost, Sylvain knew instinctively how this new society would end; in the very same way as the last, destroyed by the bombs and the greed-driven warfare. So as the sun went down over the Western horizon of what had now become his adopted home away from home, Sylvain made a vow to himself that, unlike President Kimball, he wasn’t going to sit idly by to let his nation destroy itself again - for despite the exclusion, it was as much his as anyone else’s. And that he had every right to shape it as he deemed fit for the greater good of the wasteland.
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Sylvain looked out into the Mojave wasteland, shadowed by the symbolic steel figures of civilization promising hope and peace amidst the uncertainty and fragility of a land still scarred by the Great War. In his quest for answers, he felt uneasy and utterly unconvinced by the tall tales told by the bureaucrats and drunken soldiers of NCR’s nervous bravado, all of whom had now resorted to believing in far-fetched and overly-nationalist ideals rather than any form of direct action. Sylvain was bemused and disgusted by the complacency of these elected leaders; those who called the shots and made the hard decisions without even a modicum of the understanding required to empathise with those in dire need of their guidance.

He had heard stories of the civilizations of hundreds of years ago - of how the empires had built for themselves similarly colossal monuments to celebrate the narcissistic progress and wealth of but the few, only for these false and empty superficial glories built on egos and lies to crumble down onto their own faulty foundations.

Noticing the soldiers and merchants eyeing him suspiciously, Sylvain knew at once, as he had felt so many times before that, even with the Mojave in the midst of a supposed time of reconciliation, the bigotry and rivalries of the old world still remained, and that he would never be made to feel welcome due to the petty prejudices concerned with close-minded ancestry and the false dichotomy of “you’re either with us, or against us”.

Reading through the unification treaty of the Desert Rangers and the NCR while shaking his head at the sheer hypocrisy, witnessing the directionless troopers and disillusioned trading caravans holed up with nothing to do at the Mojave Outpost, Sylvain knew instinctively how this new society would end; in the very same way as the last, destroyed by the bombs and the greed-driven warfare. So as the sun went down over the Western horizon of what had now become his adopted home away from home, Sylvain made a vow to himself that, unlike President Kimball, he wasn’t going to sit idly by to let his nation destroy itself again - for despite the exclusion, it was as much his as anyone else’s. And that he had every right to shape it as he deemed fit for the greater good of the wasteland.

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