Adarise Salvel, Outlander

Ashlander Archives: Urshilaku Tribe >> Document No. 76300824: Journal of Adarise Salvel Vol.
This may be little more than old parchment bound with leather and twine, but it is the first
material possession I have ever owned.
My name is Adarise Salvel. I am a Dunmer, a Dark Elf, and I was born in a prison. But that is
not what I wish to waste ink writing on these pages about. Today, I am going home, or so I
am told. They are taking me to the land of my people. Why? Perhaps they needed the cell I was
using? I do not openly question my good fortune.
The ship pitches much and makes me ill but cannot dampen my spirits. They are saying land is
near, so I will wait it out.
16 Last Seed, 3E426
I settle down for the night on a roll on a hard floor, but I do so as a free woman so I am not
discouraged.
Seyda Neen is the name of the town I have been released into. 'Swamp Fever capital' to the
locals. Mudcrabs, mushrooms, and swamp as far as I can see, and yet while this is miserable to
most, the air here is sweet to me.
It would seem my freedom does not come without some small condition. The Imperials are hard
bargainers. I am to deliver a package to a town called Balmora; inquiring about this place
around Seyda Neen earned me a set of written directions. The general consensus seems to be that
I should hire a silt-strider, a sort of great insect they use for transport, but I am down to my
last few coins after purchasing a sensible weapon and a few pieces of iron for myself.
I am too curious about this place not to explore anyway. It will have to wait, however, as I
plan to do a few odd jobs for some extra coin before setting out for Balmora. The Imperials did
not give me a deadline.
17 Last Seed, 3E426
It is only today I find myself wondering what has become of Jiub. We were not exactly friends,
but he was a fellow Dunmer, made sufficient conversation on the prison boat and woke me from
the nightmare I had on the way. It would not seem he was released into Seyda Neen with me...
I wonder if he was released at all? I do not even know his crime.
The Imperial Legion guards in the settlement, upon seeing me wearing armor and carrying my
frugal sword, made sure to let me know their organization is recruiting. I say nothing; surely
they will forgive my lack of eagerness to join the ranks of those that held me in a cell my whole
life over the crimes of the ones who birthed me.
Speaking of the armor, this shoddy iron requires more upkeep than predicted and yet was all I
could afford, and it took much haggling to get the local tradesman Arille to sell me the materials
to repair it. Nevermind that it was damaged while taking care of local smugglers. No no,
merchant, don't do me any favors, it isn't as if I'm keeping you in business.
Archived by: Nibani Maesa, Urshilaku Wise Women on 17 Frostfall, 3E426 under Sub: Nerevarine
Ashlander Archives: Urshilaku Tribe >> Document No. 76300824: Journal of Adarise Salvel Vol. 1
I took to the road in the afternoon, little coin in my purse but enough to get by. Even though
the locals warned me of many dangers on the road, I encountered naught but a large insect or
two- I am told they are called scribs, and they gave me no trouble. Tonight I stay in a very
Imperial settlement, Pelagiad, confident that I shall see Balmora tomorrow with no problem.
I've been asking around in this half-fortress, half-settlement, out of sheer curiosity. The Legion
built this place to guard the roads, they say, but it's become farmland for colonists from Cyrodiil
and retired soldiers alike. Imperials everywhere.
If nothing else, they have brought their finery and sense of taste with them. I was able to buy a
fine silken skirt adorned with golden stars to wear over my shoddy armor pieces- I feel it gives
me a sense of class.
The murmurs in the tavern are alight with talk of some prophecy that has the local religion in
an upset. This, however, is something I do not understand very well yet- if I come across one of
these 'Tribunal temples' eventually, I shall have them explain it to me. The only Gods I am
familiar with are the Nine, and I cannot say that I am on the best of terms with them.
18 Last Seed, 3E426
Last night at the Halfway Tavern I rented a room and spent the evening drinking with a most
pleasant lady who called herself Ladia Flarugius. She's a very well-traveled, well-educated sort of
woman, and was able to answer nearly every question I had. She provided me with two maps:
one of the Empire in its entirety and one of Vvardenfell, the island that I am on. Seeing that I
could barely afford my ale, Ladia not only covered my bill at the tavern but was even kind
enough to give me a small booklet about herbal medicine so that I might make some coin on the
road by picking desired ingredients to sell to the settlements, where they are much needed. I shall
have to pay back her kindness someday.
According to her, it was only recently that most of the settlements here sprung up, trade in the
area just being made legal, although there have always been natives called 'ashlanders'. She spoke
to me of other cities on Vvardenfell; this 'Vivec City' she described sounds wondrous and I will
have to see it for myself once I've made my delivery for the Imperials.
Nursing a slight headache I left Pelagiad before the sun rose. Watching dawn break over this
place, this region my map calls the Ascadian Isles, is nothing short of breathtaking. Light pours
through hanging willows and mosses and sets the surprisingly clear water sparkling like a
mirror. It was nearly enough to bring me to tears: I have gone my whole life without ever
seeing a sunrise until this day. I shall have to see more of them in the time to come.
I am in a very different place now, settled on the roadside with a Kwama egg I purchased in
town for lunch. Gone are the tall, healthy mushrooms and green trees and bountiful herbs. In
their place stand twisted dead trees with strange silhouettes and grey stone, as far as I can see.
I believe I spotted the pointed towers of a ruin peeking over some larger rocks in the distance as
well.
Perhaps this is not a good spot to rest. I have only heard about the dangerous 'cliff racer' beasts
before now, but I am pretty sure the winged creature circling above me matches the description...
An hour or so after my last entry the landscape changed again. Grey rock became brown and I
saw plants again- but not the same plants and not nearly as lush. The air feels drier here and
the wildlife make such strange, alien sounds that my hand was almost always on my sword-
hilt. After passing a Legion fort I was here.
Balmora.
Now I sit on a bridge over the Odai River which cuts right through the middle of the city,
watching the sun go down and light up the city stonework in red hues. I cannot see, but I can
still hear the bustle of the marketplace by the gate, the most active trade center I've seen yet. I
must have visited every shop, and I sold every scrap of herb I gathered on the way here. I've over
three hundred septims now and spared a few to buy books on Vvardenfell and Balmora so I am
not always asking people questions that make them look at me like I'm an imbecile.
The people of Balmora are friendly enough, though I can see in the eyes of my fellow Dunmer,
they can tell, they know I am an Outlander. They see it in my gait, hear it in my accent. One
particularly honest shopkeep warned me that in most of Morrowind, being a foreign-born Dunmer
is worse than being of foreign blood entirely.
It is still better than being in prison. I will simply have to work harder than most to prove
myself.
The Imperials, however, are not through with me as I had hoped. Upon finding the Caius
Cosades the package was addressed to, before I could even realize what had happened, I was
inducted into the service of the Blades by the Emperor's direct order. I was given little chance to
object, and feared returning to prison if I did. Now that I have tasted freedom, if I must
sacrifice a little time and effort to retain that, I will without hesitation.
All I must do is follow his orders, of which he has only given me one so far: join an
organization. There are many recruiting, but the only ones that sound of any appeal to me are
the Fighter's Guild and the Temple. When I explained to Caius I was divided between the two,
his answer was, why not join both? A fair point. The Fighter's Guild would hone my skills with
the sword and shield, and the Temple would give me some education and a connection to my
people, who I have never known.
Tonight I rest, and tomorrow I will seek out representatives of both and see what is required.
19 Last Seed, 3E426
I had Caius wake me early enough so that I could enjoy the sunrise over the city- what a sight
it was. The light grew and grew until finally the sun broke over the pointed ruins in the
distance...
Eydis Fire-Eye, a Nord woman with a most befitting name and Steward of the Balmora
Fighters' Guild took one look at me and accepted me into the ranks. I was given a set of steel
armor, far superior to the iron I'd been using, and spent the day proving myself worthy of it-
first taking care of a few rats for a Dunmer woman with an unhealthy pillow obsession (the
woman literally had hundreds), and then taking out two egg poachers at one of the local egg
mines. The mines hold high importance on Vvardenfell, providing work and food for a large
percentage of the island's residents, or so I am told.
When I think on it, nearly everything I have eaten since I arrived was some sort of spin on
kwama eggs. I suppose it is a reliable food source for people in such an inhospitable land- though
I confess I have yet to see the 'hostility' of this place that I so often hear about.
I've over 500 septims in my pocket and have been named Journeyman of the Fighters' Guild for
taking on two opponents at once. And tomorrow, I visit that strange-looking building on the
edge of town, the Temple, and attempt to forge some kind of connection with the religion of my
people, whose gods I cannot even yet name.
20 Last Seed, 4E326
At first I was disappointed to wake to a clouded sky, as that meant there would be no sunrise. I
wandered Balmora's streets pondering the greyness when it began to rain heavily. I saw many
run for shelter; but I simply stood there in the rain, letting it soak my hair and clothes, likely
seeming mad. I am sure it would have been worse if they could have seen the few tears I shed,
but the rainwater disguised them. I had seen rain before, but only through a tiny window too
high to reach. I knew its sound. And now I know its feel.
I did my best to squeeze the water from my hair before I stepped into the Temple, but by their
disdainful looks I know I did not do a very good job. The building itself was dim and strange
and sort of frightening, and the priests suspicious of me. Some of the candles produced not golden
but red and even violet flames. It was here I was taught about the Tribunal, great heroes of
ancient times that ascended to godhood, patrons of my people. Their other name, ALMSIVI, helps
one remember their individual names:
Almalexia, the Healing Mother,

Sotha Sil, the Light of Knowledge,
Vivec, the Warrior-Poet.
I was told that every aspiring member of the Temple undertakes a pilgrimage; my heart leaps at
the opportunity to travel more. As fond as I am becoming of Balmora there is still much I have
not seen. This book I was given, The Pilgrim's Path, details the route quite fully.
I have an assignment from the Fighters' Guild to investigate some strange rumors surrounding
some off-job thieves at Caldera's ebony mine. I tried to get Eydis to assign it to someone else,
explaining the pilgrimage I am being sent on and she merely chuckled. I'd find a free moment to
take care of it, she said dismissively, and when I had I could come back. Of all the mercenary
organizations, it would seem I have picked one of the most laid-back.
Finding the first landmark, the Shrine of Humility, was simple enough. It was nearly due east
from town along the northern bank of a lake. According to the book, it was here that Vivec met
a farmer whose guar had died. He could not harvest the muck without his guar, and if he could
not harvest then he could not feed his family. Lord Vivec then removed his fineries and worked
like a beast to harvest the muck with his own hands until the sun went down, so here I left an
offering of muck in reverence of that Humility.
Feeling light as a feather afterward, I stopped in Pelagiad's pleasant Halfway Tavern for the
night. Tomorrow it is on to see the grand Vivec City I have heard so much about.
21 Last Seed, 3E426
On the road to Vivec City, I met a strange highwayman who seemed surprised I did not know
his name. When my hand went to my sword-hilt to defend myself against robbery, he smiled and
tried to calm me, saying he did not want my gold or steel; only a kiss. Of all things! I couldn't
come up with a good reason to say no, so I went through with it... and it wasn't bad. He then
took off north down the road, opposite my way, and requested to meet me in Pelagiad someday.
Of course, I double-checked my purse afterwards. Strangely enough everything was still there.
What's his game?
Soon enough it'd left my mind, for I finally saw it. Vivec City. What a sight. I did not know
such large cities could even exist! Everything about the place screams grandeur. Each district, or
canton, is its own colossal building with many levels within containing shops, services, homes,
guild halls, Great House council halls, smaller Temples as well as the grand temple in the High
Fane with shrines to every Saint, and one district even holds an Arena.
I visited the Shrine of Daring in the Temple canton, where Vivec won the service of the Oblivion
moon Baar Dau, which is now the floating Ministry of Truth, and stopped it from crashing into
Tamriel. I left the potion offering I purchased in the Temple, as is custom, and when I turned to
walk away... I realized my feet had left the ground! Gleeful, I floated about for at least an hour,
and then, worried, found a Temple priestess to ask when I might be allowed to come back down.
She laughed and said to wait it out, the blessings last half a day or so before their magic fades.
Next was the Shrine of Generosity, the offering a simple one hundred gold pieces. It is here that,
after Dagoth Ur's defeat in the First Era at the hands of the Tribunal, the people wished to build
a monument to the heroes of that war. But Lord Vivec, while grateful, said the monument
should be to all who suffered and fought and died, great and small, and so offerings became the
custom here.
Tomorrow I will seek out the Shrine of Courtesy within the labyrinth below Vivec's palace. I am
glad I read the book cover to cover beforehand, and know to bring a silver sword...
I do not know what, but something is giving me a sense of dread.
22 Last Seed, 3E426
Someone wants me dead, but whoever they are, they need to hire more competent assassins.
I was attacked by a member of the Dark Brotherhood in the middle of the night, at least that is
what the Ordinators identified him as, after they took their sweet time responding to the sound
of our fight. By the time they opened the door I was standing over a corpse, catching my breath
and wiping my blade clean. I let them drag him off, but not before swiping the purse he had on
him. A thousand septims, and gems that the next morning sold for another thousand. All mine
by right of conquest. Ha! I welcome more assassins in that case. I could use the gold.
After tending the scratches the assassin managed to place and working out a dent in my steel I
caught a few more hours sleep. When dawn broke I made for the Palace and into the Puzzle
Canal below it. I was promptly lost. But I persisted, thankful I'd brought along a few strips of
dried meat to eat and after nearly an entire day, I found my way into the center of the place and
to the Shrine of Courtesy.
This place honors the Courtesy of Lord Vivec when he faced Mehrunes Dagon and gave the Daedric
Lord his blade so that he would not be unarmed. So impressed were Dagon's servants, the
Dremora, by this act, that they retain a respect for the Tribunal to the present day though they
be enemies. I presented the silver sword I purchased earlier to the Dremora tending the shrine in
remembrance of this act, and when I left the Canal for the fresh air at last, the stars shone
overhead.
So exhausted was I from being lost so long in the Canal that I was unable to write a log before
falling into bed, so I write this entry on the morning after instead, the dawn 23 of Last Seed,
preparing to take the long trek north to Gnisis for the next part of my pilgrimage.
24 Last Seed, 3E426
Yesterday was spent on the road and I made it to Caldera, where I fulfilled my Fighters' Guild
assignment by tracking down the thieves at the ebony mine. They weren't too hard to find: once
I took out the one they put outside to act as a scout I found the rest huddled in a hole like rats.
Though I can't help but wonder what exactly was going on. I feel I was given precious little
information for a mission that took four lives.
Seems this pilgrimage is having some positive influence on me after all. Besides concerns like
these, I find myself unable to turn down requests for favors or odd jobs if they are not too far
out of my way. Thanks to one of these, a delivery specifically, I found myself taking a slight
detour on the road to Gnisis to stop at Ald'ruhn.
Every building here is in the traditional Dunmer style. The entirety of the noble district is
housed in the shell of an ancient, colossal crab. One can even see the legendary Ghostfence in the
distance, surrounding Red Mountain. I'm sure I am showing my true Outlander colors more than
usual by being so fascinated with something that to the rest of them is commonplace. It's
getting more and more difficult to not react with sadness or annoyance when I catch those
disdainful looks, those condescending smirks... it is not as if I can help it! I am treated like I
rejected Dunmer culture but I was never given the chance to know it!
Patience, patience, Adarise... a stranger has no way to know these things. A stranger knows
what he sees. Carry your head high and they will see your dignity too.
By the time I got here the sun had already crossed the apex of the sky and the creatures I am
encountering in the wilderness grow more dangerous, so I am taking this evening off. I hope to
reach Gnisis before tomorrow noon.
25 Last Seed, 3E426
I left at dawn, and am glad I waited till light to do so. Some of the creatures I encountered out
there seemed... somewhat less than healthy, hardly surprising when one looks at the harsh
ashland waste they live in. Predatory nix-hounds and kagouti, both strong and agile beasts, will
attack nearly anything they see and I often barely drew my sword in time, so easy is it to be
ambushed in the fog.
Thanks to the creatures and weather I arrived in Gnisis later than I would have liked to. There
isn't much to the place aside from a few traders, some Imperial Legion, and the Temple itself.
The Shrine of Justice was within this temple, where Vivec led the refugees of Dagoth Ur's ash
blight. When he awoke to see that he and his followers had been encased in ash, and he was
unable to move, he shed divine tears that broke him free. He was then able to breathe life into
and revive his followers. I left a potion as an offering...
The second-to-last leg of my pilgrimage starts at next dawn.
26 Last Seed, 3E426
Visited the Shrine of Valor in a cave south of Gnisis, where Lord Vivec is said to have defeated
the father of the dreugh and spared his life, and left an offering of wax. The rest of the day was
uneventful, backtracking along the road to Ald'ruhn, which I barely reached before dark.
Not a single merchant in this town seems to carry soul gems, and I will need one for the final
shrine...
28 Last Seed, 3E426
Thank you, Caldera Guild of Mages. Your price was high, but you had the soul gem I needed for
my offering.
After swinging through Balmora to report to Eydis and collect my pay, it was off to follow the
volcanic ravine that the locals use as a road to a place called Ghostgate. I stayed in the Temple
there overnight, despite it being rather noisy and little more than a fort slapped onto part of the
Ghostfence. A dull, yet dangerous road where one cannot travel more than an hour without being
swooped at by cliff racers, all leading up to an inhospitable nightmarish land called Red
Mountain.
Up until now, I thought all the tales were stretching the truth at best and lying at worst.
Surely a place that was beset by constant storms, never seeing sunlight, could not exist. And it
did not seem so bad outside the fence when I arrived: not pleasant, but not horrible.
I could not have expected what happened when I pressed the button to pass through those gates.
Red. I could see nothing but red. And seconds after that I could not see at all for the volcanic ash
in my eyes. Harsh winds blew and shifted direction capriciously. I could even hear the dust
pelting my armor and shield. I dragged myself to the Shrine of Pride, a monument to my
people's undying spirit and pride, left my soul gem, and dragged myself right back outside that
fence.
I made it back to Balmora despite feeling horrid for hours after getting out of the ash, and I've
had the Temple healers take a look at me to make sure I didn't catch anything. I suspect it
might take until dawn or later to get all the ash and dust out of my armor.
If nothing else, I am an Initiate of the Tribunal Temple now, and that much closer to being
connected with my people.
30 Last Seed, 3E426
Yesterday was mostly uneventful, save the appearance of yet another assassin. This one was
more skilled, however, and his coin-purse was lighter, much to my annoyance. I gave the
necessary tiresome report to the Hlaalu guard, who seemed to think my sentence was set; "I
don't know who you upset, but stay away from me."
That day was spent from sunrise to sundown in the Fighter's Guild's training room, at first
with Fasile Charascel, a Breton with exemplary knowledge of how to handle a shield properly,
even one as large as mine was. I miss that shield... but I'll get to that in a moment. The
evening was spent with Wayn, the Redguard smith, smoothing out the dents said shield had
acquired during training, him passing some of his masterful technique to me. Neither were much
for conversation but were methodical, patient teachers.
The Master of the Temple in Balmora had spoken of some need at the Temple in Molag Mar, a
city to the east, so I set out, not knowing what I was about to get into.
Molag Amur is a desolate volcanic region of rocks and charred skeletons of trees. Vegetation was
sparse, and most plants I encountered were withered or scorched. I even encountered open pits of
magma. Sometimes I could catch sight of strange, ancient-looking complexes in the distance, but
I dared not stray from the road. Even on its relative safety, there were nix-hounds and cliff
racers everywhere, many appearing sickly or worse.
And then, while I had my eyes turned skyward, blocking a cliff racer's dive with my shield, I felt
a sting on my leg. Hours before I'd lost some of the plating on my right boot from a bad fall,
and I looked down to see a rat latched onto me by its teeth, gone all the way through the leather
to the skin. I pierced the creature and it fell, dead, and then turned to finish off the cliff racer.
Once the battle was over, I already knew something was wrong by the sheer amount of pain my
ankle was in. I could barely move it. I had a look at the rat. It was completely manged; the skin
reddish and covered in lesions, the fur almost gone completely. During this I felt the world spin.
I collapsed to my hands and knees. This did not feel like poison, nor any of the sicknesses I
experienced in my youth in the prisons. It felt far, far worse.
But I could not simply lie there. I was not given freedom so that I could die within a fortnight.
Pain blossomed out from my wound yet I used my sword to pull myself to my feet. A few steps
was all it took to know the uncomfortable truth that I could never make it to Molag Mar with
this heavy armor encumbering my sick body. Settling back down, carefully, I proceeded to remove
my pauldrons, greaves, and my shield and stowed them behind a rock just off the road.
Load lightened, I was able to keep moving. Eventually I was forced to stow my spare blade as
well, hiding it like I'd hidden the rest of my armor.
Luckily, I was spotted just as I managed to get inside the city. The people steered clear of me,
and I don't blame them, but the Temple had a potion ready for me as soon as I was at their
door and quite immediately poured it down my throat and put me to bed.
After an hour of fevers and passing in and out of consciousness, it was explained to me that I'd
contracted something known as the Black-Heart Blight, a variety of Blight disease that one only
gets from coming into contact with blighted creatures in these volcanic regions. It drains the
strength of those it infects until they've none left. The potion, of course, had cured me... and I
was scolded for not being better prepared, a scolding I took willingly. It is my own fault. I did
not take the tales of these places seriously enough, and learned a harsh lesson for it.
Though cured, I am still exhausted, so I will let my body recover with sleep before venturing back
from whence I came tomorrow to see if my armor can be recovered.
31 Last Seed, 3E426
I woke up much later than usual, body still worn out from recovery, to the sound of the wind
howling outside the Temple. I got up, deciding to hold off on putting all my armor on until I'd
found out what it was, and by Almsivi was I glad that I did.
Ash so thick I could barely see in my outstretched hand blew over the open-air top tier of the
Molag Mar compound. Aside from the dangerous creatures and hostile Ashlander tribesmen, it is
a wonder any choose to live here at all. A good bit of the city is enclosed completely indoors with
good reason. Not many commoners here; most of the people are here for reasons relating to the
Temple or House Redoran and few seem happy about it. I can't blame them. I've just arrived and
already want to leave.
They say the ash storms get worse this time of year, when summer is giving way to autumn
the winds pick up. Many were amused to hear this is the first of these storms I'd seen outside of
Red Mountain itself, and that I only visited briefly. I was advised against travel, as the storms
are said to carry the Blight from the mountain far on the wind and drive the creatures of the
wilderness into unnatural frenzies.
As much as it pains me, I have decided to consider the armor I was forced to leave behind lost.
It is too dangerous to retrieve it, particularly while wearing half a set of armor. Not that I
would be able to find it anyway among the dangers, the low visibility, and the very high chance
that it's all been buried in ash. My memory between being bitten by the rat and my arrival at
Molag Mar is hazy on top of all that. At the least, they served me well, and they were merely
material items.
Instead I went to see, on local recommendation, a smith affiliated with House Redoran. To
replace the pieces, including my spare sword cost me about six hundred septims, or what it
would've cost me to buy my own room and board for an entire month. Ouch. On the outside it
looks like sturdy enough steel, but until I put it to the test, I won't know if I got my money's
worth... not that I had a choice.
At least I have the Temple for that, in what settlements they've managed to establish in. They
don't have terribly much for me to do here aside from typical initiate work like running errands
for them and organizing reagents, but it's oddly relaxing. Plus, it keeps me inside, out of that
horrible storm.
The only complaints I really have are that there's nothing to eat but kwama eggs and saltrice
and I am nothing short of horrible at the Restoration arts the Master is trying to get me to
practice. With a sword in my hand I'm pretty decent at taking things apart, but putting them
back together with magic isn't really my calling.
3 Hearthfire, 3E426
The past three days were spent under the oppressive winds of the ash storm. No one came to or
left the city, no one could. I don't think I ever saw it so much as let up the entire time. The
first day it seemed Molag Mar's residents held to the same hope I did that the storm would
abate any moment, carefully going about with brooms to keep ash from piling up against walls
and doorways. By the second and third they only came out every few hours to clear their
doorways, not bothering with the rest. It is surprising, the speed at which the stuff can pile up,
and gives me very little hope of recovering the armor I left behind.
Essentially trapped in Molag Mar, I kept my sanity by jogging in circles around the inner
waistworks, reading the bizarre and confusing books on the Temple's shelves, and completely
failing to grasp Restoration magic. I kept my ink and quill put away to keep from rambling on
these pages in boredom. Luckily, I still have a rather decent coinpurse on me, and since we were
all bored and trapped in the same town there was always someone to drink with.
Today I was awoken before dawn by Saras, the healer, who said the Temple Master wished to
see me. I noted on my way up that I did not hear the howling winds of the past days. As it
would turn out, the ash storm had let up, and the Master wished me to travel north to a
Telvanni wizard tower called Tel Mora and seek a woman named Lette who had contracted
Swamp Fever. There are no roads or services that far northeast on Vvardenfell, and no Temple for
her to seek healing. I think my jaw dropped a little when he pointed out the location on the
map. It will be the farthest I have ever gone.
Not wishing the ashstorms to lock me back in Molag Mar, I set out immediately after receiving
my orders and checking my supplies. Since there are no roads, and Tel Mora lies on the sea, I
decided my best option was to pick along the coast. The shores have ready supplies of mudcrab
and slaughterfish to eat, stream deltas and therefore fresh water, and clams for both food and
potentially pearls.
A few hours into my trek down the rocky coast, most pleased to be seeing the sun again after
days of nothing but ash, I came over a hill to find three Dunmer women standing around a
campfire. Having gathered some crab legs and fish the prospect of cooking them sounded
wondrous so I made myself known, hoping they'd share space in their circle.
They didn't hesitate. Two had their weapons out instantly and the other one started casting a
spell that I barely dodged, shouting "N'wah!" at me, a term I understand to be quite offensive.
Nor did I hesitate. They're all dead on the ground, who's the n'wah now? Hah!
Strange clothes, strange ornaments... I soon realized my mistake. I'd forgotten about the
warning I'd been given, about the Ashlanders and how hostile they were even to their fellow
Morrowind natives, let alone some s'wit who comes plodding along speaking in their Outlander
accent and wearing foreign armor. Either way, I took their camp and their fresh water and am
settled down here for the evening to rest and repair my steel. Who knew an axe made of chitin
could do so much damage?
It's to be my first night sleeping in open wilderness, and I could not have picked a better
location. A good campfire already done up for me, corpses dragged far away enough that
scavengers won't mistake me for dessert, the salty tinge to the air, the silhouette of a
magnificent spired ruin against the stars in the distance, and the first meal I've had in days
with actual meat in it. When dawn breaks, it will be over the sea. I could ask for little more.
4 Hearthfire, 3E426
When the sun awoke me I rose, feeling a bit stiffer than I would if I'd slept in a tavern but also
far more invigorated. I spent the morning picking along the rocky coast, stopping for a wash at
the first freshwater rivulet I encountered when I realized I smelled like a combination of fish and
adrenaline sweat from the previous day's meal and fight. Hardly the way one wants to arrive at
a Telvanni tower... I think. I have yet to visit one, though I can see it from where I am...
Ah, yes, back to recounting. The landscape began to change around noon, shifting from the rocky
shorelines dotted in small white flowers to sandy beaches lush with wild saltrice and green
marshmerrow stalks. Further inland it was all tall grasses and wickwheat, and strange trees.
Some were tall, thin, with large fanned out leaves... others were ten times as thick but just as
tall, with little sprigs of smaller leaves adorning the top. I got the feeling from the latter sort
that they were very old.
But I didn't see the very strangest trees until night had fallen. I kept moving because I saw the
lights of a settlement in the distance, though cautiously in case it turned out to be more
Ashlanders. Thank Almsivi, it was not. It was Vos, a farming town for the most part with a
curious mushroom... tree... building... structure serving as a tradehouse and inn. I haven't the
faintest what to call it. The publican said the Telvanni wizards could actually grow these
buildings with their magic. The more I hear of these Telvanni... of their magical prowess, of
their disdain for politics, their isolationism, and how some of them are said to be over a
thousand years old... the less I want to meet one.
5 Hearthfire, 3E426
Tel Mora lay just across the water from Vos, so I rented a boat to take me across when morning
came. "Just you, sera?" The gondolier asked me, looking around strangely.
"Yes, why?" I asked. She went on to explain that men were not exactly welcome in Tel Mora, as
the Telvanni sorceress in charge of the place has great disdain for them. The rest of the short
boat ride was carried out in awkward silence, as I had no idea how to respond to that, except to
make a mental note to just attend to my business here and leave.
Fortunately Lette was easy to find, wandering deliriously on the northern shore, avoiding her
fellow residents for fear of spreading her illness. I gave her the potion I'd brought and she
stumbled over her words trying to thank me. It only worsened when she learned I'd come all the
way from Molag Mar. I am not used to being spoken to this way, so I tried to think of what
the Temple Master would say, or what Lord Vivec himself might say...
Ultimately I said, "If you are truly grateful, then help those who are in need as you once were."
Lette said she would do her best. Yes... doing kindnesses should not be to glorify oneself, but for
the uplift of all who are downtrodden. Almsivi teaches us to be charitable for its own sake.
As I was leaving I was pulled into a shop quite by surprise. When I spun to turn my sword on
my assailant, she shrieked, explaining that she just wanted my help since I looked strong enough.
I held my tongue, trying not to ask what kind of s'wit accomplishes this with near-assault. I
didn't need to say much, hyperactive little Wood Elf took me up the stairs and pointed me right
at the problem.
I think it was a person once, though the body was in such horrible condition that I couldn't even
tell if it had been man or elf. But it was a person only in vague likeness. It groaned like a beast
and both smelled and looked as if it had been rotting for days in the sun, and somehow the
Bosmer woman had managed to box it in with crates. Afraid to even get close, I swung at it
over the crates. It didn't take much to take it down. I advised her to have what was left of it
incinerated. "Of course," she replied, "I don't want to get Corprus."
So that is what Corprus does. What a horrible fate. That mindless creature was indeed a person
once. It is much to think about on the trek back to Molag Mar.
6 Hearthfire, 3E426
More ash storms, this time starting just after noon when I was merely an hour or so away from
Molag Mar, turning the trip into a most disagreeable two hours. When I'd gotten back and
washed all the ash from my hair and armor I reported back to Master Rotheloth in the Temple
about Lette. He seemed most pleased with my explanation of the events, said I was learning a
lot in a very short time.
A letter had come by courier for me during the clear days I was out, bearing the seal of the
Empire. I know not what to make of the fact that it had been quite obviously opened before I
received it, and I dare not bring it up for fear of losing whatever favor I just gained. The
contents were harmless: Caius Cosades simply requesting my presence in Balmora for a meeting.
I spent the rest of the day reflecting on the things I had seen and done at Tel Mora, the same
dread from days and days ago resurfacing occasionally.
7 Hearthfire 3E426
In the morning the ash storms gave way to a simple cloudy sky and I set out for Balmora,
prepared this time with potions from the Temple. Two for common diseases, two for blight
diseases, one of which I had to use when I had the back of my fingers sliced open by a shalk
beetle. One look at that creature and one moment to feel that familiar horridness start to sink in
and I had the potion downed. The awfulness subsided. I do not wish to experience that again.
Rather than go straight to Caius, I stopped in at the Fighter's Guild to spend some time
sharing tales with fellow warriors... now that I have a few. The evening passed by quickly with
the aid of bottles of good Cyrodilic Brandy, good company, and tales of Skyrim's snowy
mountains, Elsweyr's vast deserts, and the jungles of Valenwood.
8 Hearthfire, 3E426
I got up late this morning with a dry throat and a headache that pounded whenever I moved. I
drank all that was left in my water-skin, went outside and refilled it, and drank all that too...
and then promptly threw it up. An hour or so of repeating this cycle and then a very good wash
later I finally felt good enough to go see Caius. The headache wasn't totally gone, but I finally
felt myself again... I should be careful about drinking so much. Liquor is still something my body
hasn't learned to tolerate properly.
He has me gathering information on some kind of native cult that I'd only heard about in
passing before. The Temple strictly forbids them so I personally didn't know much about it, and I
do hope that they don't find it in complete heresy that I'm researching this at all. I could be
dragged to the Ministry of Truth for re-education if they suspect I have anything to do with the
cult of the Nerevarine. The thought of being imprisoned all over again makes my stomach turn
and my heart sink. But if I don't follow Caius's orders, the Empire will just lock me up all the
same.
I suppose the best plan I can think of is follow my orders, get Caius the information he wants,
and then wash my hands of the entire thing. Worst comes to worst, I could always try to flee
into the wilderness... what am I thinking! Almsivi save me. I must get hold of myself.
Caius sent me to see my Drillmaster at the Fighter's Guild for information. I knew the man
was somewhat of a historian by his fondness for old legends, but what connection could he have
to this heretical cult?
Information worth having is never really free, something I knew in prison that holds true in the
outside world too. He asked for a particular relic of the long-since vanished Dwemer and pointed
me to the spired ruin I'd seen a few times on my way in and out of Balmora, named
Arkngthand. And what a strange place that was! Metallic walls, lined with lights in tubes that
didn't seem to be flame and emitted a faint buzzing sound. Many of the coppery machines,
though I'd no idea what they were supposed to be doing, appeared to still be working even after
thousands of years without their masters.
The only occupants were a few bandits and fetchers whose martial skills were laughable at best.
I happened upon their hoard; a handful of Dwemer coins (confirmed by an appraiser in Balmora),
gems, and scraps of raw ebony and glass- some of the rarest, finest materials known. I spent a
while inspecting the chunk of ebony; what I wouldn't give to have an entire set of armor made
of that stuff! And they'd actually found the Puzzle Cube that Drillmaster Hasphat sent me after
for me. How nice of them. They'd made the hunt so simple I was back in Balmora before the sun
went down.
Pleased with his trinket, Hasphat sat down with me, offered me a drink which I tried to refuse
without gagging, and started to talk. First, to my relief, I was given a little background. The
points I can recall:
Morrowind was known as Resdayn in ancient times, when it was established by the Prophet
Veloth and the exiled Altmer who were the predecessors of the Dunmer. They were constantly
beset by wars with Nords, and practiced ancestor worship. Resdayn was the last of the provinces
to surrender to Tiber Septim's Empire, a truce Lord Vivec made personally, around four hundred
years ago. Vvardenfell itself was a Temple preserve until just twelve years ago, when it was
opened for settlement, the land divided up between Houses Hlaalu, Telvanni and Redoran and the
Temple.
It is being said that the Temple is in decline, evidenced by blighted creatures and ash storms
escaping the confines of the Ghostfence around Red Mountain. The Empire has been considering
evacuating all of Vvardenfell District if it continues to get worse. This is only being aggravated
by infighting between Great Houses, Ashlander tribal wars, and struggle between the Temple
and the Dissident Priests who support the Nerevarine cult. And then I learned of the ancient
traitor, Dagoth Ur, whose very name makes me feel cold to the bone. The once-trusted friend of
the Tribunal who sought the power beneath the Mountain for himself and now sends the ash and
blight to plague all of Morrowind.
I am no scholar. I do not know what to make of it all, it's not my job to interpret this
information but to deliver it to my Blades superior. Which I promptly did, only to be sent out
for more information. Caius was not satisfied. My Drillmaster knew a good deal about the lost
Sixth House, House Dagoth, and their betrayal in the First Era, but not very much about the
Nerevarine cult. I spoke up this time, asking if he was just trying to get me in trouble with the
Temple, to which he replied I shouldn't if I keep my head down and only talk to the people he
sends me to, people he can trust.
Speaking of trouble with the Temple, this so trusted Mages' Guild associate of his turned out to
be an open Necromancer (of all vile things) who wants me to retrieve some poor fetcher's skull
right out of his tomb. Trying to keep my voice down I gritted my teeth and refused. I was
absolutely disgusted, and the Temple would be absolutely disgusted with me, with good reason.
That is how I learned Orcs do not bargain easily. She seized my armor fearlessly, despite being
only glad in a robe and me with my hand on my sword-hilt, and pulled my face nearly to hers,
staring right into my eyes. "Get the skull," she demanded in a low voice, trying as I was to
avoid attracting the attention of her associates, "And you get your information. No skull, no
talk." And then shoved me away. With only a hard stare and not another word, I left.
Since I was in no mood to deal with other people after that, especially not Caius, I put down
the coin for a room in the inn tonight so I can get a little space to breathe and collect myself. I
suppose I have no choice but to do it, as usual. I need that information to ensure I can continue
enjoying sunlight and fresh air. I am starting to question how much freedom I actually have
with people like Caius Cosades pulling my puppet-strings. It is getting quite late, though, and
I've got to go break my moral code tomorrow. How fun.
9 Hearthfire, 3E426
A deep bell was chiming.
"Omnipresent... omniscient... sovereign... immutable..."
The pain was unimaginable, as if my very blood and the air I struggled to breathe were
poisoned. I saw naught but blackness...
"How sweet it is to be a God."
Then I awoke, alone in my room, and suddenly I could not stand the darkness. The tavern-goers
that were still at their tables must have thought me mad as I fled out the door into the street,
thankful for the moons and stars and street-lamps. It's not a question of going back to sleep. I
know I can't. Even though I'm back in my room with no less than three lit lanterns now I'll get
no more rest tonight.
I suppose it is time I break my promise I made to myself not to write about my past, if only to
address the questions in my head. This is not the first of the strange nightmares I've had,
though it is the first I've had since my freedom. I had hoped they were just a side effect of being
imprisoned, hoped that they were gone for good now that I was out. In fact, I am not ready to
rule out that this dream is merely a reflection of my fear of being locked up again by either the
Imperials or my own people. My anxiety about that was laid bare in previous pages.
I had heard the bell before, but not the Voice. In past dreams sometimes I would hear lightning
and thunder, and words being spoken in tongues I did not understand, but the voices were
lighter, friendlier, not the horrible one I had just heard. Just as tonight, I would wake in the
same sheen of cold sweat, shivering no matter what the temperature was, my forehead feverish
and my beddings in chaos.
I cannot stop looking over my shoulder, checking down the corridor, glancing to see if my sword
still rests on the bed, and writing about my troubles is not giving me the solace I desired. I
shall go to the Temple instead, and see if prayer gives me any peace.
When it became light outside I ventured off and to the tomb with little incident. Nothing in
there but the odd ghost, thankfully I have the foresight to keep a sword made of silver around.
Little else of physical form can hurt them. I feel disgusted with myself for grave-robbing, and
somehow doubt it will be made worth the loss of dignity.
I got back to Balmora as the stars were coming out with the skull placed in a sack to keep it
out of sight and gave it to the Orc. She proceeded to ramble on about a few things I already
knew from the Temple. Saint Nerevar was a great hero and general of ancient times who helped
unite his people, and died from battle-wounds after defeating Dagoth Ur.
It is now clear why this Nerevarine Cult is outlawed by both the Temple and Empire. It speaks
of a prophecy in which Nerevar is reborn, unites the Dunmer people, casts down the Tribunal as
false gods and drives out all the outlanders. That is all that is really known, however; much of
the prophecy only carries on in Ashlander oral tradition because of the outlawing of the cult and
subsequent confiscation and destruction of their written materials. With the Orc's notes, I left
the Mages' Guild preparing to go see Caius and report.
As I was closing the door behind me and stepping out into the street, there was a man standing
in my way. I had seen him before, felt rather sure he was a local resident, just not one I'd spoken
to before. And he was staring at me with the strangest smile on his face, and wouldn't move. I
tried to go around him and he merely moved to obstruct me again.
"Pardon me, sera," I tried. No reply. I made to move the other way and again he followed, still
grinning at me like a s'wit. Unamused I made to push him aside, and that was when he finally
spoke.
"Dagoth Ur calls you, Adarise. All shall greet him as flesh or dust."
At that I shoved him away, the feeling I had when I awoke from my last nightmare creeping
through me. I didn't look back, just walking as briskly as I could without looking as frenzied as
I felt. Instead of reporting I just rented a room and locked myself in to write, to think, and to
wonder if I am going to be able to sleep tonight.
10 Hearthfire, 3E426
I quite disdainfully gave Caius his notes, and he gave me my space, saying he needed time to
report back to his superiors and why don't I go travel for a while and cool off.
Mistress Sadri had recommended a Temple pilgrimage to Mount Kand the last time I was in
those halls, seeking to soothe my anxieties with prayer. I dared not tell her the things that
dwelt in my mind, pretty sure I've committed some level of heresy just looking into these
blasphemies. Like my time in prison, I just wish to put it behind me now and move forward in
good faith.
I stopped by the bookseller's before I left Balmora to see if they had a copy of the book of riddles
she'd mentioned. The cave I am going to is guarded by three daedra whose riddles I must answer
correctly, or defeat them in battle. Not that I don't have confidence in my sword, but a wise
warrior knows when it is better to avoid a fight altogether. It is just needless risk. Having not
as much confidence in my mental capacities, I'm glad to have the answers handed to me for the
mere cost of a book.
While I was there another tome caught my eye; "Vivec and Mephala", which I shelled out the coin
to purchase as well. I didn't get the chance to read it until I settled down in Molag Mar
tonight. It had the usual quotes and scripture about Mephala, Daedric Prince of murder, sex and
secrets, being the Anticipation of Vivec, a sort of tie to the darker side of Lord Vivec's divine
dualistic nature. However, the last paragraphs were the most intriguing.
It spoke in vague terms of the Ashlander legend that the death of Saint Nerevar according to the
Temple is a lie: in their tradition, he was slain by the conspiracy of Vivec along with Almalexia
and Sotha Sil. It seems nonsense to me, personally. Why would they have slain their own
revered Hortator and champion? What could they possibly have gained from such needless
treachery?
My pilgrimage went well. Mount Kand was a steep climb, but I am able to endure such things
easily. And thank Almsivi for that book, I would have gotten every answer wrong if left to my
own devices. I do not pretend to be a scholar.
Reporting in at Molag Mar, I was told that a nearby tomb had been sacrileged; the culprit none
other than a Necromancer living on the coast nearby who had been simply tolerated up until he
overstepped his bounds. They gave me a physical description of this Delvam Andarys and told me
to "permanently take care of the situation". I more than gladly accepted, leaping upon my chance
to redeem myself for committing a similar sin. Even though no one besides myself and the Orc
know I did it, and I was acting under orders I could not refute, the burden is upon my own soul
still... but tomorrow, redemption.
The 'hideout' was hardly hidden, a traditional Dunmer Velothi-style building on the coast with
the curved stone walls and maroon detailing. But the creatures within made me thankful the
Temple had forced me to learn at least a few spells for restoring one's strength, for the cursed,
vile things could drain it before you know what was happening. Horrible constructs of flesh and
splintered bone I don't care to ever see again. There were no negotiations. Andarys himself hid
behind his behemoth abominations, but the man was about as easy to cut through as paper. He
shall disrupt the spirits of Molag Amur's dead no more, and I feel I have paid my penance.
I took some of the fancy equipment in his little lair, which he'd done up quite expensively I might
add, and sold it back in town for enough coin to buy a ring from a local enchanter with powerful
healing properties- which I can confirm works very well and was worth every septim.
After a day of recovering and practicing the healing arts in the Temple, motivation fresh from
my run-in with the Necromancer, I hit the road again, worried if I stayed too long in Molag
Amur I'd get caught in another ash storm. The wind is starting to have a bit of a chill to it
out in this rocky region as the seasons change, so I decided to revisit the grand city of Vivec,
thinking perhaps there was more work to be had at the Temple there.
Around noon I found myself in Suran, a city I've only previously seen on my map. Doing a little
shopping, I made a discovery about the moral state of that place that I don't really care to think
on further... Note to self: never go into a place bearing the title "House of Earthly Delights". It
did not, as I assumed, sell fruits and vegetables. Of course, I decided not to stick around after
that and was on the road again.
Halfway between noon and sunset I arrived in the High Fane of Vivec, barely even tired so easy
had my journey been as soon as I was out of the inhospitable Molag Amur. The Ascadian Isles
are a paradise in comparison. And there I got the news that a pilgrim in the city was infected
with Corprus. I related my tale about Tel Mora to the Temple Master, who explained that this
woman had not reached that state yet and they did not want her killed, but wished her to
voluntarily leave to go to a place called the Corprusarium.
It feels hypocritical of me to ask someone to voluntarily hand themselves over to be imprisoned,

even if it is also a refuge and quarantine where she will be cared for. It was made even worse by
how pleasant she seemed, one could mistake her for being entirely uninfected. But, as I am told,
she will not stay that way for long, and there is nothing else that can be done. I used that
compassionate personality, with a healthy dose of Temple scripture, to appeal to her better
senses; she did not want to cause suffering to anyone else, and agreed to leave.
It would have made a most agreeable end to my evening, but before I turned in for the night I
had another unpleasant encounter like the one in Balmora. This time it was a woman I am
certain I have never seen before in my life, but somehow she knew my name.
"I am a Sleeper, one among thousands. The Sixth House is risen, and Dagoth is its glory."
So much for restful sleep.
It did not take Caius very long to call me back to Balmora, the letter was brought to me while
I sat reading in the Temple's library this morning. The trip took longer than intended, however,
because I ended up having to play guide for a lost pilgrim trying to get to the Fields of Kummu,
but I welcomed the diversion in dread of what he wanted... even if she did walk slower than
anyone I'd ever seen.
Yet by late afternoon I was out of excuses and distractions and paid him visit. Of course, he
wants more information, and this time from contacts of his right in the city of Vivec. One of
the people on his list was a name I already knew. Mehra Milo, I believe she is a priestess that
tends to the great library there.
I have decided to tell anyone who asks why I am putting my nose into these matters that I am
simply trying to discern right from wrong beliefs, and claim foreigner ignorance. To some degree
that is all still truth. I am horribly confused.
I arrived in the city in the morning and began my search in the Foreign Quarter, my target an
Argonian named Huleeya. I found him surrounded in the Cornerclub in what looked to be the
precursors of a bad fight. The publican was quietly moving his glasswares out of reach of those
involved. I hung back at first to listen, catching a string of curses and racial slurs and liberal
use of the word 'lizard', and mocking inquiries into where his slavemaster was. They would not
let him by, though he was trying to ignore them and be on his way.
Carefully I laid a hand on the shoulders of two of the three from behind, their attention was on
me in a second. Smiling I kept my hands in their view to reassure them I was not reaching for
my weapons, my voice stern as I asked them why they couldn't just let the poor fetcher by; after
all, Almsivi teaches us to be graceful to others. Clad in full armor and speaking scriptures like an
acolyte, I was something they did not want to trouble with, and they muttered and glowered at
me as I gestured to Huleeya to follow.
I let him take the lead when we left the cornerclub and we rounded the inner street of the
canton, him with a destination in mind. He first asked if I was with the Morag Tong, but I
corrected him and dropped Caius's name as soon as another door had shut behind us. We were in
the bookshop of his good friend, he said, and could speak freely. I inquired about the Sixth House
and Nerevarine.
He knew nothing about the Sixth House, but said the Ashlanders have long held a grudge
against the Great Houses for forcing them into increasingly inhospitable lands and denying their
rights, a practice that began sometime after the death of Saint Nerevar. To them, a reborn
Nerevar would lead them to regain equality with the rest of the Dunmer. The ages have seen
many False Incarnates arise, the most recent being around thirty years ago, and they have all
failed.
Next, to the Saint Olms canton to see the Khajiit Addhiranirr. Asking around along with a few
carefully-placed bribes earned me the intel that she had been hiding from the Imperial tax agent,
and she would be hard to find until I could send him away. Before I could find him, though, he
found me, wandering in the canton's inner streets, pretending to be looking for his 'friend'
Addhiranirr. "What a shame," I told him, "I just came back from bidding her farewell, she's
taking a boat to the mainland." And he believed it. I'm pleased I haven't lost my quick
imagination from my younger days...
Addhiranirr was pleased to have the tax collector off of her tail and spoke freely to me about
what she knew of House Dagoth. Being a member of the Thieves' Guild, she is practiced in
monitoring the flow of smuggled shipments in and out of Vvardenfell, and has recently noticed
that many of the more prominent members of the illegal trades are shunning their usual
customers in favor of a new, high-paying presence on the market. It is none other than the Sixth
House, and they are paying double and triple the usual rates, but what they are smuggling is a
mystery even to an underworld-experienced cat such as Addhiranirr. She finds this strange as
they are usually a loud, bragging lot, but have suddenly gotten very quiet.
The last contact I was sent to meet with was Mehra Milo, the priestess in the Library of Vivec.
From her I heard tales of Temple priests disappearing one by one to live in hiding, having come
to question the Temple's methods and beliefs. Milo herself plans to go into hiding soon, saying
that she fears the Temple ordinators are watching her. She only asked that before I judge for
myself, I read a book entitled "Progress of Truth"... which would not only answer the questions
she dared not answer where someone might overhear, but give Caius the information he's after.
On my way out I recalled that Huleeya's friend that runs the bookstore has many rare tomes; he
might be the place to look for a copy. I daren't take the one in the Temple. The Ordinators seem
to be everywhere.
Sure enough, he did, but he expected me to pay the cost of five books for it, though I suspect
some of that money is for the risk. Particularly after I read it. It outlined all the conflicts
between Ashlander beliefs and the Temple in detail...
The Ashlanders bring into question the divinity of Almsivi. While the Temple taught me that
the Tribunes came upon their divine power through a communal blessing of the ancestors and the
Good Daedra in reward for their heroic acts, the tribesmen suspect something far more sinister
and blasphemous. They even go so far as to say that the powers of Dagoth Ur and the Tribunal
come from the same source, the unholy secrets of hell itself beneath Red Mountain. I question
how such evil power could ever be bent to do the good works that Almsivi have done...
They also call into question the purity of Almsivi, pointing out inconsistencies between the
sacred texts and accusing them of concealing the depth of power that Dagoth Ur wields. The
Battle at Red Mountain is questioned most of all, saying the ancient enemy, the Dwemer, were
destroyed by the powers they attempted to wield rather than falling at the hand of Saint
Nerevar. It goes on to say that Nerevar left Dagoth Ur to guard the horrible, profane secrets of
Red Mountain while he went to confer with the the Tribunes, who then murdered him and drove
Dagoth Ur below the Mountain to take that power for themselves.
With so many conflicting stories, who even knows what to believe? If nothing else, the
Ashlanders do not contest the rights of the Tribunes to be recognized as heroes and saints. They
have, in fact, done much for their people. But even I wonder... why does the Temple persecute the
Nerevarine cult so, if not for purely political reasons? What does a loving, charitable faith have
to fear from people that do not think exactly as they do? Why be so heavy-handed if such things
do not pose some kind of tangible threat? It would be as if I sought out a bee in a hive miles
away and killed it for the chance it might one day give me a blister on my finger... the power
unbalanced, the means and motives beyond what the threat presents.
Does even asking these questions make me one of them? A Dissident? A cultist, a heretic?
Tonight I am in Ald'ruhn, having passed through Balmora yesterday in some haste to give Caius
his information and leave. I thought coming to the Temple here to think, pray and run small
errands might calm me, so I pressed through darkness to get here although it was quite late by
the time I passed through Caldera. I pushed on and made it here, only to catch perhaps a couple
of hours of good sleep before another nightmare came to me.
This time I could see, yet I still could not move. Stone all around me and I was laid on some
kind of altar. Candles encircled me like I was an offering. I could not pry my hands from their
place crossed over my chest no matter how I tried... I was lying as if I had been placed for a
funeral. Then a figure slid into my view, hovering over me, wearing a freakish golden mask.
"Who knows what we may be capable of when we no longer fear death," he spoke, and I
recognized it as the same voice that had spoken in my dream... no, nightmare, before. Fingers
that were more like claws grasped my chin.
"I will free the Dunmer from the Imperial yoke, and cast down the false gods of the Temple," he
said, leaning close. "I will lead them out of their ancient superstition, and gift them with
intimate knowledge of the Divine." And just as I was feeling the claw-fingers cut into me, I
awoke.
Dawn was hours away but I could not take the dim lights and strange imagery of the temple
anymore. When I approached the door and heard the howl of the wind I felt some dread, opening
it to have my fears confirmed.
Ash storms, coupled with the darkness of night, made it so that I couldn't even see the
neighboring buildings. The force of the wind was so strong this close to the Mountain that it
ripped the door out of my hand and flung it wide. I shut the door again quite quickly but had
already managed to let in all the ash that had piled up against it. Well, at least it was
something to do. Treading carefully as to not wake anyone and fearing a scolding for the mess I
spent the next couple of hours sweeping up every trace I could and dumping it in a clay pot used
for refuse and spoiled food scraps. My dreams replayed vividly in my head the whole time and
there was naught I could do to stop it.
The Temple was feeling increasingly uncomfortable and I needed better distraction than the books
they had, most of which I had already read. So after lunch was had, I made my way through the
blustering winds and ash to the Fighter's Guild... much more careful about opening doors.
Thankfully most of my fellow warriors there felt just as stir-crazy as I did in the bad weather so
for the rest of the day I was never lacking a good sparring partner or someone to talk technique
with.
More than one of them commented that I seemed to have improved significantly since my last
visit to which, I admit, I beamed. I don't feel the weight of my armor quite like I used to, my
swings with my sword do not miss as often and I am able to put more power behind them, I
am quicker to bring up my shield in defense. The land of Vvardenfell may be harsh, but I find like
a good smith it is tempering me into a finer version of myself.
The ash storms let up overnight and when I left in the morning it was all swirling grey clouds
overhead. I chose to let my curiosity get the best of me and approach the Ghostfence. Up close it
was even taller than I'd thought, a series of brass-colored posts providing the framework for the
shimmering, ethereal barrier. When I look hard enough, I think I can almost see through it, not
that there is much to see but rocks and dust. As I approached I could hear the persistent hum of
magic and even closer I could feel it, lightly resonating in my teeth and bones but not painful or
unpleasant, it just was.
It was a simple matter to follow the fence eastward and end up in Ghostgate before it was even
noon. When I had previously visited on my pilgrimage to the shrine I hadn't stopped to read the
books the Ordinators and Armigers kept there, so this time, I did. So I made up my mind to
leave tomorrow and head back to the wonderful Ascadian Isles region, and settled in for a quiet
night in the fortress.
There were some volumes of the Thirty-Six Sermons of Vivec lying around and I gave myself a
headache trying to read them, so convoluted and strange they were. The words are confusing and
the stories told in symbol and metaphor mixed in with truths and scripture. Though, perhaps,
one needs to read all the volumes in order to understand them. I shall have to keep an eye out in
bookstores from here on.
I arrived back in Balmora on a dull, grey afternoon and decided to finally put to use some of the
coin I've been earning to use. It may have cost me something akin to three months' room and
board, but having a good sword enchanted with ice in a fiery place like Vvardenfell, I feel, is a
good investment. The mages told me it would take some time, so I decided a drink or two at the
cornerclub while I waited wouldn't hurt.
I couldn't have been drinking for more than an hour when Rithleen came around. That nosy Caius
somehow found out I was in town despite my just having arrived and sent her round to fetch
me. I bought an extra drink for the meeting, to keep my temper of course...
While sipping comberry liquor I was informed that I was being sent to meet with an Ashlander
trader that had settled in Ald'ruhn... biting my tongue to keep quiet when I was being told to
go right where I had just been. Luckily, I didn't have to listen to the name or description. I'd
seen the old man in the Ald Skar Inn before, always keeping to himself and his books, his manner
of speech and the way he carried himself distinct enough that even a foreigner like myself noticed
that he was set apart from his peers. He had one of those long, hard to pronounce Ashlander
names... Hassour Zainsubani. I was advised to get him a gift to loosen his tongue and since I
was still waiting on the mages, I dropped into the bookstore and bought a volume of Ashlander
hymns, books being the only thing I've seen the old man enjoy.
As soon as my sword was ready to be picked up I was back on the road so I could be in Ald'ruhn
before dark, even though it was a bit harder to walk straight than I liked. Perhaps the alcohol
was messing with my mind, but I think I am starting to care about knowing the truth; I've
seen too many contradictions, too many strange things, and put too much effort into all of this
to just ignore it now.
It was easy enough to find Hassour in the Ald Skar, tucked away into a corner with his
breakfast and his books. As I sat down across from him he started to politely ask me to seat
myself elsewhere as he preferred a quiet leisure time, but then he saw the book I laid out on the
table, the Ashlander Hymns.
"Consider it a gift," I told him as he inspected the cover, pleasant surprise on his face. "All I
want is a few moments of your time and answers to a few questions. Then I'll leave you alone."
His tone changed a bit after that, commending me on knowing the Ashlander tradition of gift-
giving when seeking to make a good impression. We spoke freely, the din of other conversation
and music in the Inn loud enough that I didn't fear being overheard.
Of all the Ashlander tribes, the Urshilaku take the Nerevarine prophecies the most seriously, other
tribes treating them with more skepticism. Their Ashkhan and Wise Woman also fill the roles of
Warrior-Protector and Oracle-Seer for the Nerevarine cult, calling the Hortator 'Nerevar Moon-
and-Star'. He told me where the tribe could be found- roaming the northern coast of Vvardenfell
and following the herds- and that they are the most conservative of all the Ashlander tribes with
the most disdain for foreigners.
Hassour and I talked until noon and I went back to Balmora in the rain, returning to Caius
Cosades tired and soaked to the skin. He made the recommendation I take a small rest first, for
he had a lot to explain to me. Before I could even wonder how I was supposed to sleep with such
anticipation in my mind, my body answered that for me and I passed out for about an hour.
Caius got me up in the evening and said it was time he told me why I was brought here.
The Emperor and his advisors seem to think that I "have the appearance of meeting the
conditions of the prophecies". That's the fanciest way of saying 'maybe, maybe not' I have ever
heard. At first, Caius believed the goal of bringing me to Morrowind was to provide a persuasive
imposter that might politically aid the Empire. Now, he says, he is not so sure. We both seem
to agree that there is more to this than myth and too many things seem far too coincidental.
When he asked for my thoughts, I wasn't sure what to say. Eventually I settled upon answering
that while I think it's a long shot to say someone fulfills a prophecy when we don't know the
full prophecy to begin with, there are certainly strange things happening. Terrible things. And I
want to put a stop to them if I can for my people's sake, all other reasons aside. I also admitted
to being curious as to what really happened at Red Mountain all those ages ago, but the threat
of the Blight and Dagoth Ur are foremost in my mind.
Caius is sending me now to find the Urshilaku and have them test me against the prophecies,
see what they think, and find out if they know what might be done to put a stop to the power
of the Mountain.
"The gods and fates are cruel. I served you faithfully once, Lord Nerevar, and you repaid me with
death! Come, lay down your weapons. It is not too late for my mercy. Together we shall speak
for the law, and shall drive the mongrel dogs of the Empire from Morrowind..."
I was out of Balmora early in spite of the rain and pre-dawn darkness, finding that the cracking
of thunder and flashes of lightning served to match my discontent. It's not as if I was going
back to sleep. Oh no, I've learned that by now about those nightmares.
Following the western coastline this time, I found myself on a swamp road by sunrise. It was a
pleasant break, walking through green forests of tall trees draped in mosses like strange ritual
shrouds, crystalline ponds spotted with lily pads. It's too cold for the blossoms now, but just a
month ago these ponds would have been dotted with green and white brilliance. There was a
pack of docile guar scrounging for food, calm enough to even let me pet them. For a creature that
looks so absurd, what with its large rounded head and tiny forearms, they're kind of... cute.
It was out here I found Gnaar Mok, a fishing village consisting mostly of rather unpleasant-
looking shacks suspended above the water on posts. Nothing of note really aside from House
Hlaalu's Arenim Manor to be seen, and even that was quite pitiful for a 'manor'. I didn't hang
around after settling in for a quick fishsteak, the entire town seems shady and I heard at least
one man openly discussing thievery antics with a fellow within earshot of a guard who was
more preoccupied with skipping stones.
From there it was rocky brown coastline where I couldn't go ten steps without nearly crushing a
scrib underfoot all the way to Gnisis, which I'd stopped in on during my pilgrimage. Not
knowing what kind of resources I would be able to find from there on, I shelled out the coin for
extra supplies. Enough food by my estimate to cover a week, extra healing and cure potions, and
I even replaced the dinky old hammer I had been using to straighten out my armor with
It was dark when I reached Ald Velothi but the woman must have seen the outpost lights
glinting from my steel, for she stopped me before I got very close and begged for my help. A
pilgrim had been kidnapped by a group of outcast Ashlanders. I spotted the chance to test out
my ability to negotiate with these people right away, and do some good in the process.
The yurt wasn't far and easy to find even at night, their campfire was quite bright against the
horizon. Two of them stood outside and I approached, careful to keep my hands off and a good
distance away from my weapons. I didn't dare make a move that suggested hostile intention.
I saw her immediately, given away by her plainer settler's clothing and distressed expression. The
leader asked me to state my business or leave and I didn't pause to tell him to release her. A
bounty was settled; though a bit high, I daren't haggle the short-tempered man too low and it
was worth not risking her life as well as my own by trying to forcefully remove her. With the
three of them, I might have handled myself, but I could not assure they couldn't harm her. We
were able to walk out without so much as a weapon being brandished... this gives me hope for
when I meet the Urshilaku.
I came across the third fishing village in a row so far, Khuul, as the coastline shifted from
north-south to east-west. I have reached the northern sea. Aside from having a meal that didn't
have to come out of my packed rations, there was not much to do here either, just like the rest.
The true Ashlands really began a couple of hours east of Khuul, and the weather is the worst it
can be when one is looking for something: fog. Thick soupy fog at that, and if I didn't have a
compass I'd think I was going in circles. I just can't see how anyone or anything can live in a
place like this, it's nothing but ash and spiked grasses... a wasteland. Then I remember that the
Ashlanders haven't been given much choice.
I'm spending the night on a mat of stiff reddish leaves, but it is better than lying in the ash. I
wish I could start a fire. The autumn chill bites, but there is no wood. The only trees are burnt
skeletons, charred from the inside out long ago.
I woke to the howling of an ash storm and was immediately grateful I had put a hillside, and
my shield, between myself and Red Mountain. I estimated the sun had come up not very long
before, of course, it was nearly impossible to say. But it was thanks to these powerful winds
that I ultimately found the Urshilaku camp. The sound of the hollow, wooden chimes carried on
the air and led me to a cluster of hide yurts framed with chitin.
Even in the storm the natives were going about their lives, the clothes simpler but more colorful
than their settler cousins and strolling around barefoot on the harsh ground. Apart from the first
disdainful yet curious glance each one gave me they seemed to do their best to ignore my presence
entirely, even walking around me and proceeding on when I tried to stand in their way to ask a
question. I was warned my reception would be cold...
Soon I happened on a woman who seemed to be gathering a large amount of a thorny root from
the outskirts of the camp, and had an idea. There had been plenty of that stuff near where I had
spent the night so I navigated back to my camp by compass and memory and gathered all my
arms could carry. Then I returned to the Urshilaku, found the same woman still plucking the
meager givings nearby, and laid the pile at her feet.
An Outlander with some knowledge of their traditions? This piqued their curiosity. As I spoke to
the woman her fellows paused in their tasks and chores to come close enough to watch, listening
rather impossible over the howling wind. We ducked into shelter, the outside of a covered cluster
of yurts, while she fought to stuff all the herb I had brought into her basket.
I told her I was looking to meet with her Ashkhan and Wise Woman about matters related to
the Nerevarine, and there was suspicion in her eyes. She demanded to know why, saying quite
firmly that those prophecies 'were not for Outlanders'. The Ashlanders value honesty, and I am
sure I would have just looked worse if I dodged around giving any real answers. So I was forced
to say words that even made me very uncomfortable to utter, and made even worse by where I
was and who I was among.
"I... think I may fulfill the Nerevarine prophecies. I want to know for sure." Is that really what
I think? My mind nagged, but I ignored it.
She just stared, boggling at me, glancing to her fellows who looked back at her in intrigue,
obviously not having heard me. Then her eyes were back on me, at first trying to smirk as if she
had just been joked with but when I didn't smile back, only shrugged apologetically, that
faltered. Then she took quite obvious offense, lips pursed and looking me over... and at long last,
a sigh and her face relaxed in resignation.
She wanted to call me insane, she said, but could not bring herself to think me mad as I was
too composed and well-mannered. Not wanting the burden of having sent a foreigner into the
Ashkhan's yurt on her own shoulders she sent me to meet with his champion Zabumund instead
and get his opinion. As I walked up to the yurt she pointed out, I saw her dash over to her
gathered neighbors and, I'm sure, immediately start telling them what I'd said because I felt
their stares even as I stepped inside.
Then I had to repeat the uncomfortable words all over again to Zabumund, who reacted much
the same. I told him of what I had learned of the Sixth House as well and asked as humbly as I
could to see the Ashkhan. While acknowledging my custom and my honor, the answer was a
deadpan 'no'. I was silent for a time, then recalling the Ashlander custom of challenges and what
I had been taught of it, I proposed a duel to the death for the right.
Thankfully, he declined, now with a smile on his face. He'd regret killing an honorable warrior, as
he said, and really so would I. But my boldness had made the desired impression and I was told
to meet with Ashkhan Sul-Matuul, with his blessing.
By the time I actually met with the Ashkhan word had circulated about me and what had
brought me there well enough that he already knew my name and my intent, so I wasn't forced
to say strange things again. Letting me in on the ways of the cult would be tricky, Outlanders
were forbidden from joining. The best he could offer was to make me Clanfriend of the Ashlanders
by putting me through a rite known as a Harrowing.
Sul-Matuul sent me to the tribe's burial caverns wherein his father was interred with a magical
bow he wielded in life, saying that finding it and finding my way back in the ash storm would
serve as part of the Harrowing. A bit east of the camp I found the rock cairn he described and per
instruction continued straight south, walking right into the winds coming off the mountain and
struggling just to see, until I found myself right at its door and thankful I had refilled my skin
of fresh water before I set out. The cave wasn't much to speak of, besides eerie and at times so
dark I had to navigate by lantern.
By the time I got out with the bonemold bow in my hands the sun was going down but it was
thankfully clear again, making the journey back far better than the journey there. I'd passed the
test, said Sul-Matuul, and was now Clanfriend, which meant he could speak plainly with me
now. I didn't like where that was going when he gestured for me to sit across from him on a
colored rug, a stern look on his face.
And speak plainly he did. "How could an Outlander be the Nerevarine?" He asked with unveiled
disgust. Frustration in his tone with every word he said and while he recognized my honor and
merit, this went against everything he knew. Nerevar reborn was to drive the foreigners out,
not be one.
I sympathized. I told him I understood precious little of any of this and I did not make these
claims in a bid for power, gold, or anything of that right. None of them interested me. I simply
wanted my freedom to live, and securing that for not just myself, but everyone on Vvardenfell
and in all of Morrowind meant putting a stop to the threats from the Mountain. I was not
there to glorify myself or bring insult to their ancient traditions, and I apologized for my
offensive ignorance.
We were quiet for some time. Then he said, "Go see the Wise Woman." And nothing more. I
could tell he wished to be left alone with his thoughts.
Nibani Maesa was her name, and she was far easier to talk to than her Ashkhan. She began by
speaking to me from prophecy, which I've copied down here to better commit to my memory:
The Prophecy of the Stranger is first:
"When earth is sundered, and skies choked black,

And sleepers serve the seven curses,
To the hearth there comes a stranger,
Journeyed far 'neath moon and star.
Though stark-born to sire uncertain,

His aspect marks his certain fate.
Wicked stalk him, righteous curse him.
Prophets speak, but all deny.
Many trials make manifest

The stranger's fate, the curses' bane.
Many touchstones try the stranger.
Many fall, but one remains."
And the Prophecy of the Seven Trials:
"What he puts his hand to, that shall be done.

What is left undone, that shall be done.
On a certain day to uncertain parents

Incarnate moon and star reborn.
Neither blight nor age can harm him.

The Curse-of-Flesh before him flies.
In caverns dark Azura's eye sees

And makes to shine the moon and star.
A stranger's voice unites the Houses.

Three Halls call him Hortator.
A stranger's hand unites the Velothi.

Four Tribes call him Nerevarine.
He honors blood of the tribe unmourned.

He eats their sin, and is reborn.
His mercy frees the cursed false gods,

Binds the broken, redeems the mad.
He speaks the law for Veloth's people.

He speaks for their land, and names them great."
There are other prophecies, many of them lost... some by intention, some not. The Ashlanders do
not write things down, passing on stories and legends by oral tradition, which she admits is
flawed. The seven curses spoken of in the Prophecy of the Stranger is an example of one of the
lost prophecies. Even Maesa was not able to tell me anything about it. However, she said the
Dissident Priests often studied and wrote down Ashlander beliefs, keeping them hidden away
from the eyes of the Temple, so finding them could mean finding the lost parts of the prophecies.
I also inquired about my dreams and the man in the golden mask and his strange words.
Without a doubt, she said, Dagoth Ur was the one speaking to me, addressing me as Nerevar,
calling to me from the Mountain. Such dreams she called 'very serious and dangerous', but had no
means to stop them. I would have kept asking questions but it was starting to grow late, and
I was invited to stay in her yurt overnight, an invitation I took gratefully as I still hadn't
worked out all my soreness from the previous night.
Before I settled in, however, I realized Nibani had not once spoken of her own thoughts on the
matter though her Ashkhan had done so freely. So, I asked her if she thought I might be the one
the prophecy was talking about. My mind was, after all, starting to dwell on the similarities
between some of those words and my own life. Her answer? A long look at me, a simple 'no', and
then turning away to go to sleep.
So I lay here listening to the chimes of the camp and other strange sounds of the ashlands,
wondering, what do I think? Do I think I'm Nerevar reborn? Can I even answer that one way or
the other without being at some fault? Or have I lost my mind?
Rather than simply go back the way I came when it was time to start travelling, I opted for
something slightly different, continuing to follow the northern coast eastward until I happened
upon a large island dotted with daedric ruins.
My map and guide indicated that though I could not see it a town lay beyond those rocks,
complete with a port and buyable passage to other parts of Vvardenfell. Sure enough there was,
and it was about as one imagines a town isolated on the northeast part of the district and
completely full of Nords can be... that is, not at all. Since I have the coin on hand, I decided to
give my tired feet a rest and simply pay to be taken from port to port, just this once. It is more
than my body that needs time to rest right now anyway.
I arrived at Hla Oad, a fishing village rather close to Balmora, in the early hours of the morning
in a rainstorm, even still it wasn't long before I was back and reporting my results to Caius.
He took into consideration everything I told him and said Mehra Milo was probably our best
chance of actually coming into contact with the Dissident Priests, but he'd need some time to
contact her. Then he revealed the reason he'd seemed so distracted since my arrival.
While I was out, a small unit of Fort Buckmoth Legion soldiers had gone out to patrol for
smugglers along the Bitter Coast, specifically out near Gnaar Mok. Only one of them returned,
disfigured with corprus disease and rambling on about the Sixth House, a shrine, a cave called
Ilunibi, and a priest by the name of Dagoth Gares. Caius couldn't seem to stress enough how
dangerous this mission was and I really didn't have to be told twice. He gave me a larger
stipend than usual for supplies and I set out in rapidly clearing weather.
I remembered the fort, having passed it on the road from Caldera to Ald'ruhn and back many an
occasion. Caius must have given word that he'd be sending me before I even returned to
Balmora, for the Champion in charge of the fort seemed to know who I was the moment I
walked in. A formal Imperial soldier through and through, Raesa Pullia briefed me on the
situation in practiced lines, telling me basically what Caius had. She couldn't give me an exact
location on the cave but said to ask around with the locals.
Which, after a short walk southeast, I did. It took a few coins slipped into a hand, but I learned
before it got dark that it lies on the northern edge of the island the village lies on. Tomorrow I
will rise early, prepare myself, and take care of this Sixth House base personally.
My hand shakes as I write this by the light of the setting sun. I cannot go back to the village
tonight. I do not know what will become of me now, but that makes it more important than
ever that I make some account of what happened to me...
I found the cave in the morning, it was hardly hidden. The small boat and crates nearby
suggested a smuggling operation, so I knew I was in the right place. At first I saw nothing
but blackness, so I lit up my lantern and hung it from my belt. There was a waterfall, lit up by
the last traces of sunlight peering into cracks on the ceiling, and then more darkness and the
earth sloped downward. On and on it went until I came across lit candles, a sure sign of current
activity, the flames on their wicks not so much orange as they were red. Here the water was
around my ankles and I came to a fork in my path, splitting off three ways, each too dark to see
very far down. I chanced it and went left.
I didn't see the dremora until he was right on me with his spear, barely sidestepping in time. A
spell crashed into the stone beside me too and just beyond the tall demon I saw the source, a
smaller figure, charging up another spell. The dremora stood firmly in my way, so I was forced
to keep light on my feet, dodging the spells that flew my way, blocking his spear, and swinging
my blade all at the same time. After a couple of missed swings and faltered steps I had a
rhythm with it. At the first chance I pinned that spear against the cave wall with my shield
and dealt the dremora a finishing blow. By then, the caster was out of spells and I was able to
end him swiftly. Closer inspection by light of my lantern revealed a Dunmer, some kind of cultist
I assumed, perhaps not there by their own will... I dared not think about it.
At yet another three-way divide in the cave I went right, figuring I was already lost anyway.
Out of the darkness this time there came a groaning, mindless creature that I couldn't even see
properly until I struck it down and had a look with my lamp. I was almost immediately sick.
Clearly once Dunmer this creature looked as if something had taken not just its eyes but that
entire part of its face off, leaving a gaping black hole. There were more of these further in, and
more daedra too, I recall having to switch to my unenchanted sword to be able to go head to
head with a towering atronach of frost. But the worst was the bulging, reeking, lame corprus
monster. I dared not touch it or even get within its reach. Luckily I had a two spellscrolls on
me, one of fire and one of frost magic, and it took both to fell the thing.
Eventually I found myself at a ramp lined on both sides with eerie red and black torches, a great
storm atronach at the top. It fired spells down at me as I charged up at it, dodging to the right
or left at just the last second, and a powerful swing with my ice-sword shattered its form into
pieces. There was a Daedroth waiting for me at the top; something I'd only read about before, a
hulking lizard-demon who nearly knocked me down with every hit so powerful were his blows. It
landed a powerful strike on my shoulder and my sword-arm released my weapon in shock and
went numb. It tried to get its giant head and teeth round the edge of my shield and take it
from me but I used its little scheme against it, letting it grab hold just so I could slam its
skull against the cave walls until it lay lifeless and twitching on the floor. I hoped I was
getting close by then, my healing amulet was starting to lose its power from overuse, and I
was down to only a few remaining potions.
The elaborate torches continued down the hall, which I followed after getting my breath, sword,
and feeling all back. Around a corner, I saw it: the shrine, and in the center stood a man in
robes and a mask I knew couldn't be anyone else but Dagoth Gares.
"The Sixth House greets you, Lord Nerevar. Or Adarise Salvel, as you call yourself. I have a
message for you from my Master." Though my sword was already in my hand I stopped midway
in the room, saying nothing, simply waiting for him to go on. "'Once we were friends and
brothers, Lord Nerevar, in peace and war. Yet beneath Red Mountain, you struck me down as I
guarded the treasure you bound me by oath to defend. But, remembering our old friendship, I
would forgive you, and raise you high in my service.'"
"Is that all?" I asked.
"Yes," Gares answered. What came next didn't seem to surprise him, in fact I am pretty sure I
heard him laughing beneath his mask as I put one hand on his shoulder to steady him, and my
other drove my blade straight through his gut.
Choking, gasping, I heard him whisper after I gave the blade a twist, "Even as my Master
wills, you shall come to him, in his flesh, and of his flesh." As I let go of him his fingers brushed
against the back of my hand and it stung like venom, but feeling no real change, I took my
potions anyway just in case, one of each variety, and left the cave.
As time progressed I felt the stinging getting worse and spreading up my arm. It was too dark
to inspect myself then, but my heart was already pounding. I think in the back of my head I
already knew what had happened, but I didn't want to believe it. Then I got into the sunlight
and took of my gauntlet. Sores. Familiar sores.
Corprus sores.
I went into a daze that I have not really recovered from. It all seems too nightmarish right
now. I don't feel sad, or scared, I feel blank, frozen in time... I wandered in a circle, made myself
a camp because I simply can't go back to the village... not like this... I drank all the other cure
potions I had in hopes something would work, washed the sores... they remain few but a few
hours ago some started appearing below my right knee. It spreads. I can feel the beginnings of
that stinging in my cheek too. Soon they will be there.
Saint Nerevar... what do I do now? Am I now just another Failed Incarnate? Was I ever the
Incarnate to begin with?
Almsivi... ancestors... anyone...?
Unsurprisingly, the last night was a sleepless one. All that kept running through my mind were
the other terrible cases of corprus I had seen before, little more than creatures they were. The very
thought of my mental faculties slipping away like that made me so frightened I'm not too
ashamed to admit I wept for a long time. I took out my sword and contemplated falling onto it
so that I might die with some measure of my dignity left. Corprus has no cure; it will either kill
me through complications of the distortions to my body or I will wander mindless spreading
corprus to everything I touch.
By dawn I was done grieving for my own fate and had made up my mind. I was going to go
see Caius Cosades, apologize for my carelessness, report, and say goodbye. From there it will be
on to see Seyda Neen, the town in which I discovered my freedom, one last time. And then it is
the long and dangerous road east where I will then reach Tel Fyr and the Corprusarium below it,
or die on the journey.
Travelers I met on the road moved to give me as wide a passage as possible and even averted
their eyes as if just looking would get them sick. The sores on my cheek were looking more and
more unpleasant. Mindful of that I swiped a length of cheap-looking cloth I do not believe will
be missed from behind a Caldera shop. It was sufficient size to drape over my head and wrap
around my face until only my eyes are visible. My armor and skirt cover the rest of my
disfigurations so far, although, this is starting to get painfully uncomfortable.
In Balmora I steered clear of anyone who tried to speak to me and went straight to Caius,
revealing my face to him. I waited to address it until last, telling him everything I'd learned
from my visit to the cave. Only then did I say that he would need to find other help and wished
him luck. He stopped me before I could walk back out, however, and dug around in a chest until
he pulled out a little dwemer artifact. The wizard of that tower, Divath Fyr, liked such trinkets
and it might help me get priority treatment in the Corprusarium. He also spared me a few
levitation potions, explaining that Telvanni towers don't have stairs so I might need them. I
thanked him for all his help, apologized for being difficult to work with at times, and left with
my heart feeling heavy. I had started to consider him a good friend.
I settled down tonight beside a pond a ways out of Pelagiad, right off of one of the first roads I
ever walked as a free woman. The tavern windows look bright and inviting even from here but I
am... unable to be around people anymore. A shame. I was just beginning to learn how to enjoy
the company of others. I thought about at least trying to look for Nels Llendo there but I don't
want to shock or disgust him... perhaps a sweet letter explaining that sadly I will never be able
to make that meeting, but I don't want to upset him needlessly. I will also miss Ladia's
company, and am sad I will never be able to really reciprocate that kindness she did me.
A docile guar has come up to me and started nudging my hand to pet him when I am not using
it to write. He hasn't left ever since he ate most of my meal, which my appetite is lacking so I
didn't get upset about. Perhaps he can sense that I am lonely.
This morning I was starting to feel noticeably worse and I spent the first few hours of sunlight
washing and bandaging some of the more severe patches of weeping sores. It definitely helped to
have another layer between the tender areas and my armor. I felt disgusting enough that I
daren't really walk into Seyda Neen but I spent a short while contemplating it from afar,
remembering that first day I arrived in Vvardenfell with no idea where I was or what anything
was.
Now it's off for Tel Fyr, and the Corprusarium. Even though I have met with a terrible fate, I
cannot say I regret coming to Vvardenfell. I cannot have regrets about spending time as a free
woman exploring the land of my people, getting to know their traditions, their beliefs, and their
past, even the dark secrets and mysteries. And it is hard for anyone to say that they wish they
did not improve themselves and become stronger. I saw many beautiful sights and made a
handful of fascinating friends. Passing Vivec City made me smile, I remembered flying around
there... yes, I am without regrets, save that I was not able to aid the fight against Dagoth Ur
any more than I had. Now it was in the hands of the Houses and the Legion, and the loss of one
single Dunmer information-gatherer will not put a dent in their forces.
Once I crossed into Molag Amur, despite the slight nip in the air I felt compelled to go for a
swim. Making sure I was alone I shed my armor and clothes and did so, diving to the bottom
for pearls and just enjoying the cold sea, even though the salt stung my sores ever so slightly like
a cruel reminder. Once I was out I had to rebandage and clean them all over again, but it was
well worth it. Came up with three pearls.
From the swim and my brisk pace and the sheer length of my journey I was exhausted by the
time I ultimately reached Tel Fyr. It had begun to rain so I lingered outside a while to enjoy it
and let it wash the remnants of salt out of my hair. After all, once I went in the tower, coming
out was of slim probability. So I paced the little farm of saltrice and marshmarrow along with
the netch herd until it was too dark to see.
I spoke to a woman inside claiming to be one of Divath Fyr's 'wives' (confusing me by stating it
wasn't in any legal sense) who showed me to where his study was, on a floor above with, as
Caius had predicted, no stairs. I was glad of the potions. The man himself has a bizarre
fascination with corprus, but I won't judge someone who is charitable enough to create a refuge
for victims of a disease that no one else was willing to deal with. He seemed quite pleased with
his new dwemer trinket and offered to answer any questions I had before I went down below.
I had heard corprus called the divine disease before, but I was never clear on why. It comes from
the theory that the disease is actually a divine blessing that most mortals are unable to handle,
and it makes them unstable and mad. Divath's reasoning is that corprus, while a horrible disease
itself, renders the body immune to any other form of disease. Not only that, but he has noticed
in his studies that victims of corprus stop aging completely and permanently, making them
essentially immortal, barring being physically killed by either their deformations or outside
influences. He did meet my one request; a potent poison to take with me so that if I feel my
mind is slipping beyond the brink, I might put an end to the anguish. While a grim thing to
ask of someone, I still feel the alternative is worse than death.
So it is back to living like I am in prison now, tucked away in a corner of the Corprusarium
caves to avoid the more aggressive and mindless infected. I wonder what one is to do to pass
the time here, not that in a place such as this one can tell time is passing at all.
1 Frostfall, 3E426
It has been some time now. Several days I think. It is hard to count. My condition is
deteriorating... even writing is a slow and difficult process. I have seen not sun or moon so I
was forced to ask one of the wizard's wives what the date was. It is hard to keep to a single,
clear thought.
I barely leave my corner. The women bring me food and I eat it when I am able. There are
hallucinations... images and colors in the edges of my vision that vanish when I look at them. I
took a shard of a broken mirror from elsewhere in the cave and brought it to my little camp to
settle over my washbowl; at times I swear I see a face that is not mine now and then if only
for a second. And when the silence grows oppressive I hear a bell I am certain is not there.
Prayer brings me no peace at all. Sometimes one of the women sits and plays a guarhide drum
and it is the only solace here. It somehow calms even the mindless.
2 Frostfall, 3E426
Felt a little more lucid and started to wander around a bit while the drum was being played, the
risk of aggression from other infected low when this occurs. I came across a man who's not much
more than a sore-covered blob on a spider-like mechanical chair but his mental faculties seemed
intact. Mostly.
If his story is true it just confirms that corprus really does stop aging. He gave his name as
Yagrum Bagarn and when I asked what sort of name that was, his reply was 'Dwemer'. I
thought they'd disappeared, said I, and he confirmed this. Even he didn't know what'd happened
to his own people, though he spent years and years looking, that search eventually being what
brought him into contact with the divine disease. I wondered aloud if all the Dwemer looked like
him, but no, he told me it was just the effects of corprus.
It was good to have conversation again, even if a lot of what he said was too technical for me
to understand... at least asking the date every time I think to is giving me some sense of how
long I've been here, or I might start to think I've been down here forever and my freedom was a
dream.
3 Frostfall, 3E426
I was confused to say the least when one of Divath Fyr's wives sought me out in my little
corner and didn't have a plate of food in her hands. The wizard was asking to see me, she said,
and waited for me to get up and straighten out my clothes a bit. She silently escorted me to the
upper floor of the tower and pointed up the stairless vertical tunnel into his study, placing a
levitation potion in my hand, and then went on her way.
He has an offer to make me, he said. He has a potion which he believes has a chance of reversing
the negative symptoms of the disease. I asked for the catch since there so obviously was one,
even though my thoughts are cloudy and slow. It had killed all the other subjects who had tried
it.
I have accepted this offer. Right now he's waiting for me to drink it, respecting my wish for a
few moments to write down some final thoughts. This journal is to be sent to Caius Cosades
upon the event of my death in hopes that some of the things I learned and observed will prove
useful to his efforts.
Know that my death was my own free choice made for the sake of the safety of others. I implore
with whoever should read this, Caius or anyone else, that you save my people. I would be lying
if I said I was not scared, for I go forward into the unknown.
I almost do not believe it myself, but I live.
I recall sitting down on the edge of a bed in preparation to drink the potion. I recall closing my
eyes and downing it in one go, though my hands trembled in fear. And then it is all rather hazy.
I felt hands on me, pushing me, I think I was almost falling off the bed and the wizard's
assistant was shoving me back onto it. I couldn't move and was struggling to pull in air and
my vision was nothing but an indistinguishable swirl of colors. It felt as if the whole tower
was pitching like a ship in a storm. My stomach was in turmoil and my dizziness worsened as
I started to asphyxiate... every muscle screamed in pain but I had neither the air nor control to
vocalize it... and then it was all darkness.
Divath Fyr says I was out for several hours. When I awoke I was feeling too weak to move
much but I held out my arm to look at where some of the worst sores had spread. For a moment
my arm looked too stocky, and golden instead of ash-colored... the hallucination faded as soon as
my vision obtained better focus. But the sores were gone. With a sudden spark of energy I sat
up, quickly grabbing hold of the blanket when I realized it was all that covered me, but I took a
peek beneath. All the blemishes and bandages were gone. A plain robe was laid out for me to put
on but I didn't quite have that amount of strength yet, opting to just lay there smiling, pleased
to be alive and clear of this disease.
But as it turns out, the wizard explained to me once he realized I'd woken up, I still technically
have corprus. The potion only removed the negative symptoms, the physical and mental
deteriorations. Still riding a mental high from having been freed of my death sentence, I thanked
him profusely, but from his demeanor I got the impression that the discovery alone that his
formula worked was good enough news for him.
While I was out cold he'd run a series of tests to be sure, and it would appear I still have the
corprus trait of complete immunity to all varieties of common and blight diseases. I remembered
what he'd said before and inquired if this meant I was now ageless as well. He shrugged, saying
that the only way to know that for sure is to wait some years and see if I ever started feeling
old. Divath said he would begin trying out this formula on more of the desperate patients of the
Corprusarium, and while I thanked him for his hospitality I told him I would be leaving as soon
as I felt strong enough.
4 Frostfall, 3E426
By morning I felt strong enough to put on my armor and depart from Tel Fyr, leaving behind a
sizable donation to aid Fyr's efforts. My feet were light as I made my way down the southern
coast and since yesterday I've been recalling a part of the Seven Visions prophecy that now
particularly stands out:
Neither blight nor age can harm him,

The Curse-of-Flesh before him flies.
I contemplated what it could mean, if this technically applied to me now that I was immune to
blight and quite possibly ageless... concepts I'm still getting my head around. Attempting to
pray when I passed through Molag Mar was half-hearted and unsuccessful at bringing me any
answers or peace. What was rather invigorating, though, came after I had passed through the
town.
I had intended to just pass by the stronghold at first. But the more I thought about it and the
more I stared, the stranger the feeling I got from it was. Sure enough, when I caved to my
curiosity at last it turned out to be another base of operations for the Sixth House cult. I
exterminated everything in there that moved, and with vigor. I felt it would send Dagoth Ur
and all his underlings the clear message that I was back, their curse had not succeeded in
stopping me, and I would show no mercy until Vvardenfell knew some measure of peace. Nerevar
or not, they will grow to fear me if I have any say in it.
Because of this little distraction I ended up having to find lodging in Suran- and even this place
is not free from Dagoth Ur's madness.
"The wickwheat is winnowed and under the harrow, the earth is prepared for planting," the mad
one muttered, "You will die, false one."
Good luck. Your ilk tried that before and here I stand. I challenge the power of the mountain
itself; I do not fear you, Sharmat.
5 Frostfall, 3E426
I headed back to Balmora for once not feeling obligated or under watch to do so. I am a
volunteer now, fighting with my own will rather than out of reluctance.
But Caius's fate, it would seem, has other plans for him. When I arrived in his lodgings I found
him hastily packing some of his personal possessions into a sack. He was pleased to see me,
albeit surprised, and I told him everything that had happened. He cannot help me anymore,
however; he is being recalled to the Imperial City and hinted to me that he fears for not only the
Emperor's health but the Empire's future in general.
I was handed the keys to this small but cozy apartment and told to look after it for when and if
he should return to Vvardenfell. I was also given the recommendation to go and seek out Mehra
Milo for possible contacts within the Dissident Priests, but I didn't need to be reminded. We
wished each other the best of luck and he was gone.
This little room is strange without Caius here, but it is nice to have a place to call my own at
least temporarily.
6 Frostfall, 3E426
Another nightmare... this time nothing but darkness and the chiming of deep bells. Dagoth Ur's
voice did not speak to me. Perhaps he has finally realized I have no intention of coming to serve
him.
Upon arrival in Vivec City I went straight to the High Fane, though leisure tempted me I
assured myself that it could wait. Something felt wrong right away when I started
nonchalantly pacing the library, pretending to read a book, and could not find Mehra Milo
anywhere. It'd look too suspicious if I started asking about her whereabouts so I slipped back out
and started nosing around in search of her private quarters instead. She'd told me it was near
the canton offices and that was where I found it, and she wasn't there either.
I'd been turning to leave when a note on the dresser caught my eye and I picked it up. At first it
just looked like a note to some friend of hers; and then I remembered that she and Caius would
often communicate through coded letters, by their own admission. My eyes widened as I realized
what it meant when the letter said she 'had to run over to the Ministry of Truth, likely to be
tied up there for a while'.
They've caught her.
I stepped back outside, note folded in my skirt pocket, and stared up at the floating hunk of rock.
I am finally being forced to choose between the Temple that has kept my people safe and
prosperous for ages and what my heart tells me I should do. To turn my back on Mehra now
would be cowardice and very little more.
I still have plenty of levitation potions from when I went to Tel Fyr but I'm going to wait till
sundown to enact my plan, giving me a few hours to wait. Which is good, because coming up
with two scrolls of Divine Intervention in this city is tricky, despite the presence of so many
Divines-worshipping Imperials.
7 Frostfall, 3E426
Under the rather chilly cover of darkness I went out behind the Temple where no one was
watching and used one of my levitation potions to float up to the wooden scaffolding just
outside of the doors leading in. I was immediately confronted by an Ordinator, but I didn't fret;
the note had mentioned this one and hinted she might be of some help.
She slipped me the key, told me where Mehra was being kept, and laid down on the wood
platform muttering, "Oh no, I have been overpowered, woe is me. I didn't even see their face."
Once inside I tried to bluff my way though, hoping in the deepest part of my heart I could
somehow still escape any negative consequences from the Temple for what I was about to do. It
worked for a short while, the first two I passed didn't even give me a second glance after they
saw me walking around like I very well belonged there. But it was all foiled when a different,
not quite so sympathetic Ordinator found me. "You're not supposed to be here, initiate!" I didn't
even have time to curse my carelessness, his cry had alerted at least three others.
I flew through the door to the prison keep, which only attracted more unwanted attention. I
could see Mehra's cell, or at least what I had been told was her cell, all the way across the room.
Five Ordinators in front of me, three behind. Killing an Ordinator would not do; I didn't wish to
dig my hole any deeper than I already had with the Temple. I waited a moment for them to
start converging on me and dropped off the wooden platforming we were standing on to the
ground about ten feet below. Landed on my feet like a cat and hit the ground running madly for
the cell door.
I turned around and used an alteration scroll to lock the door back behind me, barricading myself
and Mehra in. She looked weary, but not as if she'd been tortured quite yet, and I shoved a scroll
into her hand. I could hear keys jingling outside as the angered Ordinators tried to find the right
one. And then I took out my own scroll, we nodded to one another, and used them.
The scrolls transported us to Ebonheart, a very Imperial town just southwest of Vivec City. The
grand cantons were visible across the water as we made our way down to the docks, in a hurry
to get even further away before word spread. It is strange to me that, technically, I was just
saved by the Imperial cult, a religion I've had nothing but disdain for in the past. I recall the
priests that would come down and sit outside the cells- almost always in chairs, too squeamish
for the floor, and piously try to convert those within. I'd wonder if they could even see the color
of my skin and eyes, could tell I was nothing like them and their religion had nothing to offer
me. And when the priests of Akatosh came around from their distant town, they were the most
smiley and intolerable, almost all soft little Imperials with cushioned lives.
Ha, I am starting to rant.
I waited while Mehra talked quietly with a fisherwoman, contemplating the dragon statue
sitting in the main square of the docks, trying to remember what I had been told about dragons
and how they played a role in the Imperial beliefs about their royal bloodline... dragon lineage or
something... but then they called me over. We three loaded into a small fishing boat and sailed
off into the peeking sunrise.
It was a long, dull journey east. I discovered I can no longer tolerate boredom now that I am
used to freedom and was on multiple occasions asked if I could please stop pacing the boat or
practicing sword-swings. I prepared the meals for all of us out of sheer lack of anything else to
do except stare at the southern coast as it slowly rolled by.
At sunset we finally stopped on the southeast coast of Vvardenfell, in the rocky Azura's coast
region. I paid our transport who wasted no time in heading back to Ebonheart. Apparently we
arrived with great timing, as Mehra explained that the door of Holamayan Monastery is only
opened at the hours sacred to the Good Daedra Azura: dawn and dusk. A few stone steps later
and we were at what looked like any other traditional Dunmer building with its curved tan
frame and maroon detailing but this, Mehra said, is the home of the Dissident Priests.
She will go meet with Master Gilvas Barelo, she said once we were inside, and recommended
that I get some rest, an invitation I gladly took.
8 Frostfall, 3E426
In the morning I found Mehra and the Temple's Master compiling scrolls and texts. They did not
see me, I chose not to disturb them yet but walk around for a bit getting used to the place. In
every respect this seems like a normal Temple. It looks much the same as the others and there are
shrines to the saints, but these people are hidden heretics in the eyes of the Temple.
Soon they figured out I was awake and called me into the library room. They had several texts
out and open, having picked out everything they could find related to the prophecies. There were
the ones I had already heard from the Ashlanders, and ones I had never before read, and many
other books.
Gilvas Barelo introduced himself and we began. He is a grim and strange man whose manner
suggests he has been here for a very long time indeed. Together we went over each tome. "Saint
Nerevar" was simply a retelling of the Temple's public account of the events, and therefore quite
worthless. "Nerevar Moon-and-Star" detailed the Ashlanders opposing account but contained no
information I did not already have. "The Real Nerevar", however, was of slightly more interest;
speaking of the persuasive powers of Nerevar's ring made for him by the Dwemer during the
years of unity, known as Moon-and-Star. Supposedly it was lost after his death and has not
been recovered.
Then I was able to read of the Seven Curses, which is a set of trials the Nerevarine is said to
face.
...through the doors of the unmourned house

where scoffers scoff and schemers scheme
from the halls of the oath-breaking house
rings seven curses of gods blasphemed
first curse, Curse-of-Fire

second curse, Curse-of-Ash
third curse, Curse-of-Flesh
fourth curse, Curse-of-Ghosts
fifth curse, Curse-of-Seed
sixth curse, Curse-of-Despair
seventh curse, Curse-of-Dreams...
The first bit seems to refer to Houses Dwemer and Dagoth, the profaners of the divine and oath-
breakers. Curses of Fire, Ash and Flesh without a doubt speaks of the magma, ash storms and
blight diseases. The Curse of Dreams would be the soul sickness ad madness that inflicts settled
and ashlander Dunmer alike, and perhaps my own nightmares as well. The other three... Ghosts,
Seed and Despair seem to defy straight explanation but I suspect I might have already
experienced Despair, and I fear that Seed hints at agricultural problems that may arise if this
gets any worse.
Gilvas then showed me the lost prophecy from their own texts, and it is easy to see why the
ashlanders 'lost' it.
From seventh sign of eleventh generation,

Neither Hound nor Guar, nor Seed nor Harrow,
But Dragon-born and far-star-marked,
Outlander Incarnate beneath Red Mountain,
Blessed Guest counters seven curses,
Star-blessed hand wields thrice-cursed blade,

To reap the harvest of the unmourned house.
His interpretation was that the first few lines spoke of someone who was not born of any of the
Ashlander clans but under foreign stars. The sign of the dragon has long been associated with the
Empire... the tumor on the heart of which I was born in. 'Outlander Incarnate' seems to be
rather self-explanatory. 'Star-blessed' refers to being blessed by Good Daedra Azura and Gilvas
seems to think the 'thrice-cursed blade' is a Dwemer artifact of some kind.
There was far more detail to be found about the Dwemer artifacts and their connection to Red
Mountain in a volume entitled Kagrenac's tools. I'd heard that name before; the self-proclaimed
last Dwemer in the Corprusarium had said that he worked as an apprentice to him and that he
was some kind of legendary sorcerer. According to this book, the Dwemer discovered a magical
stone beneath Red Mountain that Kagrenac determined was the heart of the god Lorkhan who
was cast down here in the days before time as punishment for mischief. In order to make use of
the heart's power, Kagrenac forged a set of magical tools. Wraithguard, the enchanted gauntlet
that protects the wearer from being destroyed by the immense power, Sunder, the hammer that
draws its power out, and Keening, an enchanted blade used to focus that power.
No one knows just what happened when Kagrenac used the tools at the Battle of Red Mountain,
except that the Dwemer vanished from the world. Lord Nerevar and Lord Dagoth, at the time
great friends, recovered them and not knowing what to do, Nerevar left Dagoth to guard them
while he went to consult with Vivec, Almalexia, and Sotha Sil.
Nerevar and his council returned to Red Mountain to find Dagoth had gone mad, tempted and
confused by the power of the tools. He would not let them pass until he had been mortally
wounded and driven off. They took the tools for safe-keeping, swearing to never use them. But
after Nerevar died- whether at their hands or from wounds sustained in battle- that oath was
broken. They used the tools and gave themselves divine powers.
But Dagoth Ur wasn't dead, as they thought... somehow drawing power straight from the heart
itself. Driven by anger he became terribly powerful and now the Tribunal is losing its power to
hold his forces back. But even if they could, Givath questions, could we rightfully worship gods
such as these? Gods that conceal the truth in shame and persecute those who speak it, gods who
take their power from corruption and lies although their works are many and good?
9 Frostfall, 3E426
I left Holamayan when the dawn broke and the hidden entrance opened, with the plan to cut
across the wilderness to the Urshilaku camp. The Wise Woman will be able to help me with any
further interpretations that can be gleaned from these tomes.
Once again I was left alone with my own thoughts as I picked over rocky coastline and made
my way inland, and I kept coming back to the same question, what do I believe now? I simply
can't hold to the Temple doctrine anymore, not after the things I have read and the things I
have seen. It was all so confusing, and still to some degree is, but the story of the heart of
Lorkhan seems to tie everything together and make an eerie amount of sense. Was Nerevar truly
murdered? My mind is now more inclined to say yes than no but I cannot profess either for sure.
Rather than agonize over who I truly am in all this, however, I have decided that Nerevar
Reborn or not, following Nerevar's path is the way to put an end to the Sharmat Dagoth Ur.
That way I can keep my eyes on the road before me instead of tearing my mind apart over
details that may or may not matter.
10 Frostfall, 3E426
In early morning I dropped in on the Urshilaku Wise Woman and laid out before her all the texts
I that Mehra Milo and Gilvas Barelo had transcribed for me. She then asked me to leave her be
in her yurt and not return until tomorrow so that she might meditate on it.
I chose to alleviate boredom by earning some extra good standing with the Ashlanders, so I
traded one of them some valuable herbs for a traditional chitin spear with a decent feel and went
out hunting. I'd never used a spear before so I was clumsy with it, giving my prey a much more
sporting chance, but I think if I get a few more chances to practice I'll have a much better sense
of how to use it. I had no idea how to skin, so a kagouti that I felled had to be carried to the
Urshilaku over my back for them to make use of the hide and meat. They were amused but
grateful.
A bit weary of the spear at that point I set back out again with sword in hand intending to do
some exploring. There are countless Dwemer ruins dotting the landscape out here, though I dared
not go into any of them. One can still clearly hear the machines clanging and humming from
well outside the buildings. I opted to go back down to the coast in lieu of poking around in the
darkness some more, since it was a clear day in the ashlands, and have another swim like the
one I had before committing myself to the Corprusarium. I am glad that was not my last.
11 Frostfall, 3E426
After a most pleasant morning meal prepared for me by the Urshilaku out of the fish I had
brought them, I was directed to the Wise Woman's yurt. Both Nibani Maesa and Sul-Matuul
awaited me within, seated around a small fire and I sat across from them, minding my
manners.
The smell of some strong incense hanging in the air almost set me sneezing, but I managed to
suppress it as Nibani spoke. She said that she had seen the signs in her trances and decided to
change her judgment about me. She now believes I am the Incarnate, having clearly passed the
first trial of being born to uncertain parents on a certain day. The 'signs' she saw seemed to hint
that I had passed the second as well, and I saw both of them look to me for explanation.
I hadn't told them about my experience with corprus, it occurred to me, and I proceeded to recant
the whole thing to the best of my memory. Nibani listened and nodded, but Sul-Matuul eyed me
as if he wasn't sure if he should believe me. Not that I could blame him, I am not exactly a
storyteller and the tale I told was a strange one indeed, and probably sounded... convenient.
Ahead of putting me to the third trial, he said, he wanted to test me again. I didn't even let
him tell me what it was before I accepted. Kogoruhn is an ancient Dunmer stronghold to the
southeast that he and his hunting party had discovered to be overrun with Sixth house cultists
and corprus beasts and from here I was to retrieve for him three tokens. The first a cup bearing
the mark of House Dagoth, so that he will know I saw what he saw. The second is the Shadow
Shield from a tomb deep in its halls, as a sign of my strength to overcome the monsters within.
And third, the weepings from the sores of a corprus infected; disgusting, but necessary for me to
prove my immunity to it.
This place was more than I bargained for. I've set up camp some yards away and am taking
time to rest after handling only two of Dagoth Ur's powerful minions. They are unlike anything
I have encountered prior. Only barely resembling Dunmer anymore, hunched-over abominations of
blight and dark magic wielding powerful destructive spells. One left me with a burn on my
shield-arm that's going to take a few days to return to normal. With no access to supplies, I
salvaged an armor piece from some poor fetcher's corpse and am using that to patch the damages
in my own. The cup was safely retrieved, tomorrow, the rest.
12 Frostfall, 3E426
It took a whole day's worth of searching in the darkness, I went through three torches and one of
my swords actually broke in two, but I finally emerged with the shield.
I barely made it back to camp I am so thoroughly exhausted, and am nodding off as I write this.
I hope all this turns out to be worth it.
13 Frostfall, 3E426
Everything has suddenly become quite clear. I will attempt to explain why...
Sul-Matuul allowed me to keep the shield and seemed satisfied that I was immune to corprus,
and complimented me on my courage, particularly after seeing the state my armor was in. He
ordered one of his clanspeople to repair it, so I changed into a colorful dress an Ashlander lent me
and walked around barefoot for a while in honor of their custom.
In caverns dark Azura's eye sees

and makes to shine the moon and star.
The Ashkhan explained to me that this third trial spoke of a place in the Ashlands known as the
Cave of the Incarnate, a place sacred to Azura. Neither he nor Nibani Maesa or any of the
Urshilaku had laid eyes on it. They told me a riddle that made no sense to me whatsoever,
saying that was the key to finding it, but lucky Nibani had an interpretation. Asking the other
clanspeople about the riddle yielded some results as well, as they know this land well enough to
navigate it blind.
the eye of the needle lies in the teeth of the wind

the mouth of the cave lies in the skin of the pearl
the dream is the door and the star is the key
The 'eye of the needle', 'teeth of the wind', and 'skin of the pearl' all refer to stone landmarks, a
rock column, two rock spires and a pale rock respectively, landmarks the people told me were all
congregated in an area out to the east. The pale rock was easiest to see in contrast with all the
dark grey surrounding it and the other two markers were identified soon after.
I followed the valley and found a dead end, setting up a small camp and resting while I awaited
the appearance of the twilight star. Like Holamayan, the door only opened during Azura's sacred
hours, though in this case the Wise Woman told me it was likely completely invisible until then.
All the landmarks had pointed me to this seeming dead end and a large wall of rock was before
me so I ate and waited, hoping I had found the right place.
The hour came, and a voice spoke. "With the door now under Azura's Star, the door is opened."
And so it was. A magnificent carved stone door appeared as if out of nowhere in the rock, and I
knew from the chill on my spine that I had heard that voice before in my dreams. It was not the
deep voice of Dagoth Ur, no, it was ethereal, female. Steeling myself I went in.
At the end of a brief tunnel there was a circular area. A grand statue of Azura rose out of the
stone in the center, her hands out as if offering something. I started to approach it and get a
better look at the object in her hands, catching the light of my torch, and then I tripped over
something that made a most unpleasant sound. Swinging my light around to look I
immediately wished I had not. A completely charred corpse was slumped over on the floor, and it
wasn't the only one. Six in total, all in varying positions that suggested a very agonizing end.
My heart starting to race I went back to Azura's opened hands and leaned close. Therein hovered
a ring, floating there by means of some magic, and when I saw its shape I knew what it was.
Moon-and-Star. The symbol and indisputable proof of Nerevar's identity, not wearable by anyone
but him, with which he united all the Chimer people in ancient times, before we were Dunmer.
Superstition holds that anyone else who tried to wear it would die.
I can't recall what I was thinking as I removed my gauntlet and reached for it, or if I was
thinking at all. I may have been in some kind of trance. I saw my hand moving toward it and
felt powerless to stop it when I slipped my finger through. The same voice from the door, and
my dreams, spoke, and I now knew it to be Azura.
"Nerevar reborn, incarnate, your first three trials are finished. Now, two new trials lie before
you. Seek the Ashlander Ashkans and the Great House Councils. Four tribes must name you
Nerevarine, three houses must name you Hortator. My servant Nibani Maesa will be your guide,
and when you are Hortator and Nerevarine, when you have stood before the false gods and freed
the Heart from its prison, heal my people and restore Morrowind. Do this for me and with my
blessing."
My mind was bombarded with images, both things I recognized and things I did not. Visions of
ashlander camps, Balmora, ash storms, Red Mountain, the Tribunal gods staring down at me.
And in that moment, I cannot explain it, but I knew myself as Nerevar.
When I came out of it I saw many spirits standing around me, applauding me, giving me their
blessings. I realized they were the ghosts of the bodies I had found. They were not the ones, they
said, but I was. The ring had killed them but I still stood with it on my hand.
Tomorrow I return to the Urshilaku with no doubts, and they will name me Nerevarine.
14 Frostfall, 3E426
The weather was on my side and remained clear until I reached the camp, at which point that
soupy ashland fog rolled in. I took off my gauntlet on the hand that bears Moon-and-Star so
that all would see it as I made my way to the Ashkhan's yurt.
Sul-Matuul wanted to offer me counsel before he made any sort of announcement. He smoked
something out of a colored wooden pipe that made thick smoke like the outside fog and explained
to me that as Nerevarine, I had a duty to fulfill the promise made in ancient times to protect
and honor the rights of the tribes. I told him it was a duty I take gladly, for after all, is it not
technically a promise I made although I do not directly remember? I had also come to be very
fond of the Ashlanders in the time I had spent among them. They are a people after my own
heart, strong and direct and honest, who had taken me in as one of their own and believed my
strange story, and I admire their way of life.
His tone became a bit grim then. He pointed to Moon-and-Star and said that I was now
marked as the enemy of the Temple and all its faithful. Friends would likely become enemies. But
in spite of all this, it is rather important that I do not hide in fear. The persecution of the
Nerevarine is written in the prophecies; I cannot escape it, it is a trial I must overcome.
When it comes to trials, I am always up for proving my strength or honor. I never turn away a
test of steel or endurance. It made me feel childish to admit it but I am a bit afraid; afraid I
will lose everything good I have come by, lose the friends I have made, possibly even lose my
freedom again. Of course I am afraid, Sul-Matuul said, no judgment in his tone, the trial is
overcoming that fear to be openly known as Nerevar, to stand before those who would despise me
and refuse to back down until they name me Hortator and Nerevarine. All must know so that
Morrowind can unite.
If I fail, there will not even be a Morrowind; they say the Incarnate cannot fail, I must believe
that myself.
Then Nibani came in bearing a brilliantly colored ceremonial robe, altered so that it could be
worn over a full set of armor, and bid me do so. I sat still and gritted my teeth while she used a
needle held over a flame to pierce my ears and adorn them with beaded earrings that clatter with
every move of my head. I held my tongue and didn't complain, understanding the importance of
looking the part. I was happy when she mentioned the robe was mine to keep- my old Imperial-
style skirt was growing quite tattered, and it just does not feel right anymore anyway.
I was led out to stand in front of the gathered Urshilaku. Nibani held up my hand to show them
all Moon-and-Star while Sul-Matuul announced that I was hereby recognized as Nerevarine and
warleader of the Urshilaku. I just stood there feeling like kind of a s'wit, not used to being the
center of attention... I suppose that is going to have to change.
I then followed Nibasi back to her yurt so that I might learn how to find the other three tribes.
She was able to point out vague regions on the map where each was located, and their names:
Erabenimsun, an aggressive warlike tribe of Molag Amur whose Ashkhan had a violent
disposition, Ahemmusa, a peaceful grazeland people, and Zainab, also in the grazelands, shrewd
and tricky to deal with. After I've proven myself to these, then I will be confronting the Great
Houses... so it is written in the fourth and fifth trials:
A stranger's voice unites the Houses.

Three Halls call him Hortator.
A stranger's hand unites the Velothi.

Four Tribes call him Nerevarine.
Despite being somewhat anxious and afraid, I feel changed in a positive way. To have so many
questions about the strange circumstances of my existence, about my nightmares, about who I
am and what it is I'm meant to do... all answered all at once with the same answer... my past
is no longer a specter that haunts me. My life so far was merely a set of trials designed to trim
away flaws, do away with falsehoods and cast aside doubt so that I might measure up to at
least a fraction of the hero Saint Nerevar was. If I stood before him right now, would he find
me worthy? Or would he call me lacking and say I am unfit to share his name and soul?
As I sat thinking to myself, the stars came out and was approached by the Urshilaku woman
who I had gathered the trama root for on my first day there. For some time she sat next to me
silently, just stared out at the stars with me, and I enjoyed the peaceful company. Then I
caught a bit of motion out of the corner of my eye to see her handing me what looked like a
small tome. "I traded for the parchment," she explained in her soft voice, "And the hide from your
kagouti is the cover. You are always writing in that book but it is so old and torn. Please do
not fail us, Nerevarine." With that, she returned to her yurt, not giving me the chance to do
much but nod.
So, this will be my final entry in this particular volume. My next will be in this surprisingly
sturdy little tome I've been given. Having no need to hold to this old one myself, and trusting in
the cult of the Nerevarine, I will leave it in the care of Nibani Maesa so that I may come back
to it at any time and it will be protected for future generations.
I cannot fail them, I will not. Even those that will despise and mock me, I will save. They are
my people, the people I spent this whole existence wanting to know and the people I promised in
my last existence I would protect.

Adarise Salvel, Outlander

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Ashlander Archives: Urshilaku Tribe >> Document No. 76300824: Journal of Adarise Salvel Vol.

16 Last Seed, 3E426

17 Last Seed, 3E426

18 Last Seed, 3E426

19 Last Seed, 3E426

20 Last Seed, 4E326

Almalexia, the Healing Mother,

21 Last Seed, 3E426

I do not know what, but something is giving me a sense of dread.

22 Last Seed, 3E426

24 Last Seed, 3E426

25 Last Seed, 3E426

The second-to-last leg of my pilgrimage starts at next dawn.

26 Last Seed, 3E426

28 Last Seed, 3E426

30 Last Seed, 3E426

31 Last Seed, 3E426

A deep bell was chiming.

"Omnipresent... omniscient... sovereign... immutable..."

"How sweet it is to be a God."

It feels hypocritical of me to ask someone to voluntarily hand themselves over to be imprisoned,

So much for restful sleep.

The Prophecy of the Stranger is first:

"When earth is sundered, and skies choked black,

Though stark-born to sire uncertain,

Many trials make manifest

And the Prophecy of the Seven Trials:

"What he puts his hand to, that shall be done.

On a certain day to uncertain parents

Neither blight nor age can harm him.

In caverns dark Azura's eye sees

A stranger's voice unites the Houses.

A stranger's hand unites the Velothi.

He honors blood of the tribe unmourned.

His mercy frees the cursed false gods,

He speaks the law for Veloth's people.

"Is that all?" I asked.

Almsivi... ancestors... anyone...?

I almost do not believe it myself, but I live.

Neither blight nor age can harm him,

They've caught her.

Ha, I am starting to rant.

...through the doors of the unmourned house

first curse, Curse-of-Fire

From seventh sign of eleventh generation,

Star-blessed hand wields thrice-cursed blade,

In caverns dark Azura's eye sees

the eye of the needle lies in the teeth of the wind

A stranger's voice unites the Houses.

A stranger's hand unites the Velothi.

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