What one word describes all others?
This is an important question to me. If there is a monotheistic God out there, his face is totality. She would need to be the ultimate omni-being: all present, all powerful, all knowing. It is one thing to be considered the architect of a creation, but another to be a part of that creation itself. If God were a simple architect, The Universe would be a self-sustaining entity no longer reliant on the presence of it's creator (Like Reltash is), but if not, we are offered something completely different.
For a creation to be dependent, it has to be an actual part of its creator, like a thought or a feotus (is there a difference between the two?).Thus an Omni-God is not so much a creator of something physical as a being who sustains a reality within her own mind, because as I am sure all artists know once it has left the mind to be transcribed into something physical the artist loses control over it. Of course, one of the important attributes of God is that he is 'unknowable' and capable of modes of thought we ourselves are not. I've always struggled with this idea. I can imagine her being very smart, imaginative and aware (heightening human attributes) but no further than that. I suppose imagining something unimaginable is something God can do but everyone else can't.
Anyway. Let's move on. Words. What exactly are words? Semantics dictates that words are symbolic compounds that describe other concepts or physical matter. Most important to the human experience is that words are not only physically transcribed for understanding (written characters) but also spoken compounds (sonic frequencies), which suggests that they can in fact be applied to any of the senses with a little work and a dictionary.
That leaves us with the task of understanding symbols, and though I'm no semioticist I'm pretty sure that symbols are representative examples of concepts. Whether or not 'representative' implies that something cannot be a symbol of itself is another matter which I will skirt over completely because loads of people choose to self-represent themselves in court and they don't pop out of existence when they do. Either way, almost everything is a symbol anyway, because we mostly just look at something and assume that it holds other characteristics without needing to lick and smell them to qualify our assumptions.
So yeah. Entities can be self-representative symbols, ergo symbols equate those entities themselves, ergo words equate to the entities they describe. Most people know this without having to read my blog, but they also know that everyone else needs a colon to survive even though they don't know why. That's very silly, because their colon may very well be planning to strangle them while they are sleeping.
When I ask "What one word describes all others?" I am not asking about the little electronic twigs you are staring at right now, I'm asking about entities. What one entity describes all others? If there is a single symbol that holds the whole multiverse within it, what is that symbol, and what does it represent?
This question is difficult to answer because we are limited by physical perceptions, even though we are quite competent in mental ones. I'd like you to join me in a simple mental exercise to find the answer we're looking for.
Look ahead of you. All of that and everything behind that has a word to describe it (or 'is a word'). All of it is also made of smaller words, or fragments of words, or longer words with smaller substances. Now that you are holding all that in your mind remember that reality has at least four dimensions. Incorporate everything behind you; trucks, trees, supernovas, photons. Now everything on each side of you (walls, emotions, gravity, sounds). Above you (weather patterns, stars, temperatures, light). Below you (Caverns, pressure, shoes, odours).
Now recognise that everything you can name and cannot name is moving through time too, forwards and backwards, one substance giving into another in cycles of entropy and dynamic consistency. Ignore the barrier between concepts and physicalities; all things are recognised equally as words. Lastly, accept possibility. Understand that though you have perceptions, those perceptions can be wrong. Any one word may mean something else completely - as a good friend once pointed out to me, how can you be certain that your 'blue' is not another person's 'purple'? The symbol stays the same, but the entity shifts beneath it.
Swimming in this ocean of havoc and unity we are left with the task of naming two things: the reality, and the symbols (a duality which, once again, equates). There are many words we use to describe things we have never known; 'Absolution', 'Totality', and my favourite, 'Eternity'. If you consider the name for a group of complimentary words the best answer is 'Language'. This too is the crux.
Eternity and language. The one has the intention of shaping the other. One negates substance to something neutral and complete, while the other separates and labels. I am in love with both. Eternity is the word I chose to describe the sum of every other word, and I gave it this symbol
as a foundation for every other that would follow.
Six and twelve, folks.
Hexaemeric Law is what I named my 'Language of Eternity'. Writing is the substance of Reltash in more ways than one.
Tuesday, 27 December 2011
Sunday, 25 December 2011
Escapism
Plegh. that's enough about The Elder Scrolls for now. I need to clear my pallet. I've written as much about Saris Saryoni to fill a novel the same size as Shadowolf, which scares me. Plegh plegh. Ptooi.
Glad that's done with.
Merry Christmas, beings of Earth. I hope it's treating you kindly. Today I wish to discuss a certain problem I have that you may have too if you are extraordinarily unlucky. The problem - well, it's more of a foible to be honest - is that I really, really detest life on Earth in the 21st century. It's not that I can't see the good in the world, it is more that it is filled with so much repulsive evil that good can only be seen with an electron microscope.
That's the other thing: I'm a cynic. Of course most cynics consider themselves to be realists, but I'm not so sure I am one. The scientist has an effect on the experiment, after all, and my own personal perception of the world effects the truth behind it.
The trouble is that whether through locale or misfortune I have been exposed to the greasy underbelly of the world - heck, the greasy underbelly of the middle class world, which implies there's something even worse out there. I know people who have been raped. I know people who've died before their lives even began. I've played witness to countless affairs and divorces, and watched as people slip through the cracks, going insane or taking their own lives. Sure, there's love and understanding here and there, but it can get really hard to see.
Cynicism is my coping mechanism. If all this tragedy is centered around me and the rest of the world is free and happy, what could I have done to deserve the utter misery of lost hope, of constant dejection and melancholy inevitability? I can't see myself as the cause of tragedy, or my existence would imply suffering. Instead I recognise the disease has nothing to do with me; I'm merely one of the lucky immune who sit around and watch it spread. If it has nothing to do with me, it cannot be localised. Evil is everywhere. Cynicism is reality.
That said, life becomes a hard thing to cope with. This ocean of human debris floats around me, but I never seem to get wet. I have no substance. I cannot touch, only observe. I feel... empty.
There are limits to this sensation, or lack thereof. Physicality implies connection and conflict, after all. Where I can help people out I do, in whatever way possible. I avoid hurting people, or shoulder pain to save them from it. I'm not trying to be a saint. I'm not even trying to be good. I just need to believe that there can be something decent in the world, and the most readily accessible agent of change towards decency is the body directly under my control.
All too often, the physical world feels like a prison. I guess that's because of the emptiness - the feeling that I've been sequestered someplace where nothing I do is of any consequence. Freewill is marvelous, yes, but as we are often shown by pop culture it is worthless unless we are given options to go along with it. Sometimes I feel like I have all too much freewill, but not enough options. It's a little like what Tolstoy said about the course of history; we cannot stop the future from occurring, or swerve away from cyclical patterns. All we can do is change the manner in which we approach the curve, and the spirit in which we enter that forthcoming state. He demonstrated that theory with his 'Letter to a Hindu', later read by Gandhi and used to promote a non-violent revolution in India.
Physical options can be limited, and so mental ones are where I feel I can most safely express myself; thus reading, virtual reality, television. When you read you can colour a world with whatever perceptions you wish, because most often the scope of the characters is small and focused. You can write a world behind them completely unlike our own; for example you may see a fantasy world as a utopia where evil only threatens through singular agents and syndicates, or where such perversions as rape are dealt with with equal severity to murder. Fiction gives possibility; it breaks out from the web of singular red moments on Earth. In fiction as on Earth we have freewill, but infinitely more important we are given the option of perceiving the world how we want it without resorting to delusions or lies.
I find myself desperate to lose myself in other worlds, and this usually means virtual reality. I play computer games because they are vivid, they encapsulate the senses, and they are immediate. I cannot stress the importance of the last. Time is my oxygen, and without a steady supply I suffocate. I know this is a false perception, but it is one I cling to uncertainly. With time I hope to change this, and draw my focus upon books. I know I love books more. It is just that cultivating relationships with them takes more effort, and hard work does not come naturally to me. Dewey suggests work and play are essentially the same, but during the liminility of adolescence we separate them to make sense of the world, so that we know one is a fight and the other is fought for. In an ideal world both are treated equally. Earth is not an ideal world.
Merry Christmas folks, wherever you are. Stay decent.
Glad that's done with.
Merry Christmas, beings of Earth. I hope it's treating you kindly. Today I wish to discuss a certain problem I have that you may have too if you are extraordinarily unlucky. The problem - well, it's more of a foible to be honest - is that I really, really detest life on Earth in the 21st century. It's not that I can't see the good in the world, it is more that it is filled with so much repulsive evil that good can only be seen with an electron microscope.
That's the other thing: I'm a cynic. Of course most cynics consider themselves to be realists, but I'm not so sure I am one. The scientist has an effect on the experiment, after all, and my own personal perception of the world effects the truth behind it.
The trouble is that whether through locale or misfortune I have been exposed to the greasy underbelly of the world - heck, the greasy underbelly of the middle class world, which implies there's something even worse out there. I know people who have been raped. I know people who've died before their lives even began. I've played witness to countless affairs and divorces, and watched as people slip through the cracks, going insane or taking their own lives. Sure, there's love and understanding here and there, but it can get really hard to see.
Cynicism is my coping mechanism. If all this tragedy is centered around me and the rest of the world is free and happy, what could I have done to deserve the utter misery of lost hope, of constant dejection and melancholy inevitability? I can't see myself as the cause of tragedy, or my existence would imply suffering. Instead I recognise the disease has nothing to do with me; I'm merely one of the lucky immune who sit around and watch it spread. If it has nothing to do with me, it cannot be localised. Evil is everywhere. Cynicism is reality.
That said, life becomes a hard thing to cope with. This ocean of human debris floats around me, but I never seem to get wet. I have no substance. I cannot touch, only observe. I feel... empty.
There are limits to this sensation, or lack thereof. Physicality implies connection and conflict, after all. Where I can help people out I do, in whatever way possible. I avoid hurting people, or shoulder pain to save them from it. I'm not trying to be a saint. I'm not even trying to be good. I just need to believe that there can be something decent in the world, and the most readily accessible agent of change towards decency is the body directly under my control.
All too often, the physical world feels like a prison. I guess that's because of the emptiness - the feeling that I've been sequestered someplace where nothing I do is of any consequence. Freewill is marvelous, yes, but as we are often shown by pop culture it is worthless unless we are given options to go along with it. Sometimes I feel like I have all too much freewill, but not enough options. It's a little like what Tolstoy said about the course of history; we cannot stop the future from occurring, or swerve away from cyclical patterns. All we can do is change the manner in which we approach the curve, and the spirit in which we enter that forthcoming state. He demonstrated that theory with his 'Letter to a Hindu', later read by Gandhi and used to promote a non-violent revolution in India.
Physical options can be limited, and so mental ones are where I feel I can most safely express myself; thus reading, virtual reality, television. When you read you can colour a world with whatever perceptions you wish, because most often the scope of the characters is small and focused. You can write a world behind them completely unlike our own; for example you may see a fantasy world as a utopia where evil only threatens through singular agents and syndicates, or where such perversions as rape are dealt with with equal severity to murder. Fiction gives possibility; it breaks out from the web of singular red moments on Earth. In fiction as on Earth we have freewill, but infinitely more important we are given the option of perceiving the world how we want it without resorting to delusions or lies.
I find myself desperate to lose myself in other worlds, and this usually means virtual reality. I play computer games because they are vivid, they encapsulate the senses, and they are immediate. I cannot stress the importance of the last. Time is my oxygen, and without a steady supply I suffocate. I know this is a false perception, but it is one I cling to uncertainly. With time I hope to change this, and draw my focus upon books. I know I love books more. It is just that cultivating relationships with them takes more effort, and hard work does not come naturally to me. Dewey suggests work and play are essentially the same, but during the liminility of adolescence we separate them to make sense of the world, so that we know one is a fight and the other is fought for. In an ideal world both are treated equally. Earth is not an ideal world.
Merry Christmas folks, wherever you are. Stay decent.
Tuesday, 11 October 2011
The Journal of Saris Saryoni (Part I)
Property of SS, Tribunal Necromancer. If found, please destroy.
Ruined Godsreach, Mournhold. 4E 200, 23rd Sun’s Dusk
My last voyage from the sanctuary of Mournhold was animal. I left on instinct, hoping to find something of value, neglecting to take anything more essential than a robe with me. I vowed that on my next venture, I would leave more prepared. I am old, or older, at least, and any lack of preparation on my part could kill me. So I am keeping this journal, for a start, to map my way, to remember things forgotten, and to bide my time.
How do I feel? How does anyone feel when leaving their homeland? I am excited, nervous, anticipant. I am awake. It has been almost two years since I have chased anything, let alone the selfsame thing that keeps me turning every night.
Let me tell you a story, and if it appeals, you may read further.
Once upon a time, I was whole. I lived here, in Godsreach, surrounded by those I loved, living and dead. The part of me that I am now is Saris Saryoni, an Indoril noble of high birth, alive in a time when that meant something. I was a child. I had no idea what I had, or how lucky I was to have it.
The part of me I have now lost was named Ranis Athryn. I say the name now with the same reverence I did then. I loved her, and I still do, though she is gone. We were joined together by forces beyond mortal ken... Perhaps that is difficult to understand. Do you know anything of Anuriel and Padomay, those brothers whose divine battle spilt the blood of all creation? Do you know of Lorkhan, the trickster who took the soul of that creation, and split it from the divine spark? We are the children of that soul of creation, forever wandering hopelessly and lusting after the power we lost.
To me, Ranis is the divine spark, and my soul is tortured and empty without her. She was killed by a Daedra, and as befits her lover I have been sworn to avenge her. Part of that vengeance is in finding the name and whereabouts of the Daedra in question. The other part – and this is what I now leave my home with the hopes of finding – is how to reach that Daedra and extract its heart.
That is my story, written, yet unwritten. Half a story, I suppose, for half a mer.
Almsivi guide me, for I stray.
Matters have been attended to. My friend and colleague Suruliin is here for awhile to plunder the lost magics of Almalexia, and more pointedly to watch over my mother until others from the temple can step in. It is good to see him again, and be reminded of my university days. Sometimes I miss the scholarly disputes, the intrigue... shadows of Ranis, and the empire she loved.
Tomorrow, I set out for Kragenmoor, then Cheydinhal, Bruma, and at last to Skyrim, where hope awaits in Winterhold. It is a path longer than it could be, but Skyrim’s border with Morrowind is never friendly and best avoided. Caution, Sera. Caution.
24th Sun’s Dusk
Leaving mother was not easy, despite the providence I have been sure to leave behind. She gets lonely, and talks of Solstheim, but would never leave Godsreach or the manor by choice. There is father, of course, but she is less adept at speaking with the dead than I am. She will be alright. I will return, and if I cannot – well, death has proved to be a feeble barrier, thus far.
Morrowind is healing. That much is clear. There are few dunmer on the roads – only the most stubborn, like myself, who believe the argonian occupation will not last. Their people have ties to Black Marsh, not here. This was vengeance. Balance. Even now, we are returning.
I’ve purchased a guar for this first leg of the trip, though I will sell it once I reach the Velothi Mountains. I have grown unused to the armour I wore on my long past adventures, so the beast bears the burden of my cuirass and greaves, while I strengthen by limbs with the pauldrons and boots. It is tiring – more so than I expected. I need utter a charm under my breath now and then to aid me.
The plants here look so different to how I remember them. The swamp is creeping closer to the shore, regaining what it lost. Red Mountain looms across the sea. Ash is everywhere, nestled in the roots of creeping vines and coating the surface of undisturbed pools. It is beautiful, and I had forgotten. They call Morrowind ‘The Wasteland’ now, but ‘they’ are of course imperial propaganda who spread false word about the abysmal local governance of the provinces. Life is never extinguished. We change, and Nirn changes with us.
25th Sun’s Dusk
’ staying at an inn near Far Watch. It’s a rundown place, pointed roof, tudor arches in the false imperial style, loud as anything. This f’lah at the bar says he recognises me, to which I reply in negative.
“Impossible. I’ve spent the past century on Vvardenfell, up in Sheogorad.”
He shakes his head, smiles to himself, “No, before that, sera, from the ‘Crisis. You came blazing through here with hell in your eyes, you and this other nasty swit, I remember...”
“Eldebar,” I replied, surprised. Had I really been in this same hole two hundred years ago?
“So it is you,” he said. I offered to buy him a quart of flin, and he thanked me. “Can’t be running with the same crowd, can you?” he asked.
I shook my head, but smiled imperceptibly. No, I no longer followed that crowd. I was that crowd. “We parted ways before I reached Cyrodiil,” I said. “’Turned out he had a bounty on his head. I wonder if you remember the Cult of Worms?”
He shivered, and I saw that he did.
I left him to his memories, as dusk was gathering behind us, I went outside, checked my guar was tethered and had a pound of flesh to gobble down. Then I walked around for a while, and under a willow I found what I was looking for – a grave marker, all too common in these times.
I was uninterested in the contents of the grave, which were most likely the bones of a man who had died on the inn’s doorstep and been refused ritual cremation or interment. I drew a chitin dagger from my belt, pricked my finger and incanted a memorised litany from The Book of Life and Service. At once the air grew cold and Fendryn appeared, the oldest of my ancestors who kept a recognisable form. Even so he stood on the very threshold of the burning-blue passage I had created, and the edges of his body collapsed into the Afterlife.
“Shield us,” he said. “An argonian girl is watching from the window above.”
I muttered a word and a blanket of darkness quickly cloaked us, carefully measured to last only as long as the summoning itself.
“Fendryn,” I said. “It is good to see you. I was starting to think you passed into the Dreamsleeve without saying goodbye.”
“Not yet,” he smiled, echoes of flesh wrinkling his pale blue cheeks. “Soon, as I reckon things, but not yet. You are travelling?”
“North. To Skyrim. What can you tell me of it?”
“It’s about time,” he said. “Not much. I myself never went, but I knew of its history. It was popular to hate it, during my lifetime, though I suppose that is not so now.”
“Hate survives everything, but the situation has changed, and I go there in peace. Ranis –”
“Ranis,” he interrupted. “Of course. Don’t be too hopeful. Keep your eye out. You are not going for the reasons you think.”
“Regardless, it is what drives me,” I replied.
He paused, though the seconds counted on and I could see him begin to fade, back to his nether-existence, where the unknowable lies.
“Then we could all do with a Ranis Athryn, I suppose,” he said. The words flickered in the air, and the ghost gate shut tight. My illusion dampened, and I looked up to the inn. The argonian child was still sitting there, staring at me. I smiled at her, put a finger to my lips, and hurried inside.
Fendryn has always been the most cryptic of my family entourage. I could hardly bear to speak with him during my first century, so desperate as I was for clear answers, measurable solutions. I leant to accept things differently during my fast in Sheogorad – a fast not from food, but from living company, from the instant demands of the mortal realm, and the instinctual reaction to danger and pain. I learnt to admire mystery for mystery’s sake, and that is who Fendryn is. So there is something else brewing in Skyrim? Very well. I will go prepared – but my oath will not be forgotten.
26th Sun’s Dusk
It has been a long day’s march. I wore my greaves today, to try and get accustomed to the weight and limited movement. I have forgotten almost everything I learnt about moving in this infernal shell. It is good that I have started early.
For now, the name I place on my enemy is “Hyrados”. Before, it was ‘kynreeve’, and long ago, ‘Daedra’. Oblivions servants are not endless. Think of sifting through the names of every person who has ever lived. Now imagine each has spent a thousand generations hunting, killing and laying waste to mortal housings. Try to ask them, “Do you remember this kill, this single kill, of the millions to your name?” The answer is obvious. They do not.
I can be thankful for what I have learned already. When the Oblivion Crisis was recent, a dremora churl (with the help of a well placed spell) recalled which Daedric Citadel had attacked Necrom, where Ranis was stationed. Kamarlivel. Soon a scamp, Echard, who I still call to my service on occasion, told me the name of the Citadel’s master – Nyrmov. At the time such clues were vital, but I grew desperate all the more.
By chance, I found a new solution. While following a false lead to Vvardenfell – to no less a place than The Scathing Bay where Vivec once stood and I myself trained as an ordinator – I came across something far more helpful than a name. It was a holy relic; an ebony-black altar whose surface was scarred by a sprawling black hand. At the time, a tribe of ashlanders were trying to load it onto a cart and wheel it off, hoping to sell it to a collector. I offered to help them carry it, seeing it for what it was – none other than an altar of Black Hands Mephala, the Daedric Prince of Murder. While the ashlanders slept, I approached the altar, and under two moons, Mephala spoke to me.
She spoke long, and not always pleasantly. She wanted me to slay the ashlanders and return the altar to the Morag Tong, but I refused. One does not refuse a daedric prince without something better to offer, and so I did. I asked for the answer I sought – the name of the one who killed Ranis Athryn. She smiled at that, sensing the murder on my mind. She demanded a greater task for the answer – one I have yet to fulfil.
“The Dark Brotherhood,” she said. “They are talented, but guided wrongly. I would lead them, if I could. They would never do so willingly – and so they must follow you. And you must follow me.”
I nodded. It was no more impossible than what I planned to do already. Besides – this was one of the original Tribunal. Had I not served them faithfully my whole life?
“The name,” I replied, “And the Brotherhood is yours.”
She laughed, like a nightmare. “Four names for now. Gurdaan Kell, Korvis Tyin, Achevach Naesarkas, and Hyrados Kumal. The kynreeve generals who served at Kamarlivel – one of which is who you seek. Now, my Hand, for your knife.”
She vanished, and the deal was done.
The Dark Brotherhood have no holdings in Morrowind, from what I can tell. To make it known that I wished to join them with a league of Morag Tong assassins wandering around would have been suicide, and so I opted for a quieter choice. I felt confident, and grew lax.
It was a release to put aside my oath and go on my pilgrimage, even in the presence of the harsh afterbirth of Dagoth Ur. So began a hundred-year journey to the man I have become today, well versed in the scriptures, focused, and at ease where other dunmer rage at our fate. It was necessary. Before, I was a fool who was as liable to be killed as to kill. Now, with just that little bit of patience, victory is no miracle. Necessary transformation. That is all we can do to survive.
Necessary transformation.
27th of Sun’s Dusk:
Spines’ Meet isn’t doing too well. At one time, it was relied on as the gateway to Morrowind. Few travel this way anymore, and the town looks empty. The crooked shadow of a Velothi tower hosts a spattering of collapsing buildings and rundown shacks. A smithy, a tavern, the husk of a Mages’ Guild. Little is of interest besides the tower itself, where I hear The College of Whispers and the Oculus share residence on an imperial stipend. I would not stay in the travellers’ accommodation on the ground floor. Instead, after purchasing three kwama eggs and an ounce of bittergreen, I walked over to the Mages’ Guild and forced my way in past the hinge-less door.
It is empty, of course, as such places of power tend to be after two centuries of looting and disrepair. The Guild did not last much longer than the empire did, once the Elder Council could no longer afford to pay for its research and holdings. We were not much affected in Morrowind, but I hear the imperial province suffered terribly, especially after the Guild of Fighters fell, too.
I walked the empty halls, feeling the dust on the bookshelves, my feet crunching on the broken glass of potion bottles. There was nothing here. I had hoped to find a soulgem among the wreckage, or even a book. One may complain about looters having no scruples and no pride – but they do have finesse.
My contacts at the Arcane University are what afforded me the latest breakthrough in my investigation. Two of the kynreeve have been ruled out by a series of joint summoning and exact determinations. Two remain. Achevach has risen far above his rank, so much as to be named a lord of Oblivion. It is difficult to gain information about such daedra.
Hyrados’ nature is even more heavily shrouded, if not as dangerous to pursue. Such quiet is unusual for a Dremora, and is therefore of great interest to me. From my experience, people only hide when they are being watched, or if they suspect they are. Hyrados has therefore gained my full attention, for now.
If only Oblivion were as easy to reach for me as Death, my task would be much simpler. Do not think I haven’t tried that alternate avenue. I have been surrounded by the dead my whole life – cousins, uncles, a parent – my family, and my House. Even in death we are bound by blood. It is the way of the endeavour.
But other things bind as well – or at least they should. I have called Ranis’ name across the Afterlife a thousand times, with no reply. Yet I am certain she is dead. I cradled her body in by arms when I arrived in Necrom, that great city of the dead, and heard twelve accounts of how she sacrificed herself to save a handful of Telvanni apprentices. She is dead, and yet unreachable.
There are vile reasons to explain this thing. Chief among them is Necromancy – the darkest, corrosive kind which I myself will not touch unless driven by necessity. When an animus is held within a soulgem, it cannot wander far, if at all, and is exempt from the call of a living necromancer. This fate I fear most of all, and so I have studied all I can of soulgems, necromancy, and the enchantments borne by both.
I spent my evening sifting through the detritus of a past age, with no success at uncovering anything of use. Sometimes, even I must deal in flesh.
28th of Sun’s Dusk:
This road has not felt the touch of an imperial hand for a long while. As I ascend into the mountains, the cobblestones became looser, the paths windier, and the falls all the more perilous. Bandits and opportunists were a constant threat, and I kept a tight lead on my guar, lest it misstep and go rolling into the thick fens below.
To think a nation once walked this path!
I am camping for the night. Why not? I have fire at my fingertips, a scrib roasting for an evening meal, the comforts of a branching willow – tonight I sleep in the style of the bosmer, hidden among the bows up above. My limbs ache, but as the sun sets, there are things I must still do.
The scrib’s death serves as a wedge in death’s door, which I pry open enough for my great uncle Bovyn Venim to step through. At once his form solidifies, skeletal and strong, and with not even a gesture, we begin.
His first blow almost lands, but at the last moment I catch his fist in my palms and drag it off to the side, almost throwing him off balance. He breaks free, kicks at the bend in my knee. I soften and let the blow land, falling into a crouch, pinching his leg tight between my thigh and my tibia. I swivel my boot in the dirt, free leg extended, and drop just short of kicking him in the skull.
“Close!” he says, in good humour. “That’s a move even the Redoran would be proud of!”
“It didn’t land,” I replied.
“You’re forgetting your armour,” he replied, pointing a skeletal finger to my knee. “Don’t turn on your foot. You can pull your opponent in that much closer by moving one joint up.”
I tried again, several times, and though the mechanics were correct, my leg was too heavy with bonemold to strike at the head.
“Never mind for now,” Bovyn said hurriedly. “A blow to the chest is almost as good. Now while I’m gone, work on this,” he came in close, and I let him, curious. He grabbed my arm, gave it a tug, and in the momentary blindness of pain from a near-dislocated limb, he rolled up against my body, back towards me, and landed three smart blows with an elbow before knocking me in the chin with the back of his skull. “Your counter technique next week,” he said. “And that kick. I’m fading...”
I made a gesture of thanks as his bones evaporated, and winced. I rested for a moment, then placed a ball of cold white magicka against my shoulder, letting the restorative energies seep in. As the adrenaline left my veins, I plotted my counterattack.
Bovyn and I have been working on this martial form now for many years. When I was younger, we stuck to the disciplined close combat used by ordinators unlucky enough to lose their sword in melee. But as disaster piled upon Morrowind, I realised many dunmer could no longer afford a blade, and those passed down by the ancient families were lost among the ruins of the third era. With this in mind, Bovyn and I started mapping a new, more inclusive hand-to-hand discipline, melding heavy-armoured ordinator training with the marshmerrow style of the dissident priesthood and the forgotten techniques of the ashlanders. My pilgrimage through Vvardenfell set the groundwork. Now we are filling in the missing forms, adapting, refining – slow work, but rewarding. Some day I’m sure this combat style will become standard. Until then, I keep my own sword handy.
29th of Sun’s Dusk
I encountered a Velothi priest today, and he has humbly offered to let me stay in his home, after realising I too was with the Tribunal Temple. He hardly believed me, until I showed him my robe and my pilgrimage marks (I almost had to recite Vivec’s thirty-six sermons). He has asked for my aid in renewing the wards in a nearby family tomb. It is not so much of a detour, so we are headed there tomorrow.
Meanwhile, we have been debating over the Endeavour. He, like most, takes the traditional bent; “Live simply, sera. Forgive mortal harms, cry not at your suffering, but shoulder it and be renewed.” To which I reply,
“There is more to it, I’m sure. If we are meant to wholly alienate ourselves from Mundus, what shall we learn? How shall we be different from the Daedra? Was it not the Tribunal’s interaction with the mortal realm that led them to ascension?”
“You speak like a wizard!” the priest laughed, and I told him of my time at the Arcane University. “Ah, so you are, in a sense. Nothing wrong with that, I suppose.”
“Nothing at all,” I said. “Wasn’t Sotha Sil a wizard?”
The priest nodded. “He was.”
There was silence for a moment. He sat in contemplation, while I chewed some bittergreen. Finally he asked me, cautiously,
“Tell me, sera, in all your studies, have you ever heard of The Tower?”
“The Tower?” I replied at once. “You mean the constellation, beside The Lover and The Shadow as the charges of The Thief.”
He shook his head. “Not that tower, I think.”
“Then Adamantium Tower? Cephora? There are many worth mention.”
“Perhaps one of those, yes,” he admitted, “But I am not certain.”
“You ought to explain further,” I said.
“I will, if I can find the words. You see, I have guarded this pass for almost thirty years now. It is quiet, but there are those who stop by seeking shelter in the rain, or needing food. There are strange sorts on the roads these days... blind Khajiit, Breton flame-witches, scurrilous couples on the lam... but this one who mentioned The Tower was the strangest of all. He claimed to be of the Maruhkati Cult, of which I have heard little –”
“And I, too much,” I interrupted. “They are known across the continent as the most terrifying madmen, obsessed with their ‘Temple Zero’ and its unknowable contents.”
“Mad, you say? If this man was mad, he hid it very well. I listened to what he said because he used very old names, almost forgotten. He called me ‘servant of Vehk and Vehk’, which I am sure you know means –”
“Vi Vehk,” I answered, translating directly from Old Ehlnofex. “The name given to the sainted one when it was revealed that he was, to be tactful, ‘two beings in one’.”
The priest nodded. “He told me Vehk had climbed ‘The Tower’ and plundered its contents, and this granted him his godhood. I asked him to speak plainly, but he would not.”
“Wait,” I begged, “So the tower is Dagoth Ur?”
“The tower is divinity, I think, or it holds divinity. This is what I do not understand. Ah, if only the living gods still walked among us! There is so much we could have learned.”
I nodded. “Learned, yes, but not understood. Remember that the living gods were false gods too. They broke their promise to Veloth, and so their whole path is called into question.”
We left matters there for the night, lest they draw us to one another’s throats by dawn. Some of the elder priests and priestesses still struggle with the notion of the Moon and Star Reborn.
30th of Sun’s Dusk
We left early in the morning, before the sun rose. It was a long trek through road-less tracts of land, down the gullet of a ravine, wading amidst the rushes run wild with the recent feast of ash from Red Mountain. At the far end a low, sad doorway jutted from the mountain rock. We pulled the vines from its door, and the priest revealed a set of lock picks he had hidden beneath his robe.
“No key.” He said, and I understood. When a dunmeri dies, their ashen remains are interred in a tomb and the key passes on to their family – but when the family dies, and there are none to hold the key, the tomb is locked from the inside.
The priest tried to pick the lock for a minute or so without success before I offered to take over, and half a minute later the lock buckled to a patient, cautious knock to its last tumbler. Inside and down the first hall we met our first spirit, though it was weak and fading. Without hesitating, in the manner I had seen done countless times before, I said, “Hold firm in gravefast, wraithfather.”
The spirit visibly shrank, and I felt its relief. “Too long,” it whispered, its voice an ember. “We are almost vanished.”
“Not yet,” I said. “Take us to the hearth shrine, if you will.”
The spirit guided us, leaving a trail of marks behind it as we wound deeper into the tomb, watching the number of urns in each room multiply and divide in echo of the generations that preceded ours. Here and there were markers of the ancestors’ individual lives; a prayer book, a spear, a diamond, and hidden in the shadows, those ancestors themselves who offered to stay behind – grinning, mummified hunks of flesh we at the temple name ‘bonewalkers’. They let us pass, though their interest was overwhelming in its melancholy. They extended withered hands to touch our shoulders as we passed, and we let them, thankful for their ceaseless vigil.
At last we came to the hearth shrine, sunken into the floor of a wide chamber empty of all else. The shrine was, as best described, an ash pit, where the mortal bodies of the tomb’s guardians had been cremated. The ‘door’ through to the Afterlife flung open by the presence of so many unanimated bodies was easing shut, so that now only a glimmer of ghostly light could be seen. For many of these guardian spirits, the quiet slip into the Dreamsleeve was not far off.
The Priest cleared his throat. “It has been a long while since I have had to perform this ritual. Could you lead?”
I nodded. “Of course. I admit, this exact duty is one I have always excelled at, to the detriment of many others. I would be glad to.” We stepped forward, and kneeled at the shrine’s rim. I began.
“Blessed are the Bonemen, for they serve without self in spirit forever.
Blessed are the Mistmen, for they blend in the glory of the transcendent spirit.
Blessed are the Wrathmen, for they render their rage unto the ages.
Blessed are the Masters, for they bridge the past and span the future.”
As I spoke these words, the spirits seeped in through the walls, chanting words of their own in return.
We die.
We pray.
To live.
We serve.
The ritual made the enchantments that followed easier. I shall not bore you with the details, more than to say I unearthed the sacred relics buried in each corner of that house of dead mer and renewed the magicka of each in turn, until the spirits grew stronger, ready for another ten years of service at least before the wards would fail again.
When we left the bonelords to their watch, dusk had fallen, and rather than hike back to the priest’s home in the dark we chose to rest on the tomb’s doorstep, checking the shadows around us for the blight of necromancers and vampires who lurked forever as the true dead’s trespassers. I felt content. Almsivi watches over us, even now.
31st of Sun’s Dusk
At the nearest crossroads, I split from my companion. He had bought my guar cheaply the day before (something I forgot to mention, no doubt, because of more pressing metaphysical matters), and so all I had with me was a netch-skin travel sack slung over my shoulder, holding a few books and clothes. By now I wore my full set of bonemold – except the helm, which I believe is still buried in molten rock along one of the more treacherous foyadas of Red Mountain.
“Safe travels, sera,” the priest said to me, with the slightest bow. I offered him the same in return.
“And to you. I hope you find this ‘Tower’ of yours, whatever it may be. ALMSIVI in every corner.”
“In every corner,” he repeated, turned, and walked his long road home.
The road grew rougher as I headed onwards, higher and higher the closer I came to the cyrodiilic border. The day was so clear, I could see all of Morrowind behind me, straight across the Inner Sea to the charred throat of the Star Wound. I stopped on a rocky bluff to eat a proper breakfast, cracking open my last kwama egg and feasting on the translucent knot of viscera inside. My eyes traced the lines I had taken across this country over my life. I saw the mar of Scathing Bay, the three broken spires of Almalexia’s temple, where I imagined my mother was talking Suruliin through a temple Mass at this very moment; and in the distance, past all else, I imagined Necrom, a hive of the dead, where Ranis lay in repose. Not even the Argonians would touch that place. Death is as sacred a thing to them as it is to us.
It is a pity that I must turn away, and once again pursue that which is beyond scope. I love Morrowind – every blackened inch of it. But there is more out there; things to be learned, debts to settle, mysteries to unmask. And in all this, I am not alone.
The dead stand with me.
After rejoining the main road, I quickly found an inn for the night and bought myself a room, with a hot bath of fresh ice melt. The muck of my journey rinsed clean, and what bruises remained burned away in painful release. I had my first taste of cyrodiilic cheese in years, and after extracting these pleasures, I turned to fitful sleep, though obviously I awoke, and wrote this. The stars are bright, and I ponder Aetherius. I am sitting on the floor by the window, counting the stars, and hoping to forget. Just one night’s sleep, free of my silent phantom of the past. Just one night...
From the Desk of Saris Saryoni
The character creation was just the beginning. As fun as it was, it was many months before November when I went all mouth-foamy and paroxysmal and stopped being able to concentrate on anything else but TES. That isn't a very good thing for a writer. We need to keep our skills sharp with constant acts of witticism and literary flamboyancy if we wish to float above the tide of 'normal people' and attain a point of godlike verbiage.
So I took things further. Just to experiment a little bit, I wrote two letters from Saris Saryoni explaining his adventures.
So I took things further. Just to experiment a little bit, I wrote two letters from Saris Saryoni explaining his adventures.
A letter from Saris Saryoni to the Esteemed Mage Suruliin of Sumerisle
Suruliin,
It has been a long while since I last heard from you, and I was worried one of your experiments had gone awry. I received your letter only recently (myself being otherwise indisposed. Mournhold has not fared well since the Argonian occupation, as one might expect.), and have only had the opportunity to reply at this very instant, having had to practically barricade myself in my father’s old study to earn myself these singular moments. I hope you are keeping well. Your research appears to be having more promise than my own, at least. Please find your copy of ‘Liminal Bridges’ enclosed within the package. While it was certainly an interesting read, I fear hurling myself into a whirlpool isn’t exactly the most practical way to go about exacting my vengeance. I am almost ready to consider it... it has been too long.
I still see her face, you know. Whenever I close my eyes she is waiting for me. You know of my particular studies, and I must tell you that they do not help matters in the slightest. Souls are only bound to one another by very particular events – births, deaths, oaths – but not by unfulfilled love. I have spoken to my own ancestors as far back as the Merethic Era, and yet she eludes me. I know what you would suggest at this and I must point out that I have considered it, and if it is so, it makes my vengeance that much more essential.
I probably tire you with this banter, and I apologise. You asked if you could stay in my home when you next visit Morrowind, and my answer is most certainly ‘yes’. It will be a pleasure to see you again old friend, though I fear our paths will not cross for longer than a few days. I myself have an adventure brewing. Perhaps you remember Caelorn, the bosmer I shared a term paper with at The Arcane University? He has just returned from Skyrim with the most amazing stories. He has up until recently been a resident of the Arcane College of Winterhold, where he tells me an unusually clever nord has received a grant to make further study into Oblivion Gates, and is looking for eye witnesses to help him piece things together. This could be the opportunity I’ve been waiting for. I will hold off leaving for Winterhold for as long as it takes for you to get here and settle in, but then I must be going. There’s promise to this one.
Moon & Star guide you,
SS
ALMSIVI
P.S. Will the Spectre who is reading this please hurry up and pass on my letter. Couriers are slow enough without accommodating your pointless interference.
A Letter to Irayn Ulys, Tribunal Faithful
To Irayn Ulys
The news that I have departed in your absence may come as something of a shock to you, but I am confident in your ability to adapt to the change. You have been of great service to the temple and to myself over the past year, Irayn, and it will not be forgotten. I have put forth my personal recommendation that you uptake my old post at the temple. I hope this is what you wanted when you first volunteered to assist me.
Your road ahead will be long and difficult, but I know you will hold fast. Remember the three virtues always; Mercy, Mastery, Mystery, and do honour to your ancestors by their practice. Though my own place in the temple has never rested on solid ground, I have come to feel at home among its acolytes and teachers, as I hope you will, too. These are difficult times for our religion, and ALMSIVI needs as many loyal servitors as possible. Hold the line, watch and wait, and tomorrow may be a brighter day.
I have left for Skyrim in the hopes of righting a wrong done against a dear friend of mine. Please watch over my mother while I am gone. I will send word from Winterhold when I am able.
Your friend,
Saris Saryoni
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So that was straightforward. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough. So I have about forty pages of Saris' travel journal as he makes his way into Skyrim.
I think it's pretty darn good, too.
Meet Saris
Okay, so by now it should be pretty self-evident that I have been ignoring my blog. It has not been intentional. I love my blog. It's homey.
I've just been busy. Thankfully blogs don't start whining or dying when you forget to feed them, and a few words are almost as good as a cardiac resuscitation. What follows is a bit more than 'a few words'. The bodily resurrection of this blog would make Doctor Frankenstein gape in awe.
Without much further ado, meet Saris Saryoni, the character I have been planning for TES: Skyrim. I figure if I'm going to devote more than 300 game hours to any single game I should damn myself right and proper and make it the most fantastical, marvelatious and thaumaturgical event of the year.
Here is my character creation, in brief:
I've just been busy. Thankfully blogs don't start whining or dying when you forget to feed them, and a few words are almost as good as a cardiac resuscitation. What follows is a bit more than 'a few words'. The bodily resurrection of this blog would make Doctor Frankenstein gape in awe.
Without much further ado, meet Saris Saryoni, the character I have been planning for TES: Skyrim. I figure if I'm going to devote more than 300 game hours to any single game I should damn myself right and proper and make it the most fantastical, marvelatious and thaumaturgical event of the year.
Here is my character creation, in brief:
Skyrim
Saris Saryoni
‘Tribunal Necromancer’
As the sole descendant of the famed Archcanon of the Tribunal Temple, Saris was expected to follow his uncle’s path, even though the Temple was facing destabilising chaos. Raised by pious parents who were loyal supporters of House Indoril, Saris struggled to live up to the high standards set for him. Numerous tutors were hired to teach him the arts of swordplay and restoration, but he showed little interest in such things in his youth. His attention was instead drawn by his neighbour where he lived in Mournhold, a beautiful and brilliant Dark Elf by the name of Ranis Athryn. Annoyed with their son’s lack of interest, his parents sent him to Vvardenfell to live with his cousins in Vivec City. Giving up any hope of his academic success, they thought he would with luck become an ordinator at the Ministry of Justice.
That very year The Oblivion Crisis began, and Saris was put into active duty without finishing his final examination. He was present during the initial assault on the temple when Lord Vivec was carried away by daedra, and survived a counterattack under the command of Telvanni Wizard Aryon.
The months spent in combat changed Saris, especially after he learned of the death of several of his childhood friends. When he learned that there had been an incident in Necrom, where Ranis Athryn was being schooled in sorcery, he abandoned his post and smuggled himself off the island in a merchant vessel bound out from Sadrith Mora. In Necrom he witnessed the aftermath of the Daedric siege, and encountered Ranis, dead by daedric magic. He swore to avenge her by slaying the Kynreeve who had struck the mortal blow, and set about the long hunt for retribution.
Though he had never paid much attention to his studies, Saris proved himself capable enough to join a troupe setting out to shut a nearby oblivion gate (by this time [Davel]’s success was widely known and aspired to by adventurers across the continent), though admittedly only as fodder if the need arose. His troupe avoided any major conflict, but gave Saris enough of an experience of Oblivion to avoid its sorceries in future. He postponed his quest for a time so as to train himself in the crafts necessary to exact his vengeance.
In an inn in southern Morrowind, Saris encountered his first necromancer; one who preached the word of the King of Worms and did little to endear Saris to his cause. The Tribunal Temple had very set ideas about necromancy, proclaiming it as heresy even though they themselves bound spirits to their tombs to protect the remains of the dead. Never quite understanding this hypocrisy, Saris befriended the necromancer so as to learn what he could of its principles. He learned the basics of conjuration and mysticism, two skills which he would continue to work on despite his frustration with the intellectual demands they made. He was more skilled with destruction and restoration, displaying a startling degree of willpower in his control of both.
When their relationship soured Saris made a quick retreat, leaving behind most of his worldly possessions and using most of his money to afford a trip to Cheydinhal. By the time he arrived The Oblivion Crisis was over, and word spread of Martin’s sacrifice and his apotheosis in Cyrodiil City. With any immediate revenge unattainable, Saris went about his study of conjuration, hoping to find the secret of opening an Oblivion Gate. He made a brief trip to the Imperial City to see the statue of Akatosh, and to enrol at The Arcane University – a choice which he regrets for its bad timing. News came of Red Mountain’s eruption and the destruction of Vvardenfell, and he hurried back to his homeland to aid his House.
The Indoril were virtually disbanded by the time he arrived, and shortly after it seemed as if all of Tamriel was crumbling into chaos. He returned to Mournhold to care for his parents, though he longed to resume his quest. Over time the fires dimmed and he entered service in the Tribunal Temple, though not even his parents understood why, with the Nerevarine missing and the original Tribunal clearly dead.
With his worldly experience behind him, Saris came to understand the temple differently to his fellows. He did not see the burial rituals and Ghost Fences as a different type of magick to necromancy, but rather a more responsible application of its principles. He read of the deeds of the Dunmer’s living gods and found comfort in their strict code of honour, but also a narrow-mindedness in the saints which he did not share. He found himself more attuned to the heresy of Sotha Sil and the poetic daydreamer in Vivec, and when duty called would he act with the severity of Almalexia.
In 4E 43, with the coming of the city of Umbriel, Saris and other select priests were dispatched to southern Morrowind to make sense of the destruction left in its wake.
Talos Septim = Barenziah Hlaalu (Unwed)
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Fendryn Girith = Daynasa Releth
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Zenas Saryoni = Hainab Zaibat (Disowned) Bovyn Venim = Ienith Dren
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Tholer Saryoni (Archcanon)----Sardis = Tyris Venim-----Idayn Venim (deceased age 12)
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Saris
3E 416, 17th of Heartfire - Born & raised in Mournhold under House Indoril.
3E 420 – Received a (meaningless) blessing from Almalexia during one of her infrequent appearances at the Tribunal Temple.
3E 428 – Unknowingly encountered the Nerevarine in Godsreach, pointing him in the direction of Velas Manor.
3E 429 – Had a brief and interrupted adventure in Old Mournhold while skipping Temple with his friend Ranis, and was rescued by an Ordinator.
3E 431 – Had a romantic affair with Ranis Athryn, the daughter of his neighbour in Godsreach.
3E 432 – His romance was discovered, and his parents moved him to Vivec City.
Saris spent most of his time in Vivec learning the code of the temple with bored disinterest. He was trained as a swordsman and drilled in the use of heavy armour, and studied in the hall of wisdom every weekend. He was given little free time, and that he spent recovering from his daily toils.
3E433 – With the coming of The Oblivion Crisis, he was put to active duty as an ordinator.
He was charged with facilitating communications to the frontier against a Dremora citadel at the Vivec Oblivion Gate.
He was led in a counterattack by Telvanni wizard Aryon during a siege on Molag Mar.
After the siege he received orders to return to Vivec.
While in Suran, he heard of an attack on Necrom. He deserted and travelled there to protect Ranis. Arriving too late, he swore vengeance on her killer.
He joined a troupe who shut an oblivion gate.
He attached himself to a necromancer and travelled with him southwest across Morrowind. Upon parting with one another, he headed towards the imperial province.
4E 1 – In Cheydinhal he heard of the end of The Oblivion Crisis and travelled to The Imperial City.
Enrolling at The Arcane University, he learned the fundamental laws of conjuration.
4E 5 – Transferring to Cheydinhal he lost most of his guild connections, well aware that the empire and its guilds were falling apart.
4E 6 – Befriending a local tribunal priest, Saris began to reminisce about the virtues of his homeland.
4E -- - Hearing of Red Mountain’s eruption from fleeing dunmer, Saris packed up and set off on the long voyage back to Mournhold.
4E -- - Saris arrived in Almalexia and found the districts of Mournhold barred, and all word of his family cut off. He pitted himself against the city’s suffering, and made a name for himself among the city’s healers.
4E -- - When Mournhold finally reopened, Saris reunited with his parents and convinced them to open their mansion to the poor and needy. He soon joined the tribunal temple and rose through its ranks.
4E 43 – Following a report of disturbances in the south, Saris led a troop of priests to the rim of The Inner Sea to aid who they could in the wake of Umbriel. Saris also saw his chance to regain contact with Oblivion.
Relieving himself from his group, Saris travelled to the crater of Vivec on Vvardenfell, though Umbriel had passed some time before. He walked through the ruins of the city and found shelter in the wasted remains of its sewers.
Sending word to his mother with a dunmer family who were leaving for the mainland, Saris planned to complete the Virtues laid down by the temple. He made an offering to Mephala at the Morag Tong shrine, and visited the barren site of the High Fane and Vivec’s Palace.
Saris then attached himself to a tribe of ashlanders who took him as far as Molag Amur before capturing him and demanding a ransom from his family. Saris escaped and ran, stumbling upon the Fields of Kummu. After toiling in the muck for a day, he carried himself up the edges of Foyada Mamaea, and came to the Ghostgate. He visited the Shrine of Daring, and then went north, first to Mar Gaan, then to Gnisis, though the Ashmask of Vivec had been stolen long ago.
Finding his Pilgrimage insurmountable in Vvardenfell’s current climate, he eventually took a vow of silence, heading north to the Sheogorad region in memory of Tholer Saryoni. He spent several years in solitude before at last returning to complete his pilgrimage, heading south to Mount Kand and then to the coast, gaining passage back to Mournhold.
4E 198 – After spending long years contemplating the virtues of the Tribunal and studying the wide fields of conjuration in the hopes of summoning his hated kynreeve, Saris at last rejoined his people. It came to his attention that a nord of the College of Winterhold was making a study of the Oblivion Gates, and with the hope of finding aid in his vengeance, he set out for Skyrim immediately.
Saris Saryoni Gameplay:
Magic: Saris is first and foremost a necromancer, and devotes the largest portion of his magicka to summoning and controlling undead servants. He prefers harnessing the power of pure spirits rather than fleshed ones.
When magicka permits, he will use the forces of alteration or restoration to protect himself and then his charges. His style under duress is to remain calm and focused, moving only when necessary to avoid harm or to progress along the battlefield. He is quick to engage the use of ‘Ghost Fences’ (shield spells), and disarm his opponents with destruction magic.
In regard to direct Destruction (absorption is usually too costly), he switches between fire and frost, seldom using lightning unless it is absolutely necessary. To conserve magicka he uses spells which damage his enemies only a small amount over a long time, and avoids their attacks in the meantime by more material means. Saris resists the attractions of ‘splash’ damage in the hopes of sparing the environment from the consequences of battle.
Illusion is a natural part of being a necromancer in an empire where such people are ostracized and hunted for their craft. Saris knows how to cloak himself in shadows when necessary, or blind the eye that gets too close to his activities. He falls on illusion where instilling fear in his enemies is called for, and to command the undead and bring them into his service.
While undertaking his slow march to victory, Saris makes use of the Detect Life spell so as to know exactly what he is up against and prepare for the worst. Other spells once of the mystic school come in handy too. He is proficient in simple telekinesis and can incorporate spell absorption and reflection into his Ghost Fences. He also excels at banishing an enemy’s summoned minions with Dispel.
Saris often undergoes adventures deep into dungeons in order to locate and ensnare powerful souls. Most of these he binds into artefacts, which he later sells to make a profit. This was one of his duties when he was with the Tribunal Temple, and he still uses it to spread faith and respect in the temple.
Combat: Saris was trained as an ordinator under the ancient house practices of the Indoril. He knows how to handle a longsword, a common blade, and has minor martial experience in hand-to-hand combat. During his long sojourn through the realms, he wore a suit of armour taken from the body of a Necrom guard, and grew accustomed to the feel of heavy armour. He has slept in it and swam in it several times when forced to. He eventually returned the suit of armour to its owner’s family, and exchanged it for simple bonemold. He is less adroit when placed in the armours of the West, but to a point he is more comfortable with them than he is in his own skin.
Though certainly proud of dunmer traditions, Saris in only too aware that he has no natural talent as a swordsman. He has only reached a minor level of prowess because of his consistent training, and even that has not had any noticeable effect. In his later years, Saris began to experiment with the martial styles the Ministry of Justice taught to their students as a last defence. After witnessing the ashlanders’ hand-to-hand forms from which ordinator training was adapted, Saris decided that the newly impoverished elven houses could benefit from a weapon-less mode of self-defence. He has approached the matter privately and cautiously, spending three hours a day sparring with his ancestor guardian, but otherwise using a sword when combat is necessary.
Saris does not have any experience as a marksman, and prefers ranged spells to ranged weapons.
Stealth: Saris has never actively sought any training as a thief or scout, but has accumulated enough patience over the years to gain himself some basic affinities. Since Ranis’ death he has grown quiet and reserved, but he still holds all the bearing of an Indoril educated in the niceties of nobility. He can haggle and heckle with reasonable skill, though his years in seclusion in the Sheogorad region have not helped his people skills.
Security and sneaking are not skills one generally learns while in service to the temple. Saris occasionally found himself assisting the priests tasked with visiting the dunmer family tombs, but he barely paid any attention to the traps and wards they had to pass to renew the binding rituals. The skill is within him, but has yet to be actively approached.
Behaviour: Saris has learnt to depend on himself, and does not converse with others regularly, preferring silent contemplation. He is always watching, assessing, and planning ahead so as to avoid unnecessary complications or deaths. He habitually finds a base of operations once moving into an area, clears all ills from the surrounding territories and moves on once matters of greater importance present themselves.
His day generally goes as follows:
8:00 – breakfast. He has a penchant for kwama eggs and scrib jelly, but while in the west he will eat soft fruit and well-cooked meat.
8:30 – Sparring. This is when Saris works on his hand-to-hand form with the aid of an ancestor guardian.
11:30 – Saris spends the rest of his morning hours in town following leads and trading.
1:00 – If he has adventuring matters to attend to, Saris will spend the afternoon doing them. If not, this is when he forges and enchants magickal artefacts.
6:00 – If he has not run over time, Saris will return to an inn, have a drink and attend to his study of the scriptures.
7:30 – Saris eats supper. He is used to making do with whatever is around, though if he can find some bittergreen to chew on he will do so.
9:00 – After dusk, Saris converses with his ancestors, asks questions and pays his respects. He prefers to do this in private, generally in a place conductive to spirits such as a graveyard or a tomb.
11:00 – Saris goes to sleep. He takes ascetic pleasure in having a simple bed in a simple house.
Opinions:
General:
Murder: Saris understands the necessity of murder, and attempts to view it as an act of mercy. Killing a person does not end them completely – in simply removes them from the burdensome desires of flesh. In the case of the criminally-minded, the despotic, and the vain, murder is a release from the torture of materialism.
That said, life in its ‘meatier’ form serves a purpose. Saris considers the demands of flesh as the corruptive force of an acquired power: impure, but permissive in the sense that it provides insight into Aurbis and can be used to analyse the laws of Mundus which need be broken to establish spiritual apotheosis.
Plots: Saris tries his best to be aware of greater themes written behind ordinary actions, and believes that insight and information are the best means towards this end. When faced with others plots (ones he himself disapproves of) he will spend time analysing its structure before attacking a crucial point – rarely with the intention of destruction, but rather transformation into something more useful.
Mystery: The importance of mystery is omnipresent, but so is the importance of answers. Saris has come to understand Azura as such – a being whose methods are confusing so long as motive is concealed. Religiously speaking, Saris can think of no greater mystery than why the Daedra wish to help mortals in their psijic endeavour.
In imitation of Azura and Sotha Sil, Saris hides the extent of his research and his discoveries from his family and friends, knowing that oftentimes such knowledge can be burdensome. In this way, carrying a mystery is a form of love and caring, guarding the innocent from the inconceivable.
Races:
(Bad) Daedra: Sworn enemies. Saris developed some hard feelings during the Oblivion Crisis, as well as making long lasting enmity with the dremora. Just as with his attitude towards necromancy, he does not see summoning daedra as an evil act in itself. He has summoned daedra himself on occasion so as to bind them within soultraps and create artefacts. He also acknowledges the moral sacrifices of Azura, Mephala and Boethiah.
He is less considerate of the House of Troubles. While he understands that as ancestors they deserve respect and reverence, he also acknowledges the truth of their corruption, and believes base evils must be fought to attain apotheosis.
Hunting down dangerous daedra is something Saris would consider as a responsibility to whatever locale he is present in.
Undead: The perversion of an ancestral line is something Saris sees as a direct violation to dunmer culture. He takes particular offence to the entrapment of dunmer souls, but wouldn’t think of leaving an ancestor of any other race bound either. He sees ‘killing’ them as their spiritual liberation.
Saris has come to know his own ancestors well over the years, and relies on them for their support and guidance. He is also aware that they are hiding something from him, as he is unable to contact various of his relatives or get them to answer questions about themselves.
Nords: Saris knows of the old wars against the nords, but as a child of the third empire he has set aside any obliged hatreds. He knows little about them, but leaves for Skyrim with the understanding that his ancestors are with him and will guide him through foreign perils.
But once he reaches Skyrim, he realises they are not as distant as he once thought. Something stirs within him – almost like what he feels on Vvardenfell when he visits an ancient ashlander burial ground – but different. At first he thinks it has to do with the death of his chimer bloodline in the merethic era wars, but it far different from the spiritual companionship he is accustomed to. He is used to souls beating warm, but those in Skyrim burn ice cold. He could never imagine the truth of what it is he is feeling.
Dunmer: Saris’ House Indoril upbringing has instilled a fierce loyalty to his own people and cultures, but one he still resists with a touch of youthful insubordinance. After the bizarre fulfilment of The Nerevarine Prophecy, Martin’s mortal triumph over the Daedra and the Mad Apotheosis of [Davel], Saris knows his people are playing only a minor part in the current history of Tamriel. Rather than be ashamed by the inferiority of their station after being beaten by Argonians and Men, Saris stands proud and does what he can to show Tamriel that his people are not helpless victims or cursed devils.
Saris sees those who take and kill without reason or out of a spirit of selfishness as betrayers to the dunmer people and spoilers of their name. He sees them as beings of the Anticipations, crude and unrefined, yet capable of ascension to something greater. With this in mind he tends to forgive rather than punish, but will never condone an evil action without fully understanding its necessity.
Altmer: Dark and High Elven cultures have never mixed well, and as a paragon of the Velothi way, Saris rarely feels comfortable among the Altmer. He indulges in the human rumours concerning their private lives, and grows tired of their arrogance quickly.
Bosmer: Saris has met several bosmer over the course of his travels, and has come to enjoy their company, either in singular conversation or watching their antics from afar. He also has a great interest in their culture, and has always wanted to visit Valenwood.
Argonians: As strange as it may sound, Saris has a healthy respect – even fear – of argonians. He does not understand the Hist, but after they drove his people from the south of Morrowind he has gained some insight into their power. He was a bit of a fence-sitter on the subject of slavery, not really caring one way or another, but was well aware of the idiocy with which some of his kin regarded the beast races and in no way saw them as lesser beings – especially after [Makinar’s] appearance as the Nerevarine.
Imperials: Saris felt something close to patriotism towards the Septim Empire, and was struck as hard as anyone to see it crumble. He does not share the same sentiment with the Mede dynasty. He is openly derisive about ‘imperial loyalty’, and would only ally with the imperial cause to show them how matters ‘should’ be handled.
Redguards: While interested in their ancient history and culture – particularly the ‘spirit swords’ of the Ansei – Saris has only encountered the occasional Redguard warrior and has not formed any lasting opinion of them.
Bretons: Saris considers the Bretons as distant cousins, and feels quite comfortable sharing a meal with them. He turns a blind eye to the more blasphemous and mannish aspects of their culture, and rather hopes to connect with them on a personal level.
Orcs: Saris knows little of the orcs, but has met several throughout his travels – generally of the worse sort. He dislikes any unsubtle buffoonery on their part, but resolves to treat it with tempered patience. The (bad) Daedra worshippers among them are odious to him, and it is from these orcs that he has extracted theories as to the continued existence of ‘Anticipations’ among the ordinary mer. Still, he gives individuals the chance to prove themselves of worth. He detests barbarism as a cultural expression, but is all the more amenable to the idea of an honourable orc who shucks his mould – something he sees as a reflection of the chimer-to-dunmer conversion, where a people can break out of their own skins and become something new.
Khajiit: Saris regards the Khajiit with open curiosity. He theorises that they are ehlnofey who are bound to Aetherius in a more obvious way than the mer, and are thus noticeably sensitive to its fluctuations. Their moon phase metamorphosis intrigues him, and when in conversation with a khajiit, he will often press them to discuss it.
Their culture, for the most part, is completely foreign to him. ‘Brutality’ is a hard accusation to make as a dunmer, but he has heard enough about Rimmen to know that he should stay away. He is more interested in the nature of southern Elsweyr, which is seldom divulged in any great detail.
Factions:
House Indoril – The duties Saris owes to his house are very clear to him. His initial childish disrespect for responsibility and duty have fallen away over time, and he now understands the dunmer houses represent a unique network of individuals who rely on one another for companionship and support. He would never turn his back on one of the Indoril, and would go through hell to protect one of his own people.
House Telvanni – The profanity of the Telvanni wizards is not of any open appeal to Saris, but he certainly admires their brilliance. Though he has had little lasting contact with them, he has formed the opinion that their disregard for caution and contemplation has only merited them dangerous and unstable power.
House Dres – Saris sees House Dres as the worst outcome of the False Gods’ straying from the Velothi Way. They have forsaken the general moderation acceptable to him in slave labour purely for the sake of profit and success in dunmer politics. Somewhat ashamed of them, Saris prefers to pretend House Dres does not exist.
House Redoran – Saris pities the fate of the Redoran, who he regards as one of the more devout houses of the dunmer people. Their continual trials have made them only a shadow of what they once were. Saris believes they deserve a second chance, and is eager to lend them aid however he can.
House Hlaalu – Saris acknowledges the necessity of imperial sympathisers, but that said, he is glad he was not born into House Hlaalu. He feels sorry that their contractual merchantry has not afforded them the same sense of kinship as House Indoril, as a family is a terrible thing to do without.
The Tribunal Temple – In his youth, Saris did his best to avoid the temple, seeing it as the inescapable fate he was bound to regardless of any personal feelings. After the Nerevarine Prophesies were fulfilled, however, his interest was piqued. Though he still preferred to spend his time in the company of Ranis, he no longer fought against fitting into the Indoril mould, and paid attention to his studies. He believes the old ways of the Tribunal Temple were hampering the people’s faith, while the new bring about a sense of trust and bonding.
In his later years, the Temple has become an integral part of him and his family which he feels sworn to protect.
The Morag Tong – Saris understands more than most that nothing ever truly dies, and that peace can only come when scores are settled and sins brought to balance. In this, he accepts the Morag Tong for what they are. Though he himself has never had anyone killed and probably would never do so out of principle, he understands why others have cause to. As Mephala is the anticipation of Vivec, so he sees that Murder is the crudest form of Mastery, yet undoubtedly linked to it. Ironically, he himself would rather connect Murder as the precursor to Mercy.
Saris has known others touched by the Black Hand, but has never been (officially) called to its service as of yet.
The Dark Brotherhood – As direct opponents of the Morag Tong despite their entwined history, Saris is interested in discovering who and what the Brotherhood really are. He struggles to see how the Brotherhood’s murders are seen as a corruption of the Tong’s when both simply trade gold for death. He understands that by various rites the Tong’s murders are sanctified, but if this is the only difference, why would the Hand risk war instead of simply altering their practises?
Saris has considered garnering the aid of various secret societies over the course of his adventures, as he is certain the truth behind Nirn, the gods and the daedra is being hidden from the citizens of the empire. He sees the brotherhood as an essential piece of this puzzle, predominately because of their relationship with Sithis – a concept wholly foreign to dunmer culture. If the opportunity were ever to present itself, he would infiltrate the Dark Brotherhood and do his best to spread disillusion amidst its ranks, plundering their secrets and hollowing out the organisation from the inside.
Additionally and on a more private note, Saris has negotiated a trade with Mephala: for information about Ranis’ killer, in exchange for a position of power at the head of The Dark Brotherhood.
The Mages Guild – Saris joined the mages guild and was a student of the Arcane University shortly before its fall. He developed numerous contacts and furthered his understanding of magic from an imperial perspective, and has remained amenable to the concept of a studious fraternity of mages. Though he was eventually struck from guild records after leaving his duties and accounts in Cyrodiil in arrears, he will reminisce over his time spent at The Arcane University with fond memories.
The Cult of Worms - While he does not disapprove of necromancy as a whole, he believes this cult has done a good deal to spoil its name. The worship of a ‘near ancestor’ such as Mannimarco goes far to show the dangers of Altmeri religion.
The Arcane College of Winterhold – Saris knows almost nothing about the Arcane College, other than that one of his old peers from the Mages’ Guild has set him up in contact with a nord who may be able to aid him in exacting his long-sought vengeance.
The Fighter’s Guild – The honourable practise of the guild of fighters was almost universally accepted by the empire as a just and honest cause, and Saris was among those to view them as such. He understands the need for men and women of action, and would be proud to be their comrade in arms.
However, Saris does not relish the thought of acting in consort with others in battle. The death of an ally is something he has never gotten used to.
The Arena: Saris thinks it peculiar that the empire considers his own people as violent barbarians when they themselves make wagers on men’s lives for sport. That said, he has no trouble with the thought of participating in the events when his regular business runs dry. However, he prefers to be the one making the wagers to the one in the pit.
The Nine Divines: While he acknowledges the great good done by the Imperial Cult, Saris has difficulty setting aside the old prejudices instilled in him by the temple. He sometimes dismisses the Nine out of turn as beings lacking substance and practicality, though he would never intentionally mouth off about them to their worshippers. The fact that the Nine are invariably associated with aedra makes him weary – he even believes that their mute inaction in the face of all but the most trying events on Nirn speaks of their desire to let mortal souls remain in their earthbound state indefinitely.
Interpretations of Aldmeri Religion:
The Beginning Time:
Anuriel and Padomay are the original ancestors of all the animi (souls). Their reactions to Nir birthed two separate groups: Padomay’s Daedra, who represent darkness and sin, and are unchangeable in their false pursuit of change; and Anuriel’s Aedra, who represent light and virtue, and could truly change their whole selves into something completely different. Among these are debatable powers, such as Lorkhan, who may have been a Daedra even though he is commonly accepted as an Aedra.
Lorkhan used persuasion or trickery to inspire the Aedra in the manufacture of Mundus, the mortal world. They did not realise that this act would separate them from Aetherius, the source of all magicka, and turn them into mortals. The Et’ada are spirits who remained as gods. The Earth Bones are Aedra who died on Mundus and stayed there, becoming part of its natural laws (Lorkhan among them, cast out of Aetherius by the other Et’ada). The Ehlnofey are mortal Aedra, who slowly lost their power with the passing ages.
The Mer:
The Ehlnofey split into two people: ‘men’ accepted their fate, paid homage to the Et’ada and resigned themselves to Mundus. ‘Mer’ set out to reclaim their lost powers, and followed the Et’ada in the hopes of becoming like them again.
At some point the Daedra interceded. They took aside a group of mer and revealed that the Et’ada would never allow them to succeed in their quest, because Mundus had changed them and they would become more powerful than the Et’ada when they returned to Aetherius. They promised to show these ‘chimer’ the true way to godhood.
Daedra & Aedra:
In the past, mortals have risen to become both Et’ada and Daedric Princes. The extent to which this has happened is uncertain. This suggests that two kinds of spiritual ascension are possible, but the motives of the A&D are obscure and it is difficult to know which one would greater serve their designs.
Death:
After death, spirits can wander Mundus for a time (longer, if they dedicate themselves to a cause) in a state of 'Afterlife', before entering ‘The Dreamsleeve’: a path towards rebirth on Mundus in a new body. Unlike the Daedra, who are simply banished for a time, travel through the Dreamsleeve eradicates a portion of the animus’ memory. Theories concerning the falsity of Aldmeris and the actuality of a collage of ancestral memories inherited by the mer suggests that the animus ‘remembers’ things, even if unclearly.
Interpretations of The Tribunal Faith
When Saris traded in his sword for scripture, he spent years perfecting his personal ideas concerning the temple’s heirographa and apocrypha, and knit them into an ironclad doctrine from which to launch all further actions.
The Velothi Exodus:
Essentially the split between the Altmer and the Chimer people occurred when the altmer forsook ancestor worship and fell into shameful self-obsession, putting their own needs before those of Aurbis’ ‘purity’ (The original state, whereby the men & mer were once united as godly beings of infinite grace & wisdom). The Velothi left so they could begin society anew, living devout lives in reverence to the old ways. Saris highlights the fundamental pillars of this society as:
- · Psijic endeavour: The active investigation into the nature of the ‘gods’ and the ‘daedra’, both of whom are the ancestor souls of Aurbis if not Mundus, in order to regain and surpass the lost purity of the Et’ada.
- · Communal unity: Resisting the temptations of flesh and folly, which further sully the soul and distance it from purity, and splinter nations into irreconcilable fragments. This includes responsible architecture and state practise.
- · Spiritual Unity: Acting as an ordered collective, and as such never thinking less of other beings under the understanding that alienation only succeeds in driving spirits away from one another and lengthens the period taken to ‘unite’ the souls of Nirn.
Once in Resdayn, matters were complicated by the presence of the nords and the dwemer, and so many chimer fell to the temptations of the ‘bad daedra’ of the ‘House of Troubles’; the power of the daedra lies in immortality at the cost of actual change – their very acceptance of the profanity of Mundus has cast them out of it, ensuring they never die, but return to the same flesh over the course of eternity and never progress past their corrupted state.
The ‘Good Daedra’ intentionally accepted certain corruptions for the power it gives, which in turn would allow them to actively communicate with their descendants and guide them along the path to spiritual rejuvenation. Worship of the ‘good daedra’ in turn allowed the chimer people to achieve an ordered society and progress towards their ultimate emancipation.
The ashlanders arose as a people following the directives of more recent versions of the ‘ordered state’ offered by the Daedra, while not bearing the same intentional corruption to their forms. These are ghosts, or ‘ancestor spirits’ who have not yet attained the purity of Aetherius and thus remain tangible on Mundus. They are purer than the daedra (though less powerful) and are thus worthy of imitation.
The Houses are by contrast those who saw power as a greater asset to spiritual progression than purity, and placed greater importance on the worship of the Good Daedra than on their direct ancestors.
The Tribunal:
After some time passed three chimer who had made particular success in their spiritual progression came to the fore, and tapped into a similar well of power to the one the Daedra had taken – they sacrificed their chance at purity for immortality and power, by which they would help their own people (now the dunmer) along the path to rejuvenation. They were for all intents and purposes ‘updated’ versions of the ‘Good Daedra’, who were less capricious and more openly helpful to their descendants. However, this act ruined one of the cornerstones of Veloth’s teachings – ancestors were no longer seen as equals in importance, but rather attentions were focused only on the Tribunal and those they declared their saints. The Tribunal declared the daedra were lesser ‘anticipations’ of their own forms, who bowed in deference to their authority, as would the ancestors. This and the original cost of the Tribunal’s corruption drove a wedge between the Houses, who worshipped the Tribunal, and the Ashlanders, who still paid homage to the Daedra and the ‘lesser’ ancestors.
The Sharmat:
Dagoth Ur was an unfortunate side effect of the Tribunal’s power source, much like the ‘Bad Daedra’ were of the Good Daedras’. He was a continuation of the darker forces of Aurbis, but of more immediate threat due to his direct connection to Nirn. Some misguided ashlanders worshipped him as they would the Bad Daedra, and others saw him as a force capable of cleansing Morrowind and re-establishing the fallen pillar of Velothi faith. Dagoth Ur’s connection to the Power of the tribunal was more reaching, however, and he bent knee to its influences and attempted to act out the profane goals of the dwemer, reviving the spirit of Lorkhan from its pitiful volcanic prison. Nerevarine’s triumph over Dagoth Ur was the triumph over the creeping corruption of Lorkhan’s Heart, simultaneously restoring the ancient Velothi Way and exposing the dangers of trading purity for power.
The Nerevarine:
Nerevar was the sacrifice by which the Tribunal corrupted itself and gained its immortality. The Nerevarine was the balancing force which would negate that sacrifice. While the Daedric corruption was achieved through indefinable acts, the transformation of the chimer tribune was flawed in one inexcusable way: they circumvented the opinions of the daedra rather than consult them and rely on their wisdom in the ways of corruption and how to resist it. Thus the corruption itself was not wrong, but the way the Tribunal went about attaining it. The result was a leadership that grew ever more prideful and refused to admit mistakes, and which slowly turned to the heart of Lorkhan without guidance in the means of its subversion.
Nerevarine was an agent of the lady Azura, who listened to her councils and achieved power by her say so. Thus he was a force that the tribunal were not – someone who upheld the wisdom of the ancestors and accepted lesser corruptions without falling to the temptations of the greater ones. He was thus a ‘new daedra’ of Nirn who had the purity of Veloth’s Way in its entirety.
The Dissident Priests:
The dissidents were a cult caught between two faiths: the rightful respect of the ancestors & the Daedra, and the worship of the Tribunal as forces of good leading the nation. They did both, but their awareness of certain truths allowed them to understand that the Tribunal’s apotheosis was not perfect and that without the ancestors to guide them they would spiral away from their own sanity.
The Dissident Priesthood represents what the Temple aught to be; a group who pay homage to the Good Daedra, to ALL their ancestors, to the virtuous acts of the tribunal and above all to truth before power.
The Modernised Tribunal Temple:
·
- The first duty of the temple is to uphold the virtues that will result in the purification of the dunmer people, and assist them in honouring their ancestors and the Good Daedra.
- · The second duty is to uphold the Truth, acknowledging the positive influence of the Tribunal and the Daedra while highlighting the differences between the two. It must be understood why the Tribune were only ‘false’ gods, and that this meant only one of the three pillars of the Velothi Way were twisted, and the tribunal should be honoured for upholding the others.
- · The third duty is to watch for potential manifestations of the triune way; in other words, the mortal manifestations of Mercy, Mastery, and Mystery, who will gain godly power in exchange for corruption, and resist falling to it with the guidance of their ancestors.
The Red Year & The Argonian Invasion:
Saris firmly believes that forces are always brought to balance, and the current misfortune of the Dunmer people is a direct result of their failure to uphold the Velothi Way under the Tribunal. When the moon Baan Dar crashed into Vivec City, it was a delayed tragedy that was bound to the dunmer no matter what era it occurred in, though holding back the force for so long resulted in more terrible consequences. The Argonian Invasion was a result of the desultory treatment of other beings similarly tricked by Lorkhan, and the Houses’ desire for power, wealth & pleasure are directly responsible. Had they lived as simply as the ashlanders or the Temple faithful, no invasion could have occurred.
Saris’ Place in the Temple:
As one naturally attuned to his ancestors, Saris communicates the cautions and guidance offered by the spirits to his people. He has immaculate knowledge of the ancient scriptures, as well as knowledge of the daedra, should it be required. He is also capable enough that he has led priests on righteous quests in the past in the effort to rout corruption and devilry from Morrowind. His steadfast devotion makes him a candidate for sainthood, though the greatness of his deeds are yet to be measured.
His Ancestors:
Saris has an unusually strong connection to his ancestors, which is what prompted his parents to insist he join the Tribunal Temple. Several of his bloodline have chosen to stay behind for one reason or another, and as the last descendant of an ancient family they all watch over him and make their presence felt. Saris never saw the spirits as significant to any specific calling until after Ranis died, when he realised how lucky he was to have a connection to any of the dead. It was then that he stopped seeing them as passing amusements and actually started listening to their advice, quickly learning much about dunmer history, the virtues of the temple, and the ways to survive in the chaos of the early fourth era.
The ways his ancestors affect his life vary. Those who once lost themselves in the Ghostfence are freed from their immediate trapping, but continue to exist throughout Mundus and can be manipulated to bolster magical barriers. Some of his ancestors are worn as enchantments and blessings, while others take on corporeal semblances of more immediate use. The last are those who have passed more recently, and who Saris has some knowledge of as actual people.
Tholer Saryoni: The famed archcanon became Saris’ main tutor in the temple’s practices after The Red Year. He seeks him out frequently for moral guidance and spiritual support. Tholer rarely makes an appearance in combat unless Saris is in dire need.
Sardis Saryoni: Saris never had the chance to make peace with his father during his life, but in death they found the mutual respect they had always desired. Sardis rarely responded to summoning, and stayed beside Saris’ mother for most of his Afterlife before finally passing on into the dreamsleeve.
Hainab Zaibat: Hainab is Saris’ favourite grandfather, a streetwise rogue who left the ashlander tribe of his birth and seduced a noble of House Indoril. He was officially struck out of the family histories when his true bloodline became clear, but his spirit persists to watch over his kin and make sure they are aware of their ancient heritage. When he was younger Saris was advised to ignore his grandfather, but when he realised Hainab would share information with him when his parents wouldn’t, they struck up a rapport and conversed often. Hainab is always ready to help out in a fight and is usually Saris’ first choice as a battle companion.
Because of Hainab’s influence, Saris was much quicker to adapt to the worship of the Nerevarine and the apocrypha than other House Dunmer. He also has a link with his more ancient ashlander ancestors.
Zenas Saryoni: Zenas was a noblewoman who unwittingly married an ashlander and disgraced her family, though she made it up to them by annulling her marriage and removing her children from her husband’s presence. She never answered to Saris until the death of his father, at which time she informed him of his duties to his family and the responsibilities that passed to him as the last of the Saryoni line. Saris has never liked her much, and avoids her councils when he can.
Bovyn Venim: A cousin to the Indoril raised by House Redoran, Bovyn is a shrewd battlemaster who fought in many important battles and holds the Tribunal Teachings dear. He has made it clear that he is only staying within Mundus so long as his kin are up to something interesting, and so he has attached himself singularly to Saris to aid him in combat and help him master the martial arts. For this reason Bovyn prefers to be summoned into a body with more substance than mere spectral flesh.
Fendryn Girith: Saris’ great grandfather is a mysterious character who offers little in the way of advice. When summoned he will not talk of matters with any particular significance, but rather ensure Saris is aware of the things currently happening around him, and without any particular push show that all matters on Tamriel are connected in some way. Oddly, Fendryn does not appear wholly dark elven, and was known to be an orphan raised by the temple before being adopted into House Indoril. His destructive magic runs on the colder side, and his physical semblance is too fragile to hold together an unliving body.
Idayn Venim: Though she is truly his aunt, Idayn has always seemed to Saris to be a little sister. Idayn passed away as a child, and has stayed behind to live the life she never had through her nephew. They were playmates as children, though never when Saris’ parents were around, and Idayn often prompts Saris to summon her so they can adventure together. Idayn prefers to appear as a spirit and cast magic than to adopt a physical form, but she does so when she is feeling adventurous.
Ranis Athryn
Ranis was Saris’ childhood friend and later, his lover. His devotion to her was once greater than that to the tribunal temple, and though he was happy his affair distracted him from his studies, and was seen by his parents as a nuisance hampering his potential and his future as a priest. They organised for Saris to go to Vivec City, where they hoped he would live a more focused life, while Ranis’ own parents sent her to study under a Telvanni sorceress in Necrom.
Saris kept in contact with Ranis, though before the end of the year The Oblivion Crisis exploded. Saris’ love was enough to make him desert his rank as an ordinator-in-training when he heard Necrom had fallen under siege. When he arrived, he found out that Ranis had been killed by a Dremora Kynreeve in a battle of sorcery, and that the kynreeve had retreated back to Oblivion. With his heart torn open, Saris swore vengeance, and his energies took on a new direction: though he could communicate with his own ancestors, he could not do so with Ranis. He turned to the study of necromancy to enhance his pre-existing connection to the world of the dead, and joined the war on Oblivion with the hope of encountering the Kynreeve and bringing it to justice. His efforts were fruitless, and eventually his marauding ended as the Oblivion Gates shut and he was cut off from any chance at retribution.
Saris continued his dual study of the Aedra & Daedra with burning passion, and began to suspect darker workings within the forces of both. He suspected that Ranis’ soul had been trapped by the hated Kynreeve, and was being held in a black soulgem where it was cut off from any hope of spiritual ascension. Saris studied conjuration for five years at the Arcane University, but it was not enough to pierce the temporarily strengthened wards between the worlds. Saris then pivoted, turning back to Morrowind & The Temple, drowning himself in the faith in an effort to forget his sadness and his oaths until such a time as they could be fulfilled.
These twined passions soon became iconic of Saris’ life. If times of frustration or despair, he would lose himself in the teachings of the temple, hoping to put himself beyond the pains of mortal life and the sorrow of love lost. But at the slightest hope, his desperate ambitions would flare and he would pit himself against the study of magic and the forces of Oblivion.
After two hundred years, the dichotomy of his soul has come close to uniting into a complementary unit. He has the calm and focused devotion of a religious mer, and the willpower and determination of a being singularly driven.
Rescuing Ranis Athryn is his way at striking back at the forces of evil. It is him showing that his youth was not misspent – that love is an essential and often overlooked attribute of spiritual purity, by which souls are united into a greater force – in essence, defying Lorkhan’s segregation of the Ehlnofey from the divine spark. Some day, with Ranis beside him, he will walk on into the heavens of Aetherius.
Personality:
Ranis had the same inborn talent as Saris, but in different areas of expertise. From a young age, her parents had her schooled by the finest mages and sorcerers of Mournhold, culminating in her eventual acceptance as an apprentice of House Telvanni. Her parents were not as overbearing as the Saryonis about Indoril loyalty and devotion to the tribunal, and hoped that she would be adopted into the Telvanni, who held their power even as the other houses’ waned.
Ranis was curious, adventurous, and passionate, throwing herself headfirst into everything she did. She didn’t uphold the stringent dunmer moralities as law, being something more of an imperial citizen who cared deeply about racial equality and imperial cooperation. Her dream was to one day serve on Tamriel’s Elder Council and bring the attention of the emperor to the Great Houses’ internal strife.
Intellectually, Saris and Ranis debated constantly with one another over the old and new perceptions of the dunmer people, Saris opting for tradition and the necessity of near-treason within their government, and Ranis for the ordered chain of command honoured by imperial law. Personally, they loved one another dearly, and knew that neither of their opinions had any value as long as they continued to be together.
The Kynreeve Achevach Naesarkas
Achevach has carved out an authority for himself in Dagon’s plane by making a particular study into living flesh and how best to destroy it. He started as a churl in service to the Xivilai lord Kavabocsh, and after many incarnations was placed on the forefront of The Shade Perilous, where he encountered his first mortal and gained a taste for its death. Given the lack of true mortals within the reaches of Oblivion, Achevach developed a sort of involuntary lichdom, drawing from bacterial samples of Polymorphic Haemophilia and the rare cure to the disease held by Molag Bal. The procurement of this cure has cost him several debts which he has yet to pay back to that Prince.
When Dagon rallied his forces for the invasion of Tamriel, Achevach was placed under the command of a Kynmarcher charged with razing Necrom to the ground. Ecstatic at the thought of acquiring souls and flesh for experimentation, Achevach volunteered to lead the strike force into Tamriel itself.
After passing through a rent in the city’s walls, Achevach encountered magical resistance from the Telvanni compound. He slew a score of the masters, harvested their souls and had his scamps drag their bodies back to the Oblivion Gate. At this point, Ranis Athryn appeared with a dozen apprentices at her side, and blasted the Kynreeve with an assortment of elemental assaults. Achevach was banished, but not before releasing one of his flesh-eating enchantments. Most of those who followed Ranis survived, but she herself was consumed and her soul quickly snatched aside by Achevach as he fell screaming into the The Darkness.
When he returned, he still held Ranis tortured soul, and set it inside a soulgem for select experimentation and punishment. Ranis was revived into living flesh, only to have it burnt away periodically at Achevach’s whim.
For a long while after Dagon’s defeat, the Dremora’s ranks were left in turmoil, and Achevach struggled to hold on to his position. After watching his Kynmarcher suffer increasingly embarrassing defeats at the hands of his equals, Achevach slew him in secret and took his place. He led his new citadel to victory, and fuelled an overwhelming understanding of destruction with the tortured souls of mortals.
Eventually, Achevach’s successful governance saw him elected to the Markyn, where he was feared and respected as a lord of lords.
Saris Oath:
Over the years, Saris has made some progress in discovering who killed Ranis and how to put him within his grasp. He started with only the accounts of Ranis’ fellow apprentices, which unanimously told of her bravery in amassing them and striking what they saw as a Daedric general as he turned his head. They described him as a spellcaster, unarmoured and wielding a thin bone staff. His rank and file splintered quickly after his banishment.
- · During one of the sieges on an Oblivion Gate, Saris discovered the name of the Citadel that was pitted against Necrom: Kamarlivel.
- · Using one of the summoning circles at the Arcane University, Saris bound a scamp named Echard who had fought in the Siege of Necrom. He learned the name of the Kynmarcher who had led the siege; Nyrmov.
- · His attempt to reach Oblivion through Umbriel was at best a shot in the dark, and had no direct success. However, the pursuit led him to Mephala’s wasted altar on the shores of The Scathing Bay, and it was there that he made his first bargain with a Daedric Prince. Mephala demanded his utmost subtlety in exchange for answers about his quarry – to do no less than infiltrate the highest ranks of The Dark Brotherhood, and once there, to take lives only as she instructed. In exchange for the initial oath Mephala gave him the names of the four Kynreeve who had served under Nyrmov.
- · After completing his lengthy pilgrimage, Saris returned to Mournhold and gleaned what information he could from his latest clue. By grace of conjuration he discovered that two of the Kynreeve had since lost their positions and were demoted to caitiffs, and these he ruled out as having been elsewhere during the siege. Two remained. Achevach, who had ascended so far through the ranks that it was difficult to gain any information about him directly, and Hyrados, the subtlest Kyn Saris had ever encountered, whose charges feared and despised him with equal fervour. It is Hyrados who Saris is focusing his energies on now.
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