Saint Hlan

Like all Saints, Hlan was born of the mundane Eastern masses. He made his home in the Cyrodiil-occupied city of Ebonheart. There Hlan worked as a shipmaster. With a swab’s humility, he would transport Imperial garrisons, Dunmer sycophants, and con-men from the swarming city gate to other coastline settlements. Hlan’s only faith was in the salt and oar.

He shaped his fate on an ash-sullied morning in the Cyrodiil garrison next to Sadrith Mora. Hlan found a pauper hiding in an empty salt basket by the dock. From his contorting limbs and bloodshot skin, Hlan knew that the pauper had the Divine Illness. This he did not know: the pauper was Lord Nerevar Incarnate, light of the Eastern shadow, fulfilling one of many Hortator’s trials. Hlan saw only a pauper, but his humility prevailed. He said,

“What are you doing here, diseased creature?”

“I am a beggar, but not for coins,” the pauper answered. “All I ask for is transport to the tower of the heretical savior Fyr. I can find asylum in that tower. I would reward you well, but the choice is yours. I rely on your mercy.”

Hlan was angry that the pauper chose to hide so close to the docks, for touching one contaminated fiber of the basket or breathing one particle of tainted air could infect him with the Divine Illness. He swallowed the anger and remembered his helplessness against fate. Hlan, whilst biting his tongue in regret, agreed to help this pauper find asylum. The two boarded the ship and made for a remote island to the southwest.

It was at sea that Hlan found his own body as he had feared it would become. His arms grew stiff and twisted in an effort to maneuver the oars, and his skin burned. Hlan realized that he too was infected. But the pauper spoke wise words to calm his despair. For the rest of the journey, they talked of small things, big things; of Morrowind, of the rest of the world and the rest of other worlds. In this time, Hlan became the happiest he had even been in his life. He recognized this happiness as the promised reward and accepted it wholeheartedly.

The boat docked at Tel Fyr the next day. Hlan begged to stay in the tower as well, but the pauper regretfully insisted that they part ways. He said, “This is a sinful place, and Fyr’s heresy cannot save you as it will save me. Do not worry—we will meet again someday.” The pauper vanished into the tower. This was the last Hlan saw of Lord Nerevar Incarnate.

Hlan looked in all directions and found nothing but the barren rock of Azura’s Coast. His joints burned with illness and his mind scrambled for a new destination. A surge of intuition told Hlan to travel southeast, past peninsulas and ancestral tombs. He listened to his instinct. Hlan struggled to command his distorted limbs, paddling and enduring against the swollen currents until he came upon a gate. It was the gate of Holamayan Monastery. A sequence of stone steps marked the path. It was midnight.

Hlan’s entire body was scorching itself in tormented rue, and his Door to the Spirit was ajar. He knew his final ordeal. He let himself fall from the edge of the boat and crawled onto the coast. Masser and Secunda began their descent. Hlan pulled his dying body onto the first step. He climbed the second, the third, the fourth, all while his flesh cremated itself. By the time he reached the top, it was almost Dawn. Hlan waited. But just as the sun’s first ray peeked out, and the gate opened an inch, Hlan was dead.

Nobody entered or left the monastery for months, and Hlan’s corpse remained and decayed at the top of the steps. Finally, the Incarnate himself entered Holamayan as Hortator and Nerevarine. The Incarnate remembered Hlan’s humility and compassion and recognized the skeleton by the gate. The Dissident Priests removed Hlan’s feet, sanctified his ashes, and declared him a Saint. Today, Saint Hlan’s right middle toe is kept in the sacred burial chambers of Necrom.