Thrice Blessed and Thrice Cursed: Memories of a Dunmer Pilgrim (Part 5, Chapter 1)

By Erdar Nyrandil, 4E 202

Chapter One

A Native Outlander (Continued from [Part 1] (http://www.reddit.com/r/teslore/comments/2tvmo0/thrice_blessed_and_thrice_cursed_memories_of_a/), [Part 2] (http://www.reddit.com/r/teslore/comments/2twa0r/thrice_blessed_and_thrice_cursed_memories_of_a/), [Part 3] (http://www.reddit.com/r/teslore/comments/2twqr7/thrice_blessed_and_thrice_cursed_memories_of_a/), and [Part 4] (https://www.reddit.com/r/teslore/comments/2txisz/thrice_blessed_and_thrice_cursed_memories_of_a/))

23rd of Evening Star, 3E 425

I've finally arrived! When I first crossed the border to the mainland, I had felt a mix of fear and doubt at my choice. Now that I've reached Vvardenfell, all my worries have washed away with the waves which carried me here. Seyda Neen seems like a nice enough place to spend the night, and if it's not, I always have the crossbow to count on.^1 Tomorrow, I'll set out for Ald'Ruhn, and bring honor to my parents.

24th of Evening Star, 3E 425

Almsivi give me patience. When I ended my journal entry yesterday, I only intended mentioning using my crossbow if I needed it as a joke. After last night, I nearly wanted to put a bolt through my own head.

It all started with the tradehouse. Seyda Neen is an Imperial port, and as such, the population is diverse. You have your Imperial guards and immigrants, the mer who owned the tradehouse was an Altmer, there was the occasional Orc, and the odd Nord. Then there was this Bosmer. Saint Delyn himself may not have been benevolent enough to have patience for this fetcher.^2

When I entered the tradehouse, I was looking for food, drink, and to beg a bed if he didn't normally rent them out. I noticed some men3 harassing a short Bosmer in the corner; a pitiful sight, but I was not sure I should get involved. If I learned one thing living in the Imperial City, its that interfering in a dispute is a sure way to find yourself on the wrong end of a dagger.4 Despite my attempts to keep out of the dispute, the Bosmer - a little s'wit named Fargoth - saw me glance over. In a voice more grating than a pick in a glass mine, the N'wah called over to me claiming that I was a coward to let another elf be bullied by men. Suddenly the men turned their attention on me, 'Fargoth's special friend."

I managed to talk the men down, and convince the to leave us be. Fargoth, now apparently convinced that we are friends, proceeded to tell me all about what had transpired, and assured me that he had the whole thing under control, no thanks to my slow response to the atrocity I was "content to watch." Try as I might, Fargoth would not leave my side for the rest of the night. He always had more to say, and typically it was not the most pleasant story or observation, and not only because of his voice. It was how he moved, spoke, and the way he could somehow simultaneously build himself up in story and offer me backhanded compliments while discussing literally anything. And the way he goes on about that “magnificent” ring of his; he’s likely to have it stolen if he keeps boasting about it. In short, I begin to see why the guards and men in this town “harass” the elf, as he claims happens frequently. When I was finally able to beg off and retire to bed, I was too exhausted to write all of this down last night.

Though I should remember the Lady of Mercy’s compassion in all that I do, I can feel only a little remorse in saying that I hope to never see this wood elf again. Later this morning, I intend to take a silt strider^5 to Ald'Ruhn.

27th of Evening Star, 3E 425

Being back in Ald’Ruhn has been exhilarating and depressing all at once. The city is everything I remembered it to be; from the Emperor land-crab mansions of the Under-Skar to the breathtaking starkness of the Ashlands. The city is alive with Dunmer who truly value the traditional ways. Of course, I cannot help but feel sad as the memories of my parents drift back to the forefront of my mind.

To make matters worse, I’ve been dubbed by many as an outlander. Even those who knew my parents seem to regard me as a foreigner. I suppose I cannot blame them. Years living far away from the ash has left me with a softer voice than most native Dunmer, and I am certain that despite my traditional views, I must have mannerisms akin to the Imperials with whom I lived these past twenty-four years.

Be that as it may, I have reaffirmed my allegiance to Great House Redoran, and have been tasked by the Temple to undergo a pilgrimage to prove my devotion. I have read The Pilgrim’s Path before, but to finally have the chance to undergo the Pilgrimage of the Seven Graces, to walk in the footsteps of Vivec...it’s precisely what I dreamt of all those years in Cyrodiil.

  1. That crossbow was a gift from my uncle, and has served me well for two centuries. It’s a Dwemer construction with amazing stopping power. Uncle Arvin told me the crossbow had been recovered from the ancient city of Markarth, which would serve as a motivator to visit later in life.

  2. In hindsight, I was a bit too harsh on Fargoth. He was a bit annoying, but far less so than others I met in my travels. I believe my annoyance stemmed from the fact that he was just not the welcome I expected when I reached Vvardenfell. I hope that he found peace in life, though I wonder how he would fare under the current political climate.

  3. Mostly Nords, I regret to say. In my life, I have met many fine people of every race, but I will admit that I shared a similar fate as Fargoth at the hands of Nords many years later.

  4. This is a sentiment that still holds true, but as the months and years progressed in Morrowind, I found myself intervening more and more, and still do to this day. If I am to die, I would prefer I die trying to help bring peace to the land than stand by and watch senseless violence take over.

  5. Boats, carriages, and horseback are all fine means of travel, but you simply haven’t traveled in luxury until you travel on the back of a silt strider. These fascinating creatures are now mostly lost as a result of the destruction of the Red Year, and to describe them does no justice. Imagine a flea that has grown as larger than a house. As a child in Morrowind, I saw the massive beasts as things of wonder. Returning to Morrowind after growing up in Cyrodiil only increased my awe. I have illustrated a rendition on [the next page] (http://imgur.com/hmSHri9). For those readers who have seen these wonderful beasts of burden, please forgive my clumsy artistic hand and the undoubted exaggeration of memory which inspired the sketch.

Go to [Part 6] (http://www.reddit.com/r/teslore/comments/2u22gp/thrice_blessed_and_thrice_cursed_memories_of_a/)