Ash and Magic

22nd Sun's Dusk, 3E 424

Mother,

I hope this letter finds you well. You can't possibly know how much I wish I was back in Narsis right now, with a bone-pipe in my hand and the sun on my back. I can't fathom why I decided to move here; Vvardenfell is dark and glum and full of dangerous beasts, and even more dangerous people. But the worst part is the ash. Everywhere one goes there's the sight of that horrid mountain, spewing fire and blight across the land. Even on a sunny day, or what passes for one here, there's a thin layer of ash in the sky, blurring the sun's rays. It's enough to make a Bosmer go crazy. And that's without mentioning the effect it's had on my magic.

On that fateful day that I stepped off the boat onto the port at Seyda Neen, it all seemed normal still. I spent the afternoon selling my belongings at a tradehouse, while absent-mindedly practicing my charm spells, hoping to get a better deal. I had a run in with a nix-hound outside of town a few hours later, and to my horror, my reserves of magic hadn't recovered! I managed to get away, and back to the room I was renting, and the following morning things seemed to be back to normal. Initially, I chalked my aetherial dearth up to my relative inexperience in the craft of the blessed Mage, though I felt deep inside that there was a bigger problem. I was right.

Throughout the weeks to come, my magic use would permanently sap my mental energies, which would return only when I slept or rested. It became such a nuisance that I forced myself to abandon my work (I had at that point found myself a pleasant job in the administrative team of a nearby Legion fort, dealing with the finances and so forth) and seek out the nearest Mages' Guild hall. One Silt Strider ride, and an uncomfortable amount of Drakes later I arrived in Balmora. Every damn building looked the same in that town, but eventually I found my destination.

Upon finally convincing one of the scholars to answer my questions - why was my Magicka being drained, and what could I do to stop it - I learnt much. It turns out that in Vvardenfell, my horrible experience is the norm. None of the Mages at the Guild could restore their energies on the go, and apparently no-one on Vvardenfell can. The scholar spoke of the Telvanni in their towers, the priests in Vivec and the Imperials in their Halls and Shrines across the land, and their vast intelligence and magical power; using magic on Vvardenfell required years of training and only the keenest of minds.

Naturally, I was sceptical. Why did anyone live here, if the magical conditions were so poor? She replied, with a proud smile, that because of the difficulty they faced, any successful mage from Vvardenfell was held in the highest esteem by their colleagues on the mainland. The Imperial Province's elites study at the Arcane University, Mainland Morrowind has Shad Astula, but all magical institutions in Vvardenfell held that level of respect and prestige. To be a student of the arcane arts on Vvardenfell is to be head and shoulders above most of the rest of Tamriel.

That was all well and good, I ensured the haughty elf, but why was this? What caused this unique phenomenon? It turns out that it's all thanks to the very first thing I noticed when I got to Vvardenfell - the ash. I'm unsure if you're familiar with the traditional Aldmer creation myth, mother, seeing as I recall the branch of the Temple back home being less than fond of the imported Anuads and other religious texts from outside Morrowind, but it suggests that at the centre of Red Mountain, at the centre of the entire island, lies the Heart of Lorkhan, the trickster spirit responsible for binding us all to this mortal plane. The Mages at the Guild believe that the ash, born of the Heart of the 'God of Limitations and the Mundane', as they called Lorkhan, scatters the aetherial rays bequeathed to our plane through the sun. Light can penetrate the ash well, even giving the appearance of clear skies when, in reality, a thin ashen veil still blankets the island. However, the magic is stopped by the ash, due to the very mortal, very limiting, very mundane nature of it. The background magical radiation present throughout the rest of Tamriel (and even Oblivion, if the studies I've read are correct) is obtrusively absent here, and as such, Magicka can only be generated from the metabolism of the sleeping mind.

Upon learning this, Mother, my heart was black with grief. I considered fleeing this three-forsaken island, and returning home to the mainland, but upon further thought, I've decided to stay for the time being, and learn more of this mysterious land. Who knows, I may end up one of the great mages of Vvardenfell the scholar spoke of! I've already had some wonderful ideas about magical flight, although owing to my insufficient skills at the moment, I may focus on creating scrolls, not spells.

Give my regards to the Veradras family next door!

Your loving son,

Tarhiel