The Ways of the All-Maker

THE FOLLOWING IS AN OBSCURE TEXT RETRIEVED FROM THE POSSESSIONS OF A CERTAIN HYRONEMOUS TRATELLAN, FORMER PRIEST OF AKATOSH WHO WAS PUT TO DEATH IN THE YEAR 4E 21 FOR SPREADING INSIDIOUS LIES AND SLANDERS AGAINST THE DIVINES AND THEIR SACRED TEMPLES AND SHRINES. SUBMITTED TO THE ARCHIVES OF THE ARCANE UNIVERSITY ON THE 24TH OF HEARTHFIRE 4E 22 UPON REQUEST OF THE ARCH-MAGE FOR FURTHER STUDY AND REFERENCE SEVERUS MARIAN, ARCHIVEST

THE WAYS OF THE ALL-MAKER, SUPREME RULER OF MORTAL AND DIVINE

You ask me, Tartarus, to explain why I have forsaken the Nine. You ask me to explain the nature of my heresies. I think you do not really care to know either of things, but I will tell you. Perhaps only so that I can know that I have spoken the truth, and die in peace. You will cast me into the lake, or burn me, or rend my head from my body, but my spirit shall depart well satisfied to the embrace of the All-Maker. In the days when the gates of Oblivion were opened and the hosts of Mehrunes Dagon invaded this world like many others I fled to the relative safety of the wild places. I left the burning ruins of Kvatch and traveled north, seeking to place as much distance between myself and the terrors of that horrible day as I could. I took it upon myself to undertake a great pilgrimage, seeking out the answers to the doubts that burned in my heart.

Since childhood I had studied earnestly to be a priest of Akatosh, and at a young age I joined the ranks of his priory. There I devoted myself to his service, and sought to attain the rank of priest. In my youth I was sent to the frozen wastes of Skyrim to tend to the faithful there, and to spread the cult of the Nine among the heathen Nords who worshiped the bears and wolves and wild beasts of the world. In the days of my pilgrimage, I returned to Skyrim. I sought to understand how the divines could have allowed the terror of that horrible night to happen. I sought to understand why Akatosh had forsaken me. But I did not find what I sought in the solitude of Skyrim's tundra. The faith of the Nords did not hold any secrets, or any advantage over the Cult of the Nine. So my pilgrimage continued.

By chance I came upon a trader at the docks in Windhelm who planned to sail to Morrowind. At this time, the Red Mountain had not yet unleashed its fury upon those lands, and her people still clung to the peculiar teachings of their false gods. Two of them had been slain, apparently by each other or perhaps some other agent, but Vivec, a curious character remained. At first I thought to make pilgrimage to his great city and to visit him, but the stories of the Dunmer pilot of the vessel persuaded me to seek the wisdom of another: the fabled Nerevarine.

By this time, none knew where he had gone, but there were many rumors. Vivec had vanished, I was told, and so either way I would be chasing after spectres. Concerning the Nerevarine, the most substantial rumor I could come upon after my arrival in the city of Gnisis claimed he had made his way north to the Island of Solstheim, and had a handsome estate there. So I sailed to Raven Rock on the hopes of locating the Nerevarine. I found instead an empty manor, empty that is of the Nerevarine's presence but certainly not in any other sense.

After persuading his loyal guard to allow me inside, I discovered all manner of things beyond description. Artifacts of great power, the totems of Daedric lords, and the legendary Dwemer tools he had used to defeat the madman Dagoth Ur. The value of this collection could have purchased all of Morrowind, and the power of it was more than sufficient to conquer it. There was a collection of books that rivaled any library in the Imperial City, and there I spent days in study. Of particular interest was the Nerevarine's own journal, and the documents he had gathered together during his travels.

I could write volumes on the things I had learned from the Nerevarine's own journals, which for respect for the man I left behind at his manor and did not bring with me. But one thing stood out to me for reasons I cannot comprehend, or at least at the time could not. I learned through these journals of the Nerevarine's travels among a rather peculiar tribe far on the northern end of the island of Solstheim, a people called the Skaal, who held to themselves a rather peculiar religion. Lost to the purpose of my pilgrimage at the fascination of the Nerevarine's archives, I remembered my task and set out at once across the wilds of Solstheim. I aimed to find these Skaal, and to learn their secrets.

CONCLUSION OF CHAPTER I