#Tel Aruhn

[darkelfguy]

Morrowind - The Isle of Tel Aruhn, Home of Telvanni Archmagister Gothren

[elderscrollsconceptart]

Tel Aruhn Banner

In-game art asset for The Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind

*artist unknown* if anyone knows the artist please comment below!

[vosh-rakh]

madstone: chapter 2

- previous part -

Kassur at least made it out of the city before he fell apart.

Just outside the gates, he finally collapsed to his knees, and wept, and beat his head with his fists. He sat like that for what felt like hours, letting his rage run through him like a kagouti. 

Eventually, he started to recover himself. In the Mephalan tradition, he began to plot. Plots required steps. So he began to figure out his next steps.

First, he needed to stop hitting himself. Then, he needed to stop weeping. Then he needed to stand up. Then he needed to turn around. Then he needed to head back into the city.

Then he needed to join House Telvanni.

- - - - -

Kassur crossed the large fungal-root bridge leading to the Telvanni Council House, passed through a circular root gate like the one at the entrance to Vos, and went inside the large mushroom building. 

A Dunmer woman stood in the foyer, leaning against the opposite wall. She glanced up from a book at Kassur as he entered. She looked back down to continue reading as she asked, “What do you want?”

Kassur swallowed heavily before speaking. “Work,” he said. 

The woman swore under her breath. “Gotta be Telvanni to get work, ashlander.”

Kassur ignored the intended insult and persisted. “I’ll join.”

The woman lowered the book to evaluate Kassur completely. “And why would we take you?”

Kassur didn’t know. He thought for a minute before snapping a small flame onto his fingertips. 

“Parlor trick,” the woman scoffed. “Anyone can light a small fire.”

“I can learn,” said Kassur, desperate. 

“Whatever. Your funeral. Go in and talk to one of the Mouths.”

Kassur walked past the woman, making sure to keep a wide berth around her, and went through the next circular door. 

The ensuing chamber was massive, and interpenetrated with giant, azure-violet crystal growths. Seven raised platforms ringed around a larger central crystal, smoking from within its fungal sconce. Some of the platforms were empty, but mer stood on the central five. 

Kassur took the steps down to the walkable platform around the central crystal, by which one could access the people on the platforms. He started on his right and addressed the first mer he came across, the only one in mostly plain dress rather than elaborate robes. “Hello.”

The mer seemed distracted by the wisps of smoke hissing from the central crystal. He looked down at Kassur and said, “Hello. Archmagister’s Mouth, Edd Theman, at your service. How can I help you?”

Kassur tried to twist the Dunmeris from his dry tongue, but to little avail. So all he said, again, was, “Join Telvanni.”

“Ah,” Edd said. “That can be arranged.” He pulled out a small book from a back pocket and flipped through it. “I hope I don’t need to give you the whole spiel about rules.” Kassur looked blankly up at him; he was speaking too fast, and he barely could make out what Edd was saying. 

“Ah, here,” Edd said, pulling a pen from another pocket. “Your name, son?”

“Kassur,” Kassur answered.

“Uhhhhh-huh.” Edd started writing some sloppy Daedric, and then showed it to Kassur. “Did I spell it right?”

From what Kassur could tell - it was very sloppy Daedric, and he struggled enough to read proper Daedric - Edd had written “Casser.” Kassur closed his eyes and nodded. Maybe the curse he was bringing upon himself by joining this House wouldn’t take effect if they got his name wrong.

“Alright,” Edd said, putting away the pen and book. “You’re now a hireling of House Telvanni.”

“Work?” Kassur said.

“Ah, you require a chore,” Edd said. He pulled out another book from another pocket and started flipping through it. “Well, there is something I need somebody to do. I was going to get somebody higher-ranked to do it, but you seem capable enough. Plus I’m running out of time.” From yet another pocket he pulled out some kind of amulet. “In an hour or so on the east end of town, down the road past the cornerclub, there’s going to be a little meeting between a couple of important people. I want you to wear this, hide nearby, and report back to me on what they talk about. Understood?”

Kassur took the amulet from Edd’s hands. It had an ordinary leather strap but a rather enormous sapphire embedded in the six-pointed talisman. He wrapped it around his throat and clasped it behind his neck. It felt warm to the touch as it activated.

“Well then! Where’d Casser go?” Edd said. “Haha! I know you’re still there. It’s quite an exceptional necklace, so do bring it back. Archmagister’s property.”

Kassur looked at his hands and could barely see them. All that remained of his body was a faint shimmer, like a mirage on a hot ashland day. He took off the amulet, and his form returned to normal. He put it in his pocket, waved Edd goodbye, and left to cross town again. 

- - - - -

The sun was hanging low when Kassur hid behind a rock, put on the necklace, and waited. This side of the island was devoid of civilization, besides an abandoned ancient Daedric ruin like the one Kassur had passed on the ship. The boulder he chose to hide behind was large and mossy and covered in racer droppings.

Eventually, two people did show up. One was Helende, the enormous mer from the cornerclub, armored with netch leather. The other was the Mage’s Guild Argonian, Skink, who wore commoners clothing, but had a glass dagger on his belt. Kassur leaned in slightly to listen to what was said. 

They were speaking Cyrodiilic. 

Kassur pressed his palms into his eyes and suppressed a sigh. This obviously wasn’t going to work. He waited for the two to leave before he removed the amulet. 

What was he going to do? He had nothing to report to Edd, because he didn’t understand a word that was said. He needed to get the hell out of this town.

But right now, he was exhausted and needed a bed to sleep in. He pulled out his coinpurse and counted out his seven coins. Suddenly, he remembered the small book in his other pocket, the one Yakin had given him, and he had an idea.

Kassur crossed the town again and made for the market. There was the strange short mer from earlier, seemingly closing up shop. Kassur approached, but the mer saw and shook his head. “Closed for the day,” he said in shaky Dunmeris.

“Just want to sell something,” Kassur said.

“Too bad. Wait until morning.” The little mer finished packing up his goods and left for his home.

Kassur sighed. He decided to make his way to the inn where he’d purchased his Hospitality Papers, and hoped he could beg his way into getting a room for the night.

He went up the spiral stairs to reach the front door of the inn and went inside. There he saw the Prefect again, dozing at his desk. “Hello,” Kassur said, carefully shaking the Prefect from his tenuous slumber.

The Prefect straightened his back and looked up at Kassur. “Ah, need Papers?…Oh, of course not. What can I do for you?”

“Bed?” Kassur asked.

“Ah,” the Prefect said. “Talk to the publican, Ery, two stories up. She can get you signed in.” He waved Kassur off, presumably so he could resume his half-sleep at his desk uninterrupted.

Kassur went up the spiral stairs, first passing a floor with a couple of empty but candlelit tables, then up another flight to a bar. At the center was a dark-skinned woman in a brownish-green robe. “Ery?” Kassur asked tentatively.

“The one and only,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

“Bed?” 

“Ah. That’ll be ten gold.” 

Kassur frowned and held out his hand, filled with his last seven coins. “Enough?”

Ery took the coins and counted them out. “No, not enough. It’s ten gold.”

Kassur rubbed his forehead. She was really going to make him do it, huh…He pulled his book from his pocket and handed it over as well. “Enough?”

Ery took the book and flipped through it. “I don’t buy books, sera.”

“Please,” Kassur said.

“Don’t look so desperate, sera,” Ery said. “I’ll take it, and your coin. I happen to like books like these. But you’re getting the shit room, just to let you know.”

She took down his name in a logbook and gave him directions to his room, and he followed them. He probably could have gotten more for the book than three drakes at an actual bookshop, but he didn’t have the luxury of selling it at one at the moment. He closed the door to his room behind him, and, having nothing to put away, he simply threw himself on the bed, and tried not to fall apart again. He was completely out of gold, stuck in a foreign town, with no way home. And this room reeked, like the smell of burning shock magic. It gave him a very uneasy feeling. He didn’t know how he was ever going to sleep here. Much less how he was ever going to get home, and even much less how he was going to save his tribe.

As he stared at the high ceiling, tied up with fungal roots, he was unable to close his eyes for sleep. But suddenly, he had an idea.

Tomorrow morning, he was going to go back to the docks.

- - - - -

Kassur made sure Gals Arethi wasn’t around before he carefully stepped onto the boat, warmly magical amulet around his neck. He made an effort to do it more gracefully than he had yesterday. Crouched low, he nearly crawled upon the planks, trying to be both steady and unseen. Of course, with this necklace, no one was going to see him, anyway.

Thankfully, the hatch to below the deck was propped open. Kassur approached and was just about to make his way down when Gals Arethi’s head poked out of the trapdoor and looked around. Kassur crouched even lower, sitting perfectly still.

But Gals didn’t seem to see him. He went back down the stairs into the ship.

Kassur waited for a moment before following him down. This level of the boat was stocked with barrels and crates and chests and sacks. He decided to take a spot behind the stairs to hide, and hoped Gals had no reason to come down there to that particular place. Anxiously he waited for Gals to go back up the stairs and close the hatch behind him before he began to relax.

Eventually Kassur heard some creaking of the deck above him - had Gals heard that when Kassur boarded? - and soon felt that uneasy feeling of movement through the water. Gals should be busy above-deck until they arrive in Vos, and then Kassur could sneak back out when they get there.

Suddenly, the trap door opened again, and Kassur saw two furry feet descending the stairs. It was one of the cat-men, which he’d never seen before. He took a look around, and, seeing something nearby Kassur, his feline eyes lit up. He came behind the stairs - Kassur held his breath and stayed perfectly still - and picked up a lute leaning against the hull of the ship. He gave it a strum, adjusted the pegs on the head of the instrument, and took a seat on a nearby stool.

He was just about to start playing when he said, in strangely-accented Dunmeris, “Do you have any requests, invisible man?”

Kassur’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. He held up a finger to his lips and shook his head.

“Ah,” the cat-man said, “S’Bakha sees. Or, doesn’t see. Maybe you will like this song, anyways.”

Then he began to play. He didn’t strum the entire collection of strings, but instead plucked them in a style of claw-picking Kassur had never seen or heard before. The instrument, although somewhat ill-tempered by the salty sea-air, still produced a beautiful sound with every note, playing a foreign song. Eventually S’Bakha began to sing, which wasn’t as good as the lute-playing, and Kassur didn’t understand the words. But Kassur relaxed as he listened. It helped to keep his mind off of things, such as his people’s plight, and more presently, the rocking of the ship.

It barely registered to him that the amulet was growing colder and colder.

- - - - -

They finally arrived, but seemingly much too soon. Did Gals take a shorter route? Or did the cat-man’s music just make the time seem to go by faster? S’Bakha set down the lute and rose to make for the deck. Kassur quietly followed after a moment or two.

The morning mist had mostly cleared, and the sun hung high in the sky. Crouched low on the deck, Kassur saw Gals conversing with his legitimate passengers. To Kassur’s surprise, it was the Argonian from Sadrith Mora’s market the day before, and one of their earlier compatriots, a Dunmer man. S’Bakha went to join them, which caused Gals to turn his head. 

He saw Kassur.

“You!” he said, marching up towards Kassur, who stood up straight, knowing there was no escape now. “Ashlander! What are you doing on my ship?”

Kassur was too paralyzed to speak. 

“What’s going on here?” asked the imposing Argonian.

“It seems to me,” Gals said, “that this low-life has stowed away on my ship without paying fare!”

“Gals,” the robed Dunmer next to the Argonian said, “if that is the worst thing that happens to you today, consider yourself very lucky. Young man,” he said, addressing Kassur now, “Where were you hoping to go?”

“V-Vos,” Kassur managed through trembling lips.

“The poor chap didn’t even get where he wanted to go. Shame.” The Dunmer turned back to Gals. “Let him go. See if he finds Tel Aruhn any better a place than Sadrith Mora.”

“Wait,” the Argonian said, sauntering up to Kassur. They took hold of the amulet around his neck and plucked it off forcefully. “This is mine. How did you get it?”

“Edd gave it to me,” Kassur croaked. “For a chore.”

“Typical,” the Argonian said, pocketing the amulet. “And you’ve drained it, too.”

“Wait,” Kassur said, realizing. “You’re the Archmagister? He said it was hers.”

“Yes, despite all challenges,” she said. 

“I need your aid,” Kassur said. “Ahemmusa needs your aid.”

“Again?” the Archmagister laughed. “Do they need me to clear out another shrine?”

“No,” Kassur said. “They’ve gone mad. They need help.”

“Aryon’s jurisdiction,” she said, glancing at the Dunmer at her side. “And we’re both busy at the moment.”

“Meet me at Tel Vos tomorrow,” Aryon said with a polite smile. “We’ll see what can be done.”

“I can’t get there,” Kassur said. “No money.”

The cat-man, S’Bakha, stepped in. “Gracious Archmagister, S’Bakha believes there is the small matter of payment for his humble aid in your recent quest?”

“Hmph,” said the Archmagister. She fumbled around in a pocket of her robes - which Kassur just now noticed had a great gash in it, which hadn’t been present yesterday, revealing her armor underneath - and handed S’Bakha a bag full of coins. “Not sure how much that is. But you can have it.”

The cat-man, shrewd as Kassur had heard his kind to be, opened the bag and started counting. “Most gracious Archmagister,” he exclaimed, “this is nearly a thousand drakes! Are you sure?”

“Take it,” the Archmagister said with a nod. “You’ve earned it.”

“Well,” S’Bakha said, turning to Gals, “How much fare for a mer to get to Vos?”

Gals grumbled. “Fifty septims.”

S’Bakha casually grabbed a hearty handful of coins and handed them to Gals. “That should be enough, plus a tip, for you being such a compassionate man. Take this young man home.”

Kassur stared at S’Bakha, wide-eyed. “But…I barely know you.”

“You were a good sport, listening to S’Bakha play and sing,” S’Bakha said. “A good audience, even when you were invisible. Usually the performer is paid by the audience, but, well. The performer has suddenly encountered a great windfall.”

“Thank you,” said Kassur. 

“Archmagister,” Aryon said, placing a gentle gloved hand on her armored shoulder, “We have our…bloody business to attend to.”

“Yes,” she said, and the three turned to depart the ship, leaving behind Gals and Kassur.

“You’re lucky the Archmagister’s pet intervened,” Gals said. “Now get below deck. I don’t want to see you until we get to Vos, or I’ll throw you overboard.”

Kassur smiled and nodded. He was just glad to go home.

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

Gothren, ready to call Aryon's apprentice a filthy outlander: What is your nationality?

Alvivecia: I'm an idiot.

Aryon: That makes Alvivecia a citizen of the woild.

[darkelfharlot]

Morrowwin

[sylvienerevarine]

Our House of Trouble

One of my very favorite things to write is the Hero of Kvatch reintroducing herself to her old friends and family after she becomes Sheogorath. So here's a very short tale about my girl Sacha Llervu finally reuniting with her sister, my favorite minor Morrowind character Falura Llervu. Falura's quest is so weird and complicated and an ethical minefield, and I hope I've managed to capture that here!

---

Falura Llervu, wife of the Zainab Ashkhan, looked at Sheogorath, god of madness, with her eyes wide and mouth hanging open.

“You’ve got to be joking,” she managed at last. “I don’t see you for almost thirty years, and this is how we reunite?”

“Look, this isn’t how I planned it either,” replied Sacha, Falura’s long-lost elder sister. “Mantling a god is shit, you know. It took me years to remember that I even had relatives. Aren’t you glad to see me?”

“Of course I am, but…Sheogorath, of all the gods? What would Mum and Dad say?”

“I should hope they’d be proud,” said Sacha, with mock offense. “I’ve done pretty well for myself! Got a job and a house, met the old Emperor, stopped a demonic invasion…”

“You did what?”

Sacha waved a hand vaguely. “Listen, enough about me. That’s a long damn story. The point is, if I hadn’t mantled a god, I never would’ve been able to track you down. What the fuck are you doing in an Ashlander camp?”

“I live here now,” Falura explained. “I have for about seven years. My husband, Kaushad, is the Ashkhan.”

“Your h…” Sacha shook her head. “When did you get married, Falura? And to an Ashkhan, of all people?”

“That’s a long story. Even in Cyrodiil, you heard about the Nerevarine, didn’t you?”

“Sure. Half the Dunmer I knew took the day off to celebrate when Dagoth Ur fell. I never really knew what to make of it.”

“Well, the Nerevarine is my friend Sylvie. She’s the real thing, Sacha, and she saved me. Bought me from the slave market in Tel Aruhn and found me a lovely new home.”

“Your friend…” Sacha shook her head and flopped onto the grass across from her sister. “All right, out with it. Tell me everything, start to finish.”

Haltingly, Falura began. There was a lot to summarize from the past twenty-odd years, but she made it as concise as possible, glossing over some of the worst parts. Sacha didn’t need to hear all that; she’d probably already lived it. 

“So Sylvie rescued me, in the end,” she concluded. “She needed to be named Nerevarine, the Ashkhan needed a wife, and I needed to escape. It worked out for all of us.”

“It doesn’t sound like you were rescued,” said Sacha in disgust. “Sounds more to me like you were bought and sold. Again.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Falura protested. “Sylvie freed me as soon as the papers were signed. She said I could marry the Ashkhan if I wanted, and otherwise she would give me funds to get to the mainland and…” She trailed off, remembering exactly what it was the Nerevarine had suggested.

“And do what, Falura?” asked Sacha, her voice low and even. 

“Find you,” she replied quietly. And she hadn’t. She’d shoved aside family loyalty to hurry into a new life and forget the old one.

Sacha’s new eyes blazed golden. “I never gave up on you,” she grated out. “When I escaped that damn Indoril plantation, I started running scams in every backwoods village, saving up money to free you. It landed me in prison. While you…what, gave up your independence to marry some rich man? Didn’t you care what happened to me?”

Icy-cold fear seized Falura’s heart. This isn’t your sister anymore, she thought. She’s one corner of the House of Troubles, and she could kill you with a single word.

“I’m so sorry, Sacha,” she said pleadingly. “But just try to understand. I had no idea where you were, or if you were even alive, and I was just so damn tired. I’d been traded from one family to another, up and down the coast, paraded around like a hunting trophy one minute and shoved in the kitchen the next. All I wanted was peace, safety, family–and the Ashlanders were willing to give me that.” A tear slipped down one cheek, and she quickly wiped it away. “I’m happy now, though. I’m free. We both are, no matter what we had to do to get there. Isn’t that what’s important?”

For several heart-stopping seconds, Sacha said nothing at all, glowering down at Falura like a violet thundercloud. Then, astonishingly, her shoulders slumped and her gaze softened.

“Well, shit,” she said. “Damn.”

In spite of herself, Falura giggled. “Sacha! Language!”

“Oh, stop, you sound like Mum. Falura, I’m…” She gulped. “Look, I’m sorry. I don’t have any right to judge you, not after everything I’ve done. They made me a knight, you know. I had prestige, influence. I could have tracked you down in a week, but instead I went off on some stupid quest to try and get Marty back, and…” She gestured with some disgust to her new attire. “All this happened.”

“So we both moved on a bit.” Falura gave a dry chuckle. “Imagine what the family ghosts must think. For what it’s worth, Sacha, I never gave up on you either. I always did believe you were out there somewhere. You’ve always been the strongest person I know.”

“Funny. I was going to say the exact same thing to you,” said Sacha. “Reassure me of one thing, though. This Ashkhan, he’s good to you? Looks after you, and all that?”

Falura nodded fervently. “He does. Kaushad is a sweet man at heart, and we’ve really grown to love each other. Enough so that…well.” She grinned. “You’ve got a nephew, Sacha.”

“A nephew?” Sacha’s eyes widened. “You have a baby?”

“Well, Sylveron’s not quite a baby anymore. He’s almost six. And he’s heard lots of bedtime stories about his brave auntie Sacha.” Falura held out one hand–surely she was allowed to touch a god, if that god was her sister. “Why don’t you come tell him some more?”

[igorlevchenko-blog]

Autobiography of Dagoth Ur

"My father was a relentlessly self-improving bonemold armoury owner from Bal Ur with low-grade narcolepsy and a penchant for n'wahery. My mother was a 150-year-old dwemer prostitute named Chlzanch with webbed feet. My father would womanize; he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the 'roht' mark. Sometimes, he would accuse ash-yams of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament... My childhood was typical: summers in Tel Aruhn... luge lessons... In the spring, we'd make ash helmets... When I was insolent I was placed in a netch leather bag and beaten with dreugh staffs — pretty standard, really. At the age of 120, I received my first daedric scribe. At the age of 140, an Azura cultist named Vermelle ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum — it's breathtaking... I suggest you try it."

[shalebridgecradle]

TESFest, Day 3 - starlit/teeth - @tes-summer-fest summary: 754 words; PG; in which the Dragonborn, prior to the events of Skyrim, has some grievances with her closest neighbors. No content warnings. housekeeping note: Julan is on loan from Kateri. (He's only mentioned in this fic, but still, credit where it's due.) Eira's adoptive home of Alt Aruhn is a personal head canon / addition to Solstheim.

Master Neloth bent to inspect the fallen creature. “They’ve grown teeth now. How charming. Was this really worth interrupting my tea?”

Eira’s scarf slipped down to her chin; she didn’t bother tugging it back into place. All the better to scowl at the Telvanni wizard, as any sensible soul would never do. “They’re changing. Evolving. The gulakhans thought you’d wish to know.”

“They’d wish me to know every time an Ashlander stubbed their toe on a rock.”

She sucked in a deep breath–and regretted it almost immediately, coughing back up a breath full of hot ash. The storms were worse than ever this season; they left the air laden with silt for hours after they’d passed. Whether that was connected to the changes in the ash spawn, no one back home seemed to know. She tugged her scarf back up over her mouth and nose and took another breath. “Tel Mithryn hasn’t suffered any attacks recently?”

Neloth made a harumph sound at the back of his throat. He was otherwise preoccupied in prodding the ash spawn’s chest with a conjured staff. Ash flaked away to reveal the warm glow of its heart stone underneath. Eira shifted her weight away, back on her heels. The stone presented itself as a thrumming presence she could feel in her bones. It made her skin itch, even through layers of armor and furs.

“They do seem to prefer Alt Aruhn these days,” Neloth said, leaning back and dusting off his hands. The staff faded into the ether the moment he let it drop. “Softer target and all that. If the gulakhans want my advice, they should try building walls. Marvelous inventions, those.”

“That implies the ash spawn possess a basic level of intelligence,” she retorted, ignoring the slight. “Strategy.”

He bent to inspect the creature’s face up close. Its teeth were cracked, jagged points, all along its top jaw, like rows of stalactites. They hadn’t yet mastered stalagmites. “Or perhaps they believe Ashlander and Redoran taste better.”

“Less bitter, certainly.”

Neloth ignored her sarcasm. He extended a fingertip toward the ash spawn’s slack jaw, prodding it open further. Instead it fell off entirely, crumbling away in a shower of dust and ash. The rest of the body followed soon after. The heart stone winked out like a lantern, swiftly extinguished, before the creature crumpled away and mixed into the ashy soil and wind. 

Only a single tooth remained behind: a fine, sharpened point. Then the wind gusted down from the north and even that vanished.

“I do wish they wouldn’t do that.” Neloth rose back to his feet with a sigh and a creak of his knees. “It makes examining them rather difficult.” A motion of his hand; one of his retainers scurried forth to collect the dead heart stone, whisking it away to some laboratory or other. “Is there anything else? Your wise woman didn’t read my demise in her tea leaves again, I trust?”

“That is an error she’s unlikely to repeat.” Mostly because her aunt had suggested to her that she keep such predictions about their neighbor to herself, in future.

“Good. Then if you don’t mind, my own tea is surely quite cold by now.” He gestured to the faint indentation in the ash and snow where the ash spawn had been. “Should they discover opposable thumbs and begin to master rudimentary tools, do stop by again. Until then, tell the ashkhan to stop interrupting my tea time.”

Eira had to suppress a laugh. If Julan knew, he’d see to it that the old Telvanni wouldn’t be able to drink his tea uninterrupted for months. To Neloth, she merely inclined her head. Her raven hair slid forward and, luckily, hid the amusement shining in her dark blue eyes. “Of course, serjo.”

Neloth dismissed her with a wave of his hand and some muttering, as he marched back inside his tower, about the cheek of the youth these days. A few of the household retainers who had gathered almost–but not quite–out of earshot scattered out of the way as he went.

Eira waited until the door to Tel Mithryn swung firmly shut before she turned to go. Alt Aruhn was little more than a smudge in the far distance–down the hill and across the creek, visible mainly as a few plumes of smoke from hearth fires. The wind blew cold and crisp from the north with the promise of snow.

She sighed, tugging her scarf back up over her nose again. “Fetcher.”

It was going to be a long walk home.

[oxalisvtesblog]

Gothren's journal

I know that there is more to this island than most people know, or care to tell me. People are tight-lipped about the past. The tower and all of the house pods sprouting around it were grown quite recently. I suspect that no one alive is actually old enough to remember or even have heard about the things I need to know.

There are ancient tales of how the Aldmeri explorers charted the lands of Tamriel, including Zafirbel Bay. After them Aldmeri settlers came as well and they built towers. These towers were nothing like our own, grown from organic materials, but stone solid enough to remain to this day in some places. One was built here in Tel Aruhn, also known as the Old Tower Home. It seems to have vanished, but I am nearly convinced that the old tower is not entirely gone.

The steep wall looming high above the docks could be mistaken for a natural formation, but I believe that it is in fact a construction, but so covered with moss and worn down by the elements that it is near impossible to tell. Maybe it was a protective wall around the tower, or even the actual tower wall?

***

The Dwemer were here before the Aldmeri wizards came from the sea of course, but as far as I can tell there was no incentive for conflict. One people favored the inland while the other settled along the coast. They were experts of their own realms and kept mostly to themselves. There must have been respect or even appreciation between the races rather than rivalry.

Neither was related to the primitive tribesmen who came much later. They needed Azura's help to teach them civilization. The Aldmer and the Dwemer did just fine without divine intervention.

***

We are Telvanni, the tower dwelling wizards. How related are we to the Chimer? Perhaps the outcast Mabrigash and necromancers who shunned the ways of their tribes were absorbed by the wizard communities along the coast. Over generations of contact, the lines blurred and we came to be seen as another Great House of the Dunmer.

When Azura cast her curse, she probably did not check very carefully who was who. Gold turned to ash and eyes that were once any color under the sky turned red as the blood that was spilled on the slopes of Red Mountain.

[changelingsandothernonsense]

I want the whole "bringing the Ashlander Tribes into the fold" thing to be a bit more...warlord like. There's a huge role that Erra plays in that as his Gulakhan. Though generally the sequence goes-

Urshilaku- Homebase, Josh proves himself through trials of strength.

Ahemmusa- A heavily weakened tribe. Erra takes charge after Josh sorts out the Wise Woman's visions. They pledge allegiance to the Urshilaku for protection. Their Seers for some Urshilaku warriors whilst they travel. Zainab- Diplomacy, Josh had to play their game though part of that involves a bit of arson in Tel Aruhn as opposed to handing slavers money. That's not how Molag'shaln operates. The Telvanni will kneel later though. For now they just have to keep an eye out for black silk clad vigilantes.

Erabenimsun- War- Josh, as an Ensirhaddon, will never win over the majority of the tribe. So he and Erra and their army wipe them out and Josh takes out the Ashkhan himself. Warfare is all they respect, so that's the style of Incarnate that he chose to display.

The idea of Josh having a multi-generational blood price on his head thanks to what his grandfather did, only for him to completely wipe out the entirety of Ulath-Pal's followers (and therefore about three quarters of the Erabenimsun tribe) in the Ashkhan's pursuit of the complete annihilation of his father's clan may be an irony Josh only gets like months after the fact. He needed to be named Nerevarine and Great Khan and he needed to make certain their leader followed him without question. Placing a weak cousin of his into the role of Ashkhan ensures that. His actions were pragmatic but truly he relished the chance to do it. Plus he did it by meeting Ulath-Pal on his level. He just happened to be the better warrior.

[ufoabove]

TES Inktober 

Day 4: Telvanni / Day 12: Side Quest (In My Time of Need)

[darkelfguy]

Morrowind - A Telvanni Fishing Boat in the Seas off Tel Aruhn

[rpmaniac]

Tel Aruhn

[uesp]

Did You Know: Unlike most slaves who can be freed by finding the key to their bracers, the slaves at the Tel Aruhn can only be freed by purchasing them and then emancipating them? This feat would require at least 6,800 gold.

[quaenam]

Nightfall over Tel Aruhn

This one has been dwelling in the WIP bin forever, glad it’s finally done.

[playingforpix]

This house in Tel Aruhn reminds me so much of Bag End from the Hobbit.