#and i think - coming from morrowind where you may or may not be the reincarnation of a hero that's a chess piece for azura to play with

[alteredphoenix]

The moment you take Mirmulnir's soul and you hear the Greybeards shout your title all the way up from High Hrothgar, this should be the moment where everyone in Skyrim should be on high alert. Not just the Thalmor, not just the Empire, not just the Stormcloaks, not just the Blades - EVERYONE. So right from the start that should already put more pressure on you (as the Dragonborn) for when you do the Diplomatic Immunity questline, and even more so depending on which side you choose for Season Unending, leading up to either the Reunification or Liberation of Skyrim.

Because you are the Dragonborn. You are a legend made incarnate the likes of which have not been seen since Tiber Septim. You are, for all intents and purposes, a god in mortal form born with the blood and soul of a dragon by Akatosh himself. You are basically a walking weapon of mass destruction who can not only devour dragon souls and sever their immortality but can also summon the dead. You are literally a dragon's worst nightmare come to life. That kind of power should not only shake Tamriel to its core but also put fear into the hearts of every faction that tries to get involved with you even as they vie to have you on your side to either make Skyrim an independent nation or tie it even further to the Empire. Even the Thalmor, who should be doing everything they can to get all the dragonlore they can get their hands on and twist it for their own gains so they can fan the flames of the Civil War even further.

Sure for most of the game you're not a powerhouse (again, barring the entirety of the side content that isn't the main quest), but by the end of the game you are squaring up with the arbiter of the apocalypse, not only the eater of worlds but the eater of kalpas, in the Nordic equivalent of heaven. And yet, somehow, your status as the Dragonborn in the game itself doesn't bring about any major shifts in Skyrim or beyond it other than being formally recognized by the Greybeards, an acknowledgement that some people aren't keen on having the Dragonborn return, the Blades serving you up until Paarthurnax's connection to the Greybeards, and being the person who deals the blow to Alduin that (presumably) sends him back to merge with Akatosh. Even in a playthrough where you join the Dark Brotherhood and assassinate Emperor Titus Mede II, a quest that should have lore-based consequences, feels hollow because outside of the main content your status as the Dragonborn is not taken seriously if not outright ignored altogether. You may as well be another person who just happens to get involved in current events and going along for the ride just for the hell of it because, other than the listed mentions above, the choices you make and the status that should have an effect on Skyrim are ultimately inconsequential.

Writing up a little chapter bullet point for a Skyrim crossover fic and it's very abundantly clear the story doesn't give you any time to breathe if you just do the main questline and only the main questline. You are thrown straight into dealing with the Blades (and turning on them if you refuse to slay Paarthurnax), trapping the dragons that get brought back to life, and stopping Alduin. The DLCs may as well have no bearing on it.

[lake-arrius-caverns]

Nerevarine Rising

Chapter 7: Awakening

oops im seeing about changing my upload day to friday but yesterday i totally forgot abt it so lmao

summary After a successful assignment, Fahjoth is glad to be given a few days off and learns a little about his duties from Caius. The twins plan a trip to Vivec City for some exploration.

content warnings none

tag list @boulderfall-cave , @padomaicocean (lmk if you’d like to be added!)

read under the cut or on AO3, cheers 👍

:: First :: || << Previous << || >> Next >> || :: Masterpost ::

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Flouncing through the front door of Cosades’ tiny house, Fahjoth couldn’t wipe the grin off his face as he brandished the scrolls of parchment with glee. 

“I got them!” he cried, ecstatic. “The notes from Sharn gra-Muzgob! I got them!”

Cosades looked up from his supper with one brow raised, but by no means did he look on with disapproval. “And not a scratch on you,” he remarked, holding out a hand to receive the scrolls as Fahjoth passed them over. “I knew it wouldn’t be long before you found your feet. Well done, Novice.” 

“Well, I had help—” Fahjoth started, unwilling to take all the credit for his achievement, but Cosades didn’t seem to be listening anyway. He unfurled the scrolls and silence fell as he pored over them, a thoughtful look on his face as he examined the scrawling, loopy handwriting. Fahjoth took a seat at the table and waited, wondering what his next assignment was to be. At least Ribyna was on standby back at the South Wall Cornerclub, and for that, Fahjoth was grateful. 

“Well, Fahjoth,” Cosades started, rolling up the parchments once again and turning to face Fahjoth with the beginnings of a smile, “I’m promoting you to Blades Apprentice. You deserve it after the hard work you’ve put into all your duties.” 

Fahjoth’s heart began to soar with excitement. “Apprentice?” he repeated, awestruck. “Thank you, sir! So, uhh... what will I be expected to do now?” 

“Nothing too different, I assure you. It’s mostly a recognition thing, to be perfectly honest,” Cosades answered. He got to his feet, beginning to pace around the room in deep thought and occasionally stopping to check a book or scrap of paper, cross referencing several stacks of notes. Fahjoth wondered how he was able to keep track of it all. “Now, I'd like some time to think how this all fits in with the Emperor's plans for you. So if you'd like to get in a little freelance adventuring, go ahead. But whenever you're ready, I'll have new orders for you."

“Oh... alright.” The news came as a welcome surprise for sure. Fahjoth had to admit, he was glad to have a few days of downtime at last. It would be a good opportunity for him and Ribyna to do some exploring; she had mentioned wanting to visit Vivec City at some point, perhaps now they could finally go. 

But there was one thing that he had been growing more and more curious about; the subject of all his errands, the very reason he had been putting his life on the line in exchange for whatever information Cosades wanted. He knew nothing about any of it, and the burning desire to ask, to learn exactly why it was so important, could not be quashed. Maybe now was the time. 

“Sir?” he questioned, biting his lip with uncertainty. Cosades stared fixedly at Fahjoth, indicating that he was listening, and so Fahjoth continued — albeit with some hesitation. “Could you explain the... things that I’ve been getting information about? The, uh, the Sixth House and the Nev... Nevera... Neraver—“

“The Nerevarine,” Cosades finished for him, and Fahjoth nodded. “Of course. I forget that you can’t read well. We’ll start with the Sixth House.” 

Fahjoth shuffled in his seat, getting himself comfortable and listening with rapt attention as Cosades began to speak. “There isn’t much to say about the Sixth House cult just yet. A trusted informant of mine says they're a secret cult associated with some strange events recently. More importantly, my informant thinks these recent disturbances are related in some way to the Nerevarine Prophecies."

“And what are the—?”

“I’m getting to that part, Apprentice. One thing at a time. I’m not sure if you’re aware, but there’s been some attacks recently attributed to sleeper agents of this cult. Have you heard anything about them?”

Fahjoth shook his head. “No sir.” 

“There've been several attacks recently, and these Sleepers all say the same thing. ‘Serve your Lord, Dagoth Ur. The Sixth House is risen, and Dagoth is its glory.’”

A shiver suddenly tore through Fahjoth’s ribs, catching him by surprise. Why did that name sound so familiar? There was no distinct emotional response attached to hearing it, but the hairs on Fahjoth’s arms continued to stand on end, giving him prominent goosebumps. 

“Keep an eye out, and if you see anything suspicious, let me know.” 

“Yes sir.” 

“Alright, now for the Nerevarine.” Cosades rejoined Fahjoth at the table and took a swig of something from an open bottle before continuing. “The Ashlanders—“ 

“The what?”

“The Ashlanders— by the divines, Vetharys...”

Fahjoth grimaced, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. “Sorry...”

“No, it’s alright,” Cosades sighed. “I just thought you would’ve heard about them by now. I don't know much about them. Most people say they‘re murderous savages. But most people are idiots. I know they hate the settled Dunmer almost as much as they hate Westerners. I don't think their tribes tend to be particularly welcoming to outlanders, so watch yourself if you’re ever wandering in the Ashlands.” 

Fahjoth nodded, remaining quiet to let Cosades go on. 

“The Ashlanders pass down their customs and history in the form of poetic verses. Among the things they preserve in verse are the dreams and prophetic visions of their wise women, in particular the verses that foretell the coming of the Nerevarine. And before you ask,” Cosades added, seeing that Fahjoth was about to speak again, “some Dunmer believe that an orphan and outcast, a youth born on a certain day to uncertain parents, will one day unite all the tribes of the Dunmer, drive out the invaders of Morrowind, and reestablish the ancient laws and customs of the Dark Elven nations. They call this orphan and outcast the ‘Nerevarine’, and say they will be a reincarnation of the long-dead Dunmer General and First Councilor, Lord Indoril Nerevar. But... I don't know much else about it. That's why I'm sending you to find out.” 

Fahjoth nodded, fascinated by the sudden bombardment of information he was receiving. “And... it’s relevant to stuff that’s happening now? These cult attacks and whatnot? That’s why we’re investigating it?”

There was a split second where Fahjoth thought that Cosades may have paused, his stern grey eyes locked on Fahjoth’s own, but then came a perfectly normal response, leaving him wondering if he’d simply imagined it. 

“Correct.” 

Armed with this knowledge, Fahjoth suddenly felt inspired. So this was what all his top-secret missions had really been about. He still had no idea why he’d been pulled out of prison to join this endeavour specifically, but he no longer felt as much of a need to question it. This was his chance to make a difference, to do some real good in the world; it strengthened his resolve and he silently vowed to give it his all, regardless of how many errands he would end up having to run. 

“Alright. Thanks, sir.” Fahjoth rose to his feet, figuring he should go and find Ribyna and tell her the news, but Cosades leaned back in his chair and stared at him with such a dour look in his eyes that Fahjoth faltered.

“Don’t forget, Vetharys — always pay attention to what’s going on around you. You’re an agent of the Blades; information is our specialty,” he advised. “And never let your guard down. I don’t ever want to find you being sent back to me in a box.” 

Fahjoth cringed, feeling distinctly like he was being told off for the sheer amount of ignorance he had so openly displayed. Well, he had to learn somehow, didn't he? “Yes, sir… thank you, sir.” 

And with that he bade farewell to Cosades for now, scurrying out of the house before he could be admonished further, and made a beeline straight for the South Wall Cornerclub. Just as he rounded the corner and descended the short flight of stone steps between buildings, he found himself face-to-face with a familiar dark-haired figure, and coincidentally just the person he was looking for. 

“Ribyna!” he called, grinning as he got his sibling’s attention seconds before she stepped into the cornerclub. “Thought I’d find you here.”

“‘Sup, Fahji?” Ribyna turned away from the doorway and gave Fahjoth the usual hug of greeting. “You look happy. Has something happened?”

“I got a promotion!” he exclaimed without hesitation, eager to share the news. “And I got a few days off, too. I was thinking maybe we could do something.”

“Ah, well done, bro!” Ribyna congratulated him with a grin. “Yeah, I’m good for a few days. What did you have in mind?”

“Well, I thought maybe we could go to Vivec City? If you still wanted to go there, that is.”

For the second time that night, Fahjoth thought he detected a fleeting look of hesitation on the face of someone he was speaking to. This time it was Ribyna, who appeared almost apprehensive as soon as Fahjoth had mentioned going to Vivec City; but then her response was as casual as ever, leaving Fahjoth even more befuddled and debating with himself over whether he was just seeing things.

Maybe I’m just tired, he mused to himself. 

“Yeah, sounds good. D’you wanna leave now or tomorrow?” Ribyna asked. “If you like, I can go see how much the silt strider bloke charges.”

“Well, it’s getting on a bit, but…” Fahjoth paused, looking upwards and searching for the position of the sun, which was already past its highest point in the sky. He estimated that they had a few hours of daylight left, so ignoring the little voice of caution in his head, he made his decision. 

“Yeah, why not? Let’s go tonight. Could be fun to stay overnight in the big city!” Fahjoth enthused, and Ribyna nodded. 

“Alright! I’ll go find out how much a one way trip costs,” Ribyna said. “Start heading over towards the silt strider and I’ll meet you there!” And with that she tore off, racing over the bridge in the middle of town and zipping up the stairs to speak with the caravaner. 

With a quiet chuckle, Fahjoth shook his head and began to meander at a far more relaxed pace after his twin, passing by one of the townsfolk as he stepped off the bridge. He dipped his head and smiled in casual greeting, but the Dunmer gripped his wrist with such force that Fahjoth gasped in shock. 

He leaned in, his face mere inches from Fahjoth’s own, and Fahjoth could see only too clearly his strangely blank, vacant expression. His eyes, though unfocused, were glaring at Fahjoth with such a scorching intensity that he almost broke out into a sweat, his heart hammering rhythmically in his chest like a trapped sparrow, fast and fearful. 

And then he spoke, his voice gravelly and harsh, the sound of crumbling charcoal over burning ashes. 

“Beneath Red Mountain, Lord Dagoth sleeps. But when he wakes, we all shall rise, and the dust will blow away. Serve your Lord, Dagoth Ur. The Sixth House is risen, and Dagoth is its glory.”

Momentarily frozen, Fahjoth’s senses eventually returned to him and his first instinct was to yank his wrist free of the Dunmer’s grip, panting as if he had just run a marathon. The Dunmer jerked as Fahjoth tore free, and then within seconds, the blank look on his face melted away and he cleared his throat, glancing around as if confused. He then regarded Fahjoth with a perfectly normal, albeit rather sleepy stare. 

“What do you think of our city, outlander?” he asked mildly, but before Fahjoth could even think of a response, a voice calling his name caught his attention. 

“Fahji! C’mon, hurry up!”

His mouth dry, Fahjoth wheeled around and dashed after Ribyna, not stopping until he had caught up with his twin. Ribyna looked irate as she immediately began a short rant. 

“I’m not paying for that bloody silt strider. It’s a ripoff! And if we’re gonna stay in Vivec overnight, gods know how much the rooms are gonna set us back, too. Come on, we’ll walk instead—” She paused and frowned as she finally took in Fahjoth’s appearance, while he tried to calm himself down in the meantime. 

“What the fuck’s the matter with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” With a shake of her head, Ribyna corrected herself, “Actually, you weren’t even this pale when we did see a ghost. Did something happen?”

“A— a Dunmer,” Fahjoth began, his gaze rapidly flicking from left to right, half-expecting an attack to come out of nowhere. “A Dunmer stopped me and... and said a thing...” 

However, as he took in Ribyna’s attentive expression, he realised with a heart-wrenching disappointment that there was no way he would be able to explain any of it to her. Not without going into detail about the missions that Cosades had given him, which he had been strictly forbidden to do. He could lie, omit some elements of the truth, but then what would be the point in that? His voice trailed off into silence, leaving him awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. After a few seconds, Ribyna spoke up again. 

“Did he threaten you?” she asked, very seriously. “D’you want me to find this bastard and have a word?”

“No!” Fahjoth replied hastily. With reluctance, he took a deep breath and tried to swallow his anxieties, his gaze wandering down to his wrist as he rubbed it. There was no visible blemish, but somehow, he felt his wrist burning fiercely where the Dunmer had grabbed him. “It’s fine. It was probably nothing. Let’s just go to Vivec,” he added, “I could do with the walk, I think.”

It was clear from her expression that Ribyna didn’t believe him, but his tone of voice made it very clear that to question him further would only exacerbate the issue, and Ribyna relented. “Alright,” she said eventually. “But if you’ve got a problem, you can talk to me, okay?” 

“Yeah... I know. Thanks, Beebs.” Though he wanted nothing more than to confide in his twin, Fahjoth regretfully held back. He was alive, and that was the main thing; telling Cosades could wait until he got back. In his shaken state, he found it far too overwhelming to think about right now anyway, and so the two departed from Balmora and embarked on the considerable journey southwards to Vivec City.

[sleepymarmot]

Today it occurred to me to check who wrote Morrowind's main quest dialogue, which led me to the sad but comforting discovery that at least someone among the Morrowind writers themselves was frustrated by its intentional ambiguity. And now I know who to blame for it...

From this interview with Douglas Goodall, 2005:

I was also disappointed with the main quest in Morrowind. Frankly, the main quest never made sense to me, and I felt it contradicted too much existing lore. I couldn't get emotionally involved in the main quest or discern the motivations of the key players.

[...]

Ken and I also disagreed on "relativism" and "betrayal," among other things. I appreciate disinformation, but I believe it works best when you know what the truth is. I like to write a true account and then conceal it among carefully designed false accounts. Ken wrote a dozen different accounts, apparently without any personal preference to which, if any, was accurate, and ignored the contradictions.

[...]

Sinder Velvin: Which of the game's factions did you work on?

Douglas Goodall: House Redoran, House Hlaalu, House Telvanni, Mages Guild, Fighters Guild, Thieves Guild, Imperial Legion, Tribunal Temple, Morag Tong, and a couple of random things here and there.

Giving credit where it is due, as best as I remember: Ken Rolston did the Main Quest, the Imperial Cult [...].

[...]

I figured that, regardless of whether the 36 Sermons were true or not (something that was not decided at Bethesda when I worked there), the author (whether it was really Vivec or not) would have competition.

[...]

Sinder Velvin: Can you tell us what really happened during the Battle at Red Mountain? Who killed Nerevar and how did the Dwemer disappear?

Douglas Goodall: When I was at Bethesda, there was officially no answer. No one knew what really happened. They may have made up their minds now, but you'd have to ask a current employee.

Then there are the accounts from everyone else on the team in this article, 2019:

MK:

The premise of the game came from Kurt and me — the idea that you were a reincarnation of somebody. You’re kind of a nobody in Daggerfall, and we wanted to go the other way, where you were a big deal. I think Ken hated that at the time, because he really loves the idea of the stranger, and I totally get the appeal of that. Ken’s contribution, which made it sing, was to say, “OK, if we do this, then we never confirm it.” So we never outright say, “Yes, you are [the prophesied hero, the Nerevarine].” Even in the last, final battle with the bad guy, you can go, “No. I’m not. Everybody thinks I am, but I’m not.”

And then we would never, as a company, confirm either way, because it’s your story. So we kinda glommed onto that. We got on our own forums and started role-playing with one another, and trying to build the world, and just testing the voices out. We were purposely contradictory about all those things, so that we just built this way of working where the only info that would come out of Bethesda about the world had built-in plausible deniability.

Mark Nelson, same article:

Ken cares about the worldbuilding — and he doesn’t even care about the story so much. He just wants to create all of these little threads and see how they’re going to unravel, and hint things to the player. 

Ken Rolston, same article:

I’ve always believed that narrative themes and settings are the important elements of narrative in an open-world game; [Nelson] argues that plots and characters are.