#mortal vivec

[trickstarbrave]

ANDDDDDD VIVEC IS DONE these colored sketches have been fun. i also just noticed i actually did them in the ALMSIVI order???? not intentional ngl

i went a lil. ham on him ngl. i referenced both eso and morrowind bc i wanted to capture his kinda uncanny stare???

also i am a freckled vivec truther. he can get rid of the after apotheosis but i'll remember

[bitchwhoreofastorm]

my longform fics:

the egg of time: pre-nerevar almsivi backstory, loosely following the plot of the 36 lessons of vivec (93k words, in progress)

a rolecall of lives lost at the battle of red mountain: covers the period between nerevar's death and almsivi's ascension (21k words, in progress)

barfoksdaga: 1st era Tongue lore/barfok backstory (12k words, complete)

so if you're new here and wondering, "what on earth is the context for this", it can probably be found in one of these (most likely egg)

[slusheeduck]

"I think I will go back to the Summerset plotline because I want to see Sotha Sil again" "...I am remembering why it has taken me this long to do the Summerset plotline."

[tonal-modulator]

literally why would "summoning the dead" be anathema to the dead keepers when like. the Whole Thing about ancestor worship/veneration is that they're not fully gone and you can talk to them sometimes

[what-even-is-thiss]

How did Bethesda get away with having a character like Vivec in 2002

He’s intersex and non binary, canonically identifies as both male and female. Is male presenting and appears to mostly use he/him pronouns and canonically had sex with a male presenting Daedra to get information out of him.

I think they got away with it because he’s a god. But also not really? He’s not really a god? Just kind of?

Like, good lord. Vivec is such a complicated character. He sucks but also he doesn’t. He’s a character of dualities and contradictions.

Like in order to have an intersex bigender character in 2002 they had to wrap him up in layers of theological duality but they still did it. They made Vivec. And people accepted it. Vivec is there. He was bigender and intersex even when he was mortal. That was not caused by his divinity.

They made an intersex bigender warrior poet not afraid to use his sexuality to get ahead in life. And from what I can see people just let them do that. Did they even know what they were doing? Did they even know how cool that was when they did it?

[falmerbrook]

It seems like to most people the most interesting or captivating part of Vivec's character is the sutff in the 36 Lessons and/or all the esoteric lore we learn through it/him. But I honestly was captivated by just the conversations we have with him in Morrowind, and for me that is when he is at his most interesting and fun to analyze. Maybe it's just because I find the 36 Lessons too dense to follow, but in-game Morrowind Vivec is how I picture his character in my head more than those other sources (at least for that point in his life). I think that's the most honest he has been (and will ever be) with the player.

On that note, I think it's interesting how many people when writing him (whether that be in a serious or funny context) write him speaking with all these metaphors and obtuse language like in the 36 Lessons, when the 36 Lessons are supposed to be a religious text (like, when has the Bible, for example, ever been written conversationally?), and in every instance of him having a conversation with the player or others he still talked like a normal person. Sure, he obfuscates his meaning and is careful with his words, but it's still a conversation.

In general I think many folks fall for his and the rest of the Tribunal's posturing as gods when I think in their characterization and interactions with others, they are more like just mortal people than most give them credit for, and Vivec get's this sentiment from fans the hardest. They really fall for his hype. He's just one of those characters where I feel like I gotta go back and reread his actual dialogue from time to time to refresh myself on his characterization. And it always reminds me of how much I love him in Morrowind.

[neptnzz]

mortal vivec sketches based on sermon sixteen

these are older messy doodles but i've been meaning to post them somewhere!! so now's the time >:-)

[taffingspy]

bet

Caveat: I’m very aware that the moment at Red mountain is super nebulous. I’m going to go with probably the most accepted interpretation (that the tribunal killed Nerevar and Voryn didn’t betray him) mostly to preserve my sanity, and because Vivec admitted to it in the 36th lesson. You can argue against that, completely fair, honestly the contradictions make that whole story even more interesting since it’s more like a murder mystery than a typical one-and-done story. Encourages the player to engage more closely, which is Neat.

Aight so the crux of this is that they’re both embodiments of the “corrupted by knowledge beyond our understanding” trope, and how that ties to their stories as villains.

Voryn’s corruption happened when he became connected with the heart, probably when he died; Lorkhan “reached out” to him, tried to gift the knowledge of the nature of the universe, and that was enough to corrupt and shatter Voryn. Combined with the heart’s power, we now have Dagoth Ur, a demonic entity built on the shreds of Voryn that are left. Dagoth Ur is aware of the world being a dream (which can be likened to the game being, well, a game world), but he’s described as “the false dreamer”: he knows the world is a dream, but he thinks he’s the dreamer, and everyone is extensions of himself and his dream, NPCs of his own making.

Sliske’s happened… who knows when, but we do know he has some understanding of the nature of the world. It would seem like he came into the knowledge when he obtained the stone of Jas, but the 4th article of “A critic’s review” strongly implies he knew more way back during the empire (Note: I’m aware this was just intended to act as advertisement for the Glacor front, but it still stands out as kinda weird timeline-wise). Either way, it happened “at some point”, and Sliske for sure knows more about the nature of the universe than he lets on. Your mileage may vary on how far he knows, but it’s certainly a disconcerting amount, likely enough to colour his perspective on the world around him.

It’s played for laughs, mostly. In kindred spirits quest, he references the player respawning twice (”Oh, are you going to kill yourself and respawn to get help?” and “So when you wake up in Lumbridge you'll have that to look forward to.”) as well as a few tidbits in Sliske’s Endgame that aren’t quite on the same level but certainly feel like pointed comments about the nature of the game (”You could take them all out! Just imagine the loot they'd drop!” and “that would be terrible pacing. You're what, halfway through? We can't have the big boss fight just yet.”) That being said it only goes so far; on a non-canon run, you can make a fourth wall breaking joke back to him, and he’s very confused by it, but that’s non-canon so not relevant here.

Note: Jokes that reference Runescape’s nature as a game do happen somewhat often, especially in older content where the game was much more loose with its lore, or in events/conversations that are considered non-canon (such as Gower’s quest). Outside of that, it’s usually the adventurer who makes these kinds of jokes, and rarely NPCs within the story. Tangentially, the OSRS wiki has a page on fourth wall breaks, but the RS3 wiki does not, probably reflecting how RS3 is a bit more strict in its approach to lore.

Different characters, similar approaches to the villain role, being that they’re villains of extensive knowledge about the fundamental nature of their universes. For Sliske, that’s as much as his depth is defined. Dagoth Ur, on the other hand, goes a little further.

Dagoth Ur firmly sees what he's doing is right. It's not even just a conviction, it's the way he views reality. Nibani mentions this if you ask about the dreams. “He hears laughter and love, but he makes monsters and ghouls. He woos as a lover, but he reeks with fear and disgust.” Nibani describes the dreams consistently as lies, and she’s both right and wrong. Dagoth Ur lies about the reality all the characters are living in, but he isn’t lying about his reality, the perspective he’s seeing the world from. The false dream is extremely real to him, his blight is a gift, his offers of friendship are heartfelt. It’s only because we’re outside of his view that we can see these things for what they really are. But still, there’s honesty in that, and that honesty is really, really important to what makes him both a sympathetic villain and an utterly terrifying one.

How much of that honesty, those offers of friendship, is from the scrap of Voryn still left in Dagoth Ur? Not sure, but it is still there. Which is the key difference between how Sliske and Dagoth Ur handle this type of role.

Sliske doesn’t really have anything. At least, we’re not shown that he has anything more. We know he has fears, he has doubts, he has wildly swinging emotions and, allegedly, a motive. But that’s it, really. None of these facets go into much depth other than being shown to exist. For all we know, there’s really nothing much going on under the hood.

And heck, most frustratingly, Sliske outright says that himself! During Sliske’s Endgame, there’s this exchange between Zaros and Sliske: Zaros: Oh Sliske, my poor child. Had I known the depth of your madness, perhaps I could have saved you. Sliske: Don't you get it Zaros? There is nothing to save! “Nothing to save” because yeah, his character lacks depth, especially at this point in the story. Kudos to the writing for being rather blunt about that, but opening a puzzle box and finding it empty is rather boring. Even more so if it doesn’t even have a note saying “lol get fucked”. At least that’d be in character for Sliske!

On a minor tangent, Sliske’s writings in Kindred Spirits is one of the more key times we heard the phrase “Do you think you can save them?”, during the Death At Sea book. What makes this instance stand out is it isn’t just the player acknowledging the phrase. Sliske does also. Generally, when the phrase is spoken, an NPC says it either completely unconsciously, or without awareness of what their phrasing means specifically to the player. It’s considered pretty meaningless within the story, but during Death at Sea, Sliske gets attached to it, the player’s name, and the mention of Xau-tak. The phrase means something to him as much as it does to us.

Perhaps that “nothing to save” could have been “nothing left to save”. But that’d have required some more leg work.

For Dagoth Ur, that legwork comes in the form of Voryn’s friendship to Nerevar, and his honesty about his friendship (or at least, honesty about his perspective on the friendship anyway). Given we play as the Nerevarine, and have some connection to Nerevar whether we like it or not, that makes Dagoth’s appeals very personal. He’s talking past us, sure, but it’s still very pointed. What that part is that’s reaching out is left up to interpretation, but at times it feels like a shred of Voryn still leftover under the influence of the heart.

(What it feels like and what it is are two very different things, but in a story, what the reader feels often overrides the reader’s logic in any given story event. Knowing how to toy with that makes for a great villain, as I’ll talk about more in a bit.)

Sliske talks to us, but there’s not really much connection there. We learnt in Azzanadra’s quest that Guthix sent him on a wild goose chase towards the player (”Whatever name I give him, whoever I point him at, he will be drawn to them like a moth to a flame.”), but we’re not really given any reason to chase him in return. The closest we get is that he’s a mystery (established early on but certainly in Kindred spirits) in the same way that the player character is a mystery to him, but as mentioned earlier, he’s a mystery with no resolution.

So there’s no mystery, no connection, not really… much of anything? Despite the fact that he’s very clearly as important to the World Guardian enchantment as we are. He’s the shadow to our light, he’s bound to us as we are to him! And it means absolutely nothing. Canon doesn’t give us much to really empathise with. It tells us we’re connected to him, Sliske states this in the following quote from Fate of the Gods, but that’s not the same as showing us (“Oh, aren't you? We both took some of Guthix's power. We both watched him die. That makes us connected in stronger ways than mere siblings. I'd count us as equals… if you didn't have so much catching up to do.”)

Yet it… does? Kind of? Nearly did. The shadow and light voices, that first appear in Azzanadra’s quest, are the closest we get to a sympathetic image of Sliske. Beings bound to the player, forced to cooperate with us because otherwise our failure would be failure for them. And they’re honestly pretty great! They work really well to make us fall into the trap of sympathising with him, but again, it goes nowhere. It’s later mentioned they’re not Sliske, so therefore, not even relevant to this conversation.

To be clear, I’m not saying a villain should be woobified. Dagoth Ur is a frightening villain because he’s so sympathetic. We want to reach out and help him! Doing so would condemn Tamriel to his destruction. There’s no ifs or buts about this. While he has a friendship worth saving, an honesty worth saving, you’re left to weigh that tug of the heart strings against the fact that he’s the scraps of someone already dead, being puppeted around by an ancient power that will destroy the world if you don’t do something about it. It’s terrifying! It’s perfectly manipulative! It’s exactly what a villain of his type should be.

Vivec warns us against “the crime of benevolence” in sermon 15 of the 36 lessons. This is what he meant. What more benevolence is there than seeing the shred of pain under a villain and reaching out to it? That's not how it works though. Sometimes the villain can't be saved and it's just sad. Dagoth Ur isn’t even a sappy, pathetic villain, either. He’s pretty darn chipper! It’s the history, and all that we learn around him, that hurts, which lends him to be much more bittersweet than anything.

Sliske’s character danced on the tantalising edge of something more existential, but in the end the story chose not to dive off the ledge. Why? Don’t know. The game has always been a bit tongue in cheek about its approach to the fourth wall, but it’s still a thing that exists so it’s not far fetched to explore it with more depth. Since its always been a thing in the game, it wouldn’t change the nature of it. That hesitance means the level of depth Sliske needs to be something more sympathetic is missing. Without that depth, there’s no connection. No connection, no sympathy. Which means (asides from his boss fight which is neat) his death occurs without much fanfare, and its easy to shrug off without much emotional impact.

if sliske had been more like dagoth ur, in this essay i will

[iamnotshazam]

TES III Morrowind post -

A Nerevarine that, for all their humility, does not escape the power of the Heart. They wielded the Tools. They touched it even closer than the Tribunal or Dagoth Ur ever did, as the Nerevarine removed the Dwemer spell barrier channeling the power through the Tools. The Heart of the world, that was made to satisfy the other, that laughed at destruction and loved existence too well to cease. The same Heart that changed the spirit of Voryn Dagoth into Dagoth Ur merely by proximity.

A Nerevarine that chooses to not become a god. Not because Vivec never revealed the technique, nor because Indoril Nerevar chose not to in the past, nor because Azura is watching. But because they see the wreckage it made of people that might have once been true friends, Nerevar and House Dagoth and the Tribunal, and how the blessings the Tribunal thought eternal were, in the end, as impermanent as their underlying mortality. The Heart and its power was not theirs, but the world's.

A Nerevarine that touches the Heart, twice-insulated by Dwemer gauntlet holding knife and hammer, cutting at the pericardic seal on its overflowing power. And a Heart that "sees" a little mortal creature who chooses to accept the struggle given from their shared creator, Lorkhan. The Heart does not have a will of its own, but it is made to satisfy the other.

The Nerevarine changes. Perhaps it's the echo of dying near the Heart in a past life, perhaps it's because they chose to follow what others tried to force into a destiny, perhaps it's dumb luck. Mortals cannot stop change. Not even ageless mortals pretending to be gods, nor thrice-loyal stewards become devils, nor a hero healed of the divine disease and given accidental agelessness. The Nerevarine changes.

Are they Nerevar, or did they become a Nerevarine? Were they tricked, or have they tricked everyone else? Is this Nerevar a true rebirth, a reincarnation through sympathetic Azura reborn unaware? But would that also not leave them as processed through another's will as Trinimac was to become Malacath? Or would that be Arkay of death and birth, or even Akatosh of time, who ate and changed them? Does it even matter? It seems not to, right up until they are standing next to a power that makes death of immortals and eternal life of mortals. A known aid to Mantling. Hell of a time, when the Sharmat is breathing down your neck, to start remembering the trusting face of Voryn Dagoth. Or are the memories like dreams, and the Nerevarine has been sleeping this whole time?

The Nerevarine awakens, and changes.

Maybe now they always hear their heart and the hearts of others, beating away. Or they feel the current location and status of the Heart, locked away in magma flows and safe from tampering. Maybe they can change swiftly between Chimer and Dunmer, and Azura smiles and does not say if it's her power or their own. Or they can change between Mer and Man, or even Beast. Maybe it's only between their reborn shape, whatever species it may be, and that of Indoril Nerevar.

Whenever they look at the Imperial merging of Akatosh and Shor in tapestry or stained-glass window, the back of their skull aches and their heart feels ready to beat out of their chest. Sometimes they feel stabbing pains through the chest and their feet go numb and their face feels slack. The robe brushing their skin, the candle-smoke wafting into their nose, the chanting words pouring out of their mouth: it all feels like betrayal. Other times they feel ready to break into eight pieces, or like they might reach into their enemy's chest and pull out the heart without breaking skin.

(They tell none of this to Vivec when they return, or Almalexia when ensnared into her new scheme. They are surrounded by people in these cities named after gods who do not deserve it, people celebrating the defeat of Dagoth Ur and the return of Nerevar. Which the Tribunal now says they always knew was coming, but had to play the part.

And the Nerevarine wonders why they find themselves wanting to ask Sotha Sil for advice, when he is the enemy, and might even have been the first traitor of the three. Then they come upon his mechanical corpse, and before they realize the full implications, they think, Ah. Ayem went after the least resolute, the most likely to help me . . . Wait. Oh shit-)

Maybe they can feel where - although it's more like when, but sideways - time almost broke again, in the heart chamber. Was that the second time they were in there, if counting past lives, or merely the first? They can feel a . . . a something, a somewhen, a different time in which Vehk, Seht, and Ayem were gods from the beginning, or the Dwemer properly ascended, or the Nords overran Resdayn, or Nerevar believed Voryn and together they killed his teacher, his friend, his wife-

Time flows and they can sense the eyes of the gods looking at them through the veil. Either they go crazy and scream at them all like the Whitestrake did, or they choose - choose, again and again - to continue acting of their own power and volition. It's all a mortal can do.

[trickstarbrave]

people love dagoth ur for the same reasons they hate almalexia.

both of them are power hungry. both are not afraid to use horrible methods to control the people of morrowind who they claim to love and want to protect (corprus and weather machine). both use their past relationships with nerevar in an attempt to manipulate the nerevarine. both use flattery to manipulate the nerevarine. both knew as much as they offer to work together and rule side by side the nerevarine is too dangerous to leave alive and must be killed. it was always going to end with the nerevarine's death.

but i regularly see dagoth ur being painted as sympathetic and misguided, if not outright correct. he is just crazy, he's our best buddy, the nicest bro ever, he's just not in the right state of mind. but almalexia has to be a massive bitch who has no redeeming qualities ever and is stupid and manipulative and evil and bad and should be killed on sight because she's our bitch ex wife.

personally i think theyre both morally wrong and deeply flawed people driven to the point of insanity but who do have, somewhere deep down, a desire to do good. dagoth ur lived through the nordic empire's occupation of morrowind just as almalexia did, and he wants to purge the empire from morrowind and wants to be worshipped by the dunmer as a true god who will never abandon them. almalexia also has some similar goals but believes its vivec and sotha sil holding her back from achieving true independance and the full worship of the dunmer as she deserves. absorbing people into a hivemind through a disease that mutates them is Bad as is using a weather machine to scare your citizens.

almalexia is honestly less extreme than dagoth ur and more clearly warped by the heart. mortals arent supposed to have that kind of power, and it was clear there was a time she was reasonable and sane. dagoth ur is MUCH more warped and clearly insane, because he sees nothing wrong with the death and destruction around him, either because he's okay with it or he's completely delusional. the first dream he sends the player of the wedding everyone else is a corpse but he laughs and talks with them like theyre alive and happy. almalexia is not that far gone (yet, at least)

[nerevar-near-and-far]

My theory for the actual reason Baar Dau fell, after Oblivion?

It was put there originally by Sheogorath.

Who had been (Shivering Isles spoilers) turned to Jyggalag, so he briefly didn't exist, and then was mantled by a mortal, who hadn't figured out the job yet.

And was Vivec ever wholly in command of the rock in the first place? Do we take him at face value? Vivec?

Food for thought.

[mothermara]

I have this theory that Skyrim is so green and sunny in TESV because of climate change. In the 3rd era, Skyrim is consistently spoken of as a harsh, snow-covered tundra. Bruma is covered in snow despite being at a fairly moderate elevation, and south of Skyrim. Vivec described Atmora as completely inhospitable to mortal life, so much so that those who stayed all froze to death. However, in the fourth era, Skyrim is shown to be mostly covered in greenery, save for the northernmost reaches. I believe the best in-universe explanation for these stark discrepancies lies in the possibility of fluctuations in Tamriel's climate; specifically, I think the oblivion crisis marked the end of an ice age that began in the mid-merethic era.

[vosh-rakh]

madstone, chapter 5

“I suppose that is my name,” the former god said with a tilt of his head. “I considered changing it, but the priests advised I didn’t. Would confuse the people more than necessary, they said. I suppose they’re right.”

He put a delicate hand on Kassur’s shoulder, who suddenly felt very small and embarrassed for his outburst. “You say my name with a curious accent. Are you Velothi, by chance?”

Kassur nodded. He didn’t think his accent was that strong. Maybe Vivec was just good at picking up on it.

Without removing his hand, Vivec looked up at Ku-vastei. “What brings you to my city, Hortator?”

“Trouble with the Ahemmusa,” Ku-vastei said. She raised and jingled the Madstone in the air. “We’re helping this lad get it sorted.”

Vivec leaned his face in to examine the amulet. “Interesting design. Dwemeri, I take it.”

Ku-vastei took a closer look at the Madstone. “Is it?”

“May I?” Vivec asked, hand outstretched. Ku-vastei tentatively handed the Madstone to him. “Yes, but of very ancient make. Likely fashioned prior to a law that standardized their more utilitarian style. A law passed long before even our war with the Nords.” He smiles sadly, his eyes seeming to look beyond the amulet and into the distant past. “This really brings me back.”

Kassur managed to catch a glimpse of the amulet in the god’s hand, his first real look at it since they retrieved it. It had a round blue stone engraved with a radiant eye, cradled in an inverted crimson crescent that looked like horns. 

Vivec then casually flicked the Madstone with his finger; a loud, clear tone rang out from the stone. Kassur instinctively covered his ears, even though the sound wasn’t necessarily painful. 

“Before they became atheists,” Vivec began when the sound diminished, “the Dwemer feared the Daedra. They lacked their later, more complete understanding of metaphysical tonality, but still vaguely knew the importance of fundamental tones. They crafted devices such as this to ‘scare away’ the influence of the Daedra.”

“Seems the Ahemmusa somehow obtained one and used it to keep Sheogorath away for generations,” Ku-vastei filled in. 

“Interesting,” Vivec mumbled, scratching his chin. “I wonder how it came into their hands. No matter, I suppose.” He looked again at Kassur. “I suspect whatever issue your tribe faces, this device is instrumental to its salvation.”

“We think so, Lord Vivec,” offered Aryon when Kassur didn’t reply. 

“Oh, please,” said Vivec with a dainty wave of his golden hand. “I’m barely a ‘Lord’ anymore. Call me a saint still, if you want. But I’m more part of the common rabble these days.”

Kassur somehow doubted this. How could a god become a mortal so easily? This was, of course, assuming he was ever truly a god in the first place, something Kassur’s people readily questioned. Regardless, there seemed something insincere, or at least unbefitting, in his stated humility. 

Moving right along, Vivec said, “Well, I suppose I’ll be coming with you.”

Ku-vastei barely suppressed a hiss. “That won’t be necessary, Vivec.”

“Oh, please,” Vivec said again, clasping his hands and stretching his arms in front of him. “I’m bored out of my mind here. Endless bureaucracy. And there’s only so many ways you can say, ‘Get rid of that rock in the sky.’” 

He cast a glance upwards at Baar Dau, which Kassur only just now noticed. It was indeed a giant rock in the sky, crawling with miners like kwama, bits of excavated stone falling into the water by the Temple canton. 

“Won’t leaving the city put its stasis in jeopardy?” Ku-vastei asked. 

“No, I can handle it from afar well enough, especially seeing as it’s quite a bit lighter these days.”

Ku-vastei swished her tail and scratched her chin. Finally, she acquiesced. “Fine. You can come. But not like that.” She made a gesture with her metal hand, dividing her face into two halves.

“Of course,” Vivec replied. “I can be discrete.” In an instant the gold faded from his right side, leaving him fully grey, like any other Dunmer. “Completely inconspicuous.”

“Fine,” Ku-vastei grunted. “Just don’t make any kind of scene. This doesn’t have to be a big ordeal.”

“As you wish, Hortator,” Vivec answered. Kassur was amazed by how easily Ku-vastei commanded the (former) god, and how readily he submitted to her whims.

“Let’s be on our way then, shall we?” asked Aryon. “We’ve got the better part of the island to cross.”

Ku-vastei shrugged. “We’ll just teleport to Sadrith Mora, take the boat to Vos, then walk the rest of the way to Ald Daedroth. Not too complicated.”

- - -

And it wasn’t too complicated. The teleport to Sadrith Mora (which Kassur handled even better than the last three, getting quite used to it), the walk across town, and boat ride to Vos, were mostly uneventful. But it was far from boring, as you might imagine, being a trip with a powerful wizard, the leader of a nation, and a god. To Kassur it went by in a blur; either Aryon and Vivec were in heated debate about the Dwarves, which Ku-vastei moderated, or the three discussed political matters so far over Kassur’s head in their import that he simply tuned it out and focused on not getting seasick. Gals Arethi kept a baleful eye on Kassur, but apparently the esteemed company Kassur traveled with kept him safe from the shipmaster’s wrath.

When they arrived, Sedyni the Vos shipmaster was not there. The four travelers stepped off the boat and glanced around. The nearby tradehouse seemed unusually quiet. Gals shrugged and sailed off back to Sadrith Mora.

“Where is everyone?” Kassur asked. At this time of early evening, the village was usually buzzing with activity.

Vivec closed his eyes. “The chapel is empty.”

“How could you possibly know that?” asked Ku-vastei, planting a metal hand on her hip. Kassur wondered about that brass gauntlet she wore – it was incredibly ornate, and had an air of being impossibly ancient and powerful. But he had no idea how to ask politely.

“I can still feel it,” Vivec said, opening his eyes again. “Most people still revere me as a god, especially this far removed from the official temple in my city. So the Tribunal holy places are still attuned to me.” Kassur had no idea what he was talking about.

Aryon was oddly quiet. In the short time Kassur had known him, he’d never acted like this; he was the type of consequential mer to always have something to contribute to a conversation. It was barely perceptible, but Kassur could swear he saw a slight tremor in Aryon’s hands. But Kassur couldn’t tell if it was fear…or rage.

“Aryon?” asked Ku-vastei. “Are you alright?” She seemed to notice the same thing Kassur had.

“Check on the village,” Aryon said, his voice dry. “I go to the tower.” And so he did, flying off fast through the air, much faster than they had in Vivec. As Kassur watched him disappear into the sky, he saw a dark cloud in front of the setting sun. Or…was it a pillar of smoke?

“This bodes ill,” Vivec said, frowning. “Kassur, stay close. It’s quiet, but I suspect danger.”

Kassur felt a sudden pang of guilt. He realized he was more like a liability to these powerful beings, someone they had to keep close and protected because he was so weak and helpless. He could barely conjure a flame, and didn’t know how to use a weapon. In a fight, he was worthless. He began to wonder why they’d brought him along at all. A sneaking suspicion told him they thought he would be useful only as a bargaining chip, of sorts. A sort of intermediary to help them accomplish…whatever grim task they meant to do.

The thought escaped his lips just as he thought it. “Don’t kill them,” he blurted. “If it is the Ahemmusa. Please.”

“Kassur…” Ku-vastei began, turning to face him. “That might not be –”

“You have our word,” Vivec interrupted, placing a delicate hand on Kassur’s shoulder. “No excessive harm shall come to your people.”

Ku-vastei scoffed, snapping her head towards Vivec to glare at him, but after a moment sighed and shrugged. Kassur wasn't sure if he could trust the word of the false god – or if the Nerevarine had any interest in going along with him. 

They proceeded towards the town walls, which were actually the backs of the tightly-crowded huts of the village, no space left between their rounded stucco corners. There were no guards posted at the gate, the town’s single entrance, and beyond them was still silent. Down the single street they could see that many of the doors were half-to-wide open, but there were no obvious signs of a struggle.

“Vivec,” said Ku-vastei, “take Kassur to check the chapel. I’ll check on the houses.” Vivec nodded and gently directed Kassur towards the chapel as Ku-vastei began picking her way from hut to hut.

Vivec and Kassur passed under the chapel gate into the meager courtyard. The small alchemical garden the two priests maintained there was not overgrown or choked with weeds. “They haven’t been gone long,” Kassur observed out loud. 

Vivec noticed Kassur examining the garden and nodded. “Good,” he said, smiling at Kassur. “Let’s check inside.”

The door was closed, and unlocked. But the chapel never locked its doors, not even when the priests were both asleep. Vivec cautiously pushed through the threshold, Kassur following close behind. “Hello?” called out Vivec. “It’s alright. We’re here to help.” 

There was no answer. The chamber within was nearly pitch-dark, only faint light coming through the stained glass domed ceiling. Vivec cast a Light spell for them to see by as they entered.

It was a mess. The Tribunal tapestries on the walls were torn to shreds, and the murals defaced with what Kassur hoped was paint; candles and torches were snuffed out; the prayer-stools were upturned and thrown about; loose ripped-out pages of books were fluttering in the breeze visiting from outside; ash and bones from the circular Waiting Door on the floor were spread across the room haphazardly. Kassur held no great faith in these things, but it still pained him to see such desecration of a holy place. 

“Be on your guard,” said Vivec stiffly. “In this state I fear I could not trust my divinity to tell if we’re alone. There is little holiness left here.”

Kassur’s muscles tightened. He still didn’t understand how Vivec could know such things. But if he truly was anything close to what he claimed – an ancient mortal-made-god, a living deity – then it was difficult to doubt him.

They slowly circled the Waiting Door, more carefully inspecting the scene, but there was no more evidence of exactly what had happened. At least there’s no blood, Kassur thought. He remembered his teacher, Yakin Bael, and said, “There’s a bedroom downstairs. We should probably check there, too.”

Vivec nodded in agreement, and led the way down the steps, his orb of magical light guiding the way. The priests’ bedroom was not saved from the sacking: pots and urns of various alchemical and cooking ingredients were overturned and cracked open; broken glass from shattered bottles littered the rug underfoot (Kassur was for once glad for his shoes, and Vivec hovered an inch above the ground); the desk had its drawers yanked out, scattering torn papers and writing implements, and its stool and tall candlestick were toppled; the privacy screen was ripped open; and the beds were torn apart, sheets and blankets strewn and split.

Vivec stopped to inspect some of the loose pages of sermons and notes on the floor. Kassur went up the short ramp to the beds to look more closely. He knew the bed on the left was Yakin’s – they had a few lessons down here, when the upstairs chapel was too busy and loud. He picked up a pillow from the floor, gashed open and spitting up dried wickwheat stuffing, and gently laid it back on the head of the bed. He knelt down, and quickly realized that under the pillow was Yakin’s spectacles, broken and bent at the nose and lenses shattered. He gently took them in his hands, careful of the jagged edges of glass, and stared at them.

Just as he was getting used to his new life in Vos, now it seemed to be ripped from him again. Even the only real friend he had among the housemer, his teacher Yakin Bael, seemed to be in some unknown peril. And, useless as always, Kassur could do nothing but follow along with the real heroes, who actually had power to do anything about it.

“Here,” said Vivec, startling Kassur from his misery. A second orb of light appeared, floating near Kassur by the beds. 

“Thanks,” said Kassur. Vivec smiled and kept reading a document in his hand.

Kassur looked back down, and something immediately caught his eye. Just under the edge of the bed was a bright gleam, reflecting the magical light above. Kassur slowly reached for the shining object and pulled it out. 

It was a short sword, still in its sheath; its metallic hilt had been catching the light. He removed the sheath noiselessly and beheld the glistening steel blade, sharp as the day it was forged. “Vivec,” he called, “he had a sword. Yakin, that is. And he didn’t use it.”

Vivec dropped what he was reading and floated up the ramp to Kassur, looking down at him and the sword. “Hm,” he pondered, tucking his legs up under him as he floated and placing his hands on his crossed knees. “Doesn’t mean there wasn’t a struggle. Those spectacles are broken. No blood?”

Kassur looked around again. On a whim he grabbed the pillow he had adjusted earlier and turned it over; sure enough, a small bloodstain seeped through the cloth case.

“Punched in the face,” Kassur suggested. “Nose bled, maybe broken. No other signs of a struggle, that I can tell.”

“Fair analysis,” Vivec said. “I don’t think there’s any other clues here. Let’s go meet up with Ku-vastei.”

Ku-vastei had just come back from the end of the street to the chapel by the time Kassur and Vivec came out. She was alone.

“I see you didn’t find any survivors,” Vivec said, frowning. “Any dead?”

“No,” Ku-vastei said. “No sign of any struggle. Everyone is just gone. What of the chapel?”

“We found no one, but the chapel was desecrated. The homes were untouched?”

“That I could tell, yes. Some doors were left open, and the breeze disturbed some belongings, but that was it.”

“Hm,” Vivec said, stroking his solid grey chin. “Perhaps they’re sheltering at the tower?”

All three turned west towards Tel Vos. The pillar of smoke was rising higher, and blacker. Without a word they began at a quick pace towards it.

- - -

Aryon had put out most of the flames by the time they arrived, but the damage had been done. There was nothing left of the Telvanni fungal roots of the tower but ash, even Aryon’s personal pod at its peak. The tendrils which had so integrated themselves into the stonework of the Imperial fort no longer held it up, causing several portions to collapse into charred bricks.

Ku-vastei and Vivec readied their spears (Kassur hadn’t noticed the god had been carrying one until now) while Kassur cowered behind the two. But it made him feel like a coward, so he tried his best to straighten his back, puff out his chest bravely, and at least put his hand on the sheathed sword of Yakin Bael, even if he didn't have the nerve to actually draw it.

Aryon knelt in front of a smoldering pile of bodies. It was hard for Kassur to make out in the carnage, but it seemed like a mix of guards, tower servants, and Ahemmusa raiders. He might have recognized some of the latter, if they weren’t all so horrifically burned.

“Master Aryon?” asked Vivec. “Are you harmed?”

Aryon turned his head slowly. There was no evidence of weeping on his face, but he looked like a man completely exhausted. Kassur understood the feeling immediately. “No,” Aryon said. “They likely went north before I arrived.” He stood and wiped his hands on his robes. “To the old camp. What of Vos?”

He’s held together by a thread right now, thought Kassur. There was a haunted look in his eyes. He’d just lost everything. Kassur could relate – although he’d ran from his old life, instead of having it torn from him.

“There was no one there,” Ku-vastei said. “No sign of a struggle, except that the chapel was ransacked.” She took a cautious step forward towards Aryon. “Are you sure you’re –”

The wind changed suddenly, and Kassur caught a big whiff of the corpse-smoke. He gagged loudly, covered his mouth with the collar of his robes, and fled towards a nearby wall. He planted his free hand against the stone as he tried to calm his retching before it grew into something worse. He could feel three pairs of eyes on his back, and he resented it. He let go of the wall and looked at his hand; it was completely covered in soot. The wall now had a relatively clean handprint on it where he’d stolen the blackness. “I’m fine,” he shouted, although the act nearly made him gag again. “I’m –”

There was a loud crack somewhere above him. He only had time to look up at the top half of a tower rushing towards him, but not enough to move out of the way. He closed his eyes.

Something hit him hard, but not at the angle he was expecting. The collapse was deafening, its roar of crumbling stone erasing all other sounds. When the sound had settled, Kassur opened his eyes. Ku-vastei had him in her arms; he could feel the cold metal of her right hand pressing into his spine through his robes. 

Vivec and Aryon appeared in the air above them, their feet glowing with pink light. “Are you two alright?” Aryon asked.

Kassur felt a soothing energy enter his body from the gauntlet, and he felt less sore from the tackle. “Yes,” Ku-vastei said as she stood up, lifting Kassur with her. “I’m fine, and he will be.”

Kassur caught a glimpse of Aryon’s face, wrinkled with worry, before it relaxed into relief. Then he put on a new mask, a mask of cold wrath. A cascade of facades to make Mephala proud.

“Good,” Aryon asked. “We need to go to the old camp and see if they’ve taken the citizens there.”

Aryon turned, and with a mystical wave of his hand, buoyed up the rubble in mauve smoke and flung it aside. “Come,” he said once the crashing din faded. “We have work to do.”

Suddenly, Kassur was terrified of Aryon – and for the safety of his own people.

[bitchwhoreofastorm]

rape tw (implied)

Then, at the worst time, they met again.

It was only days after Vivec had shaved hir head-- months after the thing in the desert, the thing that ze had not yet named and could not stop thinking of. Ze was still in a fog in those days, going about as if hir face was held under deep water. The tragedy had rendered the world unreal and pale as hir own violated body; ze was like a ship whose anchor-line had been snapped, all ze could do was drift. Ze prowled a lot, walking up and down the streets of Mournhold with no particular direction and no particular hope. So it was a hot day, a muggy summery day, and ze was foggier than usual, wandering up one of Mournhold's wealthiest streets, a hand on Muatra and sweat beading over hir bare head, when ze saw her.

The Daedric Prince had stopped to rest under a Moril tree. She was pretending not to notice Vivec; she held a piece of paper and she read furtively. Her scant clothing left her hard, brown body bared to the warm air, and she had only four limbs: two wiry arms, two long bare-thigh legs. But her eyes betrayed her, always betrayed her-- when Vivec drew towards her she looked up and her eyes, red as pomegranates, narrowed.

She said nothing when Vivec approached her. Her hands, dyed black, twitched against the parchment. She watched with quiet curiosity as Vivec came to a stop only a feet from her, and those bloody eyes darted only briefly to the spear.

"Mephala," said Vivec.

The daedroth blinked once but said nothing.

"Do you remember me?"

"Hm…"

She cocked her head, her dark hair fell loose before her face. The shadow dappled her-- it suited her-- she was oddly real, for a dream.

"Ah, yes." Her lips twitched upwards. "The netchiman's wife."

A chill went through Vivec, who had felt nothing in what seemed to be months. The water over hir mind grew thicker; ze twisted Muatra in hir hands and the movement caught Mephala's eyes.

"Vivec," ze said. "I'm Vivec now."

That bloody gaze went back to hir face.

"No," Mephala's judgement came at once, "Still the wife, I'm afraid."

"I shaved my head. They call me he. I am no-one's wife. I stopped being her."

The corners of Mephala's mouth raised-- Vivec remembered, as if from a million years ago, the fangs behind those lips, and the cool taste of her tongue. Ze had to take it as proof. The netchiman's wife had never kissed her, only Vehk, and yet--

"What do you want, wife of no-one?"

Her hands, too, would be cool and metallic, if Vivec were to grab them. Those inked-black palms always seemed vampiric, drawing energy from other people's skin. Vivec found hirself staring at them-- hir own hands on Muatra hot-- hir head swam in water, in the heat of the day, in the horror of it.

Mephala sighed. Her letter disappeared inside her tunic and she slipped off of the tree like a shifting shadow.

Then she was by Vivec, as cool as she'd been when ze was just fourteen, and she even smelled the same. Her hand, too, was cold despite the heat of the day, and her claw-sharp fingernails pierced through the fog of hir head with barely a graze against hir cheek.

She cupped Vivec's face and turned it upwards and then those eyes were the world. Hir own blood, the juice of pomegranates, the red of a desert sunset, the violent passion of the worst thing that had ever happened.

Those eyes engulfed hir and in one blazing-head moment of clarity Vivec realised that Mephala was very sad.

"Didn't I teach you how to survive your marriages?"

She asked it, and then she released Vivec, with no answer expected. Vivec blinked-- ze stepped back into the sunlight and it hurt-- but Mephala, too, had stepped forwards, out of her place in the shade, and for the very first time Vivec realised that she was a mortal woman. She was black-hands Mephala with the blazing eyes, ally of Molag Bal; she was a hard-bodied mortal woman with tattooed palms and scars that ran as deep as Vivec's own. She'd seen into hir. And she'd been sad.

The water came back-- Vivec walked on-- and it was only later that ze began to think of it as hir marriage. That violent thing in the desert. And only the netchiman's wife remembered why.

[uesp]

"I remember [being mortal]. I do not feel it. I can, if I choose, remember the feeling. But I do not choose. It is very, very sad being mortal. There is happiness, yes. But mostly sadness. As I have said, "Count only the happy hours." For mortals, they are all too few. But for gods -- for me -- there is no more feeling. Only knowing. [Pause]

“Not quite no more feeling. I still want to win. I want to defeat Dagoth Ur. Perhaps I have lost the feeling for the people, for their suffering. I don't want that feeling. It is no use to me. That is no longer what matters to me. I only want not to lose. To lose would be very, very bitter."

--Vivec

[yujo-nishimura]

The Kiss - Part 2

Now, I am having too much fun writing Sotha Sils cryptic dialogues. Honestly. I know some of you play ESO for the dungeons, the battlefields, the events. I play it solemnly for the quests and the well written dialogues. Therefore I decided to continue writing this little story, maybe turning it into something bigger, depending on how well I can write for Vicec and Almalexia...

Enjoy more Lord Seht Fanfiction! :)

Part 1

After that kiss, things took a turn for the worse. You had hoped your obsession with the Clockwork God would fade after he granted your wish, but instead, you found yourself yearning for him even more. As you traveled through Nirn, thoughts of him consumed you, leading to careless mistakes during encounters with enemies. You were ambushed more than once by packs of Kagouti or an irate Netch bull, lost in daydreams about returning to the Clockwork City.

After suffering severe injuries from one such ambush, you decided to lay low for a while and rented a room at a local inn in Mournhold. It dawned on you that this obsession could ultimately prove fatal, and you needed to find a way to overcome it. You knew you could never truly be with a god of the Tribunal, yet you still found yourself stopping at shrines, making offerings, and silently praying to Almalexia and Vivec, but most passionately to Sotha Sil.

You spent your days in Mournhold resting, taking leisurely walks without your weapon and armor, chatting with the locals, and enjoying a drink or two in the tavern each evening. For the first time in a long while, you felt truly at ease. Thoughts of Sotha Sil and the memory of his cold lips brushing against yours kept you awake at night, but with the entire day to yourself, you indulged in your fantasies, sleeping late and enjoying long, lazy mornings. You were typically roused by the sounds of new travelers checking in or the kitchen staff preparing dinner for the guests.

After about a week of rest, those thoughts still lingered in your mind. Realizing you needed guidance, you decided to travel to Vivec City. You knew that Lord Vivec, Sotha Sil's brother, was always open to consultations, and you hoped his wisdom would help you find a path that suited both your life as a fighter and your mortal existence.

The night before your departure, you laid out your armor beside your bed along with your weapon. In your backpack, you packed potions and provisions for the journey ahead. Planning to take the boat to Vvardenfell, you wanted to be well-prepared, unsure of how long the trip would take.

After undoing your hair and slipping into your silken sleeping robe, you lay down, closing your eyes and replaying the kiss in your mind. You envisioned Sotha Sil’s tall figure leaning toward you, his demeanor cold and distant, yet you felt an undeniable connection. You recognized that he could have easily dismissed your request, but he didn’t. You recalled the divine sensation of his lips, the golden shimmer that surrounded him as you gently opened your eyes, and the feeling of being elevated, transformed into something greater after he had gently broken the kiss.

You sighed as you slowly drifted into sleep, feeling closer to the god than ever before. Just as sleep began to overwhelm you, a sudden darkness enveloped you, followed by a powerful force pulling you up, leaving you groggy and dizzy as if you had been knocked unconscious after a fight. You blinked awake to find yourself sitting in your bed, your hair cascading over your shoulders, clad only in your silk robe.

You expected to feel cold, but you didn’t shiver. The room was dark, except for a golden shimmer emanating from the corner near the desk where you kept your armor. You wanted to rise and investigate the light, but a familiar dark voice held you back.

“Are you still dreaming about our encounter, prisoner?”

“Lord Seht?”

“After all this time, you’re still fixated on that fleeting moment, the mere touch of flesh. It fascinates me that mortals dwell on such brief contacts, lingering longer than on any acquired valuable artifact.”

“Lord Seht, I can hear your voice, but I cannot see you. Did you hear my prayers? What is your answer?”

You weren’t sure how long Sotha Sil intended to linger in your mind, in your dreams, or in this room. But you had missed him dearly and were overwhelmed with questions. In a rush of emotion, you blurted them all out, hoping he would answer.

“Why did you grant my wish? What do you truly desire from me? Can I ever be more than just a fleeting thought in your existence? How can I find my way back to you? Please, tell me what I must do to understand this connection between us!”

For a moment there was silence. You worried you had asked too much. But your prayers contained the same question - did the god grant you your wish since he was curious about kissing you as well? 

The golden shimmer in the corner of your room was soft and comforting. You could hear Sotha Sil speaking again: 

“Your questions reveal the depth of your longing, and in that longing lies the essence of your humanity. I granted your wish not out of mere whim, but because I sensed a spark within you, a potential that transcends the ordinary.

Remember, connection is not solely bound by proximity. It thrives in the choices you make and the legacy you forge. I am always present, woven into the fabric of your existence, guiding you from afar. Seek knowledge, embrace your power, and the thread that binds us will strengthen.”

“Does that mean… we will soon meet again, Lord Seht?”

Your voice trembled with hope, perhaps too much hope, as if you were pleading for your very survival. You longed for Sotha Sil to speak plainly, to demand what he wanted without the mystery that always surrounded his words. The golden shimmer in the corner of the room flickered and slowly faded away, leaving you feeling cold. You quickly grabbed your blanket, trying to ward off the chill creeping into your body.

Once again, darkness enveloped you, a deep, numbing silence lulling you back into sleep. Perhaps you had been asleep the entire time, and Sotha Sil's voice had only been a dream.

When you awoke in the morning, your small chamber appeared untouched. Your armor rested at the desk, and your weapon lay beside you on the nightstand. Convincing yourself that last night’s encounter had merely been your imagination, you sighed as you got up and stretched, preparing for your journey to Vivec City.

As you approached your armor and gently lifted your helmet, a small dwarven gear tumbled out, clinking softly against the stony floor of the inn.

“Seek knowledge and the thread that binds us will strengthen…” you whispered, picking up the little gear. Without hesitation, you grabbed your backpack and weapon, tucking the gear close to your heart, feeling its weight as a reminder of the connection you sought.