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Dlesyddion´s End

Started by Idriar
Post #100853

Likes Given: 206
Likes Received: 633
Faction & Race:
Aldmeri Dominion (Altmer)
Water dripped down from the broken ceiling, echoing in the twisted and also broken hallways. Small bridges led over little underground streams and holes in the ground full of stale water. Glowing red eyes stared after the few men from the darkness, watching them angrily and hungrily crossing through their realm. But whenever and whereever the shadows were banished by the light of the torches and lamps one could hear scratching sounds of dozens of little feet quickly hiding away into the remaining blackness of the Imperial dungeons.

The men tried to stay close to each other, holding their torches high and their weapons thight. They did not only fear what lurked in the shadows, a pitch black void that could be dwelled by any imaginable monstrosity. Much more they feared what they knew was down here. Locked away, hidden away, but not well enough to avoid rumours from spreading. The worst criminals of all times, murderers of many, traitors of the Empire, warlocks having comitted atrocities beyond human apprehension. Serving as guard down here, caring for the prisoners, was considered as a harsh punishment, aswell.

The men making it through the dungeons stared nervously into the darkness. All of them, except for one:

Uriel Septim VII, Emperor of all Tamriel.

With a hidden smile the ruler of the nine Imperial provinces strided through the dark tunnels, leading his guards deep and even deeper into the dungeons, exactly knowing the location of his aim. It was like he knew the place even better than the guards who were watching the dungeon.

Finally he stopped in front of a heavy, yet simple wooden door, with an equaly simple lock, one would have expected in the Imperial prison, not in the Imperial dungeon. It looked like the door was installed recently, yet the scratches on the wood made it rather seem like the door´s purpose was to protect the inhabitant of the cell from the creatures in the dungeon, not to keep the inhabitant on the inside. Uriel Septim VII cleared his throat.

"You will wait for my return, my loyal guards. I will enter the cell myself, but fear not! There is nothing beyond this door that could threaten me. Now open the door."

Nervously the guards looked at each other. Even the guards down here had heard weird rumours about the Emperor... having changed. But non of them dared to question his orders. The lock was unsealed, the door opened, the room behind the door was filled with nothing but darkness. The smile on Uriel´s face vanished. He grabbed the closest guard's lamp and stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

It took a moment for the Emperor´s eyes to adjust to the darkness, poorly lit by the lamp. A simple bed in one corner of the room, a simple pit latrine in the other. Water dripped from the ceiling in the third corner. In the forth corner there was a desk, dimly lit by his hand lantern, dozens or hundreds of books lay high-piled accurately on it. Feathers and small bottles of ink were stored away in small boxes on the table, next to a massive stack of parchment and paper. One could see the prisoner´s love for order – atleast when light hit the room. In front of the desk on a simple chair sat a small, white haired man in haggled robes, back to the Emperor.

He had already heard the door opened and somebody having stepped in. The man slowly turned placed his feather on the table, turning around to the door. The light of the lamp hit the face of an old Dunmer, covered in so many lines and wrinkles, it was impossible to describe how old the dark elf looked like. The corners of the mouth dropped to the lowest most position, the Dunmer stared at the intruder. His glowing red eyes were sad, tired, blind and lacked any irides and pupils. They looked like two dull orbs of glass filled with blood, blood, blood.

"Why do you disturb me? If you are here to bring my meal, you are to early."

The Dunmer turned back to his half-written book that lie in front of him. Picking up a feather he began to write, despite his blindness.


The Emperor spoke

"No wonder they catched you and threw you into this cell. You didn´t pay enough attention to the people around you. Like the man who traited you. Or like me. I am your Emperor."

The blind Dunmer paused.

"Hmm... you remember me of someone..."

He continued writing.

"Emperor? No. You are not."

Uriel took a step towards him.

"Whatever you heard about Queen Barenziah rebeling against the Imperial reign - it´s not true! Morrowind is still loyal to the Emperor and I am loyal to your Morrowind, Dunmer. I am your Emperor."

"But you are not the Emperor."

Silence. The Dark Elf continued writing.

"What? What do you mean?"

The blind man wiped the ink from the quill and placed the feather carefully onto the page before turning his chair to the man.

"I know you. It´s been thirteen years now. Exactly thirteen years. You were, like now, disguised with magic. You may play the Emperor, but that´s just a costume. Weren´t you a bard... what did you call yourself? Nightingale? Or was that a trick, too? I must have been. I´ve seen better play-acting by ungifted Orcish actresses... before I was blind."

The man said nothing for a while and the Dunmer stared into the void, somewhere where he thought the man´s eyes to be. No one could beat a blind man in a stare down.

Finally the intruder spoke again, this time in another voice, a slightly higher, rougher voice while clapping his hands.

"Well done. Well done. I speculated that someday some unlucky fool would see through my mascerade. But I did not think it would be a stranger, but somebody from the Emperor´s very household.

Dlesyddion Varuhlen.

I have underestimated you. Even if I read the few chronicles of the interegnum. Before I burned them.

I know everything about your deeds. The battles you have fought in. The very throne I call my own now once belonged to you. I know about your victories. Your defeats. Your... adventures. And I know about your betrayals. Each a feat that of itself could have been a legend. If only somebody saved the historical chronicles..."

The false Emperor laughed. Dlesyddion stayed unimpressed.

"Why did you come to my cell? Are you here to tell me about my past? I know what I did very well, while you know nothing at all."

The laughter ended. The intruder took another step towards him.

"Fine. It is obvious that you are a straight mer of few words. But you should not dare my patience as I want to give you your freedom back."

Dlesyddion turned his chair back to the table.

"Not interested."


The false emperor stepped towards him, now standing directly beside him.

"Don´t be a fool! You cannot reject my offer! Do you have any idea who stands infront of you?"

"A wrong Emperor. A wrong bard. A wrong nightingale."

"I am Jagar Tharn!"

"Tharn? I knew a Tharn once. I´ve killed him. But then the dragon broke and he was killed by some souless abomination."

The Dunmer laughed. It was a humourless laughter, as dry as parchment.

"Ah, the dragon. It broke so often, I even went to the world of yesterday, reclaiming the throne, just to be defeated by myself... In my exile of time I realised... A throne is not important. I have tried to change the world. So that I don´t have to fight all the time, not to hurry and not to run. I was a fool. Look. I have everything down here. Peace and quiet. I have searched for both my entire life."

Tharn placed his hand on the table.

"What are you telling me? You once ruled this land! I read about you, I gathered every piece of lore I could find, I destroyed, so that only I knew, for I admired you for your deeds! But all I find in this cell is an old, broken scribe, not worth my time. You are speaking madness. Like the moth priests I killed!"

"Yes, I admit. I am insane. But my mind is sundered. Not broken."

Dlesyddion moved his hands to the book and the feather.

"You are disapointed by me, by your... idol? I don´t feel sorry for this. Is this everything?"

Angrily Tharn stared down at the Dunmer continueing writing.

"So many books... what does a blind man do with them?"

Dlesyddion sighed.

"Every single book down here is written by me. Whether I actually write letters or just produce an inane scribbling... I don´t care. Whenever I fetch one of my books, I know which it is. And remember what I wrote into them, page for page, even if it was years ago. For I remember what I wrote."

Tharn glanced over the mountain of books.

"You´ve been down here for five years. You wrote all those books?"

"Yes. I couldn´t take my original collection down here."

"Well, maybe it will disapoint you, but you produce nothing but inane scribbling."

"Fine. Then they have no worth for anyone else. Now leave. In the last five years that I´ve been here you are the first who disturbs my peace and quiet."

The book in front of Dlesyddion was slammed close, the feather fell off his hand. Angrily he stared up at Tharn.

"You dare...?"

"Yes, I dare! You are a fool! Peace and quiet? I will take it from you, what you searched for your entire life. I am not denied! Do you undestand? It will be a simple dead for me to turn this place back into the unpleasant dirt hole that it is supposed to be! Your precious books will burn and you won´t ever have a day without 'disturbance'."

Dlesyddion scowled. Tharn laughed.

"Unless you listen to my offer and agree."

Dlesyddion closed his blind eyes. If he felt anything his face did not show anything but disgust.


Tharn smiled.

"I offer you freedom. But not only that. I offer you peace and quiet, the things you long for so much. And I promise you won´t ever be disturbed... you have my word as Emperor.

Only... there is one thing that you need to do for me."

Dlesyddion opened his eyes.

"And what is it that I have to do?"

Tharn produced something from his robe and placed it upon the desk. Dlesyddion felt the magic that was contained, he felt the connection between whatever it was and Tharn. He reached out his hand. Dlesyddion had no talent for any other kinds of magic else than destruction and restoration, but he had delved into the art of enchanting aswell. But this enchanment... his grey hand touched the piece, and Dlesyddion knew:

This was Morrowind. He couldn´t explain it. It was Morrowind. He didn´t know how... but this... thing was crafted of his homeland, crafted of the ash of Vvardenfell, the lush plains of the central land, the rocks of the coast. The peoples might have changed, but the land did not. Not since Lorkhan´s heart was tossed into it, creating the shape of what was Morrowind today.

Vvardenfell... his home. Sarun... his love.

Memories overwhelmed the old Dunmer. Good memories, he thought to have lost so much time ago. Bad memories, he had tried to burry in grief and ignorance of his feelings, tried to burry them with knowledge, with wisdom. But all his denial didn´t help. He loved his home, loved Remerea. Even if he had tried his best to tear out his own heart, it was a failure. Vivec... Love had always been his motivation, even if Dlesyddion had tried to deny his love, with every single of his actions. He had conquered, tortured and killed, just to prove himself, that he was a monster. He had told himself that he lost his sanity, a sundered mind without emotions, a being unable to feel love or anyother feeling else than hatred. He had tried to hide away, unable to confront the pain of his love´s death. Remerea. He loved her. She was dead.

A tear ran down his blood filled eyes.

Tharn´s voice. Dlesyddion nearly didn´t understand him.

"... from your reaction you know what this is. And you know its meaning. I shattered the unshatterable. The staff of chaos, that is Tamriel, is no more. Only pieces... For reasons you don´t need to know they have to be hidden away. I would hide them myself, but I have an Empire to run. But you... I find it most fitting, a Dunmer hiding the Morrowind piece... under Red Mountain, under the heart of Morrowind, under the heart of Nirn, the position most safe. And you are the only Dunmer capable of such a dead."

Dlesyddion laughed. It took a moment to realise. Tears run down his cheeks.

"A blind Dunmer? Climbing up Dagoth Ur´s mountain? You are mad!"

The air around his hands sizzled. Magicka flew through his veins as he used his second gift a very last time. He would have used his first gift, but no magic could have ever heal his heart... or his mind. Small lightings jumped from finger to finger as he prepared his spell. Within the time of a heart beat Dlesyddion had formed a massive ball of lightning in his hand. He raised his hands and moved them towards the piece of the staff of chaos, the piece that represented Morrowind, the piece that was Morrowind.

"Here is my answer!"

Dlesyddion interrupted the flow of magic. The ball flickered and vanished. His bare hands touched the piece a last time. Feeling his home, the love a last time, he closed his eyes and and awaited the burst of fire Jagar Tharn would bath him in any second. The battle-mage would have never let him cause harm to the piece of the staff, even if this was impossible. But Dlesyddion only needed to make him think he was trying. He was only sorry for his books.

The battle-mage´s reaction was quick. Even before the lighting ball had vanished entirely he already had his arms up, sending fire down onto the Dunmer.

The pain. The haggled robe bursted into flames, just like his hair. Dlesyddion's Dunmer skin resisted the flames a second longer, but soon the flames licked his flesh. The heat. Like the heat of the Molag Amur. Smoke in his lung. The only air he should have ever breathed. The pain. Not as hurting as the pain he had denied for so long.

But then it became worse. Dlesyddion screamed, the flames were eating him up. For a moment he thought he couldn´t bear the pain anymore.

But then everything was cool. Dlesyddion shivered. He couldn´t stand this chill. But then it was gone. He was gone. Finally. After all these centuries. Peace and quiet. And love. So much love.

The Void. Sithis. They were not the end. Dlesyddion left Padhome´s entity and traveled farther. The stars, he could see them. Cities at the rim of Aetherius and the Void. The Magna-Ge had never really left. Or were they on the other side? He couldn´t tell. They lived in giant, brightly burning cities. They burned for they were many and shone forth between nothing and everything, stasis and change. Living their own lives, engaging in their own wars, manipulating the souls which passed the border between Aetherius and Mundus. Dlesyddion thought about passing through one of the mortal springs, leaving the mortal plain behind. He marveled at the springs, every city was build around, and at the thirteen realms the mortals called birth signs.

Before he could decide, he was taken somewhere else. Was this just a dream? No. He was dead.

But where was he?

He tried to look around, not questioning why he could see after centuries of walking in blind darkness. A peaceful land surounded him, quiet fields covered in ash, caressing his senses, calming him down, yellow giants in a distance. Yet this place was strange. But it was a place, indeed. It was not what he had been promised. Had he even ever been promised something? Dlesyddion couldn´t remember. He just remembered... a voice. A bargain. And he knew the two ghosts that were in this place. He had met them before. They followed him now. They guided him. Into their realm. He already was in their realm. One was a dog and the other was a Daedra. No. They both were Daedra, but they were one. They were Clavicus Vile. He should have known. What it would lead to. His soul was in Oblivion. Where else?

A shape in the void. On the fields. Another thing he could remember. A name popped into his mind, the old love just like the first love he ever felt for this being.

Remerea? It was his Remerea!

He wanted to run to her, his love, to love her, tell her that he loved her and to love her again. Someone laughed. It was the Daedra.

Another soul was next to Remerea. And Dlesyddion remembered him aswell. Vonin.

Dlesyddion couldn´t move. He stared at Remerea and Vonin, loving each other. He remembered. Remerea didn´t love him. It had been him loving her. Only him. But Remera had loved Vonin, was still loving Vonin. Dlesyddion stared. Stareing at what he could have had. At what he never had. His heart was healed, though, by his death.

And he watched and watched and watched, unable to turn away from his old love and his rival, satisfied by the image of two united in true love, until the godhead woke up...

Wake up.

Who controls the Septim crown?
Who keeps the Allesian Heresy down?
We do, we do

Who knocked Yokuda off the maps?
Who keeps the Dwemer under wraps?
We do, we do

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