1.
My lover was dead.
Many days had passed and still my world was dark and grey. After returning to my house in Balmora, I had gone on a binge, drinking as much as I could. This only added physical suffering to my emotional pain.
Still afflicted with a hangover, I took up my sword and went into the wilderness to decide if I wanted to live or die.
Shortly after leaving town I spotted a kagouti. The beast sighted me and charged. I stood there and waited. Let it end here, perhaps? It would be a painful death, but I already hurt inside. The end would be quick.
No: with a will of their own, my arms whipped up and back, drawing my claymore from its sheath. I fought and slew the attacking beast. I knew, then, that I wanted to live.
With care, I cleaned the blade and replaced my weapon in its sheath. Chrysamere was the name of my sword and, though it was a recent acquisition, I was rapidly getting used to it. It was finely balanced: its great weight seemed to work with me, rather than against me.
I looked around and confirmed that there were no other hostile creatures in sight.
Though no one was around, I said, aloud, "So now what?"
Focus, Rashelle: get yourself together.
I turned and headed back towards town. On my way, I waded into the river and washed some of the stench of the past few days away. I was never fond of water, but I do like to be at least somewhat clean.
Though I had resolved to live, I still did not know what to do. I entered Balmora almost as if in a daze.
A few paces away from the door that led down to my house (which was entirely underground) I stopped and reflected upon my life since I had been shipped to this strange land known as Vvardenfell.
I had arrived on an Imperial prison ship, in chains. The Empire was no friend of mine. To my surprise, I had been released and even given some gold. On that day I resolved that this distant frontier land, so far from the center of the Empire, would be my new home. I would establish myself here, make connections and I would be out of reach of the Imperials.
At least half of the population of my new homeland were a race known as the Dunmer. These people, often referred to as "Dark Elves" by the Imperials because of their dark blue-gray skin coloration, were very racist. They hated Imperials. They hated all non-Dunmer, in fact. They even disliked the Altmer, who, according to history, were originally the same race.
Even other Dunmer were spurned, if they were not from Vvardenfell!
Some of them had, over time, had come to accept me and in some cases even to like me, yet still the oppressive air of bigotry was there. Every day I was called "outlander" more than by my own name.
Even with this bigotry, I still considered Vvardenfell my home. I wanted to eventually become accepted by the people who lived there. After all, the Dunmer and I had a common interest: to be rid of the Empire.
Over time I had improved my skills. I had first been a thief and then I had become a spellsword. I was a member of both the Thieves and Mages guilds, I was making money. I owned a house in Balmora and I was making friends and contacts. Things were looking up: my life had been improving.
Then I had found love.
My lover was dead.
A major component of Dunmer culture in Vvardenfell is the Tribunal Temple. The Temple worships three "living gods." One of them, Vivec, resided in Vvardenfell, in a city named after him. In Southern Morrowind, on the mainland, resided the goddess Almalexia. There are tales of a third god, a man with the surprisingly feminine sounding name of Sotha Sil. His exact location was either a secret coyly kept by even the most loquacious of Dunmer, or was perhaps entirely unknown to anyone. More so than the others, he was surrounded by an air of mystery.
In those days, I did not believe in gods. I saw religion as a means of control of the people. It is just another way for other people to try to dictate how I should live. It had no place in my life.
I have since met gods ... but I still feel the same way about religion.
Despite these feelings, I joined the Temple shortly after arriving in Vvardenfell. I had done this as a means of perhaps getting a better understanding of the Dunmer and also as an attempt to gain some approval or respect from them.
Standing there, by my house, I decided that I would do something I had done only a few times before ... I would go to the local Temple.
With a plan and a more purposeful stride, I began to walk. Soon the Balmora Temple was visible ahead of me.
The ground sloped up as I approached the outer wall. For some reason, almost all temples in Vvardenfell have the same layout: a plain rectangular building, colored the dull brownish color of the locally manufactured concrete, with a walled in area in front.
I passed through the archway in the wall and then walked to the actual door to the building. I entered and found myself in the dimly-lit entry chamber.
Though I was a member of the Temple, I was not a regular visitor. I was an outlander and I was Breton. I could still receive a cold welcome; perhaps I would even be told to leave.
The nearest priest approached me with concern in his face (my grief must have been visible) and said, "What troubles you? How can the Temple help?"
He was a Dunmer (like most of the Temple priesthood) and I had met him before. His name was Dralval Andrano. I remembered that he was more tolerant of outlanders than most.
In a dull voice, I replied, "My lover is dead and I don't know what to do."
Perhaps this had been a little too direct. I've always had this tendency to say exactly what was on my mind, without first thinking. Sometimes it caused problems.
Unperturbed, he nodded and said, "Please come with me, layman Rashelle."
Though I had only been in this temple once or twice, he had remembered my name, the fact that I was a member of the Temple, and my rank in the Temple. I was flattered. Then again, I was an outlander (a rarity in the temple) and of an unusual appearance. The sight of a woman all in armor was not itself unusual, but my midnight black hair and eyes were atypical of my race. People tend to notice me and remember me.
"You are lost, child. It is good that you came here for help."
The patronizing use of the term "child" would normally have rankled me but I was not in the mood to care.
We stopped in front of one of the trioliths. These are tall three-sided pillars of stone that are imbued with various magical enchantments. One can pay a fee of a few coins and be cured of most diseases or healed of injuries. They are in every Temple and also in many of the Dunmer tombs. Several times in my tomb-raiding adventures I had availed myself of their quick healing.
"I am not injured," I said.
"Not all hurts are physical. This can purify you, cleanse you."
I paid him and faced the triolith.
The stone glowed as the enchantment was activated. I felt magic move through me but I could not identify it. The glow faded away. I did not feel happy. The loss was still there ... but did I feel a calmness.
"You should embark on a pilgrimage. It would further cleanse you."
I said nothing, but the expression in my face was eloquent.
He actually grinned, a rarity amongst his people and said, "hear me out. I realize that, though you have joined the temple, you are not the most pious of people. You do not believe."
I said nothing. Why lie?
"The truth is not immediately apparent to some. The fact that you joined the temple at all says much for you. Though you are an outlander, over time you may become a believer."
I waited.
"This pilgrimage will give you, for a short time, a direction, a focus. Undertaking a specific task will help you to function again. And, in the course of the journey, you may find yourself beginning to believe."
In a way, he was making sense: giving myself something to do would be better than staying in my house, drinking.
"Please tell me more," I said.