Chapter 1
Dear son,
I am very grieved to hear about the deaths of Estina and Eindre. Your mother and I have been lighting another candle each night at the temple that their souls can make a safe return. Come back to us, there's nothing but sad memories of your daughters where you are now. It is time for life to begin anew.
Far too often you have been patient with me. It bears on me roughly at times how I pick our family up and plant them elsewhere with little explanation, and every word of the explanation a lie. I skirt the issue of our past as well, and even to your mother I never reveal everything from my earlier days. Even now as I near the space I have carved in death by my actions, I want to plainly tell you how we came to this place and the situation that compels us now.
My grandfather Thaer, whom you never met, was formerly a tribal councilman in our home region of Valenwood. Our family as he told me was only somewhat influential among other tribes due to the autonomous nature they all maintained, but within our specific tribe our family was well liked and appreciated. As a statesman he often acted as an intermediate player in the nature of our native politics, and this required him to appeal to the leaders he would deal with. The personalities of these tribal groups he would interact with never seemed steady enough for him to maintain an even grip he would often say, so his tactics would flow like molten steel to maintain effectiveness.
Our king in those days was mostly a figurehead of authority, someone to throw at the Imperials when they came to call. Even so, the king was a pleasant elf who Thaer was good friends with. I’m not sure this is correct to say, but the impression I have of the times from his stories was that our people would take gifts with an open hand and turn a cold shoulder to those who ask favors from us. Imperial forts and garrisons in the area were scarce. Collectively the Bosmer had not shown themselves to be threatening or useful on a larger scale, so the rest of the empire would use the land as they dared and leave well enough alone otherwise.
On a grander scale we would even spread rumors mixed with truth about our traditions. We convinced this idiot Eric once long ago that wood elves were all cannibals and completely carnivorous! This started a game where the children would run up and bite the legs of visitors to the villages; I thought it was great story. Another wonderful thought was to say that we don’t use wood for making weapons, but as part of our deception we proclaim our love of nature to a vast degree. Not that we don’t hold a high respect for our habitat, but our lies hide us well. It is the simplest thing to hide your means while preparing these tools or to brush off suspicion by claiming yourself less devoted. A foreigner would not do well to search for you, we’ve told them there are mangrove swamps everywhere, and when asked it is just reflex to claim you bought the tool or weapon somewhere else!
Your great-grandfather Thaer told me these things during our long talks to ensure our heritage would not be lost, in the same manner I explained what I knew to you in bits and pieces through your lifetimes. You must remember such things if you are to adapt to the setting of each new land while traveling. Act as the people act till you become as a native.
But as I was explaining about my grandfather, a tenuous web of lies is not easy to maintain. On a throne somewhere a mighty fool sent a grand parade of jesters of the words to meet our king in his walking city. Thaer was sent to be one of the representatives of our tribe near Silvenar, a task which he was sore to undertake because he had been expanding the tribal magic of our people. None the less he put on his smile and stood at the head of the contingent to meet the new arrivals. Off the boat they came in colorful robes on horseback bringing wealth and gifts for the king in litters and on donkeys. The distance they came from the boat to the reception tents and honor guard was perhaps sixty yards!
Of course the elves all put effort into restraining their laughter at this comedic situation, the horsemen after riding such a terrible distance from their ships dismounted and a short welcoming ceremony began with flattery applied liberally and wild bravado splaying its feathers as a Canah bird. Soon but never soon enough the ships retracted and the group on the beach escorted the Imperial representatives into the city. That in itself was a trick, getting these prideful humans up there with their needless trains of wealth and livestock that surely weren’t joining them.
The other representatives there in the city were elves Thaer dealt with often, but dealing with them all at once crossed him. When you make a life of your words, you will crumble upon their failing all at once. Even keeping his mannerism straight between them, a group of three perceived how he truly kept himself. They were grieved for their losses of resources to his manipulative style of dealing and conspired between them to exact their revenge.
In the night they and their guard set upon my grandfather with torches and weapons. Bursting into the room he was found nude in the middle of a prostitute’s service. He was instantly set upon when he leapt up. Hit first with a mace to his right hand against the wall, the member was smashed and became useless. Nearly as soon as this he was stabbed in the side with a hot torch and the burning flesh made him cry out through the night. Knowing all heard this, the group then took him bound before the chamber of the king.
Their king was in a most difficult of positions. The mob would have a judgment that night without delay, and the imperials would hear of it soon thereafter! What’s more, it was known that he was friends with Thaer and mercy would be a clear sign of weakness. Quickly he declared that the matter could not be handled there and implored them to be quiet. He ordered that the prisoners in the city should be sent north to Anvil. There grandfather could receive a death penalty and the matter would not be on the hands of the Bosmer during this time of the visit. The mob agreed to this after listening to the direction of a statesman from Arenthia.
Thaer was sent tied by the neck to a long post with the other prisoners on their journey to Anvil. The guards were selected quickly in the night for this impromptu trip, and the king made sure to include his trusted sergeant to ensure the matter was carried out. Secretly the sergeant was instructed by the king to enact the escape of your great-grandfather. Nearing three in the morning they set out, the ten guards and twenty five prisoners.
The tribesman from Arenthia was able to quickly convince the maddened mob to allow this situation because he had quietly promised them that some of his tribe would be in the area to intercept the band and kill everyone in it. Plans were sent by the swiftest bird, and the fruition of this plan came three days later. As the prisoners trudged through the dense forest under the cover of darkness, a storm parted the skies allowing the rain to spread itself upon the land. To our fortune the elves that came to attack our grandfather’s party shot their arrows too soon. Perhaps it was someone too young to know the proper timing, but the ambush was spoiled when a shot killed the scout of the guards. The other guards then shouted to each other to kill the prisoners for fear that they might escape during the commotion.
Seeing this, the sergeant freed my grandfather and dragged him out into the woods. His corporal quickly ran after them thinking the sergeant knew what he was doing. There wasn’t time to explain anything, but the sergeant quietly indicated that this prisoner must be saved, and the trio dashed through the woods and hills. Behind them in flashes of light from the sky the soldiers killed the screaming prisoners with their hatchets, only to find themselves set upon quickly by the tribe. The storm was enough to mask the trail of the three, and they weren’t told how many were to be killed.
Quietly across the space of a week the diplomat, the sergeant, and the corporal made their way through the dark places toward the shore. From there they were picked up by a passing cargo ship, which pulled into the harbor of Stros M’Kai. During the several weeks there, Thaer and Anrel the corporal became close. There was work on the docks where the pay had only the stipulation that the labor was adequate. The sergeant Filimi secured passage for them to High Rock eventually, and took care of making the necessary bribes. With a wave to Hunding in the bay they set sail again for Wayrest.
Wayrest was not suitable for them however, a place so busy and information so cheap, so they decided to walk overland to the city of Evermore. Here Thaer became an apothecary, and the three set up a shop after some time. Years passed slowly at first, and Thaer asked Anrel to marry him after a time. Filimi was uncomfortable with this, understandably. He thought it best that they return, or at least that he should return to see if the situation in Valenwood was such that they could return. During the dark of the night after Thaer and Anrel were wed in the woods, he left and the couple didn’t hear of him again.
Chapter 2
It didn’t burden them terribly; he was a good friend and would certainly not betray them. Perhaps he would even return and tell them they could return! Thaer soothed Anrel’s worries about this gently, with the care of a lover, and in months their son was born. That son was of course my father Godras, who enjoyed High Rock and grew up strong there. At age nine he became the apprentice to a blacksmith and learned the arts of metalwork and integration with gems and fine crafting. I was always amazed with his work. Pieces he made are of course in your inheritance upon my passing, but you’ve been given gifts enough from him to know his talent.
As it happened, his quality work brought the attention of a baron with holdings near the town. He employed your grandfather to produce fine swords for his collection from time to time. Unfortunately there was a dispute between the baron and the King of Evermore, so tensions were high during the times the baron was in town. This made it a longer period between the commissioning and purchase of the swords, and there weren’t enough clients during the time to maintain steady pay. He made up for it by making inexpensive but medium quality steel swords which he sold in bulk to less than reputable sources
The Bretons have dozens of squabbling barons, kings, dukes, counts, and seemingly ridiculous titles of nobility found nowhere else for men who are no better than tax collectors or town mayors who shake down the working girls for their tips at night. Yet, their system of nobility and respect is the most complex I’ve ever heard of, especially considering each municipality and kingdom thinks they can bend or write their own rules into it.
To this end there are always troops moving around, crossing borders where they are certainly not authorized, and countries set on edge against each other at the slightest provocation. It takes an adept person to survive well in this type of society, your allegiances must be well crafted and you must have a backup noble to align yourself with in case a situation should hazard itself upon you. Even at this the Bretons don’t like people unfamiliar to them or unpatriotic to the cause of their lord.
As your grandfather told me, the Bretons generally don’t mind magic of all types arcane and have a curiosity to expand their knowledge. The mages guild there strains at times to keep the research means within the confines of guild authorization, but yet rogue mages and wizards permute the land like bare breasts on the second of Sun’s Dawn here (the festival of Mad Pelagius). We learned the most from the grieving nobles and merchants who could afford the means of grand burials and intricate ceremonies. With a servant waiting to fetch the knightly guilds they practiced that which is unapproved in the commonplace among discerning citizens and proceeded to commune with the dead.
Thaer and Godras took a great interest in the knowledge the people of the towns had to offer, and soaked it in with great appreciation. They became members of specific circles that enabled them great access to arcane teachings that were not always within their grasp. Their training was not with these kinds of specifics, and the training needed would have consumed their time to such great extents they decided in good conscience not to fully devote themselves.
After a time of this going on, it was known among the town that Godras produced a good deal of weapons. When an open conflict arose (the Bretons are always squabbling over land and titles), the king took advantage of the situation to strike a blow to the baron. He accused my father of taking part in a forestalling scheme where he would sell the produced weapons only to the baron (because it wasn’t established who exactly those weapons went to) and the baron would sell them back for a higher price because of their need to the King.
Fate did not lend fortune, as it rarely does to us, and escape was not possible. Anrel and Thaer pleaded the innocence of their son, as did men of his acquaintance. The real pressure though was to get the baron to make a concession to the king. Godras was only the tool to accomplish this, and though even the judge knew this, there was no way out when the king orders a verdict. Considering the state of war, the law demanded the crime be considered treason.
The business Godras built was burned just after the guard threw his parents in the front door. He was held screaming and staring as the flames climbed around the building. Guard even pissed on the building, mocking him and making light of the screams of his mother while he fought to free himself. Townspeople watching witnessed this all with the flames consuming their neighbors and a hearty Wood Elf being tortured largely unmoved as even then they believed through their patriotism that the king must be right. Whatever punishment for this proven traitor must be too good for him. A traitor must not last long, and no person should abide them to live.
Godras himself was taken through the streets tied behind a cart to let the people have at him. He was kicked, beaten, and stabbed occasionally by everyone wanting to prove that they of all people were the last to sympathize with this rotten scum. Whenever Bretons need unity in their cause they look for a goat, and soon enough sniff out a “traitor”. Nearing the keep where he was to be flogged in front of the crowd, his circle of friends flashed the crowd with magical light such that they were blinded in the night. Spells of curses and spheres of negation flew into my father’s captors with fury as the dark society attacked the guards and mob with a rage fueled by Thaer and Anrel’s deaths. The gain of friends is someone to watch out for you, or at least avenge your death should the situation require. These alliances proved fruitful to a degree in this situation and Godras was able to escape.
With the swiftest horses he left the city alone and was set on his way to the city of Gideon by way of Dragonstar, Chorrol, and the Imperial City. Grieving the loss of his parents and the severe nature of his situation he did not stay in Cyrodiil longer than he needed to, but he did make contact with the society in the Imperial City so word could be filtered back to his friends in Evermore that he succeeded in making it out of High Rock. This society which Godras and Thaer were not full members of apparently had a strong presence in the Imperial Province, but more distance was still needed for such a wanted man. Fresh transport was provided and my father was escorted to the border of the Black Marsh.
Chapter 3
Apparently it is “known” that hardly any non-Argonians can survive in the Black Marsh, or Argonia as the humans purport the elves call it. The process is perhaps complex in some ways, but the essence of it is this: There are four effective ways to become acclimated to the deadly swamps in the Black Marsh. One is to purchase great amounts of healing and cure disease scrolls for those who cannot cast spells, another is to cast resistance spells frequently enough to prevent infection. Of course hiring an effective guide who knows the terrain and the spells required to keep the traveling party alive and well is quite expensive, but available no less. The next way is to live closer and closer to the danger zones of the Black Marsh across generations, but this takes time, and depending on the species and the curiosity of the individuals it doesn’t always work. Acclimation is a steady problem. Last and for good reason is the quickest method: Giving yourself the disease and plagues that kill other outsiders and have a shaman of the Argonian people stand watch over you to keep you from the dreams and death that surely wait to take you otherwise. No guarantees can be given at all about the last method, but the brave and desperate try it all the same to provide a means to a buffer from their problems.
Godras elected for this forth and most dangerous method. His shaman was a wise and powerful Argonian who knew the thoughts of a Bosmer and guided him through the difficult journey of survival upon the pall table. Distinction and marvel was placed upon him once he emerged from the dream state, for the very fact that he was able to emerge! Many who attempt are lost to mortal occurrences during the trance, but most are lost within the dream state where the guide loses them within the confines of their own minds. The poor souls are left to wander if they do not stipulate in their initial agreement that they should be killed if they can’t be revived after a year.
My father emerged after a month of the treatment. His wild upbringing already allowed him a minor advantage, with his gifts as a wood elf bringing him the rest of the way. Upon his re-emergence into the world, the shaman told him to slowly approach if he ever did wish to enter their inner sanctuary of biology. Through strong bloodlines and resistance they achieved their place in the heart of Argonia, and it wasn’t for newcomers to waltz their way in closer anytime soon. His gained resistance through this great chance allowed me to venture farther into their lands as well, eventually.
Godras needed cover while he was in the area of Gideon, and he met up with a beautiful Dark Elf named Tralin Nerethi. Separate situations had left both of them with the proverbial short end of the stick. Their alliance in wedding matters made the transition into the Argonian society much smoother, especially since they both went through the quickening at nearly the same time. Godras married Tralin that same week.
Though unromantic, they did consider each other as a part of their married couple, and they couldn’t be more comfortable with their situation. Tralin needed to be married to sway the influence of her customers (forbidden loving was often the selling point), and Godras needed the respectability of a good wife and steady household for a new comer to the area. If you have a good product, why not sell it? My father desperately wanted a son to carry on his line however, and it was an inconvenience to Tralin at that time as she was making a fortune off the lies she fed wealthy men for their time. My father gained the permanent employment of a beautiful Bosmer named Indreth. She loved my father, and while she was my mother, she was not afforded more respect than her position allowed as she was hired by my family as a servant to my father. The status of my partial mother Tralin would not allow open recognition of me as a regular child of Godras, though I think most suspected.
I grew up scorned in this society because I was not what I should have been: the legitimate son of a smith and cavorting dark elf wife. In my shame growing up I strove to fit in to various situations where I felt like minded individuals would feel the way I did. Of all places, I found this place most in the Fighter’s Guild. I proved myself good with a flail and dagger, with a backup of the shielding studies. I couldn’t stay in my father’s shop! He loved his wife Tralin, yet his true love was with Indreth the servant. Both elves treated me as my mother, and both strained me to conform to the ideals they would prefer, but Godras all the while wished I would continue his teachings and instruction into the art (and indeed it is a mighty art) of the craft! I wouldn’t see how I could take up his work. A house with many masters cannot stand.
And so, I drifted. I drifted from this apprenticeship to that, from this full on job to that. A wood elf outside his own lands I have seen is often given little respect and deference. The Fighter’s Guild is the organization which found me and made something of me. I was well practice in the flail and shield techniques they showed me. There and there alone it seemed among friends I was accepted. From there I could have no greater friends; they cared for my every need as I cared for theirs. We covered each other at the ready for each mission no matter the difficulty; we worked extra to make sure each partner in the guild system profited to the greatest degree. Such friends have I never found among any other group since my father’s time when he found those who saved him from horrible death.
I loved them all. As a mer might I suppose, but there isn’t a day with them I didn’t enjoy or a fellow among them I would regret in the slightest giving up my life for. The problem I found with this guild was the isolation from the happenings of the town. Though we were given important quests to take care of while in the employ of various social groups within the town, we were not quite privy to the politics of these groups. Later investigations provided clues to these questions, but not the answers.
It turns out in this section of the empire that established reputation counts more toward your self-worth than your past deeds. My father was reduced to the status of common blacksmith even after showing them the accomplished hands he had and the process of his work. Even with that he wished to make simpler things so he might blend in well with the population of Gideon, but his wife Tralin would not let it be so. She pressed for wider influence, and while he comforted her she looked for the next man or mer to transfer her allegiance toward. It didn’t matter to me of course. I never needed two mothers, and the dark elf was never necessary to my life or lifestyle. She provided gifts as she was happy to know me as her “son” when there was something to gain.
Things happen by the slap of fate when you least expect them you might say. Tralin was seeing a man weekly who had a far different reputation around town than Godras. Procis was the kind of man who could do anything without fear of reprisal. He’d killed a Khajiit in the open market during daylight, and he showed up on the doorstep of a merchant in town once and demanded time with the merchant’s wife. I learned on a different job that he was associated with the slave trade through house Dres in Morrowind. Gideon was just one of the extraction points used to smuggle slaves.
Soon it was apparent the more I looked into it. He was allowed to do anything because he’d already paid off the town guards; the killing in the town market was a slave who nobody felt like asking questions. Servants all over the area were originally bought as sex slaves. They would be taken in at young ages for this work, between ten and fourteen, and escaping did no good as the authorities were generally in on the deal in that section. It became evident that if you knew where to look it was easy enough to buy life on the street. Euphemistic language or not, it was never unclear what the situation was when you were addressing this kind of dealer.
In my displeasure to this racket I’d throw my coins at the side of the church instead of putting them in the poor box, for Procis was the bishop inside. Perhaps in the grass by the building those who need them will find them. Dark elves came through regularly it seemed now that I was paying attention to look for them. My step-mother had been entertaining them all along, and they too had the Marshall in their employ.
Chapter 4
From my vantage point, I wasn’t in a position to speak up. I was the illegitimate son of a common Blacksmith. My part in the conflict came with my work with the Fighter’s Guild. The governor liked to make raids now and then on slave traders, all set up of course ahead of time so all parties involved would know what was going on, but while he was busy maintaining the status quo other interests were getting involved. From Cyrodiil some minor nobles were getting involved with the process and wanting to see actual results. The Count of Leyawiin paid the lot of us at the guild to go investigate an intermediary location for the slave traders.
At first we all enjoyed the chance to get out of the city for awhile. The run of the mill things are the mainstay, but variety is what keeps it interesting. Perhaps it should have occurred to us sooner that we might be going up against a troop working with the Bishop, or that we were in over our heads. We grew more cautious as we headed deeper into the swamp.
The swamp has these huge trees we nicknamed Bowers. In a fairly dramatic but slow motion they rise toward the sky in the daylight and retract back to earth at night. Effectively it makes night travel much tougher because these trees come very low toward the ground and passing through their branches can be a trick. In the daylight they provide a heck of a canopy over the top of the swamp, not always allowing a great deal of light down below. And of course, the proper name for them escaped us all.
We made good progress toward the camp through some of the dryer regions around the county. While still a couple hours on foot away from the location, we heard the crying of a child. Our trip had already taken us three days worth through the thick underbrush and it was a wonder to us that a child could be out here without someone. Searching quickly we spied it lying in a small boat adrift in the wetland. Two Argonians with us said that they would swim out to get it, and the rest of us were left standing on the bank between the rock outcroppings. The dim light didn’t lend itself well to our situation either.
Without a warning or signal a group of Argonians fell upon us, coming down off the rocks and leaping up out of the murky water. Our fellows who were Argonian already out in the water were driven through with spears from below and raised into the air upon them, screaming, out in the water still. My shield of course was still on my arm and my flail was quickly out. A flail isn’t the kind of weapon you should use against someone with a spear, but in my desperation it was unavoidable. We couldn’t avoid either the dangerous mage standing above us whispering spells out of the wind that locked us up or fatigued our arms before we swung. By my side my friends fell to the left and right while I in my effort did all I could.
I failed to do much at all. Through luck I suppose I was able to dash away back the way we came. I heard a loud trumpet sound as the attackers came up upon me, and I saw a great cavalry charge with lances riding at full tilt. I dove down behind a tree while the Argonians ran away toward the ambush site. These horsemen were the troops of the Count of Leyawiin, the man who wanted results. Confused and spent I waited there while the sounds of fighting died out.
I walked forward to join the group who saved me after several minutes. They were joyfully taking the painted Argonians and standing them up by driving pikes through their dead bodies. These humans would in a jolly manner lop their heads off then, and place them upon their lances. I didn’t understand at all how they came to be there! They held me up as a hero for surviving while my friends were lying on planks in carts. As the baby was bait for the slave traders to catch us, we were bait for the Count to catch some slave traders. I stayed very quiet. If we were so expendable, what would I say that would make them want to kill me any less? I vomited.
They held me up as we marched back into Gideon. The slave traders would have been able to hide themselves without the Fighter’s Guild drawing them out first. I was a hero to them, so that their men wouldn’t die. They were even so callous about how you didn’t have to pay mercenaries if they didn’t survive! A parade-like atmosphere occurred when they marched me through town. Villagers stared and cheered when the Count told the story, with the Bishop and the Governor standing right beside him.
I returned to the guild house. I was the only one left. It hit me in waves how I lost all these people who meant so much to me, and I cried at the table. Empty chairs at a barren table. People were killed for a meaningless political victory, I couldn’t fathom it. We were sacrificed for nothing. The trade would be as strong tomorrow as it was days before during the attack.
The Bishop couldn’t let this one go however, and the governor couldn’t stop him. He killed my second mother first, hanging her outside his upper window with a sign around her neck reading “mother of mine”. My mother and father were at home in the shop! I was the most insecure figure in the world at that moment. Despairing then and there that my parents must also be dead, I had nothing left in life.
They stayed waiting for me as well, but I came through the attic across the rooftops. I was able to knife those I had to quickly and quietly through the house until I could peer into the workroom. A trail of blood ran from the attic down to the workroom which I followed. The sight of my dead parents kept me from entering in; it was too much after that glimpse. Back upstairs to where my father practiced his magical arts I took what I could in a bed sheet and slipped down the side of the house. After placing my gear in the cart I drew my flail and threw a torch through the open shutters to enflame my house. Never as quick as I wanted it, from the base up my parent’s house burned and I shouted terrors at the troops inside who must have imagined a mob of madmen. When they came out of the blaze I set upon them with my weapon and a torch to make sure that even in escape they burnt to death.
Our house was part of a row, so the neighbors’ homes were soon on fire. Everyone saw what I’d done. The filth had seen and heard what was going on when my parents were killed, but they did nothing. I had thought to extend the mercy I had shown the Bishop’s men to them if not for my father’s voice saying “Go! You must flee!” Phantom or specter maybe, but I now had hope! There was more than me again.
I boarded the cart and drove the poor horse directly for the north gate. My former neighbors had a couple feeble heroes among them who grabbed tools and attacked me, but I swung my weapon with one hand while holding the reins in the other. In my opinion the chances must have conspired to let me out by having the town watch confused about what was going on. The gate lowered after I made it out, temporarily blocking those on foot chasing me. No party on horseback was prepared to sortie, so I had a finer head start than one could pray for.
As I progressed through the countryside I encountered a Breton boy traveling lightly hoping to catch a ride with me. Though the boy had never harmed me, it was against him that he was about my same size. I offered to trade clothes with him and he agreed since mine were much better quality. He saw the blood stain, but did not question it soon enough. While buttoning the top of the shirt I struck him with my father’s dagger. In shock and fear he fell to the ground and tried to scramble away while I plunged it into him again. He was screaming “Sir! What are you doing? Stop! Stop!”
The face and head had to be mistaken for me as well, so I thrashed it and tore the ears as he laid bleeding out and gasping. Dirty business that. Very bad indeed to do such a thing, but I needed to escape. I left the flail on the road as if it were dropped in the struggle, I wrecked the cart after unhitching the horse, and I took my things in the sheet with his food and made off for the next town.
Chapter 5
There I sold the horse to a Yeniche man and continued on my way toward the Dark Elven city of Necrom. My step-mother had grown up there and I knew the ways of the people there to the degree that I wouldn’t be an obvious outsider to an untrained eye. Here I soaked in the livelihoods of these people, entrenching myself in their society and getting along with my life. I met your mother soon after my second year in the city. Ten years later your brother Baranir was born, you followed in eight years time and you know the birthdays of your brothers beyond that point. Just living life in between these times doesn’t make for the most interesting tale, but I grew to know love again with my family. It made all the difference to me.
I never let you meet Baranir because he developed a sickness that kept him in bed and speaking nonsense constantly, and we let a local religious sect take care of him for it was an intense burden. Your mother and I still visited him weekly as long as we could. The work of my father and grandfather did not go to waste however; I took up their tools and continued my education in these matters of magic. This is what I would have you do as well. I’ve been so forthright with these details now because I feel that you are ready to know the troubled past from which you came. The future of our family will continue with you, but you don’t have to go on alone.
If you will take our burden, son, your great-grandfather, your grandfather, and I will stand beside you however we must to increase our knowledge and power. Though I have never met my grandfather I have often discussed the weighty matters of love and determination with him, and listened to his tales of politics. While my father is dead, I have never been closer to him than when I tell him of you and the family I have here. Between the three of us we have a vast knowledge of Valenwood, High Rock, the Black Marsh, and now Morrowind which you know as well. Our lives have tossed us to and fro like a ship in high weather, but we have come out stronger for it.
Thaer developed the alchemy necessary for what we do, Godras crafted the fine tools and enchantments upon them in his shop, and I have devoted myself to discussing the magical means to accomplish everything needed under the watchful care of my elders. I’m asking you to help us now, Clengoth. It is time you take your honor among us in the Society. Though I didn’t know them in Gideon, they were there helping my father when needed, though you don’t know them in Necrom they are here helping me.
What I'm saying is that with your help we can put it right. We can undo the tragedy and embrace a higher calling. Our generations of misfortunes are bearing sweet fruit now near the end of my time. We are wise now, perceptive, and cautious. Soon we can all return.
Your three younger brothers are beloved to us, but they have weak wills. They can't do what you can. Don't mourn them now, for it will be my hand that puts them down while I embrace them very soon. They will live on with us, gaining knowledge and perhaps someday getting the chance to walk the land again, but now is the time for us to return. The three of them are the proper young ages for Thaer, Godras, and I to preserve their bodies and place our souls into them. Our technique is superb, as you can see from our servant Birane. Patience is our friend, is it not? He is the Breton boy I killed on the road so many years ago. I have restored a life to him for unjustly taking his before, and I maintain him here.
His soul was taken by the blade of your grandfather when I stabbed him with it. The masterful enchantment upon it was a soultrap that prevented his release into the next world, and allowed me to repay my debt to him. I experimented with Baranir and a lesser soul to see if indeed my methods could work, and a member of the society watched over him in between. Our family can stay together forever. Alive or dead we have them with us, teaching us. We need never fear death, never will cruel misfortunes drive us apart, and we can continue on hopefully for centuries with the ones we love. We can bring your daughters back.
With our magic we can cast off the shackles of this short life and the oppression of tyrants. While we may never be fully accepted wherever we travel, we will strive to be acceptable wherever we are, finding ourselves in the process. As the sun treks across the sky, so will we trek across the land. Daily as the sun passes by it embraces the world with warmth. The fingers of light caress the world and give it life, but the time always comes that the sun must continue on. We will shine like the sun. Where we go we will spread a new life, we will help the unfortunate who have been denied their livelihood and fair chance at happiness. Like the sun, we cannot always stay in place, but we will never have to fear our destination because we will teach each other how to dwell there. The sun however walks a lonely path through the heavens, and there will never be a day with us without fellowship and love.
Return to us, son. Come back home when your duties allow. There is a grand journey to complete, to seal your commitment to our family. Your great-grandfather has traveled from Silvenar to Falinesri to Stros M'Kai to Wayrest to Evermore. Your grandfather traveled from Evermore to Dragonstar to Chorrol to the Imperial City to Gideon. I traveled from Gideon to Stormhold to Tear to Necrom and now reside in Dagon Fel. It is for you to return to Valenwood by way of the Imperial City and whatever interests you along the way. You will meet the Society there and they will copy our notes on the process, and they will give you a staff to be used for the ceremony, in addition to giving you shelter and supplies for your journey. Finally you must perform the ceremony when you return to our ancestral homelands. The Society will help you there too, and we will be with you every step of the way.
Upon you rest our hopes, dreams, futures, and love. There will never be a day when I don't love you, son. The completion of this journey represents our generational travels, and the knowledge we have gained from our travels through life. This path you will journey plants the footprints in the dust of our symbol of infinity. Returning to where it started with the center of the empire as the center of our axis, we walk together in an infinite wanderlust.
