Good evening my young listeners. No doubt you’ve all heard about the fascinating story of the Nerevarine, Lord Nerevar Reborn and how he rescued Morrowind from the blight of Dagoth Ur. Well I’m here to tell you the true story, and of the sacrifices of precious blood shed by unremembered brave souls that paved the road for him, this is my tale.

My name is Aurelius Maximus and I was born near one hundred years ago in Cyrodiil. My mother was an Imperial noblewoman from Chorrol, and my father was an adventurous bypassing Nord that caught her eye. As I’m sitting here and speaking to you, you can assume that there was indeed a brief dalliance and I was the result.

From what my mother told me I bore my father’s handsome image and my mother’s wit, a deadly combination if I might say so. My childhood was wholly unremarkable as the son of a noble goes, and I spent my time learning poetry and ethics…not the load of useless dribble that most people think, after all the fiercest battles are often those fought with wit and tongue.

When I turned sixteen I entered the Legion as my grandfather and his father before him and so on had done. Naturally with me actually having the skills to read and further more write I advanced quickly through the ranks, though I suspect my mother’s considerably heavy purse might have something to do with that as well.

Anyhow, I was both artistic and literate, and as an officer I was given the privilege of having the best trainers that could be found in Cyrodiil (again I suspect my mother’s purse was involved). Needless to say by the time I had reached twenty I was one of the more skilled swordsmen in Cyrodiil and was reassigned to the Imperial City, where I was given a station as the second in command of the prison facility, that’s when my bad luck started.

I quickly tired of the dull life in the Legion and the meaningless tasks that came with being second in command at a prison. So at every time I was off duty I would sneak over to the arena to fight under my false name ‘Swiftblade’. Fighting in the arena wasn’t that much of a problem, several legionnaires had done the same over the years. No the problem was that after I rose to the rank of Grand Champion I had grown addicted to my fame, and continually spent my easy won coinage on drink, illegal substances and pleasurable company.

Many a maiden fell to my charm and I’m sure that I’ve sired my share of illegitimate bastards in my youth, but I digress. I had started out well enough in the Legion but as I’ve said my career turned me into a spoiled arrogant swine with a taste for action, booze and women, and it was my taste in women that ended my career with the Legion.

It was no problem with me bedding a different lady if not more than one each night, but when my superior General Alexian Lestat caught me in bed with his own wife things turned problematic very quickly. I was assaulted by the man and was forced to kill him in self defence, the fact that it was self defence is the only thing that saved me from bars or the noose, but I was promptly thrown out of the Legion and my possessions were confiscated and my entire fortune that I had inherited from my mother who had died a year past was also…what was the word they used again? Ahh yes, my fortune was ‘repossessed’; no doubt my ex-fortune was used to fill the pockets of the Elder Council.

Anyhow, after being stripped of my command and my worldly possessions I was lead outside of the city and viciously beat up and then left at the side of the road to die.

Naturally I survived and when I awoke it was in the Chapel of Stendarr in Chorrol. “Ugh, did someone get the owner of that horse?” I mumbled while trying to shake the cobwebs from my mind.

“Easy young man, you must have been the victim of a road bandit, you’re quite fortunate to be alive…in fact had I not found you while I was on my way back from the Imperial City you would be dead now”.

I gazed up at the elderly Imperial who stood above me. His hair was thinning and he was dressed in a plain brown robe, looking just like any respectable priest should, with the exception of the Akaviri Dai-Katana slung over his back.

“Ah yes, something to protect myself should I be accosted by bandit or beast when I’m travelling about”, he said as he followed my gaze.

“I thank you for your aid Mr.?” “Jauffre”, he answered. “And do not worry about payment, I’m a priest of the Divines my son, I do not desire rewards for doing my duty”.

I swallowed, and squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out my tears. All of my sins came tumbling down on me at once, as I realized that if the situation was reversed I would have sneered at him and simply continued on my business. Strange how being beaten to a pulp can change your perceptions of the world.

We spent another hour of talking before he left, leaving behind his katana, telling me that “you need it more than I do I fear”.

The next month was the most painful and humbling experience of my life. My injuries had been so severe that magic could only help so much, and I was basically forced to learn how to walk again, and my strength and fatigue had dropped drastically, that’s not to say that I was any less of a monster with a blade, I just tired much quicker than I had before, and the heavy weight of my new blade would not help should I be forced into a dangerous position.

Other than re-learning the use of my limbs the priests at the Chapel spent a lot of time teaching me. I’d never been much of a religious man, but after a month of daily sermons and lessons about the Divines I could not deny their greatness, and I changed slowly at first but more drastically as time moved on. Where before I’d been a pompous, drunk and dangerous womanizer I became a devout follower of the Divines, and I became a skilled magician, both with the arts of Restoration and Alchemy, and I swore off violence of any form for the rest of my life, little did I know how soon I would be forced to break that particular wow.

I had just finished my studies the thirty first day after my arrival at the Chapel, when a traveller from Anvil burst into the Chapel, raving about how the Chapel of Dibella had been attacked and destroyed by Daedra.

After we had managed to calm down the man, Galvas Riveren, one of the senior priests bade me travel to Anvil to ascertain if there was any truth to the man’s word and after gathering my few belongings I took one of the horses the Chapel had reserved for just such a cause and headed down towards Anvil.

I've long wanted to write a story that doesn't have the main character as the Nerevarine or the Champion of Cyrodiil (the role we eventually take in the Oblivion MQ) and this is the result. The more aware ones of you guys probably know who Aurelius is going to become, and as you can see this story includes elements from Oblivion, but much of the setting will be in Morrowind.

Oh and a Tellie to the one who first manages to guess which house Aurelius will join after arriving in Vvardenfell ( Tellie's will also be awarded for any other correctly guessed faction that he will join)

Oooh, a Divine Crusader fan-fic, eh? Wonder which House Aurellius will join... lemme guess.... Is it House Redoran because of its strong sense of honor? And of course, Knights of the Nine.

Well, I like the format, what with it being telling a story and all, but it doesn't seem to have the feel it should. The character is listing off a history of his life, as if it was nothing special, no emotional attachments at all. It reads, to be honest, more like a biography, an essay, than a story. The opening is interesting enough, but it is not eye catching, there is no real hook.

The protagonist switches from narrating his past to sudden detail with the conversation with Jauffre, and the supposed epiphany came across rather dull and unemotional. He said his sins came tumbling down on him, but I honestly didn't feel it. Though there will naturally be some emotion loss when you are telling a story that took place in the past, there are ways to compensate. You can't switch randomly into highly detailed sections unless it is a flashback, and if it was there needs to be some kind of device to inform us as such. However, if you do not want to use flashbacks, might I suggest going all out with the story telling motiff and describing your character's face as he tells the story. Make him look sullen, as if recalling a painful memory, make him sound regretful at the shameful things he had done, and most importantly make him real.

I am interested as to how you are going to combine the Morrowind main quest and the Knights of the Nine, but I'm sure you have a plan on how to do it. It is not a bad story, I just pointed out the only real flaws. I more or less liked it, but the aforementioned problems killed it for me. Nonetheless, thank you for writing, and keep up the good work


Aw, how can I resist a cake? I'd say the Imperial cult first, but if it needs to be a Great House then I don't know what to say. Hlaalu seems too dishonest, Redoran follows the Tribunal (though they do let in people of other religions, so maybe), and Telvanni just doesn't seem his style.

Oh, and I forgot to mention I far prefer novels to narrations, the whole "protagonist relating a story" thing just isn't for me. It's not you, just my preference in reading. If you want to you can make it into a first person story, instead of this summarizing narration, I for one would like it much better.

To Darkom. Thanks for the reply I appreciate it. About the way I write...well what can I say? We all have different methods and the way I portray this story is as if the Main Character relives the story as he tells it to a crowd of listeners, though I suppsoe I could have made the blend between the intro and the real start of the story a bit more defined I do not see a reason to change it now however. Anyhow continue with the reviews I take the good with the bad and like getting tips on what to improve on (and they help my ego as well )

So a to both of you guys...actually take TWO

ANd now for the update, there is a lot of dialogue in it as I've decided to use the dialogue from the game (adding a bit of my own flavour in as well)



The journey towards Anvil was remarkable by its boredom and I reached Anvil without accident. Once past the city gate I headed straight for the Chapel where I was stopped by a burly guard. “Sorry mister, no one are to be let inside”.

I sighed, I came here to check what damage had been caused and by the Nine I was entering with permission or without. “Listen I’m from the Chapel in Chorrol and have been given orders to check out the Chapel, so we can do this the easy way or the hard way”.

“Very well, but I wouldn’t go in there unless you have a strong stomach. We have orders to leave everything just the way it was until the investigation into the Chapel attack is finished.”

That didn’t bode well, so I decided to question him a bit further. “Tell me about the Attack on the Chapel.”

The guard shifted uneasily as he recalled what he had seen inside. “It was terrible. I’ve fought in many battles, but this...” he paused as he tried to block out the terrible sight he had seen. “The priests and priestesses of Dibella, slaughtered within the very walls of her Chapel. The Altar itself desecrated! No one saw who did it. No one yet living, that is. Although many heard the screams. Speak to the Prophet, in Anvil. He knows what this portends. He says it is only the beginning.”

I pondered briefly about what I should do, but in the end I decided that I would do best not to disrupt the investigation so instead I wished to speak to this Prophet. I could see him standing by a large column of pillars, dressed in a shabby brown robe like myself, and with thin balding hair.

“All fear, the end is nigh…Umaril approaches”, similar shouts of doom spilled from his lips and so I hurried over to him. “Please sir, lay off with these shouts”.

He looked strangely at me before a glimmer appeared in his eyes. “Ah another one who has come to listen to this old madman’s ranting”, had it not been for the fact that his eyes shone with intelligence I would have believed him to be on another plane of existence.

“Say, about that Chapel what in…”, he rudely interrupted my question by clamping his hand over my mouth.
“This is only the beginning. Umaril has returned, as foretold by Pelinal Whitestrake in his dying breath!” his voice was barely above a whisper as he looked around to check for any unwanted persons. “Follow me my child and let me teach you on the Divines”, he said much louder.

I followed him through the streets of Anvil and outside and he did not stop until we were a comfortable distance from the city walls. “Now, will you please tell me who or what is behind this attack?” I asked angrily, ‘if this old codger is wasting my time’, I left that train of thought unfinished as he spoke again.

“Do you understand nothing? The blood speaks! I can read the ancient runes, if you cannot. "As oiobala Umarile, Ehlnada racuvar", in the Ayleid tongue. By the eternal power of Umaril, the mortal gods shall be cast down." Well that was news to me.

“Umaril, but I thought the Ayleids had been extinct for millennia”.

The old man sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, all the while muttering about ‘restless youngsters’ and how ‘history is never remembered’. Fortunately his mutters stopped as he prepared his answer. “Umaril the Unfeathered, the sorceror-king of the Ayleids who ruled over this land for long ages before the rise of Men. He was cast down by Pelinal Whitestrake. But Umaril's spirit survived, and now he has returned to seek vengeance upon the gods. Only a true knight, wielding the holy Relics of the Divine Crusader, has a chance to defeat Umaril.”

Strange I believed myself to be well versed in history but had never heard about Umaril or Pelinal Whitestrake, then again the Empire did like to portray itself as having always existed. Admitting that they had been slaves once would ruin that belief so I wasn’t surprised that such a piece of history was unavailable for most people.

“So who was Pelinal Whitestrake?”

“Does no one remember the old tales? Saint Pelinal, the Divine Crusader of legend -- Alessia's companion when she overthrew the rule of the Ayleids 3,000 years ago. Pelinal, with the aid of the gods, fought the Ayleid sorceror-king Umaril and slew him. But Umaril's spirit survived, and he has now returned!”

“Umm, not to pick a hole in your story, but how in Dagon’s name does a spirit survive as anything else than a ghost or wraith? For I know that neither of those two things could cause the amount of destruction that was unleashed in the Chapel”.

“He was struck down by Pelinal, but by his art Umaril had bound himself to the realm of his mistress, the Daedra Lord Meridia. So he was not slain, but simply cast adrift upon the waters of Oblivion. Now he has returned to seek vengeance upon the gods who helped bring about his downfall so many ages ago”.

‘Ah that explains it, bloody buggering Daedra Princes’, “Then let me guess, you have a plan that will ultimately lead me into great danger and cause me untold amounts of grief, pain and if I by some chance survive I’ll spend the rest of my life wallowing in my guilt”. I guess that some people like the Prophet brings out the worst in me.

The Prophet sighed regretfully at me. “Alas. Umaril cannot be stopped. Not without the aid of the gods. Not without the Crusader's Relics. Without a champion, the gods are powerless to act. But who among us is worthy to wield the Divine Crusader's weaponry?”

I growled, a simple yes would have sufficed but I’ve discovered that the older you get the more you learn to love the sound of your voice, I am no exception. “So what are the Crusader’s Relics?”

“The weapons and armor of Pelinal Whitestrake, Alessia's comrade, granted to him by the Eight Divines. He went alone into the White Gold Tower, challenged the Ayleid sorceror-king Umaril to single combat, and slew him. Alas, Umaril was not truly slain, but only cast beyond the bounds of Nirn. And now he has returned to wreak his vengeance upon the gods, as was prophesied by Pelinal himself with his dying breath. Only a true knight, wielding the holy Relics of the Divine Crusader, has a chance to defeat Umaril. But, alas for Tamriel, the Crusader's Relics have been lost for many an age. Who now can succeed in the quest for the Relics, where the greatest knights of legend all failed?”

I blinked twice, I thought I was skilled in the art of saying one thing with twenty words when two or three would be enough, but it appeared I had met my master in that particular area. “I will quest for the Relics”, somehow even then I knew that my words would one day come back to bite me in my behind, but I had no idea how hard.

The Prophet goggled at me, surprise evident at his face then again I realized how I looked. A young man clad like a destitute priest with what appeared to be a walking stick, though it was my cleverly disguised katana. “You would quest for the holy panoply of Pelinal Whitestrake? The legendary Relics that have been sought by mighty warriors throughout the ages? Are you a worthy knight?”

“I have no claim to fame…not after my past deeds, but someone’s gotta stop Umaril, I might as well try and maybe discover some purpose with my life”.

“Perhaps, perhaps not. What men value is not always what the gods look for in a champion. The gods grant insight to those they deem worthy. Why and how they act is not predictable. What I can tell you is that traditionally, knights who wished to quest for the Relics would walk the Pilgrim's Way. Travel to the Wayshrines of the Nine Divines. Pray to each of the gods in turn, and ask their favour upon your quest. If the gods deem you worthy, you will be granted a sign.
Go forth with the Nine's blessings”.

Well at least he somewhat more positive now, and then he handed me a map that would show me the location of the Wayshrines, the only problem I could see was that the map had to bee the most inaccurate I had ever seen, though If I looked for the more recognizable landmarks I should be able to find the way.

“Then I bid thee good day sir, and may the Divines be with you”, I said as I walked towards Anvil to pick up my horse.


Enjoy you guys, now I'm off to continue writing on Telina.