The Elder Scrolls

The Forgotten Nerevarine – Heroes Dementia

By Falcaril of Teleri, 29th Rain's Hand, 4E207

It was a wonderful day amidst the walls of Dementia, and the whole of New-Sheoth gleamed; the Flame of Agnon enlightened it with emerald beams. The sun had already lifted from her peaceful slumber beneath the earth, patiently gazing from the sky. A fragrance of cold stone and curdled blood hastily traveled through the air, conjuring a smile upon my face. The sleeping finally came to an end, and I stood up from my bed, clothing me to the sweet melody of satisfied yawning. It was around half past two in the afternoon, and I decided to get something to eat.

Thus, I went out of my modest residence and quickly proceeded to the “Ghastly Stranger's Inn”, a tavern where my dear friend Beholds-The-Stars lives and works. Normally, there were not many customers around at this time; mostly there were just him and me, chatting about the latest news and discussing strange rumors we heard before. But this day was different. Right as I entered, my eyes focussed on a person, that was sitting at the counter while staring holes in the air. I have never seen that person around here before … curiosity began hastily occupying my mind as I sat down next to him.

He wore an armor made from bones, with many scratches and notches all across the cuirass. A blue belt with a blue skirt was tied around his pelvis, diguising a big sword tied next to his legs. He was a Dunmer, with ashen skin and eyes like the inside of a volcano. But there was no aggression in his eyes; no anger that most other dunmer bear inside their hearts and eyes. In his eyes, there was only pain, and sadness. A broken man in broken armor …

I tapped him on the shoulder and asked him who he may be. He then stared directly at me, analysing my exteriour with his heavy eyes. After some minutes, he had finished staring and began to speak with a deep unsettling voice. “Who I am you wish to know? I have forgotten my name … I merely remember my title. Many years and an era ago they called me the Nerevarine. I am the incarnation of Indoril Nerevar, and brought justice to Morrowind by slaying Dagoth Ur, the false dreamer, and with him the treacherous Tribunal. Their names are now nothing more but shreds of legend and ecclesial liturgy. Some are saints now. I struck down Dagoth Ur, who tainted Vvardenfell with blight and corprus, deadly dreams … exterminated his source of power by cutting through the heart of Lorkhan. I killed Almalexia, Mother of Morrowind, driven mad by the decrease of her power, struck my blade through her chest … I ended the life of a demi-godess. But nevertheless, nobody remembers me.”

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He then laid his sword upon the counter, right before me, and pointed at some small red dots at the blades tip. “With this weapon I eradicated so many enemies … you see this blood? It will never wash off; the signature of my mightiest foes. But still, even with this proof, people won't remember me. They are mere calling me a liar, a deceiver …”

As he uttered this, he seemed to age with every word he said. His skin grew pale, and invisible knifes carved deep wrinkles all around his face. I kept silent, for I did not know how to answer. Luckily, he just continued talking. “Time has erased my face from the people's memory. But not only the memories of commoners … even the memories of my closer friends. Divayth Fyr threatened me with magic as I began talking to him … it was, of course, 200 years after our last meeting, but are 200 years not very less for an immortal wizard? He cured my Corprus, thus granting me immortality … but he did not remember me. I then sneaked into his corprusarium, a place where victims of Corprus could stay until Fyr had discovered a cure. There was only one inhabitant left; Yagrum Bagarn, the last of the Dwemer, contemplating his existence in a cave. After the defeat of Dagoth Ur and Almalexia, I regularily visited him, showing him artifacts from dwemer ruins and even the tools of Kagrenac. But he also did not believe me; he called me an impostor, and sent out some mechanoid spiders that threw me out of his home, and out of Tel Fyr, into the cold cold sea …”

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His story made me think, and after remembering the tale of the Nerevarine, as my grandmother used to tell, I asked him where he had been for so long. My grandmother said, that from one day to another, he just disappeared, leaving mere clues for his destination, and was never seen again. He then took a huge sip out of his cup, and chained my sight to his glowing eyes. “I had to travel beyond Tamriel. I had visions of a strange land with foreign creatures, calling for my presence. After reseaching for some time, I found out that I kept dreaming about Akavir, the mysterious continent to the east of Tamriel. My dreams were filled with vistas of the past, and visions of the future, while always calling for me to get there. I saw Reman Cyrodiil battling dozens of Tsaeci, the snake people of Akavir, and the dying legions of Uriel V. I saw events that I myself experienced years later, and things that still have to come. This dreams dragged me to Akavir; I had no other choice but to follow them.”

Even more curious, I asked further: “What happened in Akavir? What have you done there? Must have been strange things, if you are now, 200 years later, sitting in a shady bar in New-Sheoth, changing words with an old madman and lamenting about your reputation.” He then stared angry at me … but that anger faded away faster than a breeze, and made place for even more resignation. “I can not talk about Akavir. You would not understand it and are not worthy of what I have experienced. And, with pure honesty, you do not have the time to hear everything about it.”, he said calm, yet firmly, “But the more I think about it, I do not think that I ever truly understood it. I always feel like carrying a load that was burdened onto me there. Akavir changed me … and because I am not the Nerevarine as I was earlier, people call me a deceiver. Because for them, my past and my current self are two different persons … and the older I get, the more I think that this might be true”

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“But what are you doing here then?”, I asked him while silmultaneously ordering a drink from Beholds-The-Stars. "This place is for madmen, not for old heroes … or have you become one?” He finished his drink, stood up and saw me in the eyes: “Because the Shivering Isles are my last resort. My home is demolished, Morrowind is in ruins. Vvardenfell lies dead under layers of ash. Vivec-City is nothing more than a boiling lake, where you can still feel the pain of the disastrous day, as the ministry of truth fell down onto the temple, and sealed the doom of Vvardenfell and Morrowind. Nobody remembers me. I am nothing but a shred of long past times, without identity, without home. Pain and numbing is now my life … and where to contemplate oneself better than amidst the blessed demented of Sheogorath? I went through the door in Nibenay bay, after visiting a long forgotten grave … and will probably never return. Good day. May we never meet again”

And thus, he straightly walked out of the inn, leaving me confused and with a ton of questions in my mind. Beholds-The-Stars did not really care, he just called him a regular maniac and that I should not believe him. Maybe he is right … or we are already too lunatic to really perceive the truth.


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