Neil's Elder Scrolls Saga

Maurivar,

      I'm back in Seyda Neen earlier than planned, so it's no surprise that you still have not arrived. Asking you to make a journey across the continent was not my original intention. If you never reach Morrowind, then I can't blame you, and should envy you.
      With nothing else to guide me, I followed the instructions given to me after being liberated: I went to Balmora to deliver the package, the one sealed with the sign of the Empire. It was important documentation about my heritage and importance, I thought, for whoever this Caius Cosades man might be. Whatever the package contained, it didn't matter. The man was a fraud.
      Rather than walk through the cursed wilderness of this nightmarish island, I chose to book a ride on what passes for fast transportation to the Dunmer: giant insects they call Silt Striders. Whoever first thought to tame these monsters must have been completely mad, and had no sense of smell. This giant mount is taller than all the buildings in Seyda Neen. On the journey, it allowed me to get a good look at my new home province. Most worrying, to both me and the beast's tamer, were the plumes of ash spewing from the volcano in the distance. He told me about news of a plague simply called "The Blight" that seemed to accompany the ash. It drives animals mad and gives them an unnatural hunger. There are enough Imperial outposts here to see what's happening. The Emperor must know about this. I still fear that I have been sent here to die, along with the rest of the local people when the Blight exterminates all life on Vvardenfell. I am starting to hope that you don't receive my letter in Cheydinhal and that you don't come.
      On the ride, I was told that I would enjoy my stay in Balmora, a town that wanted to be a part of the Empire, both economically and culturally. If this is true, I saw nothing of the Empire there. It's true that some of the common guilds are located there, and you'll see the faces of a few orcs and light-skinned men and elves, but mostly what you'll find are the grim dark elves, or Dunmer as they insist on being called.
      My first stop was at the Council Club, where I hoped for a good meal, some information about where I could find Cosades, and some leads on how I could earn some more coin so that I could afford to eat the next day. Walking into the bar, I felt out of place instantly. I would have turned and walked out immediately if the silt strider tamer had not insisted that I would be welcomed here. I thought for a moment that he might be in league with the club, that as an outlander I was easy prey for some Dunmer criminal organization. However, with a heightened alertness, I decided to make an effort to fit in with the local culture, as low as it may be.
      The patrons, all grim-faced, strangely-garbed Dunmer, gave me long looks as I approached the bartender. The club was dim and smelled of pungent Dunmer food. I asked the barman for a plain meal and a beer. By my poor manner of dress, which was all I could afford in Seyda Neen, he didn't need to ask how much I could pay. For that courtesy, I'm thankful. The beer was awful, but the food was acceptable. If I pay extra for imported mainland drinks in the future, I might be able to enjoy the meals here.
      Of Cosades, the patrons knew nothing. They suggested I visit a tavern frequented by outlanders, the South Wall club. At some point in the conversation, I used the term "Dark Elf" one too many times, and a woman wearing odd armor made of chitin became upset. She scolded me, saying I was an ignorant Imperial and that "Dark Elf" is a disrespectful term. She went into a rant at me, saying that the Dunmer church should not allow the Empire into Vvardenfell, that it's a religious reserve that should not accept any Imperial fortifications or settlements. She called me words that I had never heard before, and my fighting instincts took over from there. This time I didn't swing any punches, but instead of apologizing for my ignorance of Dunmer culture, I said something to insult everyone else in the club. I said that I didn't care about Morrowind politics, and that I never planned to be here. I even let them know that I was a prisoner until I was set free on their precious island. At that time, my welcome was worn out, so I left. If you ever need to learn some Dunmer curses, I'll be glad to share them with you. I think I know them all now.
      With nowhere else to go, I sought out the South Wall club, where they told me where I could find Caius Cosades' home. It was a small, miserable rented room, hardly the lodgings I imagined for someone trusted by the authorities. I knocked on the door, and was met by a middle-aged, balding man who invited me inside at the sight of the package I presented for him. Wearing nothing but woolen pants, I could see that he must have once been a strong soldier or warrior. But looking at his surroundings, it was apparent that he had given up on himself, or instead devoted himself to something else. He allowed me to sit at a table, while he sat on the bed and read some documents contained in the package. He gave me a few looks while reading, making me more anxious and irate each time.
      It was while I was waiting for him to finish reading that I noticed the source of his downfall. There was a smoking apparatus under a table in a corner, one that I had been familiar with when I was still living with my mother. It was a skooma pipe, and nearby I spotted his supply of the drug. This man, this important contact I had been given as part of my freedom, was a skooma addict, and I'm supposed to be taking direction from him.
      I had better explain a bit about my mother so that you understand where my outrage came from. For as long as I remember, I've known what a skooma pipe is. As I told you before, my mother worked on a farm in County Skingrad, and we lived in a small shack on that farm, the two of us together most of the day. After she had been working, the day getting dark, we would be alone in that shack, me playing with a wooden play-sword or toy soldiers, while she would take her skooma. I hated what it did to her. I never knew what it would make her do. I am proud to say that she never hurt me, but she suffered from all manner of anger, sorrow, and madness when she was under the influence of that stuff. The only thing I knew to do was to ask her to talk about my father, which usually calmed her down. If I could keep her talking long enough, she would often become so calm that she would fall asleep.
      I tried some of it myself when she was out working, after an episode that lasted all night. After taking her nightly dose of skooma, she became very excited. She went outside at dusk and tore some heads of cabbage out of the field, and covered me from neck to toe with cabbage leaves. She then made me repeat lines of nonsense, standing in the middle of the room, dressed in cabbage. I was scared and just wanted to do whatever she asked me to until the skooma wore off. But the skooma never wore off that night. I feared that its effect had become permanent, and that my mother would never be the caring woman I wished she could always be. The morning came, and the farmer knocked on the door, asking my mother to begin her work. I hid under the bed, covered in sweat and cabbage, while she opened the door, still under the effects of whatever held her mind. I was as angry as a six year-old boy can get, so I tried smoking some of the skooma myself, knowing that she would be furious, both because it was dangerous to a child and because the skooma was precious to her. It was another farm worker who found me lying on the floor, blind and unable to move. I had been moaning, trying to call for help but unable to control my muscles well enough to form words. It was lucky that I continued to breathe, else I would have been found dead. I was taken to the farm house, where I spent a few nights under watch of the farmer's family. After a tearful reunion with my mother, and a few days of peace, life returned to the way it was. My mother's skooma addiction never lessened for as long as I knew her, which would be for only two more years.
      To see skooma in Cosades' home made me wish that I had owned a sword, a dagger, or anything with a sharp edge. I would have made it impossible for Cosades to ever smoke anything again. That skooma pipe could have been sown onto his body so that he could see it and long for a puff for the rest of his miserable life. I knew a man who survived without a nose, with a shattered jaw, and for whom breathing was painful. He was a gladiator who betrayed both his master and his company of fighters. They refused to allow a healer to tend to him, but kept him alive with their own selective healing. So, I knew roughly how to treat Cosades' drug addiction, and replace it with misery. Should I sympathize with him because my mother shared the same affliction? No, this was someone who had been, and likely is still considered to be, a great man, who allowed the skooma trade to flourish instead of stamping it out.
      After finishing his reading, through blurry eyes and with an addled mind, Cosades told me who he is. He is the Emperor's Spymaster in Vvardenfell. Yes, this mass of scum is the leader of the Emperor's secret agents in this religious Dunmer reservation. The Empire has fallen a long way if Cosades is who he claims to be. A joke is being played on either him or me. The Cosades family must have wanted this pathetic man banished, just as I have been banished, and the Empire must have little use for him, and little interest in the affairs of Vvardenfell. This land is worthless and forgotten.
      He said he needed time to decrypt the encoded portions of the package. In the meantime, he suggested I get accustomed to Morrowind culture. As for finding an income, he gave me some coins to purchase a sword, and local clothing. He knew that I had been a professional fighter, so suggested I take advantage of the many opportunities to profit from my famed strength and agility. Whether the package told him about me, or if he knew my name from stories from the arenas, I don't know.
      He then said that he had a job for me, and began telling me about it. By that point, I could no longer hide my disgust for the man. I remember some of what I said to him. I started by picking up the skooma pipe from its hiding place and throwing it at him. He leaped from the bed to dodge and fell to the ground. I stood over him. The sight of the pathetic, half-dressed, dirty man enraged me. I was seeing Cosades as a vision of my own future as a free man, and a reminder of what had afflicted my mother.
      I yelled at him for some time. "You think this is going to work with me? Watching over me here on this dead island and keeping me busy with meaningless errands? You think this is going to keep me quiet? You can't give me freedom and then try to control me like a fool, drugging me with skooma and convincing me that I'm a spy!" And so on. When Cosades tried to get up, I would push him back down. When he tried to scurry away, I would kick him in the ribs or pull his arms out from under him, flipping him onto his back. The supposed Spymaster was defenseless, caught completely off guard by my attack, weakly denying my accusations.
      The Empire's plan had become clear. Cosades is no one and nothing, a madman to whom the Empire is supplying skooma. They send trouble-makers like me to him, whereupon we are introduced to skooma and a life of quiet rapture and misdirection. See how the Empire is run, Maurivar? Even though skooma trade is illegal, the Empire encourages its production and use for political gain and control of its people. Did you know that slavery of the beast folk is still legal in Morrowind? I have seen it while riding on the silt strider. What purpose does slavery serve the Emperor here among the Dunmer? This land is barbaric, no doubt exactly as the Empire desires.
      I left the house still enraged, Cosades still on the ground clutching his sides in pain. I left before doing any serious harm to him, although it took great effort to do so. I had my freedom to look forward to, and I didn't want to start by ending up in a primitive Dunmer jail.
      I am heading to the Imperial settlement of Pelagiad to be among more familiar people, or so I hope. I will also go to the Fort of Ebonheart, the Imperial capital here. Can you believe that after all I've suffered, I am thinking of signing up with the Legion? If the Empire truly forgives my past crimes, then they shall accept me as a soldier. As a soldier for the Emperor, I figure it will be more difficult for Geldall to refuse a letter or meeting with me in the future. If I make my father proud, much could change.

~ Oberyn