This is a fanfic that I started a while back, but never got around to posting anywhere. I stumbled upon it, edited it, and decided to start working on it again. The premise is explained in the prologue. I hope y'all like it and please post any comments and criticism!

Prologue

In the time before the Oblivion Crisis, the province of Morrowind was thrown into chaos with the resurgence of Great House Dagoth. Amidst the turmoil, a hero, called the Nerevarine, surfaced and slew the leader of House Dagoth along with bringing about the end of the control of the three god kings of Morrowind. In doing so, only the lord of Vvardenfell, Vivec was left alive. Morrowind was poised to move forward to a golden age when the Nerevarine suddenly departed on an expedition to the continent of Akavir, where he was never heard from again. Morrowind held together for years after his disappearance, but then the remaining god king disappeared and without his power the enormous floating rock containing the Ministry of Truth crashed into the city of Vivec, regardless of attempts by the Dunmer to stop it. This destroyed the city and set off the active volcano in the center of Vvardenfell, causing the Red Year in which almost all of Morrowind was ruined by ash and lava. The Argonians of the Black Marsh took advantage of the weakness of the proud Dunmer and successfully invaded Morrowind, supposedly at the suggestion of the Thalmor. This was the end of Dunmer control of their homeland. Some Dunmer fled to other provinces, while the majority of the remaining Dunmer population fled to the island of Solstheim.

This is the tale of such a Dunmer named, Seran Erythal. A skilled blacksmith and one of the few survivors of the destruction of Vivec, he lived on the outer fringes of the city and by chance managed to avoid being obliterated when the ministry fell. His wife and two sons, however, were not so lucky. Seran is not a hero. He is not selfless. He does not care for the preservation of other’s lives. He has no noble intentions. He does not seek to better the world. He is merely a bitter refugee who carries only two things, one being his blame of the Thalmor and Argonians for the loss of his family, his country, and his way of life, the other being his unexplainable need for self-preservation, even without anything to live for. However, he is also an instrument of fate, and, therefore, a dangerous and powerful mortal who is doomed to face cruel trials and decisions which will change the lives of many, for better or for worse.

Chapter One

The blinding sun shining through the increasingly large cracks in his roof fell across Seran’s face causing him to awake and rise from his bed roll. He quickly reached for the comfort of his sword and studied the surroundings of his shack to ascertain that he was truly alone and then rose from his bed. He dressed in the few warm clothes he had, trimmed the well-kept stubble on his face, and tied back his long silver hair into a ponytail. Then, silently sitting down in the lone chair in his hovel, he ate his small breakfast of some dried wolf meat and a few herbs. Seran strapped his sword to his waist, picked up the overweight chest containing most of what he needed for his work, and walked out of his shack, being careful to not break his pathetic excuse for a door off of its hinges, and headed to his makeshift forge. A day of sorrows and remembrance had begun quietly.

Seran’s foot sank several inches into the ground as he took his first step onto the fresh snow that had fallen the night before. He slowly began his long trudge up the hill from his somewhat secluded hut to the rest of the village. Slightly closer to the main part of the village than his hut was, Seran unsympathetically observed that the newest arrivals to the village were beginning to stir as well. They had nothing, but those few tents some philanthropic person had set up for those who arrived and had not yet had time to build a more sturdy shelter. Eventually, they would build a hut and find a way to make a product or present a service. Then they, unlike him, would slowly forget whatever had driven them from their home and become like the rest of the village’s residents, survivors. Turning his mind from these people, Seran continued his journey up the hill toward the twenty or so huts that housed the people who had truly begun to make a life in this nameless village.

Seran entered the first row of huts circling the rather large crest of the hill and headed towards the center where the few industrious people who attempted to conduct business had set up shop, including the forge he had built. Arriving at his forge, Seran cleared as much snow as he could so it would not bother his work. He then unlocked the chest he had lugged from his shack and lit his forge. Slowly he warmed it until he was satisfied and then set to work creating the items the villagers had requested.

First, was a silver long sword, which the seamstress, Theryl, had requested, being made in exchange, not for gold which had become useless in this place, but for a fine wolf skin coat. Seran picked up his hammer and he consciously felt the comforting weight of it in his hand, as if it was verifying that it belonged there and was ready for the work he was about to begin. Seran raised the hammer above his head and struck downward, doing what he had done for as long as he could remember.

He worked for a couple of hours and, eventually, Seran noticed a presence watching him from behind. He put the finishing touches on the sword, and laid it in the snow to let it cool. Then, turning around, he saw who it was that had observed his work and fought to hold back a grimace. The Dunmer facing him was named Thurien. A large, black haired, bear of a man, Seran considered him to be sly, greedy, and his bubbly personality made him insufferable. However, Thurien was also intelligent and an incredible businessman. He was easily the most well off person in the village and constantly increased his belongings, friends, and power.

“Good morning Seran!” Thurien crowed, “It is truly invigorating to see one such as you put so much time and effort into the work he obviously loves!”

“Thurien, I believe I have told you before, I am here to work, not to idly chat with everyone in this damn village,” Seran growled, “Now, either make an offer or leave. I have no desire for you to scare off any potential customers.”

“In as good of a mood as always, aren’t we Seran?” Thurien laughed, “I guess I have no choice, but to cut straight to the chase. While I am not here to barter, or scare away any potential customers, I do have a business proposition. I know you’ve refused me the last few times I’ve approached you, but at least hear me out.”

Against his better notion, Seran nodded and motioned for Thurien to continue. He immediately leapt into his presentation.

“Look around you, Seran! Our village is positioned on top of a hill, on a sort of peninsula. Look to the south, across the river, and you can just barely make out Thormoor’s watch. To the east are the Moesring Mountains. To the north and west is the sea. chose this place to establish this village, because it was easily defensible. Both you and I know that, we were among the founders. However, we are steadily growing and now we have the potential to use our location to prosper. One of the recent arrivals is a master ship builder who retreated here when he fell on hard times.

I have begun recruiting other villagers who are struggling to find work to assist him in building ships and docks just to the west of here on the coast. I plan to build several ships that can go forth on trading voyages. We could bring back supplies that are not readily available here, such as decent food, alcohol besides the mead those Nords in Thirsk brew, and other amenities we’ve done without. We have the man power for this to succeed, but we don’t have a skilled black smith who can create tools, parts for the ships, and eventually weapons for future crew members to defend themselves with. That’s where you come in. Having an incredibly talented black smith, such as you, working with us would be invaluable. We need your help and I personally guarantee that not only will you gain much, but the lives of all the villagers in general will improve. What do you say? Will you aid us?”

Seran grimly smiled and shook his head in exasperation “What you have essentially asked me to do is spend at least a couple of years working on a project that could go wrong in so many ways in this harsh environment. What would happen if a storm kicks up and these ships are lost at sea? What if we have a particularly strong storm while they are being built and insurmountable damage is done to them? This is hardly a forgiving place. I would not be able to take on as many personal projects and would end up losing much when your project fails. I, personally, cannot risk that. As for helping the others in this village, I owe nothing to them and they owe nothing to me. I do not care what happens to them, just as they do not care what happens to me. In short, I must reject your offer.”

Thurien frowned and quietly said as he turned around and walked away from the forge, “Very well, Seran, I shall not bother you with this again. Please, though, think on it some more, if not for yourself, for others. I know that eleven years ago today, your world was destroyed, and you lost everything you cared for. It must be difficult to allow yourself to care about anything now, for fear of losing it again, but the people in this village deserve better than what they have. Please, at least consider caring enough about them to help them stop living in this slum. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

Seran silently gazed at Thurien’s shrinking back. Then he looked down and pumped the bellows of his forge. He grabbed his hammer and without making a single sound, raised it above his head and, once again, swung it downward, the echo of the clanging of his hammer striking the anvil travelling across the hillside.