Recently, I attempted to reconcile all of my Morrowind characters into a single storyline, and I found that it could actually work. Despite all my numerous play throughs, only a single character had ever finished the main quest. After this rather insightful discovery, I then got to work creating a narrative depicting the events of Morrowind as they happened in my version of the story.
This is the first story I have ever written, just to warn you, but I think that the only way I will ever become good is if I stick with it.

I also want to warn, I will take poetic lisence with the story, but all that is written here is what I made into the lore for my particular playthrough, not anyone else's. I feel that the Morrowind Story was done very well by many other people, but all these stories, while amazing, just all felt the same. I want to create a new narrative, that, while familiar to Morrowind fans, can also be interesting to people who never played the game.

I would love it if people said what they thought of this series, and I hope you enjoy the story of the Nerevarine, starting with a two month prologue, just to test the water for interest.

IIn the waning years of the
Third Era of Tamriel,
a prisoner born on a certain day
to uncertain parents was sent
under guard, without explanation, to Morrowind,
ignorant of the role he was
to play in that nation's history…

Prologue: An Emperor and a Blade
A fire crackled at the far end of the Emperor’s study, casting long, flickering shadows that danced like shades, taunting the aging lord. The silence was only broken by the occasional weak, ineffective cough.

His Majesty Uriel Septim VII shivered in the well embroidered chair, wrapped in blankets, staring silently into the roaring fire. It was on such dark and lonely nights, that the haunting memories of the age of Jagar Tharn seeped up into his waking mind. Faces of nameless monsters, and half remembered dreams stalked through his thoughts.

Uriel coughed again, and wrapped himself even more tightly in his blankets.

He was so entranced by the horrors of his dreams, he didn’t even notice the Grandmaster of the Blades as he came into the study.

“You called me, milord,” asked Jauffre, coming to attention in the dark gloom of the study, waiting for his lord’s command.

Weakly, and with a raspy voice very foreign for the Emperor, Uriel shakily responded, “Jauffre, please come here, I’m afraid I cannot get up to talk.”

Jauffre slowly walked across the study to the Emperor’s side. He knelt at the arm of the chair, next to his lord’s wrinkled ear. Uriel Septim continued to stare into the flickering flames, seemingly unaware that the master of the blades had come.

“Milord?”

Only silence.

“Many fall, but one remains,” whispered the Emperor after a long pause, his eyes still fixed on the mantle.

“Milord?”

The Emperor looked over at Jauffre and smiled, and odd expression for the ruler’s withered face.

“Have you ever heard of the Nerevarine Prophecy Jauffre?”

“No milord, I regret to say I have not. Why do you ask?”

“Because, my friend, I believe it may be the answer to all of our problems...”


Chapter One: A Prisoner

“They have taken you from the Imperial City’s Prison, first by carriage, and now by boat.”

Dust seemed to swirl around him as Quirinus listened to the strange, inhuman voice. Before him was a twisted land of ash and stones and blackened trees. He tried to close his eyes and ignore the horror, but it did no good.

“To the East to Morrowind.”

Lightning flashed across the boiling skies, and it suddenly began to rain.

“But Fear not, for I am watchful.”

It seemed to Quirinus that he was now drowning. Water was everywhere, and it felt like hands were pulling him into the depths. He gasped desperately for air, but his lungs filled with water. Soon, the darkness took him.

“Wake up, we are here. Why are you shaking? Are you okay? Wakeup!”

Quirinus Latartus groggily opened his eyes and searched for the disturbance of his dreams. He eventually focused on a Dark Elf kneeling over him, his hand reaching for him.

“Stand up.”

Quirinus grabbed his hand and the Dark Elf pulled him up off of the galley floor.

“There you go. You were dreaming. What’s your name?”

Confused, Quirinus stared at the Dark Elf. A long scar ran down the right side of his head, cutting right through his empty eye socket, his head completely devoid of hair. It was strange to think that out of all the prisoners onboard the ship, this dark elf was the only one that had shown even an inkling of kindness towards the young, downtrodden Quirinus Latartus.

“Quirinus,” said Latartus, shaking the Dark Elf’s hand, “and what is your name? Oh, and thank you for helping me up.”

The Dark Elf smiled, “Jiub, pleased to make your acquaintance. It’s good to see a Dark Elf on this ship that at least has manners. Not even last night's storm could wake you. I heard them say we've reached Morrowind. I'm sure they'll let us go."

This conversation was cut short when Jiub heard the clunking of a guard’s boots on the wooden floor of the ship.

“Quiet, here comes the guard!”

Sure enough, a large imperial in studded leather calmly struttted around the corner and pointed at Quirinus Latartus.

The guard shouted, “This is where you get off, come with me!”

Quirinus stood still for a second, unwilling to leave the only person he had been able to talk to since he had been spirited out of the Imperial Prison two months ago. He looked over at Jiub, who was slinking towards the far wall.

“You’d better do what they say.”

Quirinus resignedly followed the guard out of the room and into the hold of the ship. Prisoners held behind bars on either side of the small hallway snaking through the cramped hold spat and insulted Quirinus as he walked past. After what seemed like an eternity to Quirinus, the guard stopped in front of the stairs to the top deck.

"Get yourself up on deck, and let's keep this as civil as possible."

The muffled roar of thunder and the roll of a heavy downpoar signalled to Quirinus that the weather was not going to be pleasant outside.

He looked back at the cramped prison ship.

Still, it had to be better than this.
Quirinus crept up the slippery steps to the hatch outside, and opened it. Salty air whipped by his face as Quirinus climbed up on deck, his clothes drenched by the torrential downpour. He saw a redguard shout at him, but the storm overwhelmed the words. Quirinus stood at the hatch, confused and fearful, there had never been a storm as powerful as this in Cyrodiil.
The redguard furiously glared at Quirinus, and stormed over to him, and shouted in his ear, "This is where they want you. Head down to the dock and he'll show you to the Census Office."

Still confused, Quirinus stared at the redguard.

The redguard grabbed Quirinus and pulled him to the gangplank, and threw him down it.

Quirinus tumbled down, and landed, bruised, on the dock.

He looked over and saw an Imperial Officer wrapped in a cloak, trying to stay dry. He walked over to Quirinus, who shakily got off the ground.
The officer pulled a scroll out from under his robe. He quickly skimmed across the scroll, and frowned.

"You finally arrived, but our records don't show from where.”

Quirinus qucikly spat out, “I’m an Imperial from Cyrodiil.”

The guard wrote that down on the scroll, and hasitly said with out emotion, “Great. I'm sure you'll fit right in. Follow me up to the office and they'll finish your release."

Quirinus followed the officer into the building at the end of the rickety docks.

The interior of the building was very spartan, at the far end of the room was an ancient fireplace adorned with the imperial insignia. Apart from that, the only thing of interest was a small desk, with a small breton with glazed eyes sitting behind it. The guard behind him took his arm and set him in front of the breton.

"Ahh yes, we've been expecting you. You'll have to be recorded before you're officially released. There are a few ways we can do this, and the choice is yours,” said the breton in a nasally voice, he evidently, was a census agent.

Then, the agent began to read off from a script, “What is your class? If you do not know, we shall give you one from the aptitude test.”

He passed a sheet of paper across the desk, along with a quill pen. Quirinus neatly ticked knight on the paper, he always fancied himself as some sort of heroic warrior.

"Very good. The letter that preceded you mentioned you were born under a certain sign. And what would that be?"
Quirinus raised an eyebrow, he had never heard of any letter, things were certainly stranger than they seemed. Still, when the agent passed another paper across the desk, he ticked the sign he had been born under, The Lady. He chuckled under his breath, for all the superstition about the signs, he had never been any luckier because of his sign.

"Interesting. Now before I stamp these papers, make sure this information is correct."

He pushed a scroll across the desk that nearly caused Quirinus’s eyes to pop out of their sockets, an imperial pardon with his name on it!

As Quirinus stared at the papers, the agent tapped his fingers on the table.

“Y-yes. P-p-perfectly ac-c-curate,” was all that Quirinus could say in his excitement.

"Good, show your papers to the Captain when you exit to get your release fee."

Quirinus, beaming, bowed to the agent, took the papers, and left the room and entered the hallway to the outside. As he left, he saw a fine meal set out on a table. For a second, he had an idea to snatch the fine silver and sell it, but thought better of it.

He didn’t want to get into trouble so swiftly after getting out of it.

Happily, and with a spring in his step, Quirinus exited the building, and found himself in a courtyard. He looked inside a barrel at the far end of the courtyard, and found a
small ring, smiling, he pocketed it, hoping that he could hawk it for some money.

Chapter 2: A Twist

Quirinus slowly opened the door to the only exit from the courtyard, an adjoining shack to the main census complex.

Inside, he found a well decorated room with a roaring fire, and in the shadows to the left of the fire, sat a rather plump imperial templar in ill-fitting armor.

"Fuwst, let me take your identwification papers,” said the reclining imperial.

Quirinus gladly gave him the papers, noting the man’s strange accent.

“Thank you. Word of your awival only weached me yesterday. I am Sellus Graivus. But my backgwound is not important. I'm hear to welcome you to Mowowind."

Quirinus politly bowed to the templar and smiled, he counldn’t repress how comical he found the soldier’s accent. Still, he was curious about several things, “Captain, do you know anything about a letter, or of why I’m in Morrowind?”

"Yes. You're in Mowowind. I don't know why you're here. Or why you were weleased fwom pwison and shipped here. But your authorization comes diwectly from Emperor Uwiel Septim VII himself. And I don't need to know any more than that. When you leave this office, you are a fwee man. But before you go, I have instwuctions on your duties. Instwuctions from the Emperor. So pay cawful attention."

“The Emperor?! Uriel Septim?!” Gasped Quirinus.

"Yes, Uwiel Septim is still the emperor. According to my instwuctions, he personally authowized your welease from pwison and your delivery here,” The captain placed special emphasis on the next part, shaking his head, and his double chin in the process, “It's all very mystewious. But that's the way the Empire works. Silence. Secwecy. Let not the left hand know what the wight hand is doing."

Quirinus cocked his head to the left, “I heard something about a letter, can I see it?”

The templar rumidged through the papers on his desk, cursing, until he found a tea-stained document, “This package came with the news of your awival. You are to take it to Caius Cosades, in the town of Balmora. Go to the South Wall Cornerclub, and ask for Caius Cosades -- they'll know where to find him. Serve him as you would serve the Emperor himself. I also have a letter for you, and a disbursal to your name.”

Quirinus’s head was spinning, why would the emperor care about him? He was just a simple street urchin until he tried to steal from the imperial palace. A nothing that should have been forgotten in the imperial prison.

Instead, he now found himself in a strange land with a letter from the emperor. The templar handed him the letter, and motioned him to read it, chuckling to himself.
Quirinus read the letter, but was nothing but even more confused after reading it. He didn’t even know where this Balmora was, lest where this strange Caius was.

The templar must have sensed his confusemant, because, after a long sigh, he said, “Balmora is nowth of Seyda Neen. The woad passes Pelagiad village and Fowt Pelagiad, cwosses a deep ravine, passes Fort Moonmoth, then turns west acwoss the Odai river and into Balmora. The South Wall cornerclub is in southeast Balmora, on the east side of the river. For more detailed diwections, talk to Elone the Scout at Arille's Twadehouse here in Seyda Neen. But take my advice. You're new here. Take the silt stwider to Balmora. Fast, cheap, safe. Cwoss the bwidge and head east. Can't miss it."

The templar smiled, and patted Quirinus on the back.

“You’ll be fine kid. Just stay low and nothing will huwt you.”

Quirinus tried to smile back, but he was far too overwhelmed to even try.

The same single question kept on running through his mind, “what importance does the emperor think I have, I’m a nobody.” He stood there, staring at the templar, still confused. The templar began to tap his fingers on his desk, and he began to frown. He motioned Quirinus to leave.

Quirinus swiftly left the office, and, while relieved that the rain had subsided, found himself faced with an oddly imtimidating feeling.

He was alone, unknown in a strange land he had never even dreamed of seeing. The distant rolling cry of a strange creature caught his attention. It seemed to be coming from behind the tower directly before him, so he walked slowly to the left.

He jumped when he saw what it was.

“A silt strider,” he said in awe, he had heard stories of such creatures, how the Dunmer would ride on the back of these massive creatures from city to city, but he never thought they actually looked like that. Like a giant flea!

Quirinus was so awestruck, he didn’t notice the wood elf standing beside him.

“Greetings, Imperial!” He said in a squeaky voice.

Chapter 3: A Wizard and a Problem

Maximillian laid back in his chair, and placed his feet on his well built, but very messy, desk. He took a deep breath, and exhaled even more deeply. He got up and skulked over to the main window of the office. Once there, he looked down from his tower to the newly established town of Uvirith’s Grave surrounding his tower of Tel Uvirith. Far below the tower the town’s citizens moved around in their own lives, doing their own activities, all of which had one purpose: the support of Maximillian’s tower, the only safe refuge in the Molag Amur region for any traveler.

From the endless lava rivers, to the strange, contorted, lifeless landscape of the decimated region, only Maximillian’s tower stood firm. It is ironic therefore to think that he a Master, a very high rank in the Great House, had been sent here. It all had to do with politics. Maximillian was not from Morrowind; he was instead from the distant realm of the Summerest Isles, far off on the other side of the continent.

The xenophobic Telvanni almost turned down his offer to join the house, and it was only due to choice assassinations that he had gotten to where he was today. Therefore he was incredibly worried about where he stood, he never knew when a fellow Master may try to take him out.

Truly, there had already been several attempts. This could be seen when you looked at the ragged condition of the armor of any of the Tower’s guards, or when you looked at Maximillian’s left eye, which had been slit during the last attack.

Adairan, Maximillian’s apprentice, slowly opened the door to his master’s office, quickly casting a silence spell when he heard it creaking. He was terrified of his master, not only because of his ruthless history, but also because he was a high elf, and therefore nearly eight feet tall, dwarfing his rather stocky frame.

Suddenly, to his horror, Adairan coughed due to his developing asthma.

Maximillian turned around to face this intruder to his home, and he smiled as he saw his apprentice’s terrified face as it was twisted into a comical grimace of anxiety.

From his face, blackened not only by the fact that he was a dark elf, but also due to the endless ash-storms that raced throughout this horrid place, to his scrawny body wrapped up in a robe several sizes too large, Adairan seemed to be a perfect example of the Telvanni ideal. While he might be a weakling, too weak to fight in the Warrior’s House Redoran, so impersonal that he could never serve in the commercial Great House Hlaalu, and too questioning to serve in the Imperial Temple, he fit right into the Telvanni where the weak, but intelligent, ruled even the strongest warrior.

Adairan, it seemed though, had never really left his mother before coming to Tel Uvirith.

“What is it?” Groachily asked the sorcerer as he turned his attention back towards the window.

“Well, Master, your representative at the Telvanni Council sent you a message, it seems that there is another problem with Mistress Therana,” Adairan ’s voice shifted to a quieter tone as he ran to his master’s side, “she has announced that she is seceding from the Telvanni due to your recent promotion to Master."

Maximillian's face turned a bright red, and his eyes seemed to seer into Adairan's very soul.

Shakily, and a bit jokingly, Adairan asked, "Please don't do anything unnatural to me, you wouldn't want to have to explain it to my mother, would you?”

Maximillian took another deep breath, although he knew that Therena was nothing if not insane, he could not afford to ignore this threat for the same reason, he could never predict her. Living for over a thousand years could do that to a person though, and Maximillian had to give her credit, she had kept her position as Telvanni Master for longer than any other person in history.

“Don’t worry, my apprentice, just go back downstairs and clean out the Calcinator and Retort in the Alchemy Lab, I may need to use them later in the day.”
Adairan ran out the door and levitated down the central column to the main hall.

Still, this was too much for him to handle at the moment. The head of the tower guard was in prison due to his frequent inebriation caused by his recent divorce and the cook had just been executed for poisoning his food as another master bribed her.

He turned around, and walked towards the central column, and he moved down through it smoothly with his levitation spell, until he reached the very bottom, or what seemed like it. Once there, he pushed on a jutting piece of fungus growing from the rest of the fungal tower, and suddenly the bottom dropped out, revealing another level of the tower.

He slowly levitated down, and then he closed the entrance behind him. Before him was a door, he entered it.
He was now in a massive lab filled with alchemy supplies, soul gems filled to the brim with all the ingredients for enchanting, and in the very center, a large stagnant pool of what appeared to be water.

It was this pool that he approached, and when he reached it, he knelt down at it, and he whispered something beneath his breath.
The poor suddenly became clear, revealing the face of Master Aryon.

"It's good to see you again, my old friend. It appears we have an issue, Therana has made some.. worrying threats," said Maximillian.
Aryon frowned, and shook his head.

"It seems that we get more and more threats every day."

Aryon sighed, "I fear for our very survival if we can't fix this situation quickly."

Hey, how you doing? I would like you to congratulate you on your first story ever! It's rough, raw, and needs some work, but first cheers to you for actually writing it :celebration:

With that in mind let's move on to your story, the first problem is apparent at a glance and usually deters most people from reading it. It's the huge wall of text, now it may seem funny that spacing would be such an issue, but it's important that you properly space the story. With all the words smashed together, especially on a computer screen, it's a strain to the eyes. So put spaces between paragraphs and dialogue, like so:

The man brought his foot down on the turtle with all his might,

"What the hell?" Joe said.

His foot had slipped off it as if it was coated in butter.

See? Spacing helps us read it better. So do that for all your chapters and all the chapters you have yet to write.

The next major piece of advice I have to give is add more detail. Right now it seems like there is more dialogue than description and unless your writing a script, this is never good. For example here is something you could expand upon:



Stuff I added is in bold, I probably went over the top, but I was just showing an example how detail is everything. I have never played Morrowind, your really going to have to sell it to me, I am going to need to be able to picture the story your trying to tell and for that I need description.

So far: Spacing and Detail.

The Two Key Points, focus on those. Some other minor things

1.) The accent with the guard in chapter two was over the top, don't make it illegible. Just add a few words here and there to show his accent, I don't every word he says to be nearly unreadable.

2.) It's formatted weird. Some lines are much longer than others, I take it this is because of the copying and pasting from some kind of writing program(like Word). Just take the extra time to format it right

Other than that my friend, just keep up the good work. I never played Morrowind, I don't the plot or what happens in the end, so this will be like an adventure for me, so I do hope you continue.

Good Luck.

Chapter 4: Seyda Neen

“Greetings Cyrodiil!!” The Wood Elf repeated, after not receiving a response from Quirinus for nearly five minutes, "um, are, are you the one that boat dropped off? Odd to see a boat arrive at that time of the day. Hope the Imperials treated you okay.”

The Wood Elf innocently smiled, “I swear they took my ring."

Quirinus looked over at the small creature next to him, and smiled back. Somehow, he felt reassured that the people of Morrowind were so nice, and courteous when talking to recent immigrants.

“What ring are you talking about sir,” kindly and sincerely asked Quirinus, genuinely wanting to help. He knew how corrupt and cruel imperial officers could be.

The Wood Elf started to pace around, twirling his hands around in circles in front of him, "I swear one of the Guards has it. I had it last week before their weekly ‘Let's shake down Fargoth’ ritual. An engraved healing ring, family heirloom of mine. You haven't seen it have you?"

Quirinus immediatly thought back to the ring he had found in the census courtyard, and wondered if he had found this kind man’s ring. He reached into his pocket, and pulled out the small ring, showing it to Fargoth.

“Actually,” said Quirinus, “I think I found your ring in the courtyard of the census office, it was at the bottom of a barrel. Please, take it, it’s yours afterall.”

Fargoth smiled, and swiftly grabbed the ring from Quirinus’ rough, calloused hand.

"You found it!” He shouted with glee, “Amazing! Thank you, thank you! You are now my favorite friend. I'll be sure to tell the others, especially my friend Arrille who runs the tradehouse here. Go see him, he'll be happy to see you now!"

Fargoth bolted around a corner and disappeared.

“Ah, wow, it always feel good to help another living being,” happily said Quirinus as he watched Fargoth run away.

“Now,” he thought, “I should go talk to this Arrille person, he sounds very nice.”

The layout of the town was obvious, and the tradehouse was not too hard to find, it was at least a story taller than any other building in the town of about eleven or twelve structures. The tradehouse had a general look of being very new to Quirinus, its thatch roof was still a golden yellow, and not a single chip of plaster had yet fallen from its outer wall. The imperial noted this, and guessed that Seyda Neen was not a very old town.

He had lived his entire life in the ancient cites of Cyrodiil, with their unbreakable castles and beautiful cathedrals. There was no such thing as a new city there, or in fact, anything new at all. The province had, it seemed, long ago developed a definite air of decay, and it was rampant in the ever emptying avenues of the Empire’s great heartland.
Seeing this young town on the edge of the wilderness was at once, both strange, and refreshing to him. It gave him hope that he may be able to live in Morrowind afterall, and that maybe, his life had finally taken a turn for the better.

With this new found optimism, Quirinus entered the tradehouse, and the first thing he saw was an Altmer standing behind the counter, counting septims, and sorting them into stacks. Upon hearing the door open, the Altmer looked up, and glared at him with a deep, penetrating glare that seemed to penetrate deep into his soul.

“Hello, you m-must be Arrille. I-I-I’m glad to meet you, I heard you’re a friend of Fargoth’s,” sheepishly said Quirinus, faltering under the glare of the High Elf.

The Altmer heartily laughed, and cried out, “Hey, it looks like Fargoth got another svcker!”

This was greeted by rowdy laughter and cheers from upstairs, along with the clinking of glasses. Apparently there was a bar upstairs.

“Wa-what? What do you mean?” Asked Quirinus, extremely confused.

“Ah, it’s alright kid, everyone has fallen for Fargoth at some point or another, he’s just the resident con man.” Arrille walked over to Quirinus and patted him on the shoulder. “So, what did he say he had lost this time?”

“H-he said that the census officers had taken his ring. It was engraved, and I think it was enchanted. Oh god, how could I trust him?”

Quirinus began to hyperventilate, he couldn’t believe that he had already been taken advantage of. He had seemed so nice, so friendly, and Quirinus was so lonely, so scared, what was he to do?

“Look kid, Morrowind is not a good place, if you aren’t careful, it will knock you out, steal all your clothes, armor, weapons, and money, and leave you floating in a river with a knife in your back. You got off easy this time, just be careful.”

He had a sympathetic expression on his face when looking at the young imperial, “look, not everyone is bad. Don’t worry. Now, why are you here?”

“Well, I wanted to buy some supplies before I set out for Balmora. I mean, I don’t want to stick out, or anything.”

“Oh, then welcome to Arrille's Tradehouse. I'm Arrille, publican and proprietor. Don't take what doesn't belong to you. You're a new face here. If you want to buy from me, you have to barter. If you want a little advice -- free to new customers -- just ask. Would you like to hear about our most popular potions? Our most popular scrolls?"

It was obvious to Quirinus that this was a rehearsed speech, but it did cheer him up to hear it, and he found it rather funny.

“I would like to get some armor, and a sword, but I only have,” Quirinus searched into his coin purse, “seventy septims. Do you know what I could get for that?”

Arrille sneered, “You can get the door behind you!”

As Quirinus left the tradehouse with a lowered head, he pondered what had just happened, back home, seventy septims could have fed him for several weeks!

After leaving the building, he stared at the forest surrounding the settlement, and thought about just roughing it to Balmora, but he thought better of it. Afterall, he didn’t even know where it was.

So, dejectedly, he made his way to the silt strider.