Dagoth Gothren

Dagoth Gothren could recall the air and cold water on his feet from the river that ran through his hometown of Balamora. This was where the young dunmer was nurtured, amongst the sprawling tan stone buildings and judgemental predatory faces of Hlaalu councilors. But Dagoth Gothren wasn’t the son of any self-important house Hlaalu politician. He didn’t even find his allegiance with its members.

Gothren’s father was a guardsman, and his mother a janitor for a wealthy merchant; who found more money in the pleasure of wealthy men’s chambers. But this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Life should have been easier, and the same men who employed Gothren’s parents should have bowed at their feet. Or at least that was what Gothern’s nervous, nagging mother would tell him as she held the poor boy against her bosom.

“Yes, are family was noble once my Dagoth. There was a long line of Telvanni wizards; strong, smart, and pure people; who lived a life of study and luxury in natural towers. Ah yes it were— but not now. Not since are last great ancestor, the great Archmagister Gothren was killed. A strong, proud, and cautious man; he would of never let the dirty outsiders get their hands on Morrowind’s land. But some adventurer upstart killed him, and with his death, by Telvanni rules; the adventurer got all his power.”

Dagoth Gothren would listen to this tale again and again. He’d always stare up at the portrait of the man mother spoke with such pride about. The elegancy of the painting starkly contrasted with the dirt and grime of their meager stone hut. How could the man who lost everything his family had to be proud of be strong, smart— or cautious? These were the thoughts that crossed Dagoth’s mind and consumed him with anger.

But the boy preserved, enduring the hardship of feeling entitled but lacking all entitlements. He decided early that he would make his own way, by hook or crook. The repressed personality of his ancestors seemed to awaken in him. He walked with his back straight and head arched up in the air, looking down on everything. He taught himself to read through the few books his family kept, and stole the volumes he wanted.

But such pride and arrogance in a boy who was supposed to only have shame and humility made Dagoth the target of abuse. The children of the Hlaalu councilors would throw stones at striding wannabe lord. They’d scream at him, “[censored]’s son! [censored]’s son! Begging poor boy! Worthless!” Dagoth would walk away, repressing his rage and tears. He would confide his sorrow in his mother’s arms. “Precious dear! My little Dagoth! Demi-god! Do not cry, you will have their heads one day. I promise you that!” His mother would smile. Dagoth would smile too, because he was finding himself to be one for his own sorrow, but not the sorrow of others. His happiness was to be first before everyone’s.

That’s why one day he decided to take one of the children’s heads. He saw one of his tormentors alone, poking at fish and other little creatures in a pond. Dagoth stood on the ridge above him, and picked up the largest stone he could find. With all his might, the young self-proclaimed lord threw stone down onto the boy’s head. Dagoth grinned at the blood and cracking of boy’s skull. It was just the type of revenge he was looking for, one big stone for all the little stones that had been thrown at him. Dagoth took an axe and chopped away at the boy’s neck, taking the head and burying it in a special hiding place.

House Hlaalu went into an uproar, the important father of the victim never recovered from his loss. The killer was never found. But Dagoth knew that the children understood who it was in their hearts. For from then on, whenever they walked by him, he would contumaciously stare at them; only to laugh at the fear on their faces.

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Author's notes;

Yeah, this is supposed to be the beginning of the backstory for my Skyrim character. I didn't know that Morrowind was basically completely messed up until now. I'll go back later and transplant Dagoth's childhood to another province, like maybe Cyrodill. But it will be the same beginning different place either way.