Preface
Disclaimer: I do not own The Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind.
In fact, I never will. Morrowind owns me. It is my home, my heart, my soul.
I have been writing about Morrowind since the fourth grade, when I was ten years old. I loved Morrowind. I never thought of it as fan fiction then, but fan fiction it was. I remember one particular line: "The lukewarm rain spattered onto the roofs of Balmora."
I'm sorry, but I haven't gotten very far in Morrowind's main quest. In fact, I've yet to do the second quest, getting the Dwemer Artifact for Hasphat Antibolis, in the Main Quest. Doing tasks never appealed to me; instead, the gentle, carefree, and exploratory tone of the third game in the beautiful Elder Scrolls series was what drew me in. In my stories, you may see some actual NPCs, especially in the Balmora-Pelagiad-Seyda Neen region. As I progress in Morrowind, so will the heroes of this story. However, many of the characters will be fictional, so I hope you will forgive me. Also, this will mainly include Vvardenfell and Bloodmoon, as I have Tribunal but it doesn't work. (I don't want to uninstall it and reinstall it, because it'll ruin my data D:.)
I have loved Morrowind from the first day I played it. I remember that, at first, I couldn't even figure out how to leave the ship! I didn't understand how to use the hatch. Ahh, the memories. I remember giving Fargoth his ring...Going by Silt Strider to Balmora, and seeing the gray skies and the rain. The mood of Morrowind is truly unique and beautiful: so fragile, like porcelain, but astounding and awe-inspiring at the same time. Although I have had my moments of frustration, The Elder Scrolls III is my home.
Like many other Elder Scrolls fans, I can't wait until the Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim comes out! I have about a year to prepare for it...
Until then, Morrowind holds my heart.
In the waning years of the third era of Tamriel, a prisioner, born on a certain day to uncertain parents, was sent under guard without explanation, ignorant of the role he was to play in that nation's history...
A fair Nordic lady, donned in robes, had been wandering around Balmora. Arbankle had seen her several times in the last few days...She seemed to be a member of the Temple, and was looking for someone to take her on a pilgrimage. The fool.
"Hello," she said to Nine Toes, who was out on some business.
"The prey approaches," he responded, with an Argonian grin.
She smiled. "Do you want to come with me-"
"Not with you, no." Well, he was blunt, thought Arbankle.
The Nord tried a different approach.
"You seem very strong and adventurous-"
"I should slap you," replied Nine Toes, not suspectible to flattery. Arbankle could not help but smother a chuckle. Nine Toes strided off.
"Hello, sir," Arbankle looked up, startled. Was she talking to him? N'wah! he thought, angry. Why now, of all times? He did not need some cumbersome lady asking him to take her places. Especially not now, now that he was finally free.
"Could you please take me to the Fields of Kummu?" she asked, a look of real desperation on her face. "Please." She was close to breaking. "I've asked everyone else in Balmora, but no one else wants to help me. Please; I'm a member of the Temple!"
Although Arbankle was not convinced, he gave in. The guidelines given him were not too strict...They said that anyone would do. She seemed to be one of the few who didn't look down on him as an outlander, but, then again, she was one herself. It didn't take a genius to see that.
"Very well, then." He shrugged. "But I may have to do some errands. And don't expect me to provide everything."
She looked relieved, and a little surprised. "Really? When will we leave? If you please, I mean, sir. I don't want to be rude, but could we go now? I have my stuff with me, so, I mean, it would be convenient." She blushed. "Well, uh, if you need to get anything, then, I mean, you should—uh, if you'd like—well, I mean, I'm really glad you can help me."
Arbankle sighed inside. She was such a s'wit, but that meant that she would follow him on his mission.
"No, it's fine. I differ from those here. We can leave any time. You're the one who knows about these things." Make them feel like they're in charge, make them feel important, build up trust, build up friendship, make them loyal, and become their master.
Skiya Strenskaiji looked curiously at the Dark Elf stranger. He was so dark and mysterious, but charming, too. She didn't understand why he'd volunteered to go with her, but it seemed that they shared something in common.
Outlander. How she hated that name. Skiya and her siblings had come all the way from Skyrim to visit the land of the Dark Elves. Skiya was interested in the Temple, especially the Daedra and the Aedra, while Lieja and Tarnin wanted to see Solstheim. But the actual place was so different from what the books had said, and she didn't know what to think of the sudden cutoff of the letters from Tarnin and Lieja. Probably too drunk from the mead to remember her. Why was she so hated in Vvardenfell?
Only this elf accepted her. But he was Dunmer, a native of Morrowind! Why? What had he said? "I differ from those here." It was unusual phrasing, but it was so sweet…Which reminded her…
"Excuse me, sir, but what's your name?"
He smiled at her. "My name is Arbankle. What's yours?"
"Skiya Strenskaiji."
"That's a lovely name." He sounded so sincere… "A pretty lady deserves a pretty name. I could tell just by looking at you."
Skiya blushed. The way he spoke was as if his words were art, as if speech were a craft. If anyone could take her to the Fields of Kummu, then it would be this Dunmer. Maybe after doing the pilgrimage, the others would finally accept her. If they didn't, well, maybe she could live at one of the pilgrimage stops. Maybe spending all their money to travel to a distant and mysterious land wasn't such a bad idea, after all.
They'd already traveled some way from Balmora. Skiya could feel the packed trail underneath her feet, and wondered how much longer she would have to go on. Arbankle glanced at a sign, and they turned on the crossroads. They passed a fort, and hiked through a narrow passageway, through which the ground became patchy and much greyer. Then, everything was brown again. Skiya heard thumping and squealing, when, suddenly, a huge, monstrous beast loomed in front of her!
Arbankle stepped forward swiftly, making fast stabs to slice apart the thin shell of the scrib. It cast a spell at him, trying to paralyze him, but he resisted the magic and the green sparks merely swirled around him, harmless. The blade snickered through, again and again, blood spraying out and seemingly discoloring the sky. Thick purple jelly hung between the cuts as the scrib's body broke into pieces, the head flying off in one direction, and the other end in another.
Skiya stared at Arbankle, eyes wide. When she looked back at the corpse, it had suddenly disappeared, even the blood gone.
"What...?"
Arbankle shrugged. "I disposed of it."
Arbankle looked towards the horizon. It was growing dark, but they'd almost reached Pelagiad. Fog had fallen, obscuring the brown landscape. He had tried to discourage Skiya from going into the Ancestral Tomb they had passed, but he wasn't sure if he'd succeeded. She glanced behind her shoulder occasionally as they walked. He heard more footsteps, however. In front of them, shadowy figure, also seeming to head towards Pelagiad, was on the road, coming towards their direction. From his build, he seemed to be a dark elf, but Arbankle couldn't make out his features at this distance. Oh, well. Might as well get some opinion as to when the fog would lift.
"Hey! Excuse me!" The figure turned its head, starting. Arbankle waved to him, beckoning him over. It started striding towards him as they continued to walk his way.
When the elf became discernable in the fog, a bald head appeared, along with red eyes and pierced ears. This dunmer wore but simple clothing, and he looked about Arbankle's age. There was something familiar about him... No, it can't be! That's one chance in a million-no, more? Is it-is it-?
"Jiub!" Arbankle couldn't help but to call out. It simply burst out of him.
The Dark Elf tilted his head, beginning to examine this stranger more closely. "Excuse me?" he asked. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"
"You should," answered Arbankle, his heart beating out of his chest. "Remember? The ship? The storm?"
"Sorry, no." replied the Dark Elf, glancing at him and then turning away. "I'm quite sorry. What other assistance do you need?"
Arbankle bit his lip. "I'm quite sure, sir, that I know you. I was the slave on the ship, remember?"
"No, quite assuredly. I have never been on a ship before, and I do not know any slaves. However," Jiub replied, his features softening, "There is certainly nothing wrong with meeting you."
"Alright, then," Arbankle replied quietly. "We were on the way to Pelagiad."
"So am I," said Jiub. "I'll accompany you there. Why don't we have a drink at the inn while we're at it?"
"That would be nice," replied Arbankle rather dejectedly.
"Cheer up," said Jiub, patting him on the back. "We're going to have a great time."
Skiya watched the two Dark Elves as they chuckled and spoke quietly of things she would never hear. She felt a twinge in her chest that was surely not from travel, a twinge she'd never felt before, as she gazed upon Arbankle's luminescently animated face. Skiya turned to look at the myriad of colors dabbed onto the dark night sky, while the Bloodmoon hung loftily in its perch among the stars. Their light seemed to taunt her, illuminating only the immortal elves, but not the fragile human.
Pelagiad swung into view, sliding the thoughts out of her. Its stone walls faded away from the mist and into her view. People with torches-what were they doing up at this hour?-dotted the path.
Arbankle and Jiub kept walking, not even sparing a backwards glance for Skiya. They grinned, guffawing at the other's jokes as they approached a tavern and swung open the heavy wooden door. As Skiya caught hold of it, she peered behind her shoulder into the cool night air another time before letting the door swing shut.