Disclaimer: Bethesda owns everything Morrowind related but for my original characters (Lomé and Khan)
Author's note: This story is written in the words of the main characters; they are talking the reader through what has happened to them. Keep in mind that while Lomé (pronounced 'Lomeh') is a Dunmer and therefore speaks clearly, Khan is a Khajiitt. His accent therefore is very strong and I have written him as such. He speaks phonetically, often explaining what he means after he has actually said it, so be patient with him and simply read what you see. It'll come to you I promise. Each chapter will switch from one point of view to the other, embellishing the story as it goes along.One final note, this story obviously contains a homosexual relationship and will deal with the implications of this i.e.; being in Morrowind where such things are taboo, for the characters as it progresses. If such things are not to your taste please don't flame me, simply click the little back button and find something else to read.
Thank you kindly for the helpful reviews; I've gone through this chapter with a fine toothed comb again and sorted a few bits out. Happy reading.
Setting the scene:
Hundreds of years before Lomé was born a Dunmer named Nerevar ruled house Indoril with a fair yet stern hand. He and his advisors, one of whom later became Dagoth Ur after he betrayed Nerevar, were embroiled in a fierce war against the Dwarven nation. The Dwarves had somehow got a hold of the heart of Lokharn, a powerful artefact that lay beneath Red Mountain on the island of Vvardenfell; Morrowind. Dagoth Ur betrayed Nerevar by taking the power of the heart for himself, turning himself and the rest of the 'Tribunal'-Nerevar's advisors, into God like beings. Nerevar died in the last battle against Ur; the Dwarven race disappeared without trace and Azura, Goddess of the night sky prophesied the return of a man she believed would finally rid the world of Dagoth Ur and his depraved minions.
The Nerevarine Prophecy states that a Stranger born on an uncertain day to uncertain parents, who unites the three warring houses of Telvanni, Redoran and Hlaalu and the four Ashlander tribes to become their Hortator and Nerevarine, who the dreaded Blight disease cannot harm and who finally defeats the scourge Dagoth Ur by destroying the Heart using the Dwarf Kagrenac's tools shall be known as the saviour of Morrowind.
That man is Lomé.
The inhabitants of Morrowind were waiting nervously for word of what happened to the Nerevarine. Did he succeed? Was Dagoth Ur defeated? Unbeknown to them the victory had come and gone; the hero who achieved it was bloodied and broken, running for his life as fast as his wounded body would carry him. The only thoughts in his mind were of getting to Balmora.
Lomé
Catapulting down the slopes of Red Mountain is the most recent of my memories. Having struck the Heart of Lokharn one final time with the great hammer Sunder, I fled the Heart chamber of citadel Dagoth Ur, great pulses of what one can only describe as power pushing at my back and legs seemingly urging me to move faster. Hurling open the great doors leading back to the cavern where I first laid eyes upon my now dead nemesis, I was greeted by the Lady Azura. She thanked me for freeing Morrowind and hailed me as the people's champion, the one charged to discharge all of their ills…I was kind enough not to mention I had my own to deal with first; although I am immune to all forms of Blight disease I never the less despise the feeling of corpus weepings on my flesh.
So it was that minutes from my unearthly encounter with the Goddess, I was almost literally flying down the ash covered slopes of the now dormant Red Mountain. All those foul creatures that survived Ur's defeat where on my heels and I tell you now there was not a God in Morrowind that could have slowed my pace. All I could think as I neared the welcoming safety of the Ghost Gate refuge was "For God's sake Lomé don't you dare stop running!" for I knew if I did I wouldn't have the strength to start again. Guards cheered and tried to congratulate me as I ran on through the gates but their words fell upon deaf ears…I was too tired to hear praise and too frightened to stop to listen to them; I fear if I had stopped I'd have put myself to shame with my shattered emotions.
Onward along Foyada Mamaea, past Fort Moonmoth and up until I reached the bridges spanning the gates of Balmora…not once did I stop running. By the time I made it to Balmora my body finally stopped co-operating with me and all of the charms and incantations etched into my armour couldn't stop me from collapsing on the river bank; barely conscious but conscious enough to realise to my quiet delight that it had begun to spit with rain. There I lay as my body shook with exertion, torn muscles and innumerate other injuries resulting in an agonising combination of pains that I could find no way to abate which didn't require movement; "Some champion of the people" I thought to myself ruefully. Rolling slowly to my left side I fished through what was left of my provisions to locate a light healing draught. Uncorking the bottle was too difficult a task for fingers alone so I pried the wretched thing out with my teeth and went about emptying the bottle of its meagre contents. The effect was anything but immediate but after a time I began to feel the pains lessen to a manageable magnitude. Upon closer inspection I found that I had what felt like three cracked ribs; two on the right, one on the left, and the beginnings of a most becoming black eye…well… black eye/cheek. The condition of my legs was also painfully apparent; broken, cracked bones and broken skin could all be felt with breathtaking precision. "Joy" I grumbled through gritted teeth upon seeing my bedraggled reflection in the rippling waters.
I seem to recall before my ordeal, a Dunmer with deep crimson hair that fell to just past his shoulders…caked and matted with blood and gore now… pointed upswept ears; the left holding a ring from the lobe, the right, two rings by the tip…all ripped out now of course… red eyes, as custom to my people, that some say shone when I laughed…they look dead now in my opinion… a prominent jaw line and strong chin that I would often hold out in defiance of my mentor Casius Cosedes' orders…how I wished he was here…sounds silly doesn't it, a grown Dunmer longing for company…but right then I needed it so much…The reflection glared back at me with barley repressed disgust at the state I was in; caked in Corpus weepings from head to foot, bloodied and blackened where the horrid slime peeled back, oh yes that's right, the damn stuff covers you like a blanket until you take a knife to it and peel it off layer by crackling layer.
My cosmetic appearance was little better than the mess my mind was in. No, no I was under no spell or bewitchment, I was only worn through to the bone with fatigue, mental and physical and had so many conflicting emotions I couldn't tell you my own name had you asked me; I had learned, just before the journey up Red Mountain, the fate of the man I was supposed to be the incarnate of…Nerevar had been betrayed and poisoned, his wounds never tended, his story never known… until that basterd Vivec finally told me my fate, to go to the place Nerevar was struck down and do what he could not. I knew right then the man God did not expect me to return. Honestly I agreed with him. Ever since I arrived on Vvardenfell I had heard the horror stories of the land beyond the Ghost Gate; black lands, nothing but ash and blight and dust…the very air you breathe a vile poison…they were all true, every rumour and then some was true beyond mortal comprehension. What a shock I'll give Vivec when I walk…oh…I have to move first don't I "… come on Lomé" I groaned to myself… "Move for me…"
I woke what could have been hours or days later…all I knew was it was darker than it was when I first ended up on this river bank… ah the Odai…so clean and cool. I managed to drag myself up into a half sitting position and finally release the death grip I had on Sunder…Gods I hadn't even let go of the damn thing since pelting out of Citadel Ur… well at least Id be prepared if anything were to try and attack me. I laughed at that thought; the mighty champion of Azura could now barley find the strength to fight off a Mud Crab let alone a blight afflicted Cliff Racer…how I hate those things… My right hand now free of Sunder and Wraithguard I dipped the trembling appendage into the blissfully crisp water of my most favoured river in all of Morrowind. Lifting a hand full of water to my dry chapped lips, I greedily lapped all I could into my mouth, repeating this process countless times until my lower lip and chin were bright blue with cold; a stark contrast to my usually deep azure complexion. Feeling slightly more fortified than I had before my drink I pulled off my armour little by little, having to stop and catch my breath at times when a particularly sore spot was uncovered from the protective cocoon of enchantments that held my health just slightly away from the "about to die in a pool of my own entrails" point…but only just. I resorted to laughing softly to myself to stop myself from either passing out or dissolving into tears from the pain; I couldn't lose that little bit of dignity…Id lost all of the rest I had. It was when the pain was etching itself a new knish into my subconscious…about the time when I was wresting, albeit weakly to free my back and right shoulder from the remnants of my useless armour…that I heard it… paws on wet grass...