Disclaimer: I don't own The Elder Scrolls 3: Morrowind, related characters, titles, creatures, events, or ideas, Bethesda Software and Microsoft do. My character for the Nereverine and my other ACC are the only ones I may call my own.

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Author's Notes Here's an idea I got a while back which I've been turning over in my head for some time now. This is a one-shot idea for now, but if enough of you approve of it, I'll write more.

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Crash Ichimonji of Mammoth Picture Productions presents:
"Awaken"

He was once our ally…

His righteous spirit vanquished the Arrogant…

Slain by his own kind, it was prophesized he would return…

And then he disappeared from our plane…

He then returned, unbeknownst of his purpose…

Reclaimed his mighty title and glory…

And then he betrayed our House…

And slew our kin…

Until none were left…

But we will not perish so easily…

"Hey, we're here," a voice said as the listener trembled on his cot. "What's wrong?" he asked concernedly.

The one who lay in his sleep sat up instantly, gasping at the hellish and strange images he saw just before his eyes flew open. Looking around, the man saw the familiar surroundings of his quarters he was assigned before the trip. He placed his grey hand over his eyes, wiping the sweat off his brow, and turned to the speaker of the words he had just heard. It was a Redguard by the name of Tonta, one of the crewmen of the boat they were on.

'Yes, that's right…' the Dark Elf thought to himself as he recalled the most recent events in his life. 'We were on a boat to the east, to Vvardenfell…And I went to bed last night…But I told Tonta to wake me the second we arrived…' he mused to himself mentally. He looked up at the bald, ebony-skinned man and smiled.

"I'm alright, Tonta. Thank you for your concern," he replied as he stood out of his bed and began to gather his belongings, which weren't many. On the floor were his expensive indigo and manila shirt, his grandfather's enchanted chitin dagger, his brown travel sack, and his netch leather boots. He slipped on the shirt, pulled on his boots while tucking his equally expensive sky blue pants into them, slipped the dagger behind his red belt snuggly, and swung his sack over his left shoulder, the weight of it barely noticeable to him. Then it occurred to him, "Tonta, what port were we to be docked in?" "Seyda Neen, sir," the black-skinned man said as he left the Dunmer alone and headed to the topside deck. Seeing that no one was around, the Dark Elf sat back on his cot and thought to himself. 'It's that same dream again…' he remembered as the images of red blurred his mind again in remembrance. Pushing the thoughts aside, he walked through sturdy wooden corridors of the ships common rooms and went up to the outside.
It was a glorious day with the golden sun cascading upon the humble town of Seyda Neen. The slaughterfish leapt from the water to catch the early morning dragonflies traversing the clear waters, and the birds chirped merrily in the great oak branches at the shoreline. It was a site that even Native Dunmer who were more than accustomed to it, still enjoyed.

"Ah, good morning, sir," an Imperial guard clad in his people's steel armor said to the Dunmer as he exited the doorway of the ship's interior. "How was your sleep last night, if I may ask?" he said as he walked beside the dark-skinned elf and escorted him to the portside of the sturdy ship, where an equally sturdy dock was connected to the ship by a long board of dark pine that was imported from Skyrim. But that didn't really matter.
"I slept moderately well," the Dark Elf lied casually as he made his way down the dock to the stone Census and Excise Building he had been informed about. As he came to the door, the Imperial guard who had been with him the whole time opened it and chauffeured him in. The room was moderately lit by the white candles and torches set up at the walls since there were no windows in the room. In front of the Dark Elf was a table with a variety of writing objects similar to the ones he used and had packed in his travel sack. To the left of the desk was an old balding man with snow-white hair and an equally white goatee, wearing a brown robe with studded sleeves and trim.

"Ah, yes. We've been expecting you, Imperial Scribe sir," he said in a Breton accent.

"And you must be the Census and Excise Agent, Sococius Ergalla," the Dunmer said as he reached into his brown bag and pulled out a sealed tube parchment tied with an indigo lace with a golden wax insignia imprinted on the outside of the paper. The insignia was the royal seal of the emperor, and could let whoever possessed it do almost anything. As the elderly Breton opened the scroll, he read it with diligence and interest.

"Ah, so, your name is Bal Or? Almost as in the Daedric ruin site in the south?" he chuckled as he rolled up the parchment and handed it back to its owner.

"Yes, almost," Bal Or smiled back.

"Strange name, even for a Dunmer."

"I know."

"Well, let's get started shall we?" Sococius said as he took out a piece of parchment and an ink-dipped quill pen and began scribbling down words as he spoke to the brown-haired Dark Elf. "Now, how long will you be staying here in Morrowind?"

"Six months to a year, though I may request that the emperor grant me more time should I need it for my book." "Good. Where will you be living while you are here?"

"Here in Seyda Neen. The emperor gave me the deed to a house here in the village. I believe it was confiscated from a thieving Bosmer that lived here."

"Oh yes, Fargoth. Troublesome fellow. Very well," he said as he wrote the notes down on the paper. "Here you go then," the Breton said as he handed the Dark Elf the key to the said house. "Now, your occupation is currently Imperial Scribe, but, what job or jobs are you considering while you stay here?"

"Ah, yes, I was considering joining the Fighters' Guild or the Theives Guild, as I've heard so many good things about both guilds in pay and job opportunities," Bal Or replied with interest.

"Very good. Now, this is customary for all our citizens who come here from other lands: what sign were you born under?" "The Warrior." "Good," Sococius said as he scribbled down a few more items here and there on the parchment. "Now, what sort of items are you carrying with you?" he asked as he looked back up at the outlander.

"Oh, please wait a moment," Bal Or said as he placed his sack on an empty end of the desk, carefully emptying the contents for the agent and the nearby guard of the room to see. "One inkwell with black ink," he began listing off his items as Sococius wrote them down. "Two eagle quill pens, one common shirt, one pair of common brown pants, a loaf of wickwheat bread, a bottle of flin, 565 gold septims, an empty bottle for water, a restore health potion, a Journeyman's Lockpick and probe, the house deed for the home I will be staying in, and this dagger my grandfather gave me," he finally said as he took out his weapon and placed it before the Breton, who took it in his hands to inspect it.

"It shimmers," he said as he turned the blade around in his hands. "It is enchanted, am I right?"

"Yes," Bal Or answered. "It fatigues my opponents and then allows me to drain their energy which I then absorb for myself.

"I see…" the balding man said as he handed the weapon back to its owner and continued to write the descriptions down, ending it by charismatically dotting the last period on the paper before rolling it up and handing it to the Dunmer. "Here you go, hand this to the Legionnaire in the other building next door and you may be on your way. Oh, and please, don't steal anything in the other rooms." "Why would I do that?" the Dark Elf asked as he took his papers, cocking an eyebrow at the man.

"Well, about three years ago we had a Dunmer like you that came here and stole everything in the other rooms and pawned it to Arrille the trader."

"You have my sympathy, but remember, I am an Imperial Scribe; I'm not some drake-less commoner who is desperate for cash," he chuckled as he strode into the hallway and made a right into another room, opening the door to go to the outside, and then entering the other building. Next to the door was a table where a guard in amber Imperial armor sat, reading documents. "Um, excuse me, sir?" Bal Or asked as he tried to grab the attention of the Imperial.

"One moment…" the brown-haired Human said without looking up from his papers. After about a minute of silence, he stood up and greeted the Dunmer with a firm handshake. "I'm Sellus Gravius, Imperial Legionnaire captain of Seyda Neen."

"Bal Or, Imperial Scribe."

"Ah yes, welcome friend," the Imperial smiled as he let go of the mer's hand and looked down at the paper he had in the other. "Your papers please," he pointed to the parchment, causing Bal Or to start before handing the sheet to the man. "Hm…Alright then. Everything checks out. You may go now," he smiled after reading the document and placing it on his table.

"Alright, thank you very much," Bal Or said as he left the building and out into the town of Seyda Neen. Seyda Neen was a humble town compared to the Imperial City, where he was raised, but the fact that he was in his homeland thrilled him. 'And besides…' he thought to himself happily as he walked over to the house at the far north west side of the town that was labeled "Reserved for Imperial Scribe", 'I can finally write my book!' he thought as he unlocked the house with the key he had been given by Sococius.

The room wasn't dark because there was a window to the outside, thankfully. As he lit a few white candles in the home, the room cheered up with soft manila light. Bal Or took note of the few necessities he had while at this house as he unpacked: a bed, a dresser, a fireplace, a cupboard, and a table for doing whatever he needed to do at a table. Yes, it was not too different from his home back in Cyrodiil: a writer's paradise.

'How long has it been?' he thought to himself as he remembered the day he and his father and mother left Vvardenfell to live in the Imperial City. He was only five or six years old when they left, and it had been at least 20 years since then. He felt very nostalgic as he put his common clothes in his dresser, remembering the smell of the Ashlands, his birth place and where he lived for the first few years of his life. Life was good then; there wasn't much going on and Bal Or's wealthy father always provided a good living off his job as a wealthy merchant of House Redoran. His mother was rumored to be an Ashlander, but no one really knew as she died when he was ten years old, never telling even her husband or son the truth. Her father, Bal Or's grandfather, was a wiseman of some sort in his life, but Bal Or only remembered him as a senile man who rambled about strange things. He was the one who gave a young Bal Or the sacred dagger when he was but five years old, shortly before he and his parents moved west.

Without expectation, his stomach rumbled and gurgled in hunger, interrupting his stroll down memory lane.

"I suppose I should get something to eat," he sighed as he stepped out of his house and locked it. He had heard that thieves liked to pick door locks in populated towns here in Morrowind (well, they did this everywhere on Tamriel) and decided he'd make his journey quick and head over to the trade house he had heard about.

Arrille's Trade House was a typical place one could go to purchase basic goods for one's journeys, and it was also a good place to go for supplies for living in Seyda Neen. As Bal Or entered the shop, he was unsurprised by the fact that this Arrille was an Altmer, simply because he expected a High Elf to have a name like 'Arrille'. Bal Or wasn't like the Dunmer and Ashlanders raised in Morrowind who were racist, he actually got along well with other races, including the Altmer.

"Ah, welcome, newcomer," the tall elf said as he counted the last of his drakes in his cash box. "What can I do for you today?"

"Well, do you have any home supplies for cooking?" he asked as he stepped up to the counter.

"Certainly. What are you interested in, good Dunmer?" "A frying pan, for starters," he smiled.

"Well, I happen to have a sturdy iron pan with a solid brown oak handle here you might be interested in," Arrille said as he turned around to pick up the said item from a high shelf and place it in front of his customer. "One of the finest pans you'll find here in the West Gash region. The iron is fresh and is guaranteed not to rust for years if you pay just a little attention to it every so often."

"Hm…" the brown-haired Dunmer thought hard for a moment. "How much?"

"Just ten drakes, sir."

"I'll give you eight drakes for it."

"Ten drakes."

"Eight."

"Ten, sir."

"You know," Bal Or said as he turned on his shrewd mercantile skills he had learned from his father long ago. "This is a very nice pan," he said as he picked up the metal and wooden object and studied it hard.

"Well, thank you. But I'm still asking ten drakes for it."

"It's so good, you must have people lining up to buy them all the time…" the Dark Elf said as he set the trap for the High Elf.

"Well of course. I've got a whole stockpile of them in my storage room to meet the needs of the customers," Arrille boasted.

"Yes, all seven of the townspeople," Bal Or said as he looked at Arrille with a sarcastic grin.

"Uh…I…Look here, this is-" he began in defense.

"A REALLY good pan, but you probably ordered too many of them, right?"

"Well…"

"Tell you what, I'll give you nine drakes for it. The extra is for me to not barter any less for the rest of my purchases for today. Sound fair?" Bal Or said as he took out his small sack of pocket change and took out nine septims, dropping them on the counter in front of the other mer.

"Alright. I have to admit, you're one shrewd customer," the Altmer said as he took the gold and added it to his box.

"When your father's a wealthy merchant, it sort of sticks to you," Bal Or chuckled. "Now, I need some basic utensils. Steel will do just fine for now if you have any."

"Ah, yes," Arrille said as he crouched at his counter and pulled out a small tin with assorted silverware in it. He pulled out a two-pronged fork, a semi-sharp knife, and a dull spoon. "Will these do?"

"Sure. How much?"

"A total of three drakes will do nicely."

"Alright then," the Dunmer said as he took out more of his money to pay for his purchase. "Now, I need a regular plate, a simple goblet, and slab of hound meat. You're freshest please."

"As you wish," the Altmer said as he gathered the non-perishable items and set them on the counter with the pan and the utensils. "If you'll excuse me, I'll get some salted meat in my storage room," he said as he took a trap door to the basement of his shop. A minute or two later, he returned with three pounds of salted and peppered, lime-green hound meat presumably from the flank. "Will that be all?"

"One last thing," Bal Or continued. "A bottle of sujama, please."

"Alright," the High Elf said as he took down a bottle of the liquor from a high shelf and placed it next to the large pile of items Bal Or ordered. "Your total comes to exactly 40 drakes."

"Ok, here you go," the Dark Elf said as he took out nearly all of his gold and paid the man. "Oh, and can I have a sack for all of this?" he asked politely.

"Certainly," Arrille said as he took out a brown cloth sack and pilled the items in it before handing it to his customer. "Thank you and come again," he smiled.

"I most certainly will," Bal Or said as he hung the sack over his shoulder and walked home to eat his lunch.

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After he had eaten, Bal Or decided he ought to take things slow and take a quick nap. For what seemed like an eternity, he drifted into the darkness of slumber, He opened his eyes to find himself in a dark cave illuminated by the glow of eerie red candles. All around him, whispers of a ghostly sound entered his ears. As he turned around, he was confronted by a great beast of no more than his height, but twice as wide as he was. Its face was broad and tall with a snout of several tendrils, had four deep eyeless sockets, its body was clad in brown and red cloaks and robes, and made an inhuman growl as it spoke to him.

"Poor creature, you have lost your way…." it snarled at him in a deep voice.

"Stay back!" Bal Or cried in response as he tried to pull his dagger out, only to find it was not there. "What do you want?" he asked, backing away slowly but at a much faster pace than this creature could move at.

"It is all a dream, and endless cycle of dreaming and waking. But soon, it will all end…"

"Alright, I'm officially disturbed by what you say," he said as he turned around to run, only to have a creature built like him, but with a small trunk in place of its eyes and nose, grab him by his shoulders with its claws. It too spoke in a growl as it to gazed at him without eyes.

"What use is your speech? You shall listen to OUR words and then you will submit!" it snarled at the Dunmer.

"Ugh! Let go of me!" he squirmed in the creature's grasp, only to find that the more he wriggled, the tighter its grip became. Finally, from the corner of his eye, he spotted someone approaching. "Help! Get someone to save me!" he called to the person; but they only lurched forwards with their hands, or rather claws, extended toward him as they neared him. The person was not an Elf or Human or any creature Bal Or had ever seen in his life. He stood over six feet tall, had a long black beard, a goldish disk upon his head, and a third red eye on his forehead.

"What the hell do you all want with me…!" he began to actually sob.

"We're not interested in your words," it said to him as the three terrible beasts crowded around him closer and closer, until their unholy faces were mere inches away from his. From around him, and yet from nowhere, a booming and commanding voice spoke.

"Open your eyes, my Son, for you must see the face of destiny!" it demanded. But Bal Or kept his eyes clenched shut, hoping to block out the horrific monsters before him. It seemed like hours passed as he kept his eyes shut. Just to see if the creatures had left, Bal Or opened his eyes and gazed at a three-horned golden mask with three eyes all staring at him. In an instant, he sat up in his bed, his unclothed chest drenched in sweat. He looked around his room to see that it was still daytime, though he must have been asleep for a good two hours or so.

'Just another bad dream…' he told himself as he slumped back onto his bed, frightened to close his eyes again. Eventually, his mental strength gave way to his physical needs and he slipped backing into slumber.

To Be Continued…