Nerevar Blue
A Novel Based on The Elder Scrolls
By Leslie Mertz
Prologue: Day 1 Arrival
“Wake Up. We’re here.”
These words were a beacon in a room that spun.
“Where am I?” I felt
rocking. A ship. We were on a ship.
“Stand up,” a dark hand
reached out to me. “There you go, you were dreaming. Not even last
night’s storm could wake you.” I stumbled, still shaking. Dreaming. I had
been dreaming of vivid colors and a voice—a woman’s voice.
“What is your name?”
asked the gray man standing over me. For an instant I did not remember,
and then it came to me in a flash. “Annika Blue,” I said; named for the color
of my eyes and a priestess’s fancy.
“I am Jiub,” he said
distracted; looking off to the corner of the cell. “I think we have reached
Vvardenfell.”
 |
| Jiub |
I sat up in my bunk and
looked out at the morning sky from the port hole. Coming out of the
dream, I remembered where I was—and how I got there. For weeks I had
traveled aboard a prison ship heading for the island off the
mainland—Vvardenfell— the volcanic isle of ash and fog. The largest island off
the coast of the mainland province Morrowind was the arsehole of the Tamriel.
No one wanted to go there… The Empire has only recently won a
pyrrhic victory over the native Dumner, men and women with pale green skin and
red eyes…Snakes, is what people called them in Chorrol, when I heard them
referenced at all. With its warring tribes and blight, sorcerers and
ancient superstitions, Vvardenfell is the rocky island where the Empire
relieved itself of its criminal content and inconvenient others. Slaves
also made the crossing in chains, while the Empire turned a blind eye.
But, stories also rose and wafted around the dungeons and back alleys of
Anvil that the shit hole of the Empire was a thieves shining dream and golden cove.
I might do well.
Jiub looked at me
wistfully. “Surely they will let us go…” his voice trailed. It was less
of a statement and more of plea. There was a sound of hopefulness in his
voice, then fear. “Quiet. Here comes the guard…”
I heard his heavy step
approach. “Get up and get yourself on deck and let’s make this as civil
as possible,” spat the Imperial. Civility. What did this bastard
know about civility? I had felt the back of his hand on more then one occasion
during the trip. Yet I didn’t have time to think about my hatred and I
certainly did not voice it. I just walked behind him in trance toward the
cabin door—toward freedom. Briefly, I spoke with a nameless guard and was
lead to a worn looking man. Socucius Ergalla, a clerk of the Census and
Excise Office who had probably seen thousands come and go, barely looked up
from his papers. “You were born in the 3rd Era, year 407 on the 27th day of the Morning
Star—and, let’s see, what is your trade?” Embarrassed, I told him I was
an adventurer, another name for thief, by trade and my sign was of the Ritual.
Socucius also noted my Breton heritage—slight build and small features
gave it away—though most telling was the unusual hair color, a pale violet of
sorts. He remarked almost casually that I had no parents—a fact I was
painfully aware of. I had come from a small town in Cyrodill that had
little more than an abbey and some shops—fortunate for me as at least there
were people I knew who could account for the strange woman who gave birth to a child
on abbey grounds then disappeared in the night. The priestesses told me
that my mother was soft-spoken and beautiful, with eyes like the sea after a
storm, but afraid. The servants at the abbey told me her name was Anais,
but knew little else about her. When I when old enough to leave the Abbey
grounds, I went in search of mother, finding nothing but ill-luck and seedy
town named Anvil. The only parents that I knew were the priests and
priestesses of the Imperial Cult. I remember the kindness and well-meaning
of some, and the depravity and brutality of many others; memories potent enough
to drive me away from any temple or cult for a lifetime.
 |
| The Tired Buercrat: Socucius Ergalla |
“Take your papers and go
see Sellus Gravius.” Socucius woke me from my reverie. The guard
unlocked and opened the door behind him and shut it quickly thereafter.
Were, they mad? Leaving me a fully stocked room, without a guard
was either sheer folly or a test of some sort. I paused for a second,
before lifting a silver goblet into my bag, but then I had never hesitated
before and would not make a habit of it now. I took as much as I could
carry, from their silver to their buckets and found a good stash. Now to
see this Imperial—with any luck, he’s as stupid.
Gravius was not stupid.
He was condescending, arrogant, and haughty—typical of an Imperial guard,
but he was not stupid. As Knight Errant of the Imperial Legion, he held my
destiny in his hand—in a coded package. Gravius informed me why I had
been spared. I was to report to Cassius Cosades in Balmora and perform
tasks as a Blades Operative—an Imperial spy. I was too afraid to utter anything
other than “yes, sera,” as he opened the door after instructing me to take the
Silt Strider to Balmora. For the first time in over two years I felt
sunshine pour down over my face as a free woman.
Later, as I was
gathering my “gifts” I had left in a unmarked barrel, one of the items I found
was a ring. It was it was beautifully etched and appeared to be
enchanted. We lived in a world of magic. From what I had been taught as a
child, Morrowind was a place where sorcerers still ruled and was land governed
by a trinity of living gods, the Tribunal I think. Walking down the
cobbled road, with a heavy bag strapped against my back, savoring my first real
taste of freedom, an odd little man seemed to come out of nowhere and started
talking rapidly about my arrival. “Boats don’t often come at this time,” he
said. Without pause, he then started on about his missing ring. “I
swear one of the guards has it. I had last week before their weekly “Lets
shake down Fargoth” ritual. It’s an engraved healing ring and family
heirloom of mine. You haven’t seen it have you?” I had most
certainly seen it and have been carrying it in my possession. The little
man looked so earnest and sad. I took a deep breath and reached in my
pocket, tossing Fargoth his ring. Was I growing soft?
As I gathered the stolen
items, and marveled how no one noticed their disappearance, I saw a seedy
looking tradehouse, with prostitutes and skooma peddlers hanging off the side
of the pier. I opened the reinforced door and approached the grim looking man
behind the counter. I smiled sweetly at him and hoping I could unload the
newly liberated items. Arrille, a High Elf with pale, sallow looking
face, smirked as I clumsily landed the bounty on his counter. “New to
Vvardenfell, I see.” He didn’t ask any questions, but I could tell this
was a common occurrence. Did the Imperials have so much that they just
replaced what was stolen without so much as a thought? Did they not
realize what they possessed?
In the days to come I
found there was much to be had for a resourceful thief in Vvardenfell.
Many smugglers stored their goods in poorly guarded caverns; though
hitting a cavern was a gamble. Some were guarded very well, which
inevitably lead to bloodshed. Mostly I didn’t think twice about sinking
my short sword into someone’s stomach—as they certainly thought nothing of
sinking one into mine. At odd times, I wondered if I was killing a son’s
mother or a whole family’s provider, though I shut these thoughts out quickly.
We were thieves, bandits and smugglers—we knew the life—and the terrible
risks of living it.
 |
| Faragoth in Seyda Neen |
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