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Blood of the Daedra	By : mistressarachnia Category: +A through F > Elder Scrolls - Morrowind Views: 1786 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: The Elder Scrolls universe belongs to Bethesda. Soryn Uvirith belongs to me. I make no money from writing about his adventures.

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Blood of the Daedra

Chapter
2: Chimer, Dunmer and Altmer
It was late.� Soryn struggled to
shut the door to his family�s mushroom pod, the howling wind fighting him all
the while.� There was little he could do to prevent a strong gust from escaping
indoors where it quickly scattered a stack of papers on his father�s desk.�
Soryn inhaled sharply, but his father barely looked up from his work.� So much
for being inconspicuous.
�Close the door and come inside.�
You should consider yourself lucky that your mother is not home.� Pick those up
� they are numbered, so should be easy enough to reorganize,� he said calmly.� Dreynis
Uvirith had a unique ability to remain calm and serene even in the most
unnerving of situations, which complemented the warm but fiery disposition of
his wife Maela.� Candlelight flickered over the aging Dunmer�s dark skin,
dancing as though the wind were still present in the room.� His well-kept hair
was tied back with a tight ribbon.� It had once been black, but now had shocks
of grey running through at his temples.� Soryn�s own black hair was perhaps the
only physical trait he shared with his parents, for he was nearly a foot taller
and his skin was the color of gold rather than silver.� And while his parents
had eyes the color of crimson rubies, his own were as green as emeralds.� But
he was their only son, their beloved, and they never treated him otherwise.
Their organic home was small but
comfortable, just enough for a family of three.� Above the hearth his father�s
prized glass katana was displayed; but below it his mother�s sword was
missing.� She was one of the few on the island who had mastered the art of
forging raw glass into glistening green blades, light as a feather but stronger
than steel.� She tempered them with magical fire and chiseled elegant
inscriptions on the katanas and daggers she created � her works of art were
known across Vvardenfell.� His father, who was a master enchanter, often
created elaborate spells which he infused into the very substance of the
weapons themselves.� The Uvirith family blades were her greatest creations, or
so she was fond of saying.� But today she was away, sent on a mission by Archmagester
Naga himself.� He wished he knew where she was, but had learned better than to
ask questions.� Battlemages, especially retainers of the Archmagister, were not
often at liberty to discuss their missions.� Soryn bit his lip, surveying the
scattered documents now littering their floor.� There must have been
thousands.� Silently, he knelt down and began to collect them.
�You should pay more attention to
your studies,� the father continued, his quill flowing smoothly across the
scroll he was inscribing.� His movements were so precise that the quill
appeared to be flying across the parchment, never resting upon it for any
discernable period of time.� Soryn tried to hide his astonishment.� He was
already the top of his class and had several prospective mentors in House
Telvanni.� He opened his mouth to protest, but before he could utter a word his
father spoke again.
�At your age, having a bit of fun
among the women is to be expected, and even encouraged,� he continued, �But
your sexual reputation has grown to outshine your academic reputation.� Though
I admit that at times I envy you � after all, I freely admit that I never
enjoyed such a legacy myself, though I had my moments.� But we have much higher
expectations of you.� Yes, you are doing well enough in your schoolwork, but
you leave much of your potential untapped.�� A mild flash of annoyance crossed
Soryn�s face.� It seemed he was always trying his best, but it was never good
enough.� Sometimes he wondered if they would have been this hard on their
biological son, had he lived.
�Yes, father,� he replied politely,
still collecting papers.� The room appeared to be just as littered with the
collections as when he began.� This could take hours.
�You are wondering if I am being
unnecessarily harsh because you are my adopted son, rather than my own flesh
and blood,� his father continued.� Soryn paused, trying to hide the look of
surprise that suddenly overcame him.� His father never talked like this.�
Neither of his parents had ever so much as suggested such a thing.� But his
concealment was unnecessary as his father remained engrossed in his
inscriptions.
�The answer to that is both yes and
no.� Both your mother and I have cared for you from the moment we found you and
we have grown to love you as any parent loves their child.� Yet at the same
time I sense a great untapped potential in you � something which I have never encountered
before in another.� It may be related to your race, but I sense there is
something more.� You are destined for great things.� But you must be guided if
you are ever to realize them.� Even I do not know your full potential.� And you
cannot possibly hope ever to know it if you do not choose to explore it.� Think
on that, my son, as you finish your chores for the evening.� I shall be off to
join your mother tomorrow morning and we will not return for several days.� But
I trust you can take care of yourself.� Just remember not to let distractions
interfere with your studies.� And remember to take a potion before your
liaisons so you are not left with any� unnecessary complications.�
Soryn grimaced.� His race.�
Sometimes he wished he had been born with ashen skin, so the others would not
take notice.� Although his golden features were undoubtedly what so attracted
the girls to his bed, he would have gladly traded them for the sense of
normalcy enjoyed by the others.� Even as he was admired, envied, and even
loved, he would always be different.� What was he, anyway?
When he was very young, no more
than 6 years of age, he had been playing out on the docks with the other
children when a group of older adults came by, watching him play with intense
stares.� He took little notice, running off to chase a baby mudcrab which
crawled along the shore, eager to show it off to his friends.� Suddenly hands
grabbed him, and he cried out as he felt himself carried off.� He was
blindfolded for most of the journey, but could feel himself stretched out and
tied down upon a cold slab.� His captors kept whispering two words, words that
stuck in his mind: �Chimer� and �Nerevar.�� He cried that they were hurting
him, but his captors paid him little mind.� They were reciting something in a
strange language, but he wasn�t listening.� He wanted his mother and his
father.� They were touching him, feeling his golden skin which shivered in the
cold shrine.� Suddenly he could hear cries and screams and he felt himself
terrified.� He wept bitterly, shaking against his restraints.� Just then they
were loosened, and he felt himself lifted into soft arms as his blindfold was
removed.� He was safe in his mother�s arms, just as he had willed.� His father
stood nearby, wiping the blood from his katana as he sheathed it.� He walked
over and kissed his son tenderly on the forehead.� Soryn cried, burrowing his
face in his mother�s robes.� Why was he here?� Why had those people done this
to him?� He looked up, into the eyes of a lifeless statue.� She was lit by blue
light, and had an eerie beauty about her.
�Who is she?� he asked, eyes wide
and fearful, yet filled with a profound curiosity.
�That is Lady Azura,� his mother
replied, �I prayed that she would not let them harm you.�� Soryn nodded, still
gazing into the eyes of the statue.
�Come now, let�s go home,� his
father said, urging his family towards the door.� Soryn felt warm and safe with
them.� To them, he was not an anomaly: he was their son.
When he grew old enough to inquire
after such things, his father explained them as best he was able.� Soryn was
not Dunmer like the others on the island: like his parents even.� He was
something different.� He was Altmer.� The Altmer were a race of golden-skinned spellcasters
who most closely resembled the common ancestral race of all the mer on Tamriel:
the Aldmer.� They were rumored to be a beautiful and proud race of elves who
lived on the opposite side of the continent � quite far away from Morrowind.�
Since most of the Dunmer on the island had never laid eyes on any Altmer, most
did not know what to make of them.� But one of his teachers was rumored to have
lived amongst them for a time, and recognized Soryn�s identity immediately.�
His name was Divayth Fyr, and he seemed to take a special liking to the elf
from an early age, so perhaps the rumors were true.� Or perhaps he was only
fond of Soryn as yet another anomaly to be studied and analyzed.
Some of the old Dunmer even gasped
at seeing him, alternatively rushing away or rushing forward to touch his robes,
and always uttering the same word: �Chimer.�� He had looked it up once, and
appeared to be the name of an ancient race of Dunmer, a race which was changed
in some way.� When he asked his mother, she had laughed out loud.� Apparently
the Chimer had resembled the Altmer in physical appearance, and so he was often
mistaken for one by the elderly who remembered the time of the Chimer, but had
never before seen an Altmer.� She seemed to find it very amusing.� When he
asked her about this, she simply replied that the old Dunmer themselves were
the Chimer, not him, and many of them were still bitter about the
transformation.� He wasn�t sure exactly what this meant.� He could find very
little literature on the subject.� He asked Master Fyr once, but he only laughed
and suggested that the young boy write some books on the matter himself.� To
this, he was truly perplexed.� How could he write a book without first knowing
its contents?
He couldn�t complain much though.�
Divayth Fyr had been most helpful in his studies.� He taught Soryn what was
currently known about the War of the First Council, about the Dwemer, the
Tribunal, Saint Nerevar�s murder, and Azura�s rage at the Chimer for allowing
her champion to die.� The goddess cursed the Chimer, changing their skin to
match the ash that blew down from Red Mountain, and their eyes to the color of
blood.� Some of the elderly, who had undergone the changes themselves, felt
themselves innocent and wanted desperately to go back to being golden-skinned
Chimer.� Seeing Soryn only intensified their longing.� Many of the Dunmer were
waiting for a new incarnation of Saint Nerevar � the Nerevarine, they called
him � and were hoping that this new incarnation would allow them to return to
the way things once were.� Soryn understood all of this, but he did not
understand what he had to do with any of it.� For if he was indeed Altmer as
was said, he had never been Chimer.� So what could the old ones have against
him?
Once, Soryn had seen his father
talking to Fyr about something outside their house.� They were whispering
closely.� His mother was not home.� His father was holding a small black cloth
in his hands, examining it.� Soryn recognized it as the cloth he had been
wrapped in when he was found as an infant.� Fyr noticed him and smiled, but his
father was quick to dismiss him, telling him to run along to practice his
studies indoors.� He wondered what they were saying.� Later, he asked, but his
father only told him that there were some things he was better off not
knowing.� He was told never to inquire upon such matters again.� But he was
deathly curious.� And his father�s words had only heightened his curiosity.�
Did they know something about him?� Something important?� He was determined to
find out.
Soryn finished stacking the papers,
handing them silently to his father, who nodded approvingly.
�Good.� Now get some rest, my son.�
Your mind should be fresh for tomorrow�s lessons,� he said.� Soryn bade him
goodnight, walking through the halls to his room.� He climbed into bed leisurely,
listening to the howling wind raging outside.� It made him feel at peace.� He
snuggled further into his sheets, allowing himself to drift silently to sleep.
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Blood of the Daedra