The History of Raven Rock
Volume I
by
Lyrin Telleno
Raven Rock is one of the more interesting colonies of Morrowind of the last two centuries. So much has happened to this tiny town in such a short amount of time, and so many lives have been affected by it, I felt it necessary to describe its rich history within these volumes. During my research, I lived in Raven Rock for almost three years, and I got to know many of my fellow Dunmer who call Raven Rock their home. I hope that my readers will appreciate the amount of fortitude and perseverance that it must take to endure life in such an inhospitable and untamed land.
Raven Rock was founded in 3E 427 by the East Empire Company in response to the discovery of a rich ebony mine on the southern edge of the island of Solstheim. The construction of the town took several months, and the mine immediately started yielding ebony ore that the miner's shipped to Windhelm in Skyrim. By 3E 432, the town was home to over thirty people, all of whom depended on the mine for their livelihood. At this time, Raven Rock was almost exclusively inhabited by Imperials and a few Nords who were drawn to the mine's wealth.
When the Oblivion Crisis arose in 3E 433, Raven Rock remained largely untouched by Mehrunes Dagon's forces and work continued as usual. The bulk of the Imperial Guard that was stationed in Raven Rock was recalled to Cyrodiil to fight the invading forces, but a few soldiers remained behind in order to protect the ebony mine from bandits. It's uncertain whether any Oblivion Gates ever opened on Solstheim, as there appears to be no record of such an event ever occurring there.
In the first year of the Fourth Era, after the destruction of Ald'ruhn, many of the Dunmer Great Houses sent out small groups of their own to seek places to reestablish themselves. House Redoran's group was led by Brara Morvayn who immediately struck out for Solstheim. After some quick negotiations with the East Empire Company (and some speculate quite a bit of coin changing hands), Brara's group was allowed to settle in Raven Rock where they quickly became a part of the mining colony's way of life. The Dunmer proved to be both hard-working and reliable when it came to working in the mines, impressing the East Empire Company and solidifying their relationship.
All was going quite well until that fateful day in 4E 5 when the Red Mountain suddenly erupted, sending a massive blast across the Sea of Ghosts that struck Solstheim with its full fury. Raven Rock was heavily damaged by this wave of force, which toppled several of its stone structures and obliterated many of the wooden ones. Ironically, the mine once again proved to be the town's saving grace, as most of the population of Raven Rock was working underground at the time, and was completely shielded from the blast. This event wasn't without cost, however. Raven Rock was heavily dependent on nearby Fort Frostmoth for its defense, but the eruption had almost completely wiped it from the face of Solstheim. The few soldiers that survived took residence in Raven Rock itself and attempted to set up a makeshift garrison there, but these scant few were hardly a match for potential threats to their town. With the East Empire Company's permission, Brara brought in some of House Redoran's elite "Redoran Guard" to fill the void. The guard proved to be an ideal replacement for the fallen Imperial soldiers and have been guarding the town ever since.
14th of Sun's Dusk, 4E 203
Grulmar walked down the wharf between old buildings of Imperial style and stopped to look to the right, at the wall that was shielding the - what's Raven Rock anyway? A city? A town? A village? - from the ash. He saw the tunnel and the sheer width of the wall quite surprised him. Don't see a wall like that in Skyrim, not even in Windhelm.
There was a guard stationed at the corner of the Imperial building, in all the strange glory of his armor made out of foreign material and Grulmar couldn't take his eyes of it. It looked like polished bone or something, covered in a cape and scarf of a particular red shade, the color of the House Redoran. He peered into the narrow visor of the guard's helmet and saw two red eyes frowning back at him. “What are you gawking at, outlander?”
Grulmar snorted. “Nothing, grey-skin.”
“I've got my eyes on you, green-skin,” the guard replied with menace in his voice. “Please, cause some trouble…”
Grulmar turned on his heels and headed towards what looked like a market of sorts. “Yeah, whatever,” he murmured to himself, feeling the guard's eyes burning holes into his back. Seriously, almost like home... He looked up at the sky, trying to determine what time it was, but it was damn hard to because he was barely able to see sun. There were only few people in the market, so it had to be getting late. Or there just aren’t enough people here. He heard the pounding of metal and relaxed a little bit with that sound. He couldn't help himself but that sound, the reminder of a forge, was strangely relaxing, reminding him of better days. Do all Orcs feel like that or is it just me?
He narrowed his eyes when he focused on the forge to his left, specifically on a man working at a grinding stone, sharpening a sword that looked like moonstone to Grulmar. He was wearing a red tunic with simple pants and a blacksmith apron, his hair was cut so short he almost looked bald and he had a moustache with goatee in such familiar style it literally hit Grulmar directly into his eyes. I'll be bloody damned…
He walked towards the forge and then saw it. A very familiar mark above the doorway leading into the house behind the forge. The Nord noticed him and raised his head a little, still focused on the spinning grinding stone. "Either you're here to get showered in sparks, or you're looking for something to buy. Out with it."
“Glover ‘the Glove’ Mallory,” Grulmar whistled, trying to keep his wits about him. Come now, ya're not a little kid anymore. Just keep yer head cool, don't embarrass yerself. “Didn't expect I'd run into this here,” he added, pointing at the Shadowmark on the doorway.
“Glove?” Mallory raised his eyebrows in surprise and put the sword aside, getting to his feet. "Well, well. It's been a long time since someone from the Guild's bothered to make their way out here. So tell me... how's my brother Delvin? Still spending his nights at the Ragged Flagon trying to win Vex's heart?"
“Whiskers? Yeah, still sneak-peakin’ at her when she's taking a bath in the lake,” Grulmar chuckled.
“Whiskers, huh?” Glover laughed. “I remember there was this Orc kid following me around the Ratway all the time, calling my brother precisely that-” he then narrowed his eyes and looked at Grulmar more carefully, making Grulmar nervously scratching his cheek. “Damn! That you kid?”
Grulmar shook his head. “Nope, definitely not me. No idea what are ya talkin’ about.”
The Nord roared in laughter. “And that accent! Priceless! Look at you, you carry yourself good. Listen, lad, why don't you come back in few hours? I'll be done with all the work and you'll tell me everything about what's going on back in the Guild and such.”
The Orc was trying to remain calm, but it was really difficult to hide his excitement. “Sure thing. Anywhere I can hang my arse in the meantime?”
Mallory pointed at the strange Dunmeri house right behind Grulmar. “That, there's the Retching Netch, the local club. You can let off some steam there in the meantime. Tell Geldis I sent you and he'll sort you out. And while you're at it, lad, buy a nice bottle of sujamma,” he gave Grulmar small pouch of coins. “I'm buyin’.” He then shook his head. “Damn, listen to me. Fellow Guildmember shows up and the accent is already coming back. Just go and then drop by later.”
“Will do,” the Orc nodded and headed towards the tavern. Just...walk straight, keep calm. Damn, Glover Mallory. The man was a legend back then, the best locksmith in the Guild and Grulmar kept following him around like a stray puppy when he was still fresh in the Guild. What an embarrassin’ memory…
He shuddered as the cold air assaulted him and then he opened the door of the Retching Netch. Really, didn't expect this place to be that cold. He was greeted by the warmth of a hearthfire directly in front of him, behind a set of stairs leading down. There was a Dunmer sitting by the fire, stirring something in a cooking pot. “Geldis?” Grulmar raised his voice and the Dunmer squinted at him and then shook his head.
“Downstairs,” he rattled with a voice of someone who enjoys one too many drinks in the evening. Grulmar nodded and headed downstairs. Like a damn mine. Are all Dunmeri houses like this? Livin’ under ground...He then chuckled and shook his head. Hey, still better than livin’ in a sewer, right?
He got to the bottom which was a big room with plenty of tables and stools. A few of the Dunmer patrons immediately turned around to stare at him. Small town, eh? Everyone probably knew everyone so newcomers were a rare sight. He headed to the left, to the bar where was a Dunmer in red clothes, polishing a glass. Grulmar sat down on the stool. “Geldis? Mallory told me ya will get me sorted out.”
“Mallory said that, huh?” the Dunmer grinned. “Geldis Sadri's my name. Welcome to the Retching Netch, sera.”
Grulmar raised his eyebrows. “Sadri? Got somethin’ for ya,” he said, pulling his sack over his head and then reaching inside. He pulled a piece of paper and handed it to Geldis. “From yer cousin back in Windhelm.”
“Revyn?” the Dunmer raised his own eyebrows and took the letter. His eyes skimmed over the lines and then he chuckled. “Well, I see he and Idesa are doing well all things considered. Still don't get why they prefer to live among that Nordic filth, but who am I to argue with family, right?” He nodded at Grulmar and smiled. “Thanks for that, sera. So what can I get you?”
“Tea would be good,” Grulmar said. “And a glass of sujamma.” Then he remembered the pouch at his side and put it on the counter. “Oh, and Malorry wants me to bring him a bottle.”
Geldis waved his hand in dismissal and pushed the money back to Grulmar. “For delivering that letter, you'll get it on the house,” he smiled and reached under the counter, pulling out a bottle and poured a little into glass before placing it in front of Grulmar. "The finest sujamma to cross your lips, friend. My own personal formula that I call 'Sadri's Sujamma.' In fact, I've just added some new ingredients to the mixture that I think makes it taste better than ever. I would appreciate if you brought it to Mallory later. It's a taste, need to get the word out.”
“Sure thing,” the Orc nodded and took a sip of the liquid. His eyes began watering as the fiery liquid burned its way down his throat and he coughed several times, before the sujamma started to warm his belly. “Damn! That has some serious kick,” he cleared his throat. “Probably the best sujamma I’ve had.”
Geldis smiled at the compliment. “I'll bring your tea in a moment.” The Dunmer disappeared into the kitchen and Grulmar looked around at the patrons. Basicaly regulars in a small village. How many people live here anyway? He then reached into his sack and pulled out a small vial of blue liquid. He frowned on it and then grimaced. His hands were beginning to shake slightly again. He still hadn’t figured out how to get rid of the side effects of his addiction, but he found a more effective way to fight it. He managed to create a more concentrated mixture of Magicka potion. One small sip every day and the shakes wouldn't come back unless he stopped taking it. Geldis brought him the tea and set it in front of him.
“Here is your Scathecraw tea,” he said and then looked at Grulmar holding the vial. “What's that?”
The Orc just shrugged and poured few drops of the blue liquid into his tea. “Medicine.” He sipped the tea and felt the concentrate crackling with magicka as it went down his throat and the shakes immediately stopped. “Anyway, what's with the name? Retching Netch?”
"There's actually a funny story behind the name, friend. A few years ago, I was walking down by the docks and I noticed a Dunmer staggering along with a bottle of sujamma in hand. He was one of my patrons, and liked to drink heavily, so I wasn't exactly surprised."
“Doesn't sound really special to me,” Grulmar murmured.
“Ah, but you see this particular Dunmer was as naked as the day he was born and singing badly at the top of his lungs. As I'm watching this spectacle, a netch floats over the Bulwark towards him. The man looks straight up at the netch... yells 'have a drink' and tosses the bottle... and it never hit the ground." The Dunmer then stopped and smiled. "Well, the bottle broke on the netch, and it must have swallowed its contents because it started floating sort of tilted. Finally, it stopped and began to quiver. A few moments later, the foulest liquid to ever assail your nostrils spewed from its maw. I've seen plenty of drunks in my day, and I'll tell you right now that netch was sick."
Geldis looked at Grulmar with expectation, but Grulmar didn't really understand what he expected from him. Should I laugh? “Well...there's one thin’ I don't get. What's a netch?”
The Dunmer was about say something, but then he looked at something behind Grulmar and the Orc couldn't help himself but roll his eyes. He knew that look. No matter where y'are, there is always someone lookin’ for trouble. Some guy runnin’ the show, thinkin’ he's the biggest shot around. So let’s hear it.
“You, Orc,” someone growled behind him with a male voice and Grulmar turned around to see a Dunmer in red clothes covered by a strange armor looking like the chitin off some bug.
“Yes?” Grulmar asked, not even trying to hide his annoyance.
“Mogrul wants to speak with you.”
“And this Mogrul got his legs chopped off so he can't come here?” the Orc retorted sarcastically.
“Don't cause any trouble, Slitter,” Geldis peeped. “Took me a few days to clean up the mess from the last time. He will come with you. Am I right, sera?”
Grulmar looked at the barkeeper and grimaced. Yeah, thanks for the help. Though I get it, ya don't want any trouble. “Alright, let's hear what this Mogrul has to say,” he muttered, getting up from his stool. “Slitter was it? Your mother had to really love ya with name like that, huh?”
“Smartass, aren't you?” the Dunmer growled, pushing Grulmar up the stairs. “Mogrul will straighten you out.”
“Lookin’ forward to it,” Grulmar smirked and continued up the stairs. When he got to the top, Slitter pushed him to the left and Grulmar noticed an Orc sitting at a table flush against the wall. Grulmar narrowed his eyes and the smirk completely disappeared from his face. The Orc had uniquely dark skin, almost blending with the shadows cast by the hearthfire. He was wearing fancy clothes of green and gold with no visible weapon at his side. The top of his head was bald with the brown hair over his ears bound behind his head into a ponytail which nicely complemented the big mutton chops on his chiseled face. There were several golden earrings in his left ear and he even sported a nose ring. But most importantly, there were the black markings of an exile all over his face - very similar to the markings Grulmar had over his face.
The Orc was looking back at him, scanning him the same way Grulmar was measuring him up, looking over Grulmar's bleached college robes with grey leather vest and bandolier with throwing knives over them. And his eyes also stopped when he saw Grulmar’s exile markings.
“Well, well. Another exile. Why don't you take a seat?” he snorted before taking a bite out of a roast venison, his prominent tusks tearing the meat as if it was paper. Grulmar had no other choice but to take a seat on the other side of the small table when Slitter pushed him down into the chair. Grulmar shook the hand off his shoulder and bared his tusks at the Dunmer. Mogrul chuckled at that and drowned the venison with whatever he was drinking. “So here I was taking a stroll along the Bulwark, when Slitter here,” he pointed at the Dunmer, “came running to me and told me there is a new guy in town and an Orc with the mark of an exile no less. So I thought: ‘Mogrul, you better go greet this Orc brother and welcome him to this wonderful piece of paradise we got here.’ So I'm here. Welcome to Raven Rock, brother.”
Grulmar put on his famous smirk. Yeah, certainly like home. It's the same everywhere, every place in this tuskin' world has its cockroaches and other vermin. “Let me guess. Y'are the guy runnin' a monopoly on protection around here, right? So now y'are goin' to tell me I should pay some fee for yer protection, 'cause this place is dangerous and accidents happen and ya certainly would feel guilty if some accident happened to me. How I'm doin' so far?”
Mogrul raised his eyebrows and grinned at the Dunmer standing next to him. “You hear that Slitter? The guy's smart. I already like him.” Slitter just snorted and Mogrul focused his attention back on Grulmar. “You're taking the words right out of my mouth, brother. I see you know your way around so I hope you won't be causing any trouble.”
Grulmar pulled the pouch Glover gave him and threw it towards Mogrul. He was actually quite lucky, because he used all his money to get to this shithole, so Glover's money was like a gift from the gods. Mogrul took it and weighed it in his hands. “Not much in there. This can’t be how much you value your health?”
“Not goin' to hang around for that long. Headin' out tomorrow,” the smaller Orc shrugged. He hoped that would be enough to keep Mogrul out of his back for at least one night until he left Raven Rock.
“Then I guess we're good,” Mogrul shrugged in return. “So what brings a brother out here? Where are you heading?”
“Just sightseein’.”
The other Orc burst out in laughter and punched Slitter’s armored arm. “Hear that Slitter? Sightseeing. We have a comedian here.”
“Yeah, he's real sunshine,” Slitter mumbled, clearly annoyed.
“Listen, brother,” Mogrul leaned closer. “No one comes to this shithole without a reason. So just the fact that you don't want to tell why makes you interesting.” He then pointed at the marking on Grulmar's face. “Twice as interesting with that ‘Exile of Largashbur’ shit on your face. Met a Largash before, back in Adal Matar. Some Yamarz.”
Grulmar felt his face drain of color after he heard that name.
Mogrul smirked. “Oh, so you do know him? You're of the right age. Let me guess. Uncle? Father? He was one damn fucker, I can tell you. All righteous in his fury and shit like that. Listen, I get it. It's not really my business why you came here. Alright, alright, I'll let it slide. But you have to tell me how you got exiled. Come on, surprise me. You fucked some female? Hah, or some male? No? Then you slit someone's throat in their sleep?”
Grulmar was using all his willpower to keep calm, to not to jump over the table and drive a knife through that tusker's eye. He was really getting under Grulmar’s skin, digging up memories that were meant to stay buried. He looked to the side and grimaced. “Started a war between tribes,” he muttered.
“Ha!” Mogrul banged his hand on the table. “Now I really need to hear more. Give me details, come on. What did you do?”
“I...touched a wise-wife,” he murmured.
“Touched?” Mogrul laughed. “So you fucked a female from other clan that was meant to marry your chieftain? Now that's precious!”
Grulmar's face was all sour. Wasn't exactly like that. I never had sex with her. They just thought I did…
“That's not bad, runt, really. You know how I got mine? I was from one of the Morrowind strongholds, until these Redoran chased us out into the mountains. We ran into Adal Matar up in Velothi and joined their little experiment. Raiding Morrowind and taking Dunmer as slaves. I was just a lowly warrior in our clan, so I didn't have any slaves, but others had, and these grey-skins disrespected me so I killed two of those puny grey-skin females.” He then looked at Slitter. “No offence, Slitter.”
“None taken.”
“That's good shit, right? Like that shit? Well, it gets even better. I got caught and killed three of my brothers. They were thinking about killing me right on the spot, but then they decided that exiling me to Dunmer lands would be a much better punishment. But they fucked up, you know? Want to know how they fucked up?” Grulmar didn’t open his mouth, but Morgrul took it as encouragement, and frankly he didn’t like the look in the other Orc’s eye. “I ran into some Dunmer and I told them exactly where Adal Matar was.” Morgrul sneered darkly. “Grey-skins burned the stronghold to the ground, so who's laughing now, huh?”
Grulmar shook his head in disbelief. Funny how the past sometimes literally hits ya right between yer eyes out of nowhere. Who would have thought that here, of all places, I would run into some seriously tusked up maniac that's indirectly tied to my past? This tuskin' world is really a small place… “I guess this whole story has a point, right? Y'are tryin' to tell me somethin', I can feel it. Wait? What's that? Ah, silly me. All that was just so ya could say: ‘Don't tusk with me or else.’ Am I right?”
“You got that right, brother. I'm glad we're understanding each other so well. I run the show here. You have a problem with someone? You come to me and I solve the problem, for a fee of course. You want money? I'll lend you some, but I'll be keeping an eye on you, making damn sure that you don't leave this fucking island. Are we clear? Good.” Morgrul then frowned. “Now get the fuck out.”
“It was really nice to meet you,” Grulmar murmured, getting up from his chair, giving Slitter a wide berth. “And thanks for the escort, Sunshine,” he added in his direction which earned him a growl from the Dunmer. Grulmar headed downstairs to finish his tea. Which is probably already cold. Tusk it! But he couldn´t deny how shaken he was be the meeting with that psycho. Tusk it twice!
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