[The Book of Dawn and Dusk is a collections of sayings and aphorisms attributed variously to the Tribunals and to their saints and servants. Many of these sayings have become common cliches of everyday life in Morrowind. The following selection of slogans will illustrate many of the simplest notions of the Tribunal faithful.]
Speak none but good of the Gods.
We can have no opinions about Truth.
Rumors flow from the House of Troubles.
Count only the happy hours.
No child has a sinner's heart.
Let faith be your only law.
Fear of the fool is the beginning of wisdom.
Almsivi in every hour.
Walk always in the presence of your Lords.
Comfort is given, justice is taken.
Learn by serving.
From the heart, the light; from the head, the law.
Blessed Almsivi, Mercy, Mastery, Mystery.
Forge a keen Faith in the crucible of suffering.
Engrave upon thy eye the image of injustice.
Death does not diminish; the ghost gilds with glory.
Faith conquers all. Let us yield to Faith.
Better to suffer a wrong than to do one.
The heavens are in their glory, applaud!
Folly secures its power to harm.
Though forbidden to some, not to you.
Oh, how rarely wisdom rules our hearts!
Blessed are we who serve Almsivi.
Three mouths sing Mercy, Mastery, Mystery.
Gather no seed in the fields of Hell.
The Thrice-Sealed House withstands the Storm.
By Breath and Blood protect us all!
Can ghosts or justice change with time?
Consider your end, mortal!
Accept grace without limits.
Enter the rhapsody of the God-Poet.
Kneel before the Teacher's chair.
Three Hands, three Hearts, three Eyes.
Keep no secret from your Judge's scale.
Forge Darkness into Light.
Refuse neither brother nor ghost.
Blessed Almsivi, through birth, life, ghost.
From glowing ashes the Poet's wrath shall shine.
If Vivec is for us, who can stand against us?
Fate, monstrous and empty, the whirling wheel of evil.
How black my heart, roasting fiercely?
He walked through the chaotic streets of the great mushroom city, pushing his way through the crowds who were mostly comprised of either slaves or Telvanni mages. Many of both castes regarded him with a measure of confusion, and in response, he always involuntarily smoothed out his Telvanni robes.
After all, it wasn’t often one saw an Orc wearing the colors of House Telvanni. The Telvanni were looking down on him, scoffing, while the slaves were usually spitting on the ground while their masters weren’t looking. He had even seen several of his kind in the shackles of slavery and they were giving him hard stares, full of hate. But none of the slaves dared speak to him, spit on him, or insult him. Because he was Telvanni, and while they could hate him, he was above them.
When he had requested an audience with the Council, he didn’t really expect they would give him the benefit of doubt and promote him to Oathman of House Telvanni, but fortune favours the bold, and if anything, the Telvanni respected the concept of bold. When he was given a task to prove his worth, he was more surprised than all of them.
He looked up at the sickly green sky, at all the massive tentacles of black smoke swirling among the clouds of acid and he frowned. When he looked around, he could see the Telvanni guards were wearing masks of gold, in a shape he was very familiar with.
“What am I doing here?” he whispered and then he felt someone approach from behind. Turning around, he saw a cloaked woman with a blindfold over her eyes, holding a massive eye against her chest. “Mora,” he gritted his teeth. “Or would you prefer ‘Oghma’?”
The woman shrugged, stopping next to him while her blind eyes faced the direction of the tower of a Magister in front of them. “My preference is not important here, mortal.”
“Why am I here?” Grulmar shook his head, frowning in annoyance. “Because...I feel this isn’t my doing, this dream. It is not mine.”
“No,” she murmured in response. “It is not your dream, but you were drawn here nevertheless. It is in your nature.” She then turned to him, the eye on her chest focusing on him, reflecting amusement. “To be drawn to events you don’t understand. To be a witness.” Oghma paused for a second, tilting her head. “The strands of fate do not lie and this is your fate. To stand between the king and the rebel, bear witness with arms stretched wide as if trying to push those two from each other, but in doing so you only maim yourself.”
“I haven’t asked for this,” the Orc growled.
“No witness does. Witness means being a part of something you do not want to see or participate in, but you have to anyway. It means to see things that cannot be unseen and thus they maim you, haunt your soul. But enough. You have to see this through,” Oghma said and then motioned him towards the tower and Grulmar felt the dream’s pull carrying him forward.
He entered the tower’s entry hall, which was something completely different from Neloth’s tower. This room was huge, as big as Neloth’s laboratory, with impressive furniture and working stations, full of people going about their day to day business.
One of the tower’s guards approached Grulmar, noting the Telvanni robes, but the Orc noticed the scoff to the guard’s tone just the same. “What do you want, Orc?”
“I’ve come to talk with Mouth Talvas Sarothil,” Grulmar stated.
“Do you have an appointment? Because neither Mouth Sarothil or Magister Sarothil are accepting visitors today,” the guard replied in a cold manner.
Grulmar clenched his jaws and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “I acknowledge that,” he murmured and waved his hand, casting a quick illusion upon the guard. “But, I am your friend, am I not? So as a favor to your friend, you could at least tell the Mouth I’m here. He will then decide if he will accept me or not. There’s surely no harm in that?”
The guard, under the effect of Grulmar’s spell nodded. “You are right, my friend. I will inform them.” The guard then walked to the center of the room, levitating up the shaft, most likely going directly to the top of the tower. Grulmar took a seat at nearby bench, glancing at Oghma sitting next to him.
“If I am here to witness, what are you doing here then?” he asked.
“I am here but to collect.”
“Collect what?”
She didn’t answer his question, only clicked her tongue. “Have you ever really pondered the notion of worship, Grulmar gro-Largash?”
"You are avoiding my question," he narrowed his eyes and sighed, leaning back. “Fine. I’ve never been a big fan of faith and worship. And with the things I know… What would be the point? I’ve always dismissed the notion of gods being real and so I wondered why worship something that doesn’t exist? But now I know they are real, but how does it help when they are either ignorant or dead?”
“Ignorant. Dead. Nonexistent. Does it actually matter? All you mortals want is to shape your own gods with your worship, bend them to your will and make them bleed so that you could slowly drain them, bask in their power. You ask of them to perform miracles, as a confirmation that your faith is true.”
“Maybe. But then there's you and the others. You answer, but in what manner, hmm? Just to move us like pawns on your game board. Why? Is it your desire to mimic the faith of the Divines, but perverted so that it serves your own desires? Shape mortals in your image, bend them to your will, bleed them so you can slowly drain them?”
Oghma didn’t respond and Grulmar looked up to see the guard returning. The Orc got up and smoothened out his robes.
“Mouth Sarothil will accept you now, friend,” the house guard said, pointing towards the shaft.
Grulmar nodded in appreciation and levitated towards the top of the tower. He was nervous, because he hadn’t spoken with either Mouth or Magister in private yet - except Neloth, but that was far away from the politics of the city, in the middle of nowhere. Port Telvannis was very different. Everyone was playing the same game; a game of power and prestige and Grulmar knew that he, as an Orc, was at a tremendous disadvantage. But that didn’t stop him from trying to earn the same respect and power as any other Telvanni would.
He reached the top and slowly opened the only door in the small room, entering the laboratory.
“...what does it say?” a woman’s voice sounded.
“It is a formal invitation from Venhen Ules, inviting us to his plantation in Deshaan.”
“I’m still surprised he let us marry each other.”
“Well, he wanted me to marry someone powerful and you certainly are, getting him the connections he wanted,” Mouth Talvas said. He was at a table with a letter in his hands and he lifted his head, noticing Grulmar standing by the door for the first time. He raised his eyebrows in amusement. “Retainer Grulmar. We didn’t hear you enter. Were you hoping to overhear something important so that you could sell it to our rivals? I guess we’ll have to disappoint you, nothing but boring family matters to overhear here.”
Magister Ildari Sarothil then appeared from behind a corner, looking at the Orc with a curious expression. “Is this the Orc you were telling me about, beloved?” she asked, studying Grulmar as if he was a potential new pet, or a new experiment subject, which was making him quite uncomfortable. “Well, isn’t he a clever one? Using illusions to get an audience with us. I feel like we’ll have to school our household on protection against illusions again if even an Orc can fool them.”
“Ildari, please,” Mouth Talvas Sarothil rolled his eyes.
“I am sorry for the intrusion, Magister,” Grulmar bowed slightly to Ildari. “I just wanted to personally thank you - and your Mouth - for speaking on my behalf at the Council’s meeting.”
“How thoughtful of you,” Talvas smiled and offered Grulmar a chair at the table, directly opposite to him. “Everyone deserves a chance, in my and my wife’s opinion, no matter their background or upbringing. You could say that we are… slightly more progressive in this regard than many other Magisters.”
“Are we now?” Magister Ildari snorted when Grulmar sat down and Talvas shook his head, chuckling.
“Well, didn’t you marry a Hlaalu offspring, my love?”
She smiled, walking towards Talvas and touched his shoulders. “What was I supposed to do? You were becoming bothersome. I would do anything to silence you.”
Talvas faked a surprised gasp. “Oh! You’re hurting me, Magister!”
“I will make sure to fix your wounded pride later,” she leaned down and kissed him on his cheek, then turned back to Grulmar. “You were studying under Neloth I heard. How is the old fool doing?”
“He is doing good,” the Orc murmured, deciding to ignore the ‘old fool’ part in Ildari’s question. She was a Magister after all, who was he to reprimand her for calling another Magister a fool? They were a bickering bunch. “Tel Mithryn is growing well, slowly becoming the major settlement of Solstheim after Raven Rock’s destruction. Most of the southern coast is now covered with the pods and towers of Tel Mithryn.”
“Ah, yes. We heard that Master Neloth has been given the land by the new Emperor, along with the ebony mine,” Mouth Talvas nodded.
“Yes, Emperor Miraak was most generous to Master Neloth for helping him vanquish the False Dragonborn,” Grulmar said. “And after Lord Miraak defeated the World-Eater and was crowned Emperor, he even provided slaves to work the mine and dragons for protection.”
Ildari shook her head with a smile. “Who would have ever thought that little Tel Mithryn would one day become so prominent?”
Mouth Talvas chuckled. “More importantly, who would have thought that Neloth would rule an entire island one day?” He shook his head, looking at Grulmar. “I’m sorry, Retainer. Both my wife and I used to be Neloth’s apprentices a long time ago. It’s where we met. But it is good to hear that our old teacher is doing well.” He then paused and exchanged looks with Ildari, before looking back at Grulmar. “But I can’t shake the feeling that you haven’t come here just to show gratitude and talk about Solstheim.”
The Orc looked towards the window and sighed. “May I?” he pointed towards the window.
“Please,” Talvas gave him permission to rise and Grulmar walked towards the window, looking over the beauty that was Port Telvannis.
“I-” He started.
“GOL!”
The tower suddenly shook under their feet, the strange word echoing through Grulmar’s soul. The Orc looked out the window again and this time, there was no Port Telvannis outside. What he saw was a frozen beach, with a stone pillar protruding from the ground, surrounded by curved structures connecting with the stone. There were several people around it, working on it, but they stopped.
The structures around the stone began glowing, cracking and then the stone exploded. The tower around Grulmar shook once more and he turned around to see the walls peeling off as if they were made of paper, revealing nothingness outside.
“Ildari! Ildari!” Talvas shouted as Ildari’s skin began peeling off, revealing nothing but ash inside. Talvas fell to his knees, his hands covered with the ash that was his lover.
Outside of the window, Grulmar could see a familiar form fighting a huge monster, sword in hand. A tall Altmer. Shiny...
And he turned away from that sight, walking towards Talvas. The Dunmer was now covered in the rags that used to be Telvanni robes, his face gaunt and pale. He looked sick, weak. Grulmar knelt beside him, touching his shoulder. “Talvas,” he said softly.
When the sounds of the battle outside ended, Talvas turned to Grulmar, pain written all over his face. “What have you done?” he whispered. “You have taken her away from me.”
“It wasn’t real, Talvas,” the Orc replied.
“Serana! A blanket, hurry!” the Altmer shouted from outside, his voice echoing through the emptiness. “Come on, stay with me, lad.”
“How long has he been there? Was he just lying there?” Serana’s voice, as if from far a way.
“It doesn’t matter,” Talvas dropped to the floor and Grulmar reached for him, rolling him on his back. “It was real for me. It made the pain go away. It made me happy.”
Grulmar didn’t reply, because there was nothing he could say to make it better. Desperation was a deafening cry that was very difficult to answer, to withstand, because desperation was seeping into every dark corner of a soul, and once it became too much… No amount of light could chase away the shadows from the corners, the darkness poisoning the mind. Grulmar had nothing to say. He could only...weep.
“Son, it’s not real happiness.” He heard Äelberon’s voice in the distance too. Trying to fight the desparation. “He’s feedin’ ya lies. It’s what he does. Come, come back to me and I’ll help you get through this. Serana! Hurry!”
“I am sorry, Grulmar,” Talvas said with a trembling voice, his body too weak to withstand the desperation any longer. Grulmar could see that Talvas hadn’t eaten or drank for a long time, the only thing keeping him alive was the magic of the Stone. And that was gone now, all of it. All Stones cleansed, save one, the Mask’s grip on Solstheim fading into near nothingness.
“Grulmar?” the Orc heard Äelberon from outside, repeating Talvas’s words.
“Sorry? For what?” Grulmar murmured, looking into Talvas’ eyes, but the Dunmer wasn’t looking at him anymore, he was looking at something behind Grulmar’s shoulder. The Orc turned around.
Oghma was standing there, the eye on her chest and she reached down with her hand. Towards Talvas.
“No,” Grulmar whispered.
“I am yours, Hermaeus Mora,” Talvas whispered with his last breath and Oghma grasped his hand, lifting Talvas’ soul from his body. The body Grulmar was holding suddenly turned into ash and all he could do was watch Oghma and Talvas walking into the nothingness.
“No, no, no, no! Dammit! Damn you, Mora! Shit!” Äelberon cursed outside, the Dunmer dying in his arms.
“He’s dead.”
“FUCK! Don’t you think I don’t know?” A pause as the Altmer bent his head. “I… sorry, I’m sorry, Ana. I didn’t mean…”
“I know, Beron. I’m frustrated too.” She furrowed her brow. “I saw his lips move, what did he say?”
“Committed himself to Mora, but why?” The Altmer asked through gritted teeth. His alien eyes found the Dunmer, searching the lifeless eyes for answers that could no longer be revealed. “What did you need to know, poor fool, that was worth your own soul? But before that, he mentioned Grulmar. It was like he was talking to the lad.”
“That bungler?”
Äelberon shook his head. “No, Ana, he’s not really a bungler. He is, I think, sometimes, in as shitty a position as I am in. Just wanting, I don’t know, freedom? Freedom maybe? He’s simply Grulmar.” There was a chuckle. “Motagiik. Who am I to talk? I am a motagiik to many too...”
“That is certainly true,” the Nord vampire smirked before focusing her attention back to the dead Dunmer. “Well, do we tell him about this?”
“Ana, I think he already knows. I felt something…”
“Damn mystic,” Serana sighed, kneeling next to the Altmer and resting her head on his shoulder.
“You’re sort of one too, you know,” Äelberon argued back, but he gave the top of her head a quick kiss which made her look up, meeting his eyes. Then his voice grew thoughtful. “Maybe that is why you understand me, Ana. Maybe that is why we are crazy, the two of us, defiantly tumbling through time and space, colliding with fate and the stuff that is the in between, witnesses to the sonic humming of the tunes we have always known.”
“Sonic humming?” She asked.
“Aye.” He sighed, turning his attention back towards the dead Dunmer. “Now, help me. We burn him, it is the right thing to do. Ah, poor fool,” he said softly, still cradling Talvas, “the library is an overwhelming place, he never reveals what you want to know, making your wanderings endless...” He then, with his free hand, closed the Dunmer’s eyes.
Witness, Grulmar thought helplessly. They were all forced to witness, to bear the burden.
Maimed.
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