Field Report 1325

  • *Warning some language and mature content*

    My Lord Chief-Chiurgeon Vilentius Malorius Senatus of the Order of the Hands of Mara,

    Sir, attached is the report you requested. It took me some time to track down the original document as much of the field notes were lost during the Soulburst and the fall of the Imperial City. The scribes tell me there is actually another report taken only a year ago that refers to the same individual but from memory of one of the other brother scribes shares almost nothing to the individual described below but does seem to relate to the same biographical information. If or when this report surfaces I will be sure to send that along though at the current time this individual is likely an imposter or perhaps the “Amornar” below is in fact the identity thief. Though based on the late Brother Tiberius’s eye for detail that is likely doubtful.

    Praise to Lady Mara

    -Brother Scribe Darius Neros Platicus


    Field Report:

    Subject Name: "Amornar"
    Date: 11th of Morning Star, 577 of the Second Era

    Gender/Race: Male Dunmer
    DOB: 13th of Second Seed, in the year 506 of the Second Era
    Age: 77
    Record: 1325
    Attending: Brother Tiberius Maximus Verus, Chiurgeon of Mara
    Scribe: Brother Tiberius Maximus Verus, Chiurgeon of Mara
    This entry is an account of an evening I spent by the fire of a lone dunmer I encountered along the road from the border gate into Deshaan and the city of Ebonheart in the kingdom of Morrowind. I found the hooded figure, dressed in dirty black rags. His appearance was disheveled and it took several attempts at conversation for him to respond. Uncertain if he mentally heard my words until the 3rd or 4th attempt, such was his almost surprised reaction when he finally did acknowledge my presence. Upon cursory detail, it was clear the individual was worth documenting and warranted a full psychiatric. Subject seemed hesitant but willing. The following is a physical and historical summary of my clinical interview.  
    Physical Observations:
    Subject is a male dark elf, age 77 from patient recollection. Based upon average elven lifespan he is not even out of his 30s yet and therefore younger than myself despite being heavily weather worn and prematurely aged beyond his years. His skin, from what I can identify is covered with scars and along arms looks to be evidence of black tattoos. Subject declined to remove any clothing for a physical examination. Has some facial hair, short and roughly trimmed. Color is black and likely color of head hair but again subject refused to remove hood during conversation. Musculature seems very strong and does not appear to be the average emaciation I would expect from one who for all intensive purposes is a beggar. Eye contact is good, pupil dilation normal, appears to be very sharp and observant individual when focused.
    Patient History:
    Patient was very reticent to divulge information about past but continued pressing and offering most of a bottle of Sujamma I had left in my pack loosened him. Patient gave several one or two word answers for several minutes at first until well into the bottle of alcohol. Following is largely dictated record of patient’s self-history:
    “I was born to a small noble house near Blacklight. House Valaroth, you would not have heard of us. We were allies of House Redoran since our ancestors first settled in the Great Exodus of our people. My father, Tarvyn, may the fucker languish in Oblivion for all time, was the epitome of all that is bad and evil in this world. He was abusive and cruel, sadistic and violent, regularly beating me and every other servant. He was a womanizer too, had quite the reputation around the city. I assume the traditions and values of your Imperial knightly orders to be something analogous to our own Redoran military…..he was everything opposite those.”
    *At this time I inquired about his mother.*
    “……My mother I never knew…I am told she was a servant girl…in truth I don’t even know her name. I believe she was a kind and gentle soul though from what the slaves would tell me when I was young. Knowing my father’s….tendencies, she must have been very beautiful.”
    *Patient drifted off in thought at this time and appeared to be attempting to hold back tears before regaining composure.*
    “Their…relationship was not one of love or even consent…. I was the unfortunate result of their union however. The bastard son of a fucked up nobleman and a slave. Not something you want to have shouted in the town square. Therefore I was kept a secret. A little slave child kept with the slaves, raised by the slaves, and cared for by slaves…..Well not entirely I suppose. My grandfather, Valen Valaroth, was a weathered old elf, his wife had passed many decades before and he was left alone with just vile Tarvyn. Perhaps that is why he never disciplined my father despite all the cruelty and injustices he committed. My grandfather was weak, too soft for his own good and the good of our family. He tried to shield me from some of my father’s abuse but only mildly succeeded, as if that could be an accomplishment. I worked mostly in the forge as soon as I was old enough to physically pick up a sword.”
    “Years passed by and the sudden news that my father was to marry shocked the house. Many hoped that a wife might curb some of his…hobbies. It did not. His wife, Marasa Tyravel, was every bit his equal and a nightmare in her own right. Surely she was a creature straight from Coldharbor the way she treated others. In her first month at the manor alone, she killed two of the servants. My existence was kept from her and she was none the wiser who the little mer-child was. She and my father eventually bore their own child, Narisa. She was a quiet and reclusive little girl from what I remember, but was lavished every gift and luxury possible. More years passed much the same but as I began to creep into adulthood something….wonderful happened. One morning, the entire estate erupted in alarm and a flurry of activity when the body of my father was found dead. The magnificent bastard had been killed in the night and flayed open in a belovedly gruesome spectacle. Some whispered it was the work of the Morag Tong, probably hired by some jilted ex-lover’s husband. Some claimed my grandfather had grown so disgusted with his own son that he had signed the contract himself… That one was my favorite.”
    “Whatever the reason, Tarvyn was dead, and the future of House Valaroth looked to be in the hands of Marasa. Perhaps it had been her that had hired his assassins? Regardless, and mercifully, that did not happen as my grandfather approached me with a plan to announce my existence officially and name me the heir of his house. The look at Marasa’s face was….priceless. She sputtered and spurted, trying to form words or even thoughts as anger washed over her like a river too flooded for its banks. The most she could muster was a series of curses, some of which I had never even heard before. Taking Narisa with her, she left the grounds with her possessions, her personal servants in tow.”
    “What followed were years of instruction and education as I had much to learn if I was suddenly to be a noble, and not a slave. Some doubted the veracity of Valen’s claim of me as his kin. But they didn’t have a choice as he hired a team of teachers, instructors, trainers, tutors, guides, and more from across the length and breadth of Tamriel to teach me the arts of nobility. Mornings were spent in the classroom, afternoons in the training yard, evenings in the library. All the while we took grand trips to the far corners of the continent, nearly emptying our coffers in the process. Valen spared no expense and it is clear now that he was trying to buy my forgiveness and affection for the years of abuse inflicted by my father. It worked, at least then. I was so wrapped up on the mystery and curiosity of all these new things I was exposed to that I didn’t notice the dozen or so years sail by. As you will see though, idyllic peace has been and never will be something in store for me…..”
    *Patient grew dark and angry at this time, he drained the rest of the bottle I had given him and threw it to the ground. Under much coxing I was able to get him to continue.*
    “It happened in the middle of the night. I was awakened by the sounds of combat and I snatched my blade and ran toward the commotion. Assassins, wrapped in dark leathers seemed to be everywhere, cutting down the guards and servants like they were nothing. I immediately fled to my grandfather’s chambers. There he was locked in combat with two of the cloaked figures, another dead at his feet. He fought like a warrior of ancient Resdayn. Noble and strong, he defended his life to the bitter end.”
    *Subject again got very emotional and had difficulty continuing.*
    “We managed to kill one, but the other ran his blade deep into my grandfather’s gut…...I….I don’t remember much after that…but I remember feeling hot…so much heat…and anger…and rage deep inside me, my hands shook and seemed to burn with the fury inside me.”
    *As patient spoke, his hands mimicked his gestures and as he began to shake I could feel heat suddenly radiating from him and his darkened clothes began to steam. I believe subject has uncontrolled, or at best mildly controlled magicka capacity and for the rest of the interview I was prepared to flee at a moment’s notice if I felt my life was in danger.*
    “I woke the next day in the treeline on the edge of the manor grounds. The manor itself, each and every building was nothing but smoldering cinders and ash. Nothing still lived in that place. How I had escaped I do not know but I was alive, and my entire life, my family, my…friends if you would call them that, appeared to be no more. I wandered, wandered alone and cold and hungry for days. Eventually I found some kind ash yam farmers that took me in and fed me, nursed me back to good physical and….moderate mental health. All the while I plotted my revenge. In my mind there was only one person with the cause or the coin to facilitate such an…..extermination. Eventually I found her, stalked her through the streets of Kragenmoor like a predator waiting to ambush his prey. The moment I thought she was vulnerable I took it. Without hesitation and without a word I calmly walked up to that bitch and drove my blade into her guts, exactly as I had seen my grandfather die. The look on her face was…delicious. Again...and again…..I stabbed her. By the time the town guard pulled me from her corpse there was little left intact…..”
    *Subject got a look of very unsettling contentment at this time that again caused me to ready to flee at any moment.*
    “Coated in her blood they dragged me away to the jails. The trial was quick and I did not challenge the charges. I was guilty and proud of it. Her family was wealthy and influential and made sure I would be locked up and the key thrown away for the rest of my life. In the far corner of Morrowind, in a deep, dark shithole of a prison I sat. It was there however, that I met what is likely my own true friend I have ever had. Tels was an unusual elf, himself from a rather wealthy and privileged past….he did not get along with most of his family.”


    *Subject’s mood dramatically improves suddenly as he recollects this individual*


    “He did not like to speak of his past and in his memory I will not either. Suffice to say he was a brilliant scoundrel and a powerful fire mage. His entire cell, and chains were engraved with a series of runes designed to suppress his ability to manipulate magic. I would have thought the mer nothing special if I had not seen his true skill years down the road. It was he who discovered that I had the capacity for the arcane and he taught me for years in secret. At least the best one can from a cell away, unable to demonstrate or replicate anything they were attempting to teach.... It was like the blind teaching the deaf, but eventually, after several years of instruction, and many long, dark nights spent with nothing but the company of each other’s hearts and minds we hatched our plan. I had secretly gained enough knowledge to be able to melt small amounts of metal with my touch and we used that to free me from my cell, get into his, and break his chains.”
    “Vivec’s balls! In moments it seemed as if I had stepped into a plane of Oblivion. Fire consumed everything as Tels unleashed years of frustration and vengeance upon the jailers and the jailed alike as he literally burned a path to freedom for us……If it were not for that blasted bolt, life perhaps would have been very different…..In the fury and fire of our escape, the guards organized a defense, training their crossbows down from atop the courtyard walls, or charging in blades at the ready. Tels manipulated his wall of flames around us, incinerating anything that got within a few meters of us. Everything that is, except one stray bolt which found its mark expertly in the middle of his throat. Blood erupted from Tels’ mouth as the verbal component of his spells died on his lips and his flames of Oblivion died into nothingness……”

    *Subject becomes very depressed and withdrawn*


    “I watched my friend die that day. Clawing at a blacked bolt protruding from his neck, his eyes wide in shock and pain, I held him until the guards overpowered my grip. He died there in dirt….alone…..”
    *Subject takes a few minutes to regain composure before slowly continuing.*
    “They placed me into Tels’ cell, chained me to his wards, and beat me, day after day after day. They would not make the same mistake twice. Their idea was to work me to death, get as much usage out of me. The only real job skill I possessed was the years of working the forges for my family’s house. I spent the next twenty-five years chained to the forge, or chained in my cell. Every day, every night it was the same. A few hours sleep, some moldy, rotten slop, and hours and hours of labor. A never ending line of weapons, armor, tools and more came across my anvil. Most was for the guards, or work tools for the prisoners. The excess was sold off and the gold pocketed by the warden and his cronies. If it were not for the Akaviri invasion I would likely still be there, doomed to die under the lash…. At first the guards believed the Akaviri would be quickly defeated and there was little danger to them. As reports drifted in though, it was clear that this was nothing but wishful thinking. When the vile ice demons appeared on the horizon the chains of each and every prisoner were severed and it didn’t matter if you were the jailed or the jailers if you wanted to live. As soon as my chains hit the ground however, I turned upon my captors. I slew three before making my way to the warden’s office. I didn’t know who I could blame for Tels’ death but he seemed like the best choice. He was cowering in his office, the pathetic wretch not even willing to fight to save his own life... I made him suffer before the end….. for my anger and resentment of what had become my entire life. In the chaos of the battle it was easy to escape. Many of the other prisoners thought the same and abandoned the place to save their own skins. While I am sure there were good people that died that day, most of those on both sides of the bars in that place were nothing but monsters.”
    *Subjects takes a long, protracted sigh and he clearly shows signs of exhaustion and fatigue from having to relive these events. At this point I no longer needed to ask probing questions and he continued to let slip his flood of emotional history.*
    “I quickly found myself with nowhere to go, with nothing but rags, and no food. For days I survived on nothing but what I could scavenge from the ash. Eventually though I made it to civilization, made a couple of coins working and spent the first night in a real bed in decades. The one thing I could think to do was to fulfill a promise I had made to my deceased friend. While Tels did not like to talk about her, I knew he had a sister, loosely where she lived, and her name, Raevyn. It took the better part of a year, but eventually I found her in Deshaan.”

    *Subject pauses, clearly having difficulty speaking, tears beginning to form at the corners of his eyes, glistening in the firelight*


    “She was touched I would come to see her after all this time. She had not seen or heard from her brother in almost thirty years and in truth had no idea where he was and if he was living or dead. For my part…I...or rather…well….she was……..the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. She was dark and mysterious and exuded an aura of power and confidence that I found irresistible. I instantly loved her more than I ever thought my ruined soul was capable of. The years I spent with her were…..wonderful. For what might have been the first time ever, I knew peace, and happiness. I found employment….she continued her work….. I sought arcane instruction, resolved to master my skills in honor of my dear friend and…...deceased brother... as Raevyn and I wed…. I..we…were overjoyed when we found out she was pregnant….but when it came time to deliver..…they said there was nothing they could do..…and no amount of pleading prayer to mother Almalexia….could bring them back. I buried…my wife…and the daughter…I would never know that day….”
    *Patient completely breaks down at this point and tears streak down the ash covered cheeks of the dark elf.*

    “I have lost everything, if you could even say I had it in the first place. My family...multiple families...a wife, a child, a brother, a grandparent, a mother….all taken. Everyone I have ever loved, a few short years at best and then snatched away, gone, like a shadow in the dark….left with only an eternity of torment and abuse. I have nothing left to give, nothing but pain......ash and pain.”

    Diagnosis & Prognosis:

    At this point he refused to speak anymore and I sat for a long time collecting my thoughts and notes. Physically he appears to have weathered the history of abuse, maltreatment, and I am sure malnourishment rather well. Mentally there is evidence of severe post-traumatic stress from multiple acute crisis events, severe depression, and judging from cursory evidence, alcoholism. Judging from the subject’s demeanor, I did not want to press for more information and felt I had overstayed my welcome at this point. Also safety had become a concern multiple times and with no staff available to assist if needed, it seemed prudent to excuse myself. I quickly packed up, and despite my better judgement left the poor wretch my last bottle of sujamma. May his soul find peace with whatever gods will listen.


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