The air went dry again as Isaac returned, unwillingly, to the scene he had dreamt too many times now. He looked down at his hands, readied and pressed together in prayer. His skin was a pale yellow, candles emitting a horrid stench dotted the floor around him, and the robes he wore stung and seemed to grow heavier by the minute. Still, he felt powerful, still, he knew what was to come. He prayed to a statue in front of him, it was modest and clearly unbefitting of a king to pray to, in the shape of a moon and star. As he prayed he heard nothing, and felt only the waning of his power and the sorrow at the loss of two loved ones. Three remained, however, and close by aswell. So, he continued to pray, and plead to the statue as he grew weaker and weaker. He was already on his knees for prayer, but eventually he fell onto his hands as well, no longer able to hold himself.

From his left could be heard footsteps. He looked toward them to see the legs of a man the same race as him. Isaac did not have the strength to look up and see the man's face, but he could see the brilliant hair, the color of electricity, long and straight, that hung down behind the man's knees. Then Isaac spoke with a voice that wasn't his own.

“Seht… Seht something is wrong… Azura will not answer my prayers… I am so tired, Seht.”

A voice like rain, constant, powerful, but obviously in pieces came from the man as he revealed a dagger, and held it to Isaac's face. His voice revealed that he was crying.

“Silence, beloved, I promise it will be over soon.”

Isaac felt the harsh sting of betrayal as the blade traced along his face, skinning him alive. He screamed and Seht’s hand shook as he committed the vile act.

There came another sound of weeping from behind, this time from a woman. The pain Isaac felt was like no other. She screamed, she must have seen what Seht had done. Though Isaac felt brief hope he knew that it was fleeting, soon to be followed by that sting again, only worse this time.

“Ayem… has my... own wife… conceived to... forsake me… too?”

“You have given us no choice… know we do this out of love.”

There was no Love in this. She drew another blade, the twin to his, a curved sword, wreathed in flame, but most importantly: serrated. She wept as she sawed through her husband's ankle, but she never stopped. Isaac did not weep, he winced and screamed at the intense pain, but never once did he cry. She didn’t stop until both feet were severed.

Seht could be heard to be audibly distressed, though he never stopped her. Then there was the final set of steps Isaac would hear, coming in threes, the first two were bare feet. The third sound was something Isaac was all too familiar with: Muatra, Vehk’s spear.

“Vehk…”

Isaac was pushed onto his back, whether he did it or Vehk did it, he didn't know. The look in Vehk's eyes were burned into Isaac's memory, no matter how many times he saw the terrible scene, Vehk’s eyes would overshadow it all. They were not filled with tears, but stuck somewhere between dread, regret, and anticipation. Blood covered Isaac's eyes, the only thing to keep them from drying out since he couldn't blink.

As he peered out into Vehk's eyes, and scanned over to Seht and Ayem’s eyes when her face wasn't rested in their hands, he did see love in there, much regret, but also love. Still he could see no Love in their actions, and while there was love in Vehk's eyes, there was also hatred. for him? He didn't know, but Vehk's eyes were full of everything Isaac had hoped not to see, on top of the regret and anticipation, there was dread, lust, murderous intent, but more than anything there was greed.

One last time, Isaac spoke in that voice that didn't belong to him.
“Vehk… you can't use the tools… Vehk, listen, it will bring only the e-”

Before he could finish he was pierced through the chest and hoisted into the air. With his dying breath Isaac clutched at the spear, and went limp. The last thing he heard was Vehk’s voice, calm and prophetic.

“Come back to us, Nerevar… Please, come back to us.”

And then Isaac was alone, in the same dunmer room he was always in at the end of the nightmare. He walked over to the mirror to see himself returned to his own body. He was a Nord again, with his pointed beard and mustache and his long, greying brown hair. His eyes… for sometime hadn't been his own. He had been in Morrowind for three years, and since had arrived his eyes were different, he couldn't see himself in them. Shortly after the nightmares started he understood what he was seeing in them.

Then the smell of death wafted out from behind him. He turned to see a man in ordinator gear sitting in a chair, the Indoril boots that matched the armor sat on the ground where his feet would be, if he had had any.

Isaac turned back to the mirror. “If you have something to say, say it and leave. If not, you may skip step one.”

“Do you really hate me so much?” Said that same voice Isaac had spoken with in his dream, this time coming from behind the Indoril mask.
“Is it self loathing if I say yes?” Isaac asked.

“Only in the loosest sense, I suppose.”
“Then the answer is absolutely yes.” Isaac said without hesitation.

“Can I ask why?”

“Take a guess.”

“The nightmares are not my fault, me being here is not my fault, you honestly think I would have picked a Nord?”

“I would at least consider a dark elf. Though I'm sure you'd prefer me over an argonian.” Isaac began to wash his face.

“Dunmer enslaved the beast folk, not the Velothi originals.”

“You would have if you could have, that's not why I hate you. I grew up in Skyrim after all. You say this burden isn't your fault. Who am I to blame for this torment, then? Since you have come I have felt only pain from your memories, it is enough to wonder if you ever felt joy.”

“I have, Isaac, you know I have. Do not lie to yourself. You feel the pride in returning Vehk To the temple, the joy in marrying our Ayem-”

“YOUR Ayem, do not try and tie that-that treacherous bitch to me! And you wonder why we are a Nord, have you never known wrath?”

“Have you ever not known it? It's much more peaceful, I assure you.”

“It's much more pathetic is what it is. It allows you to love a woman that destroyed you.”

“Such is the way of love, Isaac, you love them, too.”

“I do NOT!” Isaac spun around to face Nerevar.

“You cannot lie to me, Isaac, we are one in the same. You cannot deny me forever. Soon, you will need to embrace me, and none of us will be lost, this I promise.”

Isaac clenched his fist and marched over to Nerevar until he was face to mask.

“Let me spell it out to you,” He said in a whisper. “Your burden belongs to ONLY YOU.

“Yet you carry it. Shocking.” Nerevar said calmly.

“If I must strike down Voryn, I will do so with my own hands, because I am my own man.”

“You say that, but you use their old names, and even when you yourself look into the mirror you don't see yourself in our eyes, you see us.”

“Silence.”

“We are already one, you will understand when you confront Vehk.”

“Silence.”

“You cannot escape who we are, Isaac.”

“I AM MY OWN MAN!” Isaac yelled before punching through Nerevar, who dissipated like color in milk, the room did the same, and Isaac was the only solid thing left. As he stared at his fist with rage, it, too, began to dissipate. And the he woke.

Drenched in sweat and tangled in his bedroll. The stench of the hostile wildlife he had slain the night before and placed in a circle around him was nauseating, but it kept the kagouti away while he slept. He packed up his camp. He donned his armor up to the daedric helm, its top was dotted with spikes and it shimmered with it's enchantment. What he could not look away from was the mask of the helm, which he wore to hide from the Morag tong assassins the fighters guild sent after him, and from the thieves guild members who would go out searching for their guildmaster. Still he felt shame in hiding his face, and when we wore the mask all that people could see was his eyes. He put the helm on and climbed the hill he had descended to set up camp the night before. There he could see it, the city on the water. As the sun shined down on the lake and the water flowed in great streams from the canal works, the sound and smell of a bustling metropolis echoed even to the shore so that Isaac could hear it. He wondered if
they could hear it in Ebonheart. He looked down at the key the archcanon had given him months ago. It was time to have a talk with the one who had killed him.


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Morrowind is my second favorite game of all time, this is a story that I've wanted to write for a while but wasn't sure if I wanted to include my own personal Nerevarine, Isaac. Finally I've decided to site down and write it out. This series will be four parts, five parts max, and will operate under the assumption that the Nerevarine is the literal reincarnation of Indoril Nerevar, and shares his memories through nightmares. I know a lot of people find it more interesting to think the PC is not the actual reincarnation of Nerevar but I think it's the opposite. The mere implications, the inherent identity crisis and confrontation (roll credits) with the tribunal and Dagoth are made.much more complicated.
Also I'm posting this in the literature section bc as far as I can tell the Fallout forums are the only ones with a dedicated fanfic section.
Side not the mobile site is almost unusable and Im posting this from work so RIP.