today i got sad that i never wrote any of nelyn's adventures. i see a single screenshot of morrowind anywhere and Scenes possess my mind of all sorts of stuff that nelyn went through. his attempts of making sense of this new world, piecing fragments of mistold distorted nordic stories and books and sermons and things he overhears at the temples. how he feels like falling apart the first time he gets kindness from a random person in vvardenfel. finding strange comfort in sermon ten. finding himself drawn to boethia despite all his programming and upbringing and being convinced he was inherently a daedric creature of evil and discovering it's not a bad thing at all. wondering if there's even anything lovable in this world made to love the scarab in after arguing for the fortieth time whether they should attempt to bring down baar dau with the crumbling forces of the temple, or after mass murdering people in a cave just for the crime of being smugglers for some shitty bounty, or the eleventh hundred plantation he passes by, or while imprisoned in the ministry of truth. stupidly pining for his very much married and many decades older mentor while ignoring the very much better accesible and wonderful candidates around. he believes there's some order in the world, some logic, some things that should be in some way, and those beliefs get torn pieces to pieces to pieces over and over again, and he never knows how that body that is a mass of scars and corprus tissue still keeps going
he would have been significantly happier if he went to the imperial city instead of morrowind. yes, he'd be selling his muscle and workforce anyway, it would be humilliating at first anyway. but all the other elves there are a little strange, and everyone happily believes in the aedra watching over us all and there is no greys only the mild tug of war with evil taxes and mindless goblins and evil daedra worshipers to kill. he could find a niche trade, he could go to college, he could do a thousand things and be happy, enjoy the indirect spoils of the riches of the provinces. but he didn't want to *build* a life, he thought that there was home to be found in morrowind. without knowing anything except that there was sujamma and skooma and nice woven tapestries and that the women were very pretty, he thought there would be a tiny spot in that world for he to be in, peacefully. that once he set foot there he would not land in a prison for illegally crossing a border, but be welcomed and told, hey there you little big freak, here's what you've hoped for all your life; being rid of the burden of being particularly yourself. being normal. having a family. being part of something.
