The Siege of Blacklight: A Letter for a Forgotten Soul
The letter had drifted in on a model boat, calmly resting in the corner of the harbour and laying undisturbed and undamaged for the longest time. The Siege had been mostly over at this point but still it was not entirely peaceful yet. Uneasy councils had been taking place, and no one had any time for the harbour really.
But after weeks of fear, tension was finally falling as the citizens felt more at ease to move about the city. So it was no surprise really that a child found the boat, that they opened the letter addressed to whomever would find the boat requesting that the boat be delivered to the local Temple. That contained within was a letter for a dear, deeply missed friend and an offering.
And so the child did as the letter bid, giving the boat and its objects to the Temple where a young priest read the first letter in the quiet of a small room in the Temple. It was a relief to read a letter like this - rather than having to deal with comforting the endless grieving families. The most painful casualties of any war were always the innocent citizens. The ones who never asked to go to war and yet were always caught up in it.
It was an...odd yet touching letter. Whoever had written it was not fluent in writing Dunmeris, but they had tried, with any words they did not know in Dunmeris being written in the Common Tongue.
To Whomever finds this boat,
For reason I cannot say, I am unable to deliver the enclosed letter and offering in person. I request most humbly that by the Grace of the Three that this boat and its contents be delivered to the Temple.
If you are of the Temple and are reading this I would politely ask of you a favour. I wish for the contents of this boat to be delivered to the Ramarys Family Tomb. The offerings to be burnt and the letter enclosed to be read aloud. I ask that the paintings be placed around the ash pit and the diary also be read aloud when possible.
I hope you understand my anonymity, the consequences of appearing in Blacklight would be too great on my part, though this pains me so.
The one whom the enclosed letter and offerings are for a close, departed friend. I can only beg that you do not speak of the letter’s contents, it is rather personal but I understand the dead can only know something if you speak.
The priest nodded to himself. This wasn't the first time he had had such requests, having dealt with many letters to lost forbidden loves.
Examining the contents of the boat he squinted at the objects. Well… This was a rather unusual assortment. Contained within was a bag of saltrice, some pinkish feathers and a bag that smelt like a mix of spices he could not identify. Additionally there was a reasonably thick small book that must have been the diary and a collection of small oil paintings, containing beautiful depictions of Tamriel’s various landscapes and wildlife. Some were even of Morrowind, the priest found himself chuckling at the painting of two nix hound pups play-fighting.
His squint grew as he read the name on the second letter. The Ramarys Clan were large and it was no surprise that no one could remember any of its members aside from Thetys.
But who was this Ramarys member?
Curiosity and duty caused the priest to immediately head out for the Ramarys Tomb which proved a challenge. Whilst he had lived in Blacklight for many years now and seldom found himself lost, he now found himself double-backing. The Siege had rendered much of the city unrecognisable and navigating the streets was treacherous in itself given all the loose rubble.
But what was strange, was that once the area with the family tombs had been reached the destruction was almost non-existent. It was surprising really that the tombs had not really been targeted at all, or even hit by accident. There were some other areas of the city that followed a similar trend. And whilst perhaps the Thalmor were wary of enraged Dunmer ancestors, surely they did not care about some spice shop? That little spice shop was remarkable, whilst the area it was in had been heavily hit that little shop had remarkably remained untouched.
The priest soon found the Ramarys Tomb and entered to find it completely dark which was no surprise. Given the Siege, family members would not have been coming here and the priests were stretched thin enough as it was, they just did not have time to ensure candles remained lit in all the tombs.
The spirits of this tomb were not best pleased, but the priest had long ago trained to ignore their anger. Instead he began to sing a gentle song in Dunmeris, lighting candles as he went and checking various ash pit. Soon the tomb was licked by the lights of many candles and the stagnant ash-scented air was being pushed away by the burning of whatever spices the priest had been able to find.
The spirits calmed, their presence dimming as they accepted the priest’s apology and went back to sleep once more.
It took a little bit of time, but soon he found the correct ash pit, double-checking the name and frowned. This ash pit was relatively recent and he swore this was the ash pit he saw the Drillmaster often sitting by. What was so special about the Dunmer whose ashes lay here? And how had such a Dunmer been forgotten so quickly and easily?
Murmuring the respective words, the offerings were burnt. And the paintings placed around the edge of the ash pit.
“Hello, someone has sent a letter for you.” The priest settled himself on a chair, opening the letter carefully and stopped. This was three pages! He had rarely received such long letters for the dead before!
Clearing his throat, the priest began to read and soon found tears pricking his eyes as the raw emotion of the letter hit him. The paper was covered in smudged ink from where the author’s tears had hit the paper.
My dear friend,
I would ask you how you’ve been but I'm guessing that when you're dead things change little. But I'll ask you anyway, I hope that wherever you are you are at peace.
I honestly don't know what to say any more than sorry. I am sorry I failed you. I am sorry I couldn't protect you. I am sorry I couldn't save you. I am so sorry for the horror Blacklight has been subjected to. I am sorry I couldn't do more and stop this.
I failed you and your people and I can only ask that you find it in yourself to forgive me. But if you don't I understand and it's honestly what I deserve. I’ve failed you a second time now. Once is forgivable, but two times? I understand if you hate me now.
But at the same time I cling to the hope you can forgive me - you were always the forgiving sort. Such a kind soul. You didn't deserve the fate that was dealt you.
No. Writing about that day only makes me cry more. I can only apologise that I couldn't do more. I should have been able to save you but my Magicka failed me. You were right, that such reliance on Magicka was foolish and yet you had come to realise relying purely on physical means was not enough. Especially when Magicka can form a shield at your back.
You never admitted it, but I could tell you saw its uses. I caught those nods.
But on that day I should have used my sword entirely, I should have saved my Magicka for when it really mattered and you’d still be here.
If anything that was my deepest regret. I do not regret in the slightest coming to Blacklight and even moreso I am deeply grateful you were assigned to me. I do not think I could have grown to appreciate your city as much as I have had I been with anyone else. All those adventures we had…
Do you remember when you bet 50 drakes that I couldn’t eat 10 marshmerrow hand pies in one go? Your face! And remember how I fed a Bantam guar that was wandering around, and how you said I shouldn’t because of what would happen? The next day I had so many Bantam guar outside my door! They were so adorable, oh if only I could have some!
Remember when I tried riding a guar for the first time and fell off? Or how I tried on some Redoran armour and it didn’t suit me at all and how silly I looked? And then you insisted on putting some Redoran war paint on me!
I never really learnt my way around the city, I always ended up getting lost. But I think that was more owing to exploration by the end as opposed to trying to find my way. Blacklight is a city that wants to explored and I couldn’t resist it.
Remember when you took me to that ridge beyond Blacklight to watch the sunrise? Neither of us spoke, it was so beautiful.
I learnt so much from this city and from you. I can only thank you and Blacklight for the experiences.
My only other regret would be that I didn’t tell you more. And sometimes I wonder if I should have told you, if I should ever tell you and yet I think it best if I keep some things to myself.
But back to the current situation, no matter how much it pains me. I have tried my hardest to ensure that the attacks were not directed at the tombs or the temples. I tried my best to have your favourite spots evaded, but I could not save Blacklight entirely. I could not be caught but I hope my actions have saved your city and her people enough. Morrowind has suffered enough already, it does not deserve this and if I had more power I would have stopped this attack. My aunt did what she could, neither of us wanted this. We tried so hard to prevent it but our voices were ignored, I can only hope that our actions were enough to reduce the bloodshed.
But this letter was not just to bring you and I sadness. I want to tell you some other things.
I did promise you I would show you Tamriel and it breaks my heart I never could. That we were so close and yet we never got there. And whilst this isn’t the same, it is the nearest I can do - the paintings I’ve provided are of the various landscapes I’ve seen throughout my travels. I hope these paintings allow you to travel a bit (I am not sure how much you can travel Tamriel from the afterlife).
After I left Blacklight I did not exactly go straight home. I was home for a few months but then I knew I just had to travel, I decided to travel for you, I had no idea why at the time but now I know - so that I could document as much of Tamriel as I could for you. I had already seen a fair bit of Tamriel but that had been on missions, never at a more relaxed pace where I could explore. (I have included a small book, in there are my most interesting diary extracts I thought would you amuse you! Maybe a priest or priestess could read you one every so often?)
Each of the paintings I have included do have an accompanying story in the diary, but I think I’ll include one in this letter.
The picture with the Orisimer was painted from within the stronghold looking out at the stunning view of the mountains. It was a funny story that one. I approached the stronghold, thinking it better to ask the orcs first if they would mind if I sat a little way off and paint the mountains with their stronghold. I wasn’t too sure of Orisimer, and wanted to keep on their good side. They simply asked that I keep a good distance, they couldn’t figure out why anyone would be out here painting! ‘Paint only goes on the body!’ I remember clearly was what one of them said. And so I got myself comfortable and started painting. A few hours went by and I looked up to find one of the womer just standing there watching me. She had a child with her, they were curious but reluctant to approach.
I smiled at them and turned my painting around so they could see. After some persuasion, they approached and the child was so excited! The womer was fascinated by the painting and wanted to know what there was to be gained from painting and so I explained. I told her how painting allows me to capture scenes that could be gone one day. It allows me to show others who have not travelled or cannot. I told her it was something I had always enjoyed.
Then she asked me why I wanted to paint the stronghold. “I’ve never painted one before and the Orsimer do fascinate me. You are a very resilient people.”
Whilst she could not understand how I could enjoy painting, by the end of the day I had several Orisimer children sitting about me as I did a painting of them fighting a sabrecat (they really wanted me to paint them fighting something and they were so adorable I couldn’t say no!). They loved it! I have them to thank really, they ran back to the stronghold, encouraging me with them and showed my painting to everyone.
After the Chief decided I was not a threat, just odd, he permitted I could stay a few nights in the stronghold for safety. He was so taken by the painting I did of his children he requested I do a portrait of him. He was very pleased with the result and I enchanted it so it would not be damaged.
Orisimer have a curious way of life, and yet for a race known for being violent those days in the stronghold were peaceful. The Orisimer did spar but the general atmosphere of the Stronghold was oddly tranquil. There was no one else around for miles, I guess that’s why they had built their stronghold there.
I stayed a few days in that Stronghold, I ended up painting them a giant portrait of Malacath as thanks. In return I was given a sword which was magnificently crafted as to be expected. It really does have the perfect balance and has served me well thus far.
There is one other thing to add, that you have to know. You were such a dear friend to me, such an honest and noble person. You represented House Redoran truthfully and I don’t think I will ever again meet someone as selfless as you. Gods how I miss you! And whilst I cannot be here physically to talk to you but in a letter and provide you with an offering and paintings, there was one other thing I could do for you. When I returned home I ended up getting married, my husband is a lovely man - I think you would have got along well with him!
Just two years ago we were blessed with a baby girl and even then I knew what I was going to name her! I insisted that she be named after you!
She’s already very inquisitive, and already showing signs of Magicka! I have no other explanation of how she managed to get a jam jar from one of the highest cupboards! I walked in to find her covered in jam, she’d eaten most of the jar would you believe?! And she was smearing it absolutely everywhere!
She’s got my hair but it’s really curly, gosh she’s adorable!
In a few years I’ll tell her all about you and Blacklight! You really were the person who made me see everything differently and I thank you. I can only do you justice by passing on such knowledge, and of course, naming her after you.
I just hope that things will change so that one day I can bring her here and perhaps I could talk to you? I don’t quite understand how getting ghosts to appear works in the tombs but I’m sure it can be explained.
Even though you cannot reply I am grateful I could write this. I can only hope this letter finds you.
And thank you for everything once again,
Thank you so so much,
An old and dear friend who visited Blacklight fifty or so years ago.
The priest sat utterly still as he finished the letter, his throat painful from the lump that had grown there. His face was streaked with silent tears. For someone who had seemingly been forgotten they had not been by this person. And what they had said and how they clearly were not Dunmer… The letter seemed to suggest that they were with the Thalmor, surely that was impossible! And yet it made so much sense…
This person had been to Blacklight before and had clearly fallen in love with the city. So much so that they had returned to take part in this Siege, not to cause suffering but to try and prevent it. Now it made sense, why some places had been avoided. Could it have been that that little spice shop was special to this departed Dunmer?
It was only now that the priest noticed the air around him was warm as the ash pit was tinged with a blue light.The spirit had indeed heard the letter and was incredibly happy. A soft smile lifted the priest’s lips as he blinked away the tears and wiped his face.
Focusing on the paintings, he tilted his head as he decided how best to display them. Nodding to himself, he ambled off for a few minutes, returning with an armful of ash yams. Given he had nothing else, he was using the spare ash yams stored in the tomb.
“I’ll just get these paintings into a better position for you…” Kneeling down he picked up one of the paintings and set it gently on the rim of the ash pit to lean it against the ash yam. This he repeated until the pit was ringed in paintings.
Finally he opened the box at the side of the ash pit where other offerings were sometimes stored, placing both the letter and the diary carefully inside.
Standing up, the priest surveyed the pit once more. Yes, the paintings were in a good position he thought.
“I’ll leave you in peace now. Whoever you are, you sound like you are an incredible person. I’ll come back tomorrow and read you another story from that diary.” A soft smile graced the priest’s lips, nodding as the blue light flared before it fractured and drifted away in faint wisps. Even in these dark times, some happiness could be found.
Sighing, the priest turned about and left quietly knowing soon he would have to be dealing with the grim nature of funeral arrangements and comforting families. But at least he had been able to offer a forgotten spirit comfort that they were not so forgotten.
