This is a very personal memory of mine. More than you might assume it to be, since it touches on parts of my history that I have purposefully forgotten. From any perspective aside from my own, this may require more narrative than what I can offer, but I will explain to you how the event transpired, regardless.
Time has barely eroded the clarity of this memory for I have studied methods of preservation much like the relics on display here in Bisnensel. It takes care and diligence. Truth and clarity. I have many vivid memories of cherished moments from my past.
It was morilatta, the season of shifting colors and falling leaves. The southern arid winds retreat as the shadowy overcast brings rain to this land.
It was loneliness that drew me into the Viridian Woods one particular evening. An unorthodox solution to what I would have otherwise elucidated through socializing among my own. In reality, the woodland life was far more vibrant than the doldrums of the Ayleid cities. Within their societies I felt dissonant and unconventional, too young to understand the inconsolable loss that my people had endured, but old enough to know how they brought about their own contention. Many were hesitant to interact with the native Bretons for that reason, but I found myself seeking out such an encounter deep within the woods. To seek other outside the realm of my understanding.
In all my previous attempts, I only found the strained comfort of self-reflecting silence. I pondered on several subjects that brought me unease. I could see what I presumed to be my own visage in a still pool of water below my feet. Barely recognizing the being who returned my gaze. I wore clothes and used self-defining terms that were opposite what others expected, but not only did l need to convince my peers of this dysphoria, I had to convince myself that I knew it was not my own reflection gazing back at me.
I still had an inkling of doubt. A sense of guilt.
I pondered the subject more, until the sound of scraping tree limbs broke my meditation. There was a breton above me, peering like a crow observing my intrusion. Clad in black with their face partially obscured behind bark colored hair. They were about average sized for a human, but spindly and slim. As I looked up I could easily spot a pair of discerningly cold grey eyes affixed to my very location.
I spoke a greeting in Cyrodilic, but I assumed the attempt was made in vain as most humans had their own regional dialects. To my surprise, they understood and replied more clearly than I expected.
“You are familiar, what is your name?” They asked. I replied honestly; with a name I felt fondness for.
“Uluscant.”
“You speak the truth, but you only vaguely appear and sound like the Uluscant I know. Is this another form you take?”
I was perplexed at this moment in time. The only other form I could wear was an owl; An alteration spell that Corvus Direnni taught me.
“I am a novice in that study of magic, this is how I have always appeared. Perhaps you have met another with my name?”
“Possible…” The ominous breton replied. “But untrue. You are the Uluscant I know, but you vaguely resemble him. I think I am starting to formulate where, and exactly ‘when' I am. The Alessian empire had driven your people from Cyrodiil a few years ago, yes?”
I could not formulate a reply as easily as I wished. One part of that sentence was confirmable but there was one single word that stood out as a possibility that I could not yet validate. I chose to accept it, as if I trusted the being before me to only speak truth. At the time this was a naive hope.
“They have, but I hold no grudge towards humanity. Our fate has followed after lineages of cruelty and I will accept and mend that.”
“You are truly a healer then, just as I've always known you.” The breton replied.
I stared up at the sturdy oaken trunk with its limbs outstretched, perplexed at the willowy figure who perched a few heads above me. I distinctly remember the rain falling softly upon yellowing leaves as the stranger formed a crooked, yet reassuring smile. Beyond the intensity of their expression, I knew they doubted themselves as equally as I did.
“I do not wish to be rude, but I am not a healer. I once found the subject to be in my interests, but such studies are not supported by the scholarly masters that I apprentice under. Perhaps if was born to a different clan in a different point of time, it may have been an option, but that is not in my fate.”
The enigmatic breton paused, contemplating what I said for reasons I could not discern.“How can you claim to know Fate?”
“I do not.” I reaffirmed.
“Exactly. You can not assume that you know where Fate guides you, Uluscant.”
At that precise moment, I vividly recall the experience of an epiphany. As if I truly aligned myself to something that felt familiar and lucid. It was a mere amalgamation of words spoken from a stranger’s mouth, yet it affected me so strangely.
“May I burden you with my concerns?” I offered, feeling the weight upon my dissonant body and mind.
“For all that you will do, and have done for me. Always.”
I might have assumed this was the mad prattling of a stranger, but they knew so much of who I was, or wanted to be. Who I would be. Perhaps I was assuming too much, but at this moment, I wished to confess a plethora of my concerns to the person before me. Anxieties and complications that I had suppressed to fit into my people’s culture.
“I must first apologize for not knowing who you are. I have not expressed my interests in the restorative magic for many years, knowing that my theories aren't conventional to most. I accepted the path of my apprenticeship, but the practices are too mundane for my tastes. I feel as if the scholarly masters of Balfiera underestimate the unexplored potential of restoration, but the priests of Merid-nunda are equally as fixed in their tradition.”
In my pause, the breton slid from their seating and gently levitated to the forest floor. They gave no reply, but their focus was unyielding.
“In many ways…” I took this cue to continue. The words that refused to manifest in front of my colleagues became easier to speak here. “I feel ungrateful to what I have been given. Am I selfish to yearn for something more? In many ways I feel as if I want more than what I am given.”
I could discern their features more clearly. Sharp angles of a mer, but the intense yet rounded eyes of a human. Despite their noble attire, their posture was slouched and disheveled.
“What do you define as ‘more'?” They replied. I had to ponder this question before carrying on. The answer was intuitively felt but beyond verbal description.
“More...is wanting something beyond what I have been given. This body, in how incorrect it looks, how improper certain words and pronouns describe me. How I wish to study the complexities of our minds and correct the wounds that exist there; to balance an understanding of the forbidden with the foundation of empathy. This balance does not exist among my people. They only dwell in the extremes and choose to feed their blind hubris. I struggle with how much I empathize with them, but I feel isolated and easily dismissed. I owe my life to the elders, but I am restricted by that same respect.”
“Their hubris has already spelled their end, and you are wrong, Uluscant. What you ask of is not ungrateful. You must realize that you are not a product of your own people. However, I know that you already understand that, but it is in your nature to disregard this concept for the sake of others well-being.”
Their advice had the figurative strike of a blunt-ended weapon. I had no window for rebuttal, so I spoke the truth.
“I care about them and I know that they too, care about me.”
“...but do they understand you?”
“I…” I paused for a moment. “No. I suppose you can express emotional attachment towards someone without understanding who they are.”
The breton's hand wove magicka like thread, as the space around their fingertips bent and warped. This alerted me, but I sensed that it was nothing more than a small conjuration spell.
“May I ask, who are you?” My inquiry was polite. “You have no bags to be traveling, and the woods are increasingly untame here.”
The stranger cast their gaze upon me. A pair of stone colored eyes affixed themselves to my location as a book manifested into the palms of their hand.
“You, like any seeker of knowledge and truth know who I am.” I watched as a black mist formed and faded to reveal what was brought into this plain of existence. An aged black covered book was offered to me. I took it into my hands and inspected the cover. My finger traced the details, feeling the foreboding magic that emanated from its core. My instincts warned against briefly ‘thumbing' through the pages, as the black cover suddenly pulsated like a heartbeat. The shape of a tendriled creature with multiple eyes served as the book’s ‘title'.
“You are Hermaeus Mora.”
That name was uttered infrequently by the mages of Balfiera. This was long before such recognition was considered taboo, before the Dragonfires created a veil to prevent the natives of Oblivion from entering Mundus.
“If you believe that, then I suppose it’s true.” The stranger replied. I was not satisfied by this answer but I entertained it. Despite the omnipotence of their identity, their parlance was unceremoniously lax.
“Why have you offered me this item? Are you attempting to sway me into your servitude?” I did not intend to oblige the idea, but outright denying a possible deadric prince a favor felt ill advised.
“I govern over Fate, the intersecting lines that have provided our meeting. It is Fate that brought you here to me, and me to you. I want to offer you this book, but it is not the key to your potential. This Black Book is merely an instrument that you will learn to use with caution. With trust.”
“...and what do you wish from me?”
“A choice, not a demand. If you wish to become Uluscant, then make that your choice. Return to Bisnensel and do not blind yourself with the hubris of your peoples’ Fate.”
Raindrops graced the leather surface of the harrowing tome. I felt a daunting sense of responsibility placed squarely into my hands. The biblichor of worn pages wafted in the evening air alongside the sharp stench if ink. It would have been wise to decline this presumed demon of knowledge, but I was not a pious follower of Merid-nunda. In my hesitation, Hermaeus Mora spoke once again, the prince’s voice shifted into a distorted lull.
“Your Fate is greater than your restrictions. I depend on you more than anyone. One day you will know that for certain, but for once in your lifetime--consider who you are, and not what is expected of you. I come here in the displacement of time--in the moment that we have first met to give you this expression of my gratitude; to save you from circumstance.”
In my memory of this moment, I recall how silently I pondered. My gaze passed through the being before me and words dared not leave the sanctity of my mouth. A new potential outcome of my life aligned itself like the hands of a clock. I had a renewed sense of certainty.
Apart of me still remained anxious and doubtful, however. I knelt to graciously return the deadric artifact to its owner. I respected this offer, but I could not yet fully accept it for myself. I pondered my own worth and self-entitlement to such things.
...but they were gone. The distant rolling of thunder echoed through the woods. A pair of footprints gathered water as the storm picked up its pace. I covered the book in my apprentice robes, and quietly allowed the rain to wash away my regrets.
From that point forward. I was, and always would be, Uluscant.
Uluscant, Ayleid priest of Hermaeus Mora with the ability to transform into his ancient elven form (or an owl!) to explore fragments of his people’s past. His years in Apocypha have mutated his body, but not his mind. He is a healer who studies the dynamics of light and dark.
I’ll be adding more of these, I just really liked this outfit that was seen in this comic so I made a full body ref of it. This would be appropriate to his 1st and 2nd era (ESO) clothing and also a bit of headcannon on how I see Ayleid fashion. Uluscant’s hair is shorter here too, in the 4th era his hair is below his waist.
I painted this sketch and I like it a whole lot more now. Anyways this is the Ayleid healer I play in ESO with some robes I designed based off some inpso I've seen in TES: Blades.
