Fan: The Lost Brother

    Never again will I see the great city of Vivec, pride of Morrowind... My home... For it sits in a pile of burnt wood and ash, littered with the bodies of my people...My friends... My kin... My parents...

    I was believed to be dead for a month due to my absense. I was out foraging for alchemy ingredients when I lost my footing and fell off of a cliff, leaving me badly injured. I was then found and taken in by a priest, who healed my wounds for the next month. In time, I recovered and I thanked the priest and went to return home, where I expected a warm welcome from my fellow Dunmer. But instead, I returned to find my city burning and the streets covered in the blood and bodies of those whom I called friends. I walked the ash roads until I saw the sight, no son should have to see. The sight of your aging parents lying in a pool of their own blood. And as I cradled the lifeless corpses of my dear parents, I saw it... the bodies of the Thalmor. Agents of the Aldmeri Dominion. The grief and sadness within me transformed to hate and rage. I stood, wiping the tears from my eyes and went to bury the dead. The Thalmor spared no one, the guards of House Redoran, my colleagues of House Telvanni. Not even the elderly or the children were shown mercy. I couldn't even find the body of my little sister. I fear for what they might have done to her. She was never one for submission and would have started to fight back. She was a brilliant mercenary, she'd always finish her jobs quickly and efficiently and she wasn't stingy with her reward, giving the majority to our parents and various beggars in our town. She did nothing wrong to deserve this. I can only hope, her fate wasn't that of our parents.

    The deed of burying the dead was done and I decided there was nothing for me here. I think I will go to Skyrim, the Thalmor are heavily involved in the Civil War that bedevils the province as of late. A perfect place to start my vendetta. My father left me his sword, which is now strapped to my back. It doesn't feel right, having it. My sister was supposed to inherit the blade for she was tutored by our father in the ways of the sword and the bow. But since she isn't here right now, I'll hold onto it, for safekeeping. I took the next boat to Skyrim and I never looked back.

    I found myself in Windhelm, the headquarters for the Stormcloak rebellion. Infamous for their "Gray Quarter", the slums where Dunmer were restricted to. My heart goes out to them, but the racism of the Nords was nowhere near the genocidal tendancies of the Thalmor. They needed to die and the Stormcloak Army was my means to that end. So I enlisted in the Stormcloak Army.... And despite the names my comrades would call me, I was determined to become something the Thalmor feared.

I am Gaelan, son of Houses Redoran and Telvanni and I come for you...