The Gospel of Saint Nerevar

The fields were ravaged. The fires of Red Mountain had swallowed the once simple and pristine lands of Veloth. Those saints of ancient days mourned Velothi in the darkness of the mountains. Felms mourned the death of his brothers as he assaulted Windhelm. Olms mourned his kinsmen and the lawmen of Redoran that had fallen. Priests and prophets beheld the Miracle of Necrom, for Veloth rose from his tomb and, falling upon his knees, wept so bitterly that even the wild beasts of the countryside came forth to mourn the death of his beloved Velothi.

The armies of Indoril and Redoran marched from La'atha Urlai in the south and Baan Malur in the west. The traitorous Sixth House had turned from the ways of Veloth and had taken up the blasphemous thoughts of the Deep Elves. The sky seemed to despair before all of Tamriel. The winds held their breath for a season of change was upon them.

In those days, a farmer named Othralas supported his wife and two daughters by scraping muckpods in hopes of finding but traces of muck to sell at Marandus. As the poor hungered and starved, Lord Hlervu of Marandus lived in such luxury that even the wicked Sanguine would have thought him impious. So it happened that the master of Marandus called out from his domed tower, saying, "Othralas! These lands are mine and everything within them at my will. Take down your shack and move along. I have no need of you. Marandus will expand to the south. Many of my kinsmen come to Marandus to outstay the war. The land you farm will be stripped and upon it, my citadel will extend. Go now, before I drive you out myself."

The farmer Othralas did nothing for three days. Each day he prayed to Mephala that the Hortator and his legions would come to Marandus and summon the nobles to war. Yet each day the armies did not come.

On the fourth day, Lord Hlervu of Marandus cried out, "Have you not taken to foot, Othralas? My builders arrive from Moriken at tomorrow's dusk. Get you and yours hence!"

Again Othralas did not move. He cried out to Mephala for guidance, but the shrine remained silent.

The Lord of Marandus, however, could not murder Othralas and his family, for he had never known battle himself, always watching it as a spectacle for those of lesser stock. Upon the morrow's dusk, Hlervu summoned Black Hands Mephala upon her dais. "Lady Mephala. My hands seek blood but cannot draw it. I will build a temple to your majesty upon the bones of mine enemies; only slay the farmer Othralas and his family. Drive them from these lands. Send forth your blessed servants to do my bidding and I will reward you with offerings and sacrifice."

So it came to pass that Nerevar and Olms marched towards the Foyada Mamaea, seeking passage to Red Mountain. The Dwemer city of Arkngthand had been emptied, for all Deep Elves gathered at the fuming citadels. Nerevar looked out from beyond the golden mask that covered his blessed face. Vvardenfell had been changed much. All the lands were dying. The waters and streams seemed to stagnate and rot. The Lady Almalexia came beside her lord and spoke, "You are thirsty, husband. Should you not drink? Lord Vivec has told me of a place to the east. We could replenish our forces at Marandus."

To this, Lord Nerevar nodded. The glittering armies of Indoril and Redoran turned from the blood red foyada and journeyed into the Ascadian Valley. At the Fields of Kummu they rested. Lord Vivec came before the Hortator and spoke. "Son of Indoril, to the east is a small muck farm. It isn't much but it is enough to feed out troops. What say you?"

The Hortator stood up and dusted the dirt from his greaves and cuirass.

The farmhouse of Othralas was quieter than it usually was. Instead of the laughing of children, only weeping was heard. Lord Nerevar opened the door to the shack only to find Othralas hanging from the rafters of his shack. His wife and eldest son had their throats cut, bleeding as Velothi now bled. Lord Nerevar fell upon his knees and wept for the loss. Music and revelry could be heard from nearby Marandus. Vivec looked up towards the doomed citadel, then turned to Nerevar.

The halls of Marandus were greatly decorated with idols of that fortress' lord. Nerevar drew his sword as he opened the doors to the great feast hall. Beside Lord Hlervu sat Black Hands Mephala, drinking a goblet of blood taken from the children that had been sacrificed in her name.

The Hortator tore off his helm and wept. "How you have fallen, Black Hands Mephala. From Summerset you led my people to their destiny. Now you sit, a blind woman guiding the people toward perdition. Below this citadel lies dead a family whose piety was unfound throughout these lands and yet you drew from them their last breath."

Lord Hlervu rose up and came towards Nerevar with glove in hand. Yet the Hortator did not intend to banter words with a murderer. With a single thrust, the debauched lord of Marandus was felled.

Mephala turned her body to face the Hortator completely. "You have much bravery, Indoril! Men have died before speaking a single insult to me, yet I have shown mercy. You should thank me for this kindness; instead, you call me blind before my followers. Such impiety! Such ingratitude! Did I not leave the youngest of Othralas' sons? Did I not leave him some prize? The youth will no longer be under the command of his father. He may do as he wishes. Unlike you, Nerevar. Your father was a fool to teach you the sacred arts of war, for you have shamed him."

"How deceived you have become, Mephala. Boethiah too has blinded himself. Velothi has kept its covenant with you, yet you have left your part unfulfilled. Your teachings once brought glory to Velothi, but now it misguides a lost race. As Veloth prophesied the coming of Velothi, so I foresee. In three days time, you will be no more, Black Hands."

With that, Vivec entered the feast hall. Mephala started intently into his eyes but quickly turned away. She spoke with a solemn voice, nodding her head, "I am reborn, Nerevar Indoril. Let the anticipation cease." The throne upon which the Daedra sat vanished as though it had never been.

Nerevar turned to Vivec and spoke, "At Red Mountain the old ways will die. Eternal spirit, guide Velothi. The Daedra have failed us. Only Mother Soul remains pure and she has grown distant, sealing Moonshadow from mer. I fear for the lands of Veloth."

Vivec stood beside Nerevar and kissed his lips. "My beloved brother, we march towards eternity this night. At Red Mountain Trueflame will guide us as Veloth's torch guided us through the jungles of Cyrodiil."

Within three nights, the traitorous Sharmat had been slain along with the Dwemer. As Nerevar lay dying before the towers of Red Mountain, he cried out to his soldiers, "Behold, sons of Veloth. Dawn approaches and with it ALMSIVI."

The shards of Trueflame were gathered and returned to Mourning Hold for all to see. Saint Nerevar was carried from Red Mountain upon his shield to the city of Necrom where he was restored in the form of a bonewalker by the divinity of ALMSIVI. Nerevar's conversion before the Tribunal led to the conversion of much of House Indoril and Redoran. Many of those who had witnessed Saint Nerevar's death at Red Mountain would become priests and monks, including General Olms of Redoran.