Tarvala Sul'Morin Journal Entry 8

Hey again Mr. Journal,

Been some time again. Isn’t it always? Things have been hectic with missions, work at the Abbey, and largely, the attack on Necrom. Which is where my family is. Large swaths of it were destroyed and sacked by a fleet of Osmer. I had worried for days if my parents survived.

I’m a horrible person. Part of me, didn’t want my mother too and another part did. My father, he’s always been good to me, but he’s older and doesn’t get around like he used too. Old battles he doesn’t talk about, miles upon miles on the roads and at sea, likely putting up with my mother, all that and he was always so good to me. Three, what kind of daughter only wants one of her parents to survive when so many others lost everything?

They are both alive though. One of father's business trips to the countryside saved them, he always had an instinct for trouble brewing on the horizon, it must come from the time of reading all of her moods and shifts in personality. High Ordinator Lilelle was the one that found them, or her scouts rather. She actually used resources for me, to try and help ease my mind. I’ve grown to like her, alot.

Yes, she’s abusive, abrasive, and has beaten me senseless, but that was all for a purpose, to make me stronger as an Ordinator and a woman. Unlike my mother, who did it only to keep me small and scared, no matter how big I grew. She would be combing me hair and singing, and hit a tangle, before I’d know it, I would be getting hit on the head and back with the flat of the brush and shouted out for not taking care of myself and how I never appreciate all she does for me.

“We feed and clothe your worthless orc-sized hide, and oh, how much you eat and how many new clothes you need. You’ll eat us out of house and home, close down our entire shipping operations just to feed you. You’re the reason your father has to work so long, just so he can feed his fat ugly orcish daughter!” I remember that one, every word hurt more than the thud and thump of the flat of the brush on my naked back.

I’ve never known why she would fly into rages like that. They only happened when father wasn’t around, which as she said, he wasn’t much. He really did work a lot. She wanted me to be a priestess for the Tribunal, which.. I mean, was okay. I was raised on the Three and I do love them in my heart, but I never felt I was going to be good at that. I get nervous… got nervous, in front of lots of people, and I hate robes and dresses. Though I do try these still now and then to fancy things for Magistrix Sebaya and when Lilelle teases me for wearing leathers a lot. It’s different though, I do that because, I want too.

Then going to the Temple, the… I don’t know why but the priestesses there were just as harsh and cruel as mother was. Is it bad that part of me thinks, believes truly, that she inspired them too? The Magistrix there, Magistrix Yimsiliv, and her are old, old friends. Grew up together. I’d swear to the Three that she told them all the things she believed of me in her mind, and my “new start” as father had hoped it would be, turned out to be a continuation of torment.
I should tell that story some time, all of it. Not now though. I thought maybe writing some of this would make me feel better, help me work out the conflicts in my mind but, it’s only made me feel worse I think. The memories coming back all the stronger along with the ways it always made me feel, worthless, clumsy, to big to be a proper lady dunmer.

A few at the Abbey have helped with that… told me I’m, not some horrible orcish dunmer halfbreed. Lilelle is one, the Magistrix, I even got hit on at a ball, but it was a Dres so, I’m not sure that counts. The time I spend in the armor of the Ordination and the face of Saint Neravar I always feel strong, and confident, but that time isn’t the whole me, just what I might be, one day without it and at all times? That sounds silly, I know but… I don’t know, it’s all silly.

I hope ALMSIVI can find forgiveness for the way I feel towards my mother and myself.

Take care, Mr. Journal