Varys Rydrith
whalesbone
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- 2 years, 9 months ago
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Varys Rydrith
Morag Tong Master
Vestige
Morag Tong Master
Vestige
鏡花水月
A flower seen through a mirror,
the moon on the water's surface,
that which can be seen, not touched,
a mirage, a vestige.
A flower seen through a mirror,
the moon on the water's surface,
that which can be seen, not touched,
a mirage, a vestige.
Rydrith’s father was a Buoyant Armiger and his mother was a Hand of Almalexia. Apparently they had quite the courtship, involving a good deal of poetry, sujamma, and bantering (reverently, of course) about their respective deities. One may be inclined to believe that a marriage between a fanatic of Vivec and a fanatic of Almalexia would be doomed to fail, that their children would be trapped in a divided household. Certainly, Rydrith grew up accustomed to being looked after by other members of his House, with one or both parents oft away in service to their gods. This appeared to have no bearing on the love he felt for his parents or the blind devotion he held for the Tribunal; if anything, he learned to show his love for his family through his love of his religion. For a time, he was determined to become an apostle of Sotha Sil, to complete the triangle with his parents. In his teenage years, he was convinced that he was meant to become an Armiger like his father. And later still, he decided that he loved the Tribunal, but wanted to honor them in a way that was less… direct. His parents would support him in any good, honest, Temple-revering position he chose, they assured him.
Rydrith would argue that he was as good and honest and Temple-revering as anyone when he decided to become a member of the Morag Tong. They didn't directly serve the Temple, and their purported worship of the anticipation Mephala didn't sit well with his House, but they kept the Houses in balance, and a balanced Morrowind could spend more time in prayer, yes? It wasn't like he had run off to join the Dark Brotherhood, his parents just… assumed he’d be a priest or something. Besides, he didn't need to be a priest to showcase his borderline-zealotry; having two fanatics for parents does a good enough job of that. In the heart of Vvardenfell, at the peak of Tribunal power, very few things in life challenged their authority. In fact, Rydrith's final words before being sacrificed to Molag Bal were as such: “Molag Bal will never take over Morrowind, the Tribunal would never allow it-- hey, what are you doing with that knife--”
And, well, being sacrificed to one of the Corners has a way of making one reconsider their religious stance.
At first, being unable to die sounds great, an incredible boon in Rydrith's dangerous line of work. Getting atomized by a Telvanni only to show up a day later to finish things does wonders for one’s reputation. Scion of Mephala, some would call him. A “damn good asset to the Tong,” less flowery members would prefer to say. But a Telvanni, no matter how long-lived, is still bound to die, to be added to the ash of their ancestral tombs, to eventually be put to rest. Can a Vestige say the same? Rydrith, unsure of the answer, thought to ask the very ancestors he would one day be reunited with. They could be crotchety and ambiguous, but proper rituals and offerings usually appeased them enough to get an answer out of them. But soulless, he received no answer this time. It wasn't that he was being spurned or rejected; they simply could not see him, could not recognize him as one of their own. But he didn't know that.
Cue the typical religious crisis: how could the Tribunal allow this? Had he done something wrong? What would happen to him when he died? Would he go back to Coldharbor? He didn't want to go back.
Somewhere in between all that, he nonchalantly finds the time to save the world. But it was never at the forefront of his mind, always in the background, just going through the motions as some hero-figure he didn't care about told him what to do. Honestly, if you asked him about it, he probably wouldn’t be able to tell you much. It’s all a haze to him. He blames the soullessness.
Whether he cares or not, he returns from Coldharbor as a hero. The wealth is nice, and the direct recognition he receives from the Tribunal for his deeds makes him near explode with pride. But it’s hard to complete writs when one’s as famous as he is, sticking out of the crowd like Almalexia herself came to end someone’s life. He retires his more dramatic public displays- no more sliding the writ of execution across the bar to his target with a mug of mazte, unfortunately- and spends more time assigning writs and managing finances. Even accountants can honor the Tribunal, he supposes.
Eventually, he’s atomized by a Telvanni for the last time- he isn’t mad about it, just an occupational hazard. He is cremated, as per Dunmeri tradition, but his ashes are carefully maintained in their own urn, a practice reserved largely for House leaders and notable others. As he’ll inform anyone who will listen, being dead is actually quite boring and he’s always cold and you should really do your best to live as long as possible because there’s no sujamma hot toddys across the waiting door and damn a sujamma hot toddy does sound good right now [...], but he sticks around to provide knowledge and advice to the descendants of his House. He preferred being an assassin, but it’s not a bad job, he thinks.
Rydrith would argue that he was as good and honest and Temple-revering as anyone when he decided to become a member of the Morag Tong. They didn't directly serve the Temple, and their purported worship of the anticipation Mephala didn't sit well with his House, but they kept the Houses in balance, and a balanced Morrowind could spend more time in prayer, yes? It wasn't like he had run off to join the Dark Brotherhood, his parents just… assumed he’d be a priest or something. Besides, he didn't need to be a priest to showcase his borderline-zealotry; having two fanatics for parents does a good enough job of that. In the heart of Vvardenfell, at the peak of Tribunal power, very few things in life challenged their authority. In fact, Rydrith's final words before being sacrificed to Molag Bal were as such: “Molag Bal will never take over Morrowind, the Tribunal would never allow it-- hey, what are you doing with that knife--”
And, well, being sacrificed to one of the Corners has a way of making one reconsider their religious stance.
At first, being unable to die sounds great, an incredible boon in Rydrith's dangerous line of work. Getting atomized by a Telvanni only to show up a day later to finish things does wonders for one’s reputation. Scion of Mephala, some would call him. A “damn good asset to the Tong,” less flowery members would prefer to say. But a Telvanni, no matter how long-lived, is still bound to die, to be added to the ash of their ancestral tombs, to eventually be put to rest. Can a Vestige say the same? Rydrith, unsure of the answer, thought to ask the very ancestors he would one day be reunited with. They could be crotchety and ambiguous, but proper rituals and offerings usually appeased them enough to get an answer out of them. But soulless, he received no answer this time. It wasn't that he was being spurned or rejected; they simply could not see him, could not recognize him as one of their own. But he didn't know that.
Cue the typical religious crisis: how could the Tribunal allow this? Had he done something wrong? What would happen to him when he died? Would he go back to Coldharbor? He didn't want to go back.
Somewhere in between all that, he nonchalantly finds the time to save the world. But it was never at the forefront of his mind, always in the background, just going through the motions as some hero-figure he didn't care about told him what to do. Honestly, if you asked him about it, he probably wouldn’t be able to tell you much. It’s all a haze to him. He blames the soullessness.
Whether he cares or not, he returns from Coldharbor as a hero. The wealth is nice, and the direct recognition he receives from the Tribunal for his deeds makes him near explode with pride. But it’s hard to complete writs when one’s as famous as he is, sticking out of the crowd like Almalexia herself came to end someone’s life. He retires his more dramatic public displays- no more sliding the writ of execution across the bar to his target with a mug of mazte, unfortunately- and spends more time assigning writs and managing finances. Even accountants can honor the Tribunal, he supposes.
Eventually, he’s atomized by a Telvanni for the last time- he isn’t mad about it, just an occupational hazard. He is cremated, as per Dunmeri tradition, but his ashes are carefully maintained in their own urn, a practice reserved largely for House leaders and notable others. As he’ll inform anyone who will listen, being dead is actually quite boring and he’s always cold and you should really do your best to live as long as possible because there’s no sujamma hot toddys across the waiting door and damn a sujamma hot toddy does sound good right now [...], but he sticks around to provide knowledge and advice to the descendants of his House. He preferred being an assassin, but it’s not a bad job, he thinks.
Birthdate
Deathdate
Birthsign
Gender
Sexuality
Biometrics
House Affiliations
2E536, 5th of Rain's Hand
2E620, 31st of Sun's Height
The Mage
Male, transgender [he/him]
Bisexual
Dunmer; 157cm, 63kg
Varys [Natal, Minor]
Indoril [Patron]
Dagoth [Patron (1E); denounced]
unspecified content lol
