Jo's Backstory On Galen The Sujjammarai

Galen was born to a dunmer whore, who lived homeless in the cistern beneath the St. Olms canton, on a sunny morning after a heavy rain.

She tried to care for the boy, but in his youth he was wild and without love for his mother, without love for the law of the Tribunal, without love for the law of the Empire. He was wanted for small crimes: picking the pockets of the fat Imperial merchants who came through Ebonheart, grinding up Marshmerrow and peddling it to khajiit as skooma, sleeping in the streets.

In time his crimes made his face common with the local guard and he was forced to live off the land outside Vivec or perish. He found an old, rusted sword in one Ancestor's crypt, and stole it so he could eat.

Galen was a bandit for some time, robbing merchants and slaying their Guars upon the bridges that made the ashlands passable.

On a windy day, Galen hid inside an old cart on a bridge of dwarven make, and surprised a passer-by by jumping out from within, sword brandished in both hands.

"HOLD! Your money, or your life!"

These were the words he had spoken many times before. But today, they did not pass his tongue, for it was held still. Before him stood a tall mer of gold and ashen color, walking in the company of four Indoril incense-bearers. This image was known to him, for the mer was Vivec.

For a brief moment Galen experienced perspective, of a simpering mortal nature. A lit candle in the face of the sun. Dressed in rags, holding a blade stolen from an ancestor whose name he did not even possess the honor to remember, blade-edge facing the holy Poet-King of his people.

The Ordinators who accompanied him lifted their black maces, to punish the fool. Vivec raised one hand, his fingers bent with breathtaking delicacy, and spoke to them.

His words blossomed from his lips like fire, and crashed into his ears like stones.

Galen would never see the gentle smile on his face, but it was warm, a mother's sweet remembrance in the face of a helpless child. For pitiable as he was, Vehk loved his children. He continued down the road with his company, and left the bandit in shambles.

The heat of his words had burned the robes from his body, and left him naked, clutching to the old stolen sword on the dwemeri bridge. Those words had buried in his heart, for Galen woke with such a passion that it vented like fire from his mouth and eyes and nose, steamed from his very body.

He had so wasted his life, in negligence of the Tribunal, in violence against his kin. Using coin he had saved for female company and the taste of shein again, in one of the small towns where his face was not known by the guards, he purchased simple robes, and a steel dai-katana.

First, he wandered Morrowind to find deeds, where he could absolve himself of his sins. He carried the stolen sword, as a badge of dishonor, and bore the brunt of punishment when it was recognized. In six cities, his face was known, and for his crimes he was not slain, nor fined, nor jailed, but disrobed and beaten by the Tribunal Priests with their staves. In this he found absolution, before journeying to the Red Mountain, and returning with a blade of Glass to leave alongside the one he stole, as payment.

Galen would then join House Redoran, and serve for many long years. In time, he left, for his love of drink had made him few friends in the Great House. He wandered to Cyrodiil, to learn how Men wrote and how they lived, and found it to his dislike. They were fat, and loud, and concerned with material things. His poetry and philosophy caught few ears.

He met a child, who was disillusioned with these things. Or in laymen's terms, spoiled rotten. Weaned on fine bowls of sugar-milk, the khajiit boy was disinterested in his silver toys, instead stole his father's wine and played with swords. So, Galen took the boy under his wing, meeting in secret by the well in the gardens, where he would tell him stories, show him how to hold a sword, and teach him of the glory and peace to be found in will. The cat did not learn much of peace or compassion, but he was quiet, and demonstrated respect. Midnight readings of poetry, by the light of Masser, under the green filtering trees. Swordplay that left the khajiit boy with bruises under his fur. Long nights where Jo would sit and listen, sharing a bottle of wine or Shein until the dunmer fell asleep in the shade of his own hat.

In time Galen wandered off, leaving the boy to grow up on his own, angry at the loss of his friend and tutor. And he continued to wander, from Elsweyr to Skyrim, seeking inspiration under the open sky.





Extra: I suppose I left it vague just to enhance the sense of wonder but perhap I left it too vague. He possesses the syllable of Royalty, CHIM and has incredible knowledge and power.

In The Sword-Meeting with Cyrus, it is said he can see Cyrus' death, and birth, and all works in between. He even sees his late father, a playwrite, and comments on his works.

I imagine Vivec would see a child, with the capability to be great. He can read the poetry Galen would one day write. And set it in motion by speaking the tone so holy it would crack his skull, speaking "CHIM" and sharing none of its secrets, and in doing so, humble him for a lifetime, making out of a bandit, a poet and a philosopher.