Dovahzeem... Why? (Patreon)

I have been DMing D&D for over 20 years and one thing we do is release hints and as a player we attempt to snatch on to every hint there is.

There is one class many dread which is the enchanter. Why because they themselves can abuse the powers of others.

What makes Miraak so Special is his bend will shout. We know in lore his power is massive as well. He somehow managed to sever Solstheim and Skyrim. Making them seperate land masses. Part of me pondered how.

Then someone asked me to make a mod that makes us actually hate Nazeem more. A predecessor asked me to make Nazeem more annoying which I already did.

Enter Dovahzeem!

Consider the Yokudan connection. The Redguards trace their mastery of the Spirit Sword, the Shehai, back to the First Empire of Yokuda, where warriors literally shaped their souls into blades.

What does Miraak wield? The Firstblade, a writhing, soul-stealing extension of will that manifests green, lurid tendrils. It is not just an artifact; it is an ancient, corrupted Shehai twisted by millennia in Apocrypha.

With Nazeem More Annoying Then Ever I made him as annoying as possible. Someone asked me to make people hate him more. In Nazeem Dovahlogue Add-On, he will go into how he was originally a sword-singer, someone who sought strength of body, and mind and achieved the rank of Sword Saint. He was one of the early who were dissatisifed with the ruling regime of Yokuda and left by traveling the Sea of Pearls but continued past to the Sea of Ghosts. In the future, others would traverse the same route.

Unfortunately, his ship became shipwrecked. The precursors of the Skaal pulled a dripping, impeccably dressed Ansei out of the Sea of Ghosts. They thought they had saved an individual who need saving as they saw it as a sign from the All-Maker. How did Dovahzeem, repay them? He Instead became Dragon Cult priest whose ego outstripped Alduin’s own.

Fast forward to the present where he came to Whiterun because he was aware of Alduin's return and knew another Dragonborn would soon appear. Ahlam is just a poor victim of Dovahzeem's Bend Will (to my Whim) shout.

Ahlam, a victim. Whatcha talkin' about?

Ah Ahlam... poor, exhausted Ahlam. Her mind is a comfortable parlor I keep my boots resting upon. If I release the shout, the sheer weight of what she has endured would shatter her mind. It is an act of mercy, really, keeping her under my control as my wife.

Why is it mercy?

Why? Because, my dear simpleton, waking up from a pleasant daydream is one thing. Waking up to realize your own hands strangled a god's sacred blossom is quite another.

You see the Gildergreen out there in the Cloud District? Withered, barren, rotting from within. Danica weeps into her robes and blames lightning or seasonal rot. Idiots, the lot of them.

It was Ahlam. Every evening while the city slept, guided by the sweet whisper of my Voice, she walked to the roots of Kynareth’s pride. Night after night, her hands poured the black sludge of Apocryphal corruption directly into the soil. She sang my hymns into the bark. She buried the cursed offerings. She watched the sacred leaves curl and turn to ash, smiling blissfully because my will told her it was love.

If I snap my fingers and let the shout fade, the fog clears instantly. She would remember every midnight pilgrimage. She would smell the dead sap on her palms. She would realize she desecrated the very patron goddess she pretends to worship.

Her sanity wouldn't just crack; it would turn into dust. So you see, keeping her muffled in my shadow isn't cruelty. It is the highest form of marital charity."

Poor Jarl Ballin.'

Oh, Balgruuf... bless his simple, martial heart. His deceased wife, however, was far sharper than the Jarl ever was. She began to notice the strings. An unfortunate necessity, compelling him to strike her down in her own bedchambers. The Ebony Blade drank deep of sovereign betrayal that night, locking Mephala’s whispers beneath the floorboards forever. Now he sits upon his throne, hollowed and compliant, grieving an absence his shattered mind cannot even comprehend.

Worse is how he got to Whiterun.

Through Winterhold, of course. The College hides behind their wards, mumbling about Red Mountain’s ash and tidal anomalies. The simple truth is far more quaint... their local rabble dared question my arrival to Winterhold.

A single strike. Yokudan sword-logic woven through a whisper of the Voice and two-thirds of their glorious city slid neatly into the freezing depths. I left the mages intact purely so the local barbarians would spend the next century screaming at their gates. The sword is far superior to magic.

It is remarkable what a true Dragonborn can achieve when unburdened by sentiment. History is not recorded by the survivors; it is dictated by those who are Dragonborn. We were blessed by Akatosh for that singular privilege.

And if you say he is wrong...

Tiber Septim trampled Tamriel beneath iron heels, and Wolf-Queen Potema nearly choked Solitude in necromantic rot. Men call them monsters or gods, but never ordinary. We are Akatosh's favored sons and daughters, gifted the divine right to destroy what offends us.. and manipulate what we desire.

We do not negotiate with the timeline; we dictate it. We are the chosen.

Have you dictated history yet? Oh, what am I saying, of course you haven't.

If you say I will Kill you!

Look closer at this form. You have heard of Seekers, right? They aren't the only ones who can make clones in Apocrypha. This flesh is a marionette, spun from Apocryphal parchment and Yokudan memory. My soul was sealed into my blade ages before your ancestors discovered fire.

Strike me down. Please. I welcome the theatrics. It takes all of three seconds for my consciousness to fold back into the Firstblade and knit another suit of clothes. You aren't executing a god; you are merely wasting weapon charge.

But, do hurry up. The guards are more then happy to stab first and ask questions never. Remember, mind games aren't a crime.

Why Whiterun?

Why Whiterun? The Skyforge.

That ancient forge predates mortal memory, yet these Nord clods use it to hammer horseshoes and battleaxes for drunkards. Pathetic. I used its primordial heat to finish the Firstblade.

As for the rest? Whiterun is a playground. Corrupting their sapling, bending the Jarl to my whims, playing the wealthy landowner... minor hobbies to keep the populace thoroughly distracted to pass the time until your arrival. I may have even sent a letter to a group called the Silver Hand in Driftshade Refuge regarding our favorite Companions. Tragic, really. It is probably still there, "A Tip From The Cloud District." Poetic name really.

Consider it aesthetic pest control. It keeps you scrambling in the mud like a mud crab and out of my hair.