I had been adventuring alone for some time across the icy wastes of Skyrim before I stumbled upon the Temple of Mara in Riften, having never even contemplated the idea of marriage before, but now deciding perhaps I should find myself a wife. The kindly priest at the Temple explained the procedure to me and even sold me an Amulet, with which I could pledge myself to an eligible lady whom I wished to join in matrimony. Enthused with the idea of finding true love, I set out on my quest to find the ideal spouse, which turned out to be a lot easier than I thought. And it seemed that over the course of my travels I’d made acquaintances with several eligible ladies who would jump at the chance to be my life-partner; which was also rather surprising considering my appearance (a haggard looking Dunmer elf, blind in one eye and with dubious tattoos). Nevertheless, I had a girl in mind. Camilla, the sister of Lucan Valerius, had it all: a beautiful comely face, gorgeous physique, huge… ehrm… tracks of land, on which stood the Riverwood Trader, a shop she had inherited from her recently deceased brother; an absolute tragedy that I may have had some small part in. Indeed, Camilla swooned to my every advance and soon enough I had acquired her hand in marriage, with the date booked for our ceremony at the Temple in Riften I went on my merry way to prepare for my big day.
The trouble is, I began to get cold feet. You see, we Dunmer people had recently lost our ancestral home in the cataclysm that befell Morrowind, and our settlement in Skyrim had provoked much hostility. Fearing for the future of my race, I began to question my decision to marry a human, and thought perhaps I was doing my people a great disservice by thinning out our already depleted gene pool. So, on what should have been the happiest day of my life, I turned up at the Temple of Mara with the intention of letting Camilla down gently. It didn’t go as smoothly as I planned and arguments came to blows, at which point my rather potent destruction magic resulted in the incineration of some guests (one must presume distant family members) as well as serious burn injuries on some priests and guards. My immediate and lengthy incarceration gave me great time to reflect on my decision, which I knew was the right one despite the cost in lives and property, and upon my release I set out to find myself a true Dunmer wife. One that will, unfortunately, meet a rather cruel and tragic demise.
As an astute practitioner of magic, upon my arrival in the land of Skyrim, I had joined the College of Winterhold, and had in fact risen all the way to the top role of Arch-Mage after the position opened following the untimely end of the previous occupant; in which I may also have had some small involvement. So it was known to me that a young and eligible Dunmer, and fellow dark arts practitioner, could also be found within the College and I quickly set about wooing Brelyna Maryon, who was eventually to become my wife. As another of my race and a loyal comrade, we found it easy to get on with each other, however the speed with which she succumbed to my “charms” and agreed to wed me had me suspicious. Was Brelyna simply marrying me because of my position within the College? Certainly it would further her career to become the wife of the Arch-Mage. Did she covet the impressive fireballs and swarthy flame-cloaks I so often employed in battle? What woman wouldn’t? I cast these dark thoughts from my mind and accepted that she too may in fact just be in search of love and lifelong companionship, and so this time I arranged to meet her at the Temple of Mara, with the full intention of actually going through with it this time. And I did. Finally I had myself a wife.
I took the newly wed “Mrs Mortarion Deathspewer” back to my humble abode in Whiterun to live with me and share the good life I had built for myself, and immediately noticed there were problems. Quickly, I realised that the chances of my new wife and I ever properly consummating our marriage were being severely diminished by the constant interruptions from my ‘housecarl’ Lydia, the sour-faced trout of a woman gifted to me to guard my house. Whenever the thought of copulation even flickered in my mind she would be there in the bedroom standing and uncomfortably sitting on the same damn chair over and over. Her unflinching gaze, restlessness and the possibility of severe haemorrhoids within her armour put me off conjugal relations with my wife. That, and the fact I realised my new spouse was utterly hideously unattractive. You see, in my desperation to find a suitable Dunmer mate I had forgotten that all dark elf women are damned unpleasant to look at, and thus the chance of ever getting aroused by my wife left me forever. Something drastic had to be done, I’d made a terrible mistake, and when it turned out that the Temple of Mara doesn’t recognise divorce, I decided the only solution was to kill off my wife as soon as possible.
On occasion my wife and I had travelled out of Whiterun together, she was after all a former member of the College of Winterhold before becoming my spouse, and thus was no stranger to adventure or danger. With this in mind, my plan was to invite her out with me on some particularly perilous quests, with the hope that she would meet an unfortunate, but necessary, end. And so it was that my wife and I began a series of foolhardy and risky ventures, often into deep tombs and labyrinths hidden below the frozen surface of Skyrim. It was during these escapades that a rather peculiar thing happened: I actually began to love and respect my wife. It turned out that what she lacked in aesthetic qualities she more than made up for in terms of battle prowess and raw unimaginable destructive energy, and in fact spelunking down zombie-filled holes with my life partner became the highlight of my week. Over time, the bond between myself and my savage Brelyna became so strong that all sense of danger left me and I felt nigh invincible, even challenging the might of a Draugr Deathlord, who was guarding some particularly tasteful artefacts and buried treasure; all good trinkets with which to decorate our meagre home. After a long and drawn-out battle, in which I almost lost my life several times, I finally stood victorious over the defeated undead and gazed over for the approving smile of my wife… only to find that the now-unthinkable had happened. She was dead.
I simply couldn’t believe it, we had come this far together, and I had grown so accustomed to her following me about, that I actually felt some pangs of regret. My plan had finally come to fruition and Brelyna lay dead at my feet, yet now I quite wanted her back. So I reanimated her.
Immediately I could see that being married to a zombie-wife was not going to work, as all the spunk and vigour had left her and in place of witty lyricisms I could now only elicit groans and the occasional drooling slurp. Feeling despondent, I kept her reanimated corpse for a little while longer (after all I had lots of treasure to carry out of that cave), but eventually the despair gripped me and I let her turn to ash in the rays of the midday sun. Watching the rising dust motes of what used to be her flesh float away on the breeze, it suddenly dawned on me that I was once again a free man, and I made the decision to try my luck again with Camilla. My arrival back at the Riverwood Trader was immediately greeted with hostility, perhaps from the burning of her family or perhaps some word of my foul deed had finally reached her ears, but either way it was obvious that Camilla was off the table. In fact, it turned out that remarrying in the land of Skyrim was simply unheard of and thus I was forced into a life of celibate solitude. I would like to say that my involvement in marital affairs ended here, but several days later my now ex-wife’s family turned up demanding payment and tried to have me assassinated, forcing me to kill the lot of them with fiery spells; the same spells that I had used whilst adventuring with my dear departed Brelyna. As I watched them run about screaming, and eventually collapsing into a mangled blackened heap, my thoughts turned to her, and I realised then that I would never love again.