This is a story of a slow downfall of the Tribunal Temple.

It began one late summer’s evening, in the Telvanni tower of Tel Vos, overlooking the cold shores of the Sea of Ghosts. In the house of Rayhe, an apprentice to master Aryon, a disciple to the wise woman of Ahemmusa, and somebody of great significance to me.
The Indorils came without any warning, out of nowhere. One moment we were sitting in the dim-lighted room, enjoying the evening, and another we stood face to face with two guards. They requested audience with me.
It appeared I was needed, immediately, maybe even desperately, in the Mournhold. They had an official letter from the archcanon of the temple in Almalexia, Fedris Hler. He requested that I followed the two guards, positively without informing anybody of the destination of our journey.
Rayhe was reluctant and distrustful, as always, but I had little to say in it – as the Nerevarine I felt obliged to serve as the defender of the Dunmer, and as the champion of the Tribunal Temple. Even if I managed to spent the last few years successfully avoiding medling in politics. I feared these peaceful moments were over the moment I saw my new travel companions.

We traveled to Mournhold, first by boat, then by carriage. My entrance to the city was publically announced, almost celebrated, just as you would expect for a famous hero. I wasn’t accustomed to such celebrations, though – most of time I stayed incognito, rarely revealing my name and position to others. Still, the view of these people, cheering and welcoming me with joy, was a pleasant surprise.  
I met with the archcanon Hler, and listened to what he had to say. And this time the archcanon wasn’t very precise, telling me only vaguely about the situation. It appeared there began some unease among the people of Almalexia, especially the aristocracy of house Indoril. With their house devoted so strongly to the Temple, the high born stood in its shadow for centuries – and it looked like they began to question this ancient pact recently, in gradually less and less shy attempts to reach some independence.
I was supposed to just stand around and look importantly, to remind the restless nobility who was in charge, and to appease the rest of people in the city. I didn’t really mind – truth be told, I was rather indifferent about my role in it. Whatever the Temple said, I did. After all, my role was supposed to be purely representational.

The “Living gods of Morrowind” weren’t so living anymore. I killed Vivec in a moment of reckless rage, after I learned how they all used me in defeating the Sharmat. Almalexia fell into insanity, taking the life of Sotha Sil in his own fortress – the same one, where I took her life, putting a definite end to the existence of the Tribunal.
The Temple of course wasn’t delighted about it. Only a few carefully selected people knew the truth about what happened to AlmSiVi, the highest priests and archcanons. Their primal role changed from serving the gods, to keeping the illusion that they are still alive and fine. If they failed, it would end up in a massive scandal and the Temple would without any doubt lose its high position, both political and societal.
Since I was one of main reasons of this mess, me and the Temple are not particularly fond of each other. I served them as a symbol, an icon, sort of living saint, a hero to talk about in sermons, and to keep away from the inner politics of the organisation. The same goes with the great house Indoril – as an incarnation of Nerevar I was accepted as a honourable member. I can’t say I felt particularly close to either of them.  And I liked it this way, even if as a Nerevarine I should probably play a bigger role and care more about the political situation of the whole land, which I was sworn to protect.