Section: Stories

Written by Balgor Serranium (Pinehead)

A Change of Luck
By Balgor ‘Pinehead’ Serranium

When the door of the Madach Tradehouse was quietly opened, nobody even noticed the small figure stepping into the warm light of the tavern. The tradehouse was quite empty, which wasn't a surprise at this time of year in Gnisis, when most miners went to bed tired and the legionnaires were on duty. General Darius was conferring with some higher-ranking legionnaires and some shabby people were drinking their cheap drinks. Fenas Madach was just polishing one of his more expensive silver goblets when he noticed a small Bosmer sitting on one of the bar stools. The little fellow looked like he had just healed himself from some serious injury and he had a very large and heavy bag at his feet. "What can I do for you?” asked Fenas. "I'd like some greef please. I need some place to rest this night as well. You won't believe what I've been through today," said the Wood Elf with a large smile. The Breton chuckled and handed the Bosmer a mug of greef, "I've heard some really weird stories in my life, but they all turned out to be true," he replied. "Well, if you have time, I could tell you what happened. I could even make you a great deal," said the Bosmer, "I'm called Balgor by the way, but most people call me Pinehead." "Pleased to meet you Pinehead. I'm Fenas Madach. Please carry on." Pinehead took a swift sip of his greef and started talking. "Well, I've had some trouble earning money when I was released from that prison ship in Seyda Neen and I was doing some odd jobs for different people in Ald'Ruhn. One of these people wanted me to fetch something in Maar Gan. I was kinda broke, so I couldn't afford the Silt Strider. I decided to walk to Maar Gan. Sure, I knew it could be dangerous, but I needed the money and how hard could it be? I had a weapon and a map and I could find shelter in an ancestral tomb if an ash storm would cross my path. The first part of the journey was quite easy, and I was already looking forward to arriving in Maar Gan, when quite suddenly an ash storm hit. I immediately looked for shelter, but it only made me wander off the path. I wanted to find my way back to the path with my map, but when I was attacked by a cliffracer while holding my map, it was blown out of my hand and so, there I was, alone...naked (no, not naked, but you get the point don't you?) I had a clue of what was the north, so I continued that way. I eventually emerged in the Azura's Coast region when I got out of the ash storm. I knew Maar Gan was in the Ashlands, so I had probably wandered far off. But I wasn't looking forward to that ash storm, so I thought I'd just look for some town to get directions. But it was quite hard to get back to the civilized world. After some hours of searching I came across a distressed Redguard. He told me some mad cultists had taken his wife and he made the impression he would pay me a good price to get her back. I had become quite proficient in fighting in the few days I had spent on Vvardenfell. I decided I would look for this Daedric ruin (I had never seen one in my life) and get this woman back. I think the ruin was called Ashalmawia. I found the ruin quite quickly, but when I entered I found myself surrounded by several vicious cultists. For a brief moment, I really believed I was going to die, but then I remembered something. I still had a levitation potion from my last alchemy experiment. Just before the cultists clashed into me I drunk the potion and I levitated on the great statue in the shrine. I had learned to summon a bound bow from Oblivion during my work for the mages guild. After several attempts to get the spell right, I finally had my bound bow and soon a rain of arrows (yes, I carried quite a lot of arrows) showered on the cultists. After the cultists were dead and I had plundered the bodies I went to search for the Redguard's wife. There were two ways I could choose from, so I just chose a one at random. The passage led me to an underground Daedric ruin, in the rooftops. I snuck around in the heights and spotted someone in the depths. Before I could take a closer look, a fireball was heading my way. I skillfully dodged it and summoned my bound bow once again. I shot the rest of my arrows at the man, but he didn't die. I jumped down at the man in a weird kind of fury, launching a group of greater shockballs and hacking away with my sword. The man hit me heavily, but my arrows had taken their toll, and he finally fell dead to the ground. When I eventually looked down at the dead Dunmer I saw he was wearing a complete ebony armor and was wielding a Daedric war axe. There was so much expensive stuff that I couldn't carry all of it, so I had to drink my only blessed feather potion to get all the stuff with me. I quickly found the Redguard's wife through the other passage and soon the two Redguards were reunited. I wasn't paid as much as I expected, but I had so much loot I wasn't at all disappointed. Besides, he said he would recommend me at Great House Redoran. He gave me directions to Gnisis and now here I am. My only problem is... My feather potion has stopped working and I need to get these things to my house. I'll give you ebony bracer if you help me to get these things to my house, deal? Fenas? Fenas?" But it was no use, as Fenas Madach was fast asleep.

Section: Stories

Written by Ferrin Trieteip (Michael Edwards)

Written by Michael Edwards

Fate and Fortune

Ferrin Trietep


Rain pattered on the roof, it's rhythm growing and fading as the storm let off for a bit. The hooded traveler would have burst out laughing with glee, had he not been running for his life. Apparently, guards didn't take to well to having their mothers compared with women of ill-repute. Or to being spit on by a wanted man. And so, here he was, hiding in the upper floor of the nearest house he could sneak into, listening intently for footsteps. Or at least he would have been if the damned rain hadn't been making such a racket. As it was, he sat listening for telltale signs of entry . . . such as a key scraping in the lock, or someone swearing at the sight of his muddy boots on the floor.

"Pity I didn't notice them until I was halfway across the floor . . ." Giladar shrugged off the thought as a useless wish. As it was, the owner of the house would come home to find his lovely, expensive, deerskin rug tramped over in boots, slick with mud from the rain outside and soaked besides. But, as always, Giladar had made this piece of misfortune into a helping hand, tramping over the rug and opening the window just beyond in an attempt to fool the authorities into believing he had gone out the window. The wizened dark elf laughed to himself, imagining the consternation his most recent 'acquisition' must be causing. He fingered the jeweled amulet in amusement, having just stolen it from the manor on the high side of town.

"This must be worth at least six-hundred drakes . . ." Giladar could almost make out his reflection, even in the dark of the crate in which he currently resided. He would sell it for a fair amount to a friend of his, who took care of such matters. It saddened him to think that he might have to give up his profession soon, being so well-known. After all, who could trust a man whose face was on wanted posters in at least six different towns? His smile twisted into a frown.

"It is a pity to have to give up such an amusing sport in so short of time. Price of being too lucky. Ah well, I've made enough out of it so far . . ." The thought made him chortle with amusement as he recalled various escapades where his good fortune had just barely seen him through.

"Old Jaden . . . I would love him to see me now . . ." The wood-elf and he had been . . . rather bitter rivals. Never violent, but always scheming against one another. There differing styles had clashed many times, most of which had put Jaden just a few steps behind the thieving dark elf. Where Jaden was slow, but thoughtful, Giladar was rash but quick. Where Giladar was inexplicably fortunate, Jaden was seemingly cursed with bad luck. He smiled in amusement at their last conversation, held in a crowded bar in a town long-forgotten.

"It appears my luck is better than your skill yet again, wood-elf."

Jaden had smiled, partly in amusement, partly to keep up the appearance of two old friends. It wouldn't have done to call the town guard on them both for brawling.

"You trust too much to your luck Giladar. It blows with the wind, you know." And with that, Jaden had finished his drink and left. Giladar had never heard of him again until a few days ago, he was reported dead after rather uncharacteristically missing a poisonous trap in a nobleman's home.

A scrape came from the door, jerking Giladar out of his reverie. He tensed, fingering his dagger in his nervousness.

". . . time delay . . . of thing." The conversation was quiet, and he couldn't hear it all. "Amulet . . . stolen . . . luck . . . Jaden" So, they were discussing his find, and his rival. Giladar nearly laughed at the irony. Footsteps, slow and thumping, came across the downstairs floor.

"Son of a miserable imperial heliopause!"

Giladar fair shook with laughter, and holding it down was perhaps his hardest task of the evening. His handiwork with the rug had indeed been discovered.

The blade against his throat, however, caused him to stop. Thoughts of escape flashed through his brain, and he pushed his arm up to parry the blade away. Except his arm wouldn't move. He realized in horror that his entire body was frozen, the amulet now glowing malevolently in his right hand.

"So you are the thief, aren't you? Not that you can talk, of course." The mysterious man laughed as the town guard tramped into his home. "Guards! Up here." Again the man laughed. "Jaden, come in here."

Jaden . . . but he's died . . . Giladar thought, his breath escaping in what would have been a moan.

"You were right Jaden, that amulet's done the trick. How did you know he would hit that house?"

"We were rivals. I was certain he wouldn't be able to let go of it without proving, once and for all, that he was better than I."

"Well, in either case, he’s stolen enough to warrant the death sentence. To be carried out in a week or so. Should we remove the amulet?"

"And be paralyzed yourself? Why don't we just let him stay that way?"

Giladar would have cursed fate and fortune, had his throat been capable of moving.

Section: Stories

Written by Stars-Night (Stargate525)

The Tree
By Star’s-Night

There was once a tree in the forest behind my hometown... go figure. But this tree was special. On windy days, the wind would howl through knots in the tree’s branches and make the most beautiful sound you have ever heard. The tree was old; it outdated the oldest man‘s great-grandfather. I am to this day convinced it was the first woodwind in Cyrodiil. The sound it produced was marvelous, a great chorus of different keys, coming together to make a single note that rose to a crescendo with gusts and dropped to the smallest piano when the wind died. Children from the village would go out to the forest and cover up some of the holes, making their own wind-choirs. Every child had its favorite set of knots, including me. Mine were near the base of the tree, great big ones that I could climb into when I was young. They were at the base of the tree’s chorus, and when I covered them up, I liked to imagine I could see all the other notes of the tree being knocked off their feet in their absence.
I grew older, and I did not come to the tree as often. I could hear it when I was apprenticing with the blacksmith in town, and its subtle orchestra would follow me as I did chores for my mother. But the tree had lost its magic for me. I no longer would spend my free time sitting in its branches, or make songs by plugging the holes. Instead I choose to pursue ’higher’, more ’lofty’ goals; like that one Argonian girl on the outside of town...
Time passed, I finished my apprenticeship with the blacksmith, youngsters had grown up to take my place, the elders died and the middle-aged men replaced them, and I never did manage to catch that Argonian girl on the outside of town. I moved away, had some adventures, settled down, had kids, and I even opened a small smithy In Cyrodiil.
I had all but forgotten about the great tree in my hometown when it came pushing back into my life for one final, tragic time.
An Imperial came to my shop one day, not so strange of an occurrence. What was strange, however, was that he was a legionary. Legionaries didn't come to my shop often, for they had a host of better supply shops available in their fort. What was stranger was that I recognized him as a messenger. But what did the imperials want with me?
“Are you the one called Star’s Night?” He asked.
“I am.”
“I am to give you this dossier,” He explained, handing me a think packet of sheets, “We wish you to build the item defined in the papers. We shall supply the material, and it should be arriving tomorrow.” With that, he turned about, and left the way he came.
I closed the shop and began to examine the papers. One was a rather elongated contract for building this mysterious article. The remainder of the document was a description of the item I was to build, as well as some (badly drawn) sketches of what they wanted.
I was to build them a...planter. But it was the most extravagant planter I had ever seen. Wrought entirely of silver and gold, it would be big enough to fit an entire tree into it. I was also to decorate it in a manner ‘fitting of the Emperor’. I still could not understand why they had chosen me, a lowly Argonian smith, to do this work of art.
The messenger had been true to his word; the next day at sunrise saw three wagons full of the finest quality silver and gold arriving for me to craft with. I immediately set to work, forging in front of my shop as usual, crafting with gold and silver where I had just the previous night wrought in iron and steel.
During the day, people gathered around me to watch me working. In the evening I closed shop, and the people left rather reluctantly. To my surprise, even more people showed up the following day, crowding the street to the point of impassability. In the following days, my project brought the entire neighborhood to a screeching halt; all of the people watching my planter come to life.
Nearly a week later it was finished. I had made the body in interlocking gold sections, with silver designs of dragons, trees, cities, and a rather beautiful (if I do say so myself) portrait of Tiber Septim himself. The Imperials came to take the planter and me to the palace for its installation. My neighborhood followed the cart in a throng, which quickly escalated to a great cavalcade as we reached the palace.
We entered, leaving the crowds behind us. I assembled the planter in the Emperor’s private garden, a lush green forest planted in the middle of a stonework city. I finished, and they brought in the plant that would grace my work of art.
To my horror it was the tree; the tree that I had grown up with outside my hometown. I fell onto the path in shock. Nobody, save royalty, would ever get to see it again, or hear its beautiful singing. I left the palace and returned to my shop, saddened at the loss of an artifact of my youth.
So to you, dear reader, I tell you this. Don’t let your past be forgotten. Don’t allow fond memories to slip away from you for even the smallest instant. For when it does, it may be too late. Like it was for me.

Section: Stories

Written by Forrest (Forrest_Roberts)

Synollian and Ales

{This story has been lost for many years. But there was one wise man left who
told it to me before he died. At once I recorded it so that it would not be lost
again.}


By Forrest

Once ,a long time ago in the land of Cyrodiil, there lived an Imperial young man named Synollian who lived next to a Breton lady name Ales. They were madly in love, but Ales' parents always said "It would be a shame for a Breton to marry an Imperial!" Synollian's parents always said "A civilized family of Imperials such as we shall not continue the family line through a Breton!" Their family’s would not permit them to see each other.

But unknown to their parents that in Ales' bedroom there was a crack in the wall. And their rooms being in the same building, the crack peered into Synollian's room also. Ales and Synollian would talk for hours and hours through this crack. Over the years their love grew and blossomed into a beautiful relationship. This carried on without their family ever finding out.

One day, they decided that they needed to see each other, they were tired of living out their romance through a hole. So that night they would meet in an abandoned field, next to a tomb.

So that night at the stroke of twelve, Ales arrived in the field before
Synollian did. So she decided to wait. The moon was full and it's light shone
down to the ground. This time she heard a heart racing growl. Seeking shelter she
ducked back behind a tree. She saw the creature step out under the moonlight. It
was a Were-Wolf. Blood dripped from its mouth and the crimson froth foamed down
its chin. This time she noticed her shoe had fell off onto the ground. The Were-Wolf sniffed it and took it into its mouth.

Synollian arrived at the spot and saw the Were-Wolf holding a shoe in its
mouth, with blood dripping from its mouth.

"Oh God! Have I arrived too late! Has my dear beloved been devoured by this evil beast!" He cried into the night.

Ales were going to shout to him, when he pulled his silver sword from his sheath and slew the creature of the night. "You will not take another’s beloved, for I have vanquished you from your evil patrols. Now, I will join my love!" He shouted again, took his sword and plunged it into his chest.

Then Ales ran out from behind the tree into the moonlight. She ran to
Synollian's side and whispered to him "My dear! What have you done? I have not
been taken by this beast!" while sobbing, with tears running down her eyes. His
eyes opened as blood spurt from his breast, he died with a peaceful look on his
face, as if he had seen an angel before he went. Then Ales took the sword, with
her lovers warm red blood, and plunged it into her breast. Her lifeless body fell
onto Synollian's and their blood mixed together under the moonlight.

End

Section: Stories

Written by Unknown (Franc Kaos)

The Dream of Tanyaria.

“She lives in our dreams now, our queen who saw beyond the veil.”

Even the heavens, it seemed, were in mourning, dark clouds scudding across the skies, a false night for her funeral rites, tears from the Gods themselves. Her name was… had been, Tanyaria, a young High Elf, well versed in the ways of Mysticism, partner to Franteira Taosene, who now stood in grim silence, rain washing down his cheek.

It was his first funeral, and he was unsure of how to comport himself. Even the Arch Magister, Galerian, was there, holding the ceremony in his musical voice. Franteira wiped at his eyes. He loved her, and had expected to spend many centuries with her, yet now she was gone.

Tanyaria had been elemental, measured even by High Elven standards, she danced on the periphery of peoples lives like a barely recalled song of childhood or a burst of nostalgic sunlight, barely intruding but enriching all the same.

Franteira had met her when his parents and those others had been exiled from Alinor. The second time in his young life he’d lost a home. They’d met when he’d been exploring the old ruins of the Ceporah Tower, around which the High Elves had made their new home. Tanyaria had been sitting on the highest floor, looking out to the horizon, a distant look in her eye, a half smile on her lips. He fell in love with her instantly.

She glanced at him then, “You’re not High Elf born, what are you.”

He grinned self consciously, “Um, I’m Ayleid, a wild elf, my, er, parents found me in the wilderness, and… adopted me.” He shrugged.

She patted the floor beside her, “Come sit with me awhile, I’m trying to see where I came from.”

He sat, and learned a valuable lesson about touch, surely she could hear the blood roaring through his veins, feel it pumping through his body… but below that he could still feel the old tug of the wilderness, he pointed in a direction to her right.

“That’s home.”

She looked to where he was pointing, and her chin brushed his arm, closely followed by a rush of electricity and a growing arousal. Their eyes locked. She smiled, and the rest was beautiful history.

The rain was being kept off her body by an invisible force, held together by the communities will, her ending would be discorporation, base elements flung out to the four corners of Nirn as was befitting one that had died so young.

They had both been on the verge of leaving the Isle of Artaeum, ready to begin new lives as councilors in the kingdom of Sunhold… Far from being exiles, the Order of the Psijics had now become advisors to kings, and Artaeum had become a paradise. It was also rumored that Vanus Galerion, the head of their order was moving to Firsthold, that Sotha Sil was gone… Though he would miss his home and teachers and friends, a great adventure lay before him, with the girl he loved.

Another memory…

They’d escaped from a meditation class from old Iachesis and had wandered back to their old haunt atop the tower. It was a safe place for all the students had been forbidden access to it. He sat with his back to a wall with Tanyaria laying perpendicular to him, her head resting on his stomach, facing the same way they’d been on that first day so many years ago., enjoying the solitude, the quiet. He must have dozed, for suddenly he stood on the top of the world, all of Tamriel spread out before him. From his vantage point he saw the crystal tower on Summerset Isle, the spires and battlement in Cyrodiil, the belching mouth of Dagoth Ur. From North Point in High Rock down to Lilmoth in Black Marsh he could see everything with pinpoint clarity…

A dreamy voice said, “I wonder how those Tzerapods see us, it must be wonderful to wander so high above the world.”

He snapped back to follow her finger high in the sky. A herd of Tzerapods was floating idly past, creatures peculiar only to Summerset Isle, inordinately shy, and poisonous to the taste they were left alone, moving unhurriedly through the gardens of Nirns sky, beautiful and enigmatic.

Tanyaria continued, “It’s so strange, we know so little about them. I secretly call them ‘dreamers’ and sometimes I like to pretend I dream what they do. I’ve finally decided… I will make it my life’s work to unravel their secrets, for too long have we ignored each other.”

“Perhaps,” Franteira said, “They are not even aware of us…”

She inclined her head up to look at him, and her eyes were wistful, “I also have had this thought, that we High Elves, in our vainglory, believe all things bend to our will. How wonderful it would be, if one part of nature was not even conscious of our existence.”

Franteira laughed, “Even for a mystic you ponder far further than any I know, you would give the Arch Magister a run for his gold.” Yet his heart raced as her lips reached up to brush his.

Basking in the heat of her body she leaned in close, “My dearest Franteira, I think, because you are an orphan, because you are Ayleid bonding and High Elf rearing, you too possess the alien qualities of the Dreamers. Sometimes I think it’s why I fell in love with you.”

It was true, growing up he’d had to work twice as hard as the others to reach the same place. His birthright gave him the advantage of slipping unseen away when needed, and he’d been gifted with an unusual skill in the mundane arts of sword and staff play, but the arts of Magika had been hard won. No one had been prouder than himself when Galerion approved his magical training, though his parents had been beaming from ear to ear.

As the rain washed freely down his cheeks, he vowed there and then to dedicate his life to her dream of uncovering the Tzerapods mysteries. He went to see his old teacher Iachesis and asked that his post to Firsthold be postponed and was granted leave to go to the caverns of the dreaming…

Some five centuries later he finally realized his goal. The details are unclear but he found a way to merge his consciousness with theirs wherein a symbiotic relationship would occur. He left only instructions on how this fusing could take place. Only a few thousand followed his path before the knowledge was withdrawn, and of those two thousand three hundred, none has spoken, to this day, about their experiences, but, from that day forth, the Tzerapods began to die out, all except those that had merged. There are rumors that to this day, if you see one of these creatures, it is an omen of good luck. For whatever else their secrets were, unnatural long life is one of them, and in the skies of Nirn there are twenty three hundred Tzerapods with their… owners, pets, charges, and friends? For their does appear to be an intimate relationship between ride and rider. What have they become? for when separated (apparently they still wander at will amongst us), they move as sleepwalkers, and their talk is dreamlike and nonsensical, until they return to their home in the sky.

A new consciousness, observers of the human condition, able to see beyond the limits of the mundane world…

Only the twenty-three hundred know, and they’re not talking.

Franc Kaos.

Section: Stories

Written by Hemal Navonne (TSBasilisk)

The Chest of Debt
by Hemal Navonne

In Wayrest, there lived a powerful and rich merchant. The merchant held control over all the trade routes in his city and extorted exorbitant rates from the other traders for use of the areas he held sway over. Some stores run by other men almost belonged to him, with a thin line between debt and servitude.

He had everything but always craved more, for gold was his greatest and only love.

One day, a poor purveyor of artifacts and curios came to the merchant's house. He bowed before the powerful man and begged him for his aid. "Please, milord", he moaned, "I cannot pay this month's rent and debts. If you do not help me, I will surely lose everything."

The merchant sneered at him. "Fool. I help no one. You will never be able to pay me enough for this request you ask of me. Your appearance fills me with distaste, and I wish to have appetite for dinner." As he raised his hand to summon his guards, the poor man reached into his tattered cloak and drew forth a small chest.

"Great one, it is true I cannot pay you fully now, but every day I can bring what gold I can to you. I will place it in this chest while you sleep so as not to affront your eyes," he begged. "Please, just give me one week, and the debt will be fulfilled."

The merchant pondered. Throwing this mendicant from his hovel would bring no profit, save for the cost of firewood which his walls might provide. He offered gold, and if he did not carry through, his house could still readily furnish the merchant's fireplace. Still, he needed to see the gold as proof.

"Very well then. Place the chest before me. If the amount is sufficient, I will release you from this month's rent," the merchant proclaimed. "Now, place the chest before me."

The chest was filled with good, bright gold. This should have been more than enough for the rent, but the merchant saw no reason to object. He could always raise the rent, seeing how much the man seemed to have stored here. The purveyor was dismissed, and the merchant added the gold to his vault.

The next morning, the chest was filled again, and the merchant smiled at how well the curios trade must be flourishing. After this, he must see about getting a larger cut of the trade.

Every morning for a week, gold was added to the merchant's vault through the chest, but the merchant grew discontent. Why did the shop-keeper pay so much and yet claim to have not enough for rent. The store he owned was small and run-down. He could not possibly be providing this.

On the last day, the merchant had his guards bring the purveyor to him. After sending them away, the merchant glared at the trembling man before him. "Where does it come from?" he demanded. "Where do you find this gold for the chest? Tell me!"

The man trembled but did not speak.

"I know you cannot have this much money," the merchant growled, spinning the chest to reveal its contents. "You cannot fool me. You are a thief or worse. Tell me!"

The man shook but did not speak.

The merchant glowered. "So be it. I will report you as a burglar to the authorities. I will see to it that you pay fully for not telling me. They will hear a far different story of your recent escapades, and how you robbed me. Then I will use your little house to warm my guard room."

Turning upon the trembling, rag-tag man, he put the coins into secret vault. It wouldn't matter if he saw, as soon enough he would have the man blinded and muted.

When he turned, however, the man was different. The purveyor was gone, replaced by a tall, old man in a black robe. And beside him stood something the merchant could not quite see, for it seemed to vanish whenever looked at fully.

The merchant wondered fleetingly where the purveyor had gone, but suddenly a deep chill went through him as the misty being suddenly spoke. "The pact is fulfilled. I will now take payment."

The merchant realized with a sinking heart that HE was the subject of this declaration. "B-but what pact?"

"He who draws gold from the Coffer of King Orgnum for seven days shall owe payment to my master. You have done so, and thus I will now take payment."

The merchant felt the blood drain from his face. The man in the black robe spoke quietly. "As you did to my son, who lost his life to pay his debts, and my daughter, who sacrificed everything to save him from your greed, so shall happen to you." The sorceror turned and walked from the room, as the spirit moved towards the merchant.

"What!?! What!?! What do you want!?! I will give you all my gold, everything I took and more!"

"No. I will now take payment."

"Anything!"

"Yes. I will now take payment."

"What? And...for whom?"

Silence came form the room before a despairing scream and the answer. "Your soul...for Clavicus Vile."

Section: Stories

Written by Raithen Arthat (raithen)

The Mage, The Warrior, and The Thief

The mage was ready. His life added up to this moment-This moment alone. Ever since he was a child, he has known he must do this. He remembered the first time he met Swellen, the warrior… the first time they became friends. It was a bright day. The autumn leaves were just beginning to swirl to the ground, all different colours. A rainbow of reds, yellows, browns, and oranges. Beautiful as it was, it barred a dark destiny of three children, soon to be men.

The mage reached for his staff and whispered an incantation upon it. At once he felt the swirl of his magic, his magic, the magic as to which would kill his ex-friend. He then found his silver sword, used once on the isle of Solstheim to ward off werewolves. Not needed that much anymore, he merely brought it along to slay his enemies. He stepped out into the bright summer’s day. It was beautiful. But this day held something else… Something almost forbidding…

The warrior fastened the clasps on his chestplate and tied the knots needed to keep it in place. He then pulled on his gauntlet tight and flexed his hand. He grabbed the hilt of his sword, Deathslay, and felt the power pulse through his veins. This was the day he would strike down all his enemies; he would kill that mage or die trying. The warrior’s name was Swellen, and his opponent was De’ Apstose, the mage. His enemy was powerful, but the knight was immortal-And the mage did not know that…

The mage traveled on. He knew where the knight would be. They both had the intention of killing each other, so they would go to the place where it began-To end it. They would not go to an arena in some city in this province. That would not be honorable. They must end this- He, De’ Apstose, must end this. For he was immortal, and the warrior did not know that…

Only one weapon could strike either of these two down. And it was called “Breath of the Immortals”. This weapon was in the hands of a man, who knew what he would have to do. He would have to kill both the other men who have been granted an immortal life.

The warrior found the clearing, he drew his weapon, and he waited. Suddenly, a swirl of mist came out of nowhere, and the mage appeared. The warrior readied himself, already thinking of the best way to slay his opponent.

“Hello, warrior. It seems you have guessed the right spot for our final battle.”
“I shall silence you with my blade, mage!” said the warrior.
“Aha, as you think.”
“That is what I know!” And the warrior thrusted forward with his sword. Instantly, the mage and warrior were locked in an endless struggle. Neither of them knowing the other was immortal.

Soon the man came upon their fight, and he knocked a silver arrow into his bow. He pulled back the string and let it fly. The arrow was an amazing sight. It flew right through the warrior, killing him instantly, and then through the mage, who disappeared into a pile of robes. As soon as the arrow had appeared, it disappeared over the horizon.

The man walked over to the fallen immortals. His duty fulfilled. He thought he could even here the gods thank him. He reached down and took the warrior’s sword, tied it to his side, then took the mage’s staff. He took one last look around, then shouldered the bow and set off through the forest.

If one might have sat there and watched the clearing after the thief had left, one might have noticed a little silver arrow glide silently through the air and land peacefully on what was left of the mage.

Written by Raithen Arthat

Section: Stories

Written by Ralik (Perseus)

Love reversed.

Written by: Ralik

"You are sure of this?"
The answer came after quite a while. It was as if the other had to think hard of an answer that would fit the question.
"Yes, indeed I am." A simple reply that did not seem to satisfy his companion. "If you do not know for sure, we cannot..". He stopped, looked around him but found no reason to be suspicious of his environment. He moved his hand away from his sword. "If we are heard talking about this, we will surely die." Ralik shuddered and thought about what made him betray his master and those he had called his friends. Even his most trusted friend, Eryet who would have followed him to the moon had there been a ladder long enough.

Ralik
Once, everything had been so simple. He served master Arthan, a man with considerable wealth. Arthan had worked hard to get there. He had often told his servants of how he, his father Arec and his mother Sedrin had worked day and night to sell otherwise useless objects found by the wayside to traders. Sedrin one time had been seized by a thief, mistaking them for wealthy travellers. When he found out about the woman's bleak existance, the thief ended her life. Arthan's father Arec drowned in a river, trying to pursue her killer wearing armor. Indeed Arthan had fought hard for his money and only had his daughter left to bring joy to his life. His wife Chira had died of an unknown disease.
Master Arthan had gotten him out of prison, where his innocent mind was trapped between the guilty. He owed him his service. He owed him his life. More than that, he owed him his friendship.
A man who believed in his innocence, set him free and became his friend. All that had changed.
Aseli. There was nothing he would not have done for her, when she told him she loved him. Nothing he would not do, except betray his master. "None but a nobleman may ask for my daughter's hand." A painful memory. "Those who betray me will die." Equally painful. He knew Aseli was out of his reach. Even if they ran away together, disappeared into the night, master Arthan would come after them. Riding a horse called Anger and carrying a sword called Vengeance. Arthan had no such belongings but would not hold back his wrath. He would do all in his power to find his daughter. And kill her captor.
Ralik had told no one but Eryet. Aseli was beyond his doubts, never would his trust in her fail. Jostil, the maid, Isslar the stable boy and Vitti he could not tell. Though they were friends, they would never understand him. Wodin and Klaen, tall men, he had never trusted. They would seem kind and gentle in conversation, but Ralik knew they would instantly tell master Arthan about his plans. He felt guilty, not because he would break his vow to Arthan, but because he had dragged Eyret into it.
Master Arthan would know he was involved and unleash his wrath on Eryet.
Ralik could not allow that. Eryet would have to come with them.

Eryet
After hearing Ralik's tale, he had promised to help. He understood what he would have to do. Love after all, was more important than loyalty. His mother always told him the importance of things. Love, loyalty, honor. Always in that order. He had lived by that code for as long as he could remember. Even as a child, he had never strayed from his beliefs. He did want to talk about it anywhere near Arec manor however. He lead his friend to places in the woods.
Master Arthan was very friendly to both of them, but he would neither let his daughter marry a mere servant nor let his daughter's kidnappers live.
Beneath the trees, they completed their plan. Whispering, making sure no one followed, plotting. Things Eryet had despised. Things he had lowed. Things now necessary to be true to his friend.
If love, friendship and honor were diseases that could not be cured easily, life itsself had to be a plague of some sort.

Aseli
She had seen how Ralik looked at her. Still she was in doubt. If she was wrong, she would look ridiculous. Moreover, he would tell her father, who would not be kind. She decided her love for him would be worth a beating and told him during a horseride. Ralik, surprised and amazed nearly fell from his horse. They started slipping away from the manor together and their love grew. At some point, they realized they could never be together this way. Only one choice remained after careful consideration. They would have to flee from the manor and master Arthan and travel far in little time.

"So master Arthan will not come back for a week?" It wasn't a question, merely an observation. "It matters not if it were a year, as soon as he finds out, he will follow us Eryet. We will have to find a way to make sure our names will not be known where we will go. And I have a plan."
Eryet mounted his horse looked at the darkening sky and shook his head. "Somehow, some way, this is just", he spoke loudly as they rode back.

None of master Arthan's servants was awake when the three got on their horses. They took a dirtroad into the woods, riding slowly, towards the creek. They would be following it for quite a while, making sure there were no tracks to follow. After that, they would travel south along a cobblestone path though they would not be entering the city at its end. He had listened to other prisoner's tales and knew no hunter would find them if they also left their names behind.

Klaen and his brother Wodin, who shared a small room behind the stables had seen them leave. "We have no right to keep this from the master, yet...", Klaen paused. "Yet what brother?" Klaen hung his head. "Yet, Aseli specificly asked us to make sure master will not find out. That her heart chose Ralik instead of me, or you, does not make any difference. We will do as she asked." Wodin glanced at the clearing sky. "Very well, but we will not clear the tracks they made. Instead, we will ask Isslar to come with us and make our own."

As Ralik predicted, master Arthan hired riders to find his daughter. He would not think of business or anything else. "I will reopen the damned shop when I find my Aseli", he had shouted. "My finest two servants and best friend. No, they will not go unpunished." His servants dared not agrue with him. He had questioned all of them, thoroughly, yet learned nothing. The trackers he paid had little to go on. There were so many tracks around the manor, that they feared the Ralik and Eryet had released three horses to make sure they weren't followed.
Thus, they only had a description of Arthan's daughter and her name. Knowing Arthan's former servants would not give their names, they would ask villagers if they knew of any new people around, hoping to hear one of the names they were looking for.

After months of looking, Arthan had given up on his daughter who would surely be beyond his reach by now.
"I am sorry to disturb you", Candar started, "but a woman told me you and two others just settled here. I represent the magistrate and wish to know your names for our records." A woman with dark hair looked up and lead Candar inside.
Outside, two horses stopped near the farm. "Ilesa? Could you come and help for a minute?." The woman walked to the door and asked both men, who had just arrived to come inside instead. "This man stopped by to record our names for the magistrate", she said. "I have never heard of such a thing."
"There can be harm in knowing our names", one of the two men said, "welcome to our farm. I am Kilar, this is my wife Ilesa and my best friend Teyre. Do you require anything from me?"

He knew, it was risky to keep the conversation going, but he saw Candar look more at ease. As if he had dropped his guard. "Again, I am sorry", Candar spoke, "I work as a tracker for a man known as Arthan, son of Arec. I am trying to find his daughter Aseli and two of his former servants, Ralik and Eryet. Master Arthan called off the search yesterday, but I had to check all possibilities."

Kilar stood up. "If that is all, I would like to get back to my crops."

Section: Stories

Written by Vutier (Perseus)

A Knight’s Honor

Written by Vutier


Too bloody a fight to be called a skirmish. Yet it was too small to be seen as a battle.
Things had always gone ill in this region. There had been many vicious fights like the one Vutier and his friends had just witnessed. He would have no part of it.

They no longer heard swords clash together. The fighting had stopped. Initially, the ambushers had an advantage. Knocking the surprised riders of their horses and killing two of them before they could react. It was clear though that the riders that had now lost their horses were better trained and better equipped. The attackers, in their black armor and blue and black shields had outnumbered them.
The knights retreated, holding off a force of marauders and a great number of spears. Wearing silver armor which shone brightly in the sunlight, the knights took their stand on a muddy hilltop. The marauding force charged up, only to get violently beaten back. The knights, though wearing fine armor, carried no shields.

His father Herad had always said: “He who enters battle with no shield will die of his own stupidity.” Then again, his father had been like these men. As a spearman, he had worn the black and blue in service of his lord. Never again would his father swing his spear in combat. The arrogant man had died, defending a small area from those blasted knights.

Still amazed, he looked at one of the knights. He held his sword in both hands, swinging it from shoulder to shoulder. Because he kept swinging, he could not be attacked easily. The powerful blows that mostly landed on the shields of frightened spearmen sometimes knocked a foe down. With no hopes of getting up, a long sword would come down on that foe. “Two soldiers are more powerful than one.” His father must have been wrong. These knights were winning a battle that had seemed hopeless.

But it was not to be that way. Bloodshed continued as another group of soldiers in black armor entered the field. Nine men in black and three in silver, dead in the dirt. Two more joined the nine and one of the knights fell to his knees and buried his face in the mud. The fight raged on. The knights could not be defeated easily, but they would not last against a much larger force. After an hour, only two spearmen and a single knight were still standing. The knight killed one with a quick thrust. The other pierced the knight’s chest near his shoulder, making the bloody silver fall from his hand. The knight, who initially rode up front, picked up a dagger from the mud and killed the last remaining marauder.

At that point, Vutier and his companions ran up the hill. They cared not for the dead. Nor for the lords these men had fought for. Their belongings were all that mattered. They had no family to turn to. They would look after themselves. Jerrik and Alkar had never even seen their parents. Josten’s father and mother had been imprisoned for betraying their lord. Karben’s parents were both dead, his mother died at his birth and his father had fallen in battle. Vutier had never known his mother. His father had always said she left one day. Vutier however, had not seen the lie in his eyes.

“Let us loot these bodies and be done with it.” Business as usual. Karben would take charge here, as he always did. Though he was a good friend of Vutier, he never liked Karben’s need to take command all the time. “Well come on, we haven’t got all day. If we don’t do it now, we will not be gone before the next soldiers arrive. And if we don’t do it, you know someone else will.”

They started with the weaponry. Most of the weapons had belonged to the larger force. Mostly spears and daggers. Fabricated of cheap metal, not worth taking along, but Vutier had taught his friends a way to use them anyway. They used spears bound together and made a small platform to put loot on, so they could carry their new belongings off as quickly as possible. They took the silver swords that were on the hill, and put them on the spears. There was little else of value, the horses had run away and the armor was too heavy to carry off. It was poor mostly, but the knights’ armor was exquisite, so they took their time to bury some of the undamaged armor. The swords would be enough to survive for quite a while longer.

“It’s a pity they did not carry much gold,” Karben spoke finally.

“Though these swords will do fine.” Vutier looked at the knight that tried to get back up.

“Still, my friends, it is wrong. Indeed, these men are dead or dying. But what right have we to steal from them? Assuming we have the right to do so, are we less barbaric than the lord that is supposed to rule these lands?” Josten, Jerrik and Alkar knew arguing would be pointless. Vutier would never stop disapproving what they did to survive. Karben however, felt the need to make his point.

“You’re a fool, Vutier! We have to do something to survive on our own. You know we are too young to go into someone’s service, and no one is likely to take us in until we are old enough. What would you propose? Steal from living people instead? How is that less immoral?”

Vutier shook his head. “No, I know why we don’t steal from living people. Because it is too risky. Because someone with a need to commandeer me is afraid to die.”

“Fighting amongst yourselves will only ensure victory of those that oppose you.”

Karben turned to the knight, who now stood on the middle of the hill, leaning on a large rock. “Stay out of this, do us all a favor and die quickly and silently.” Unimpressed the knight continued:

“That last soldier pierced my armor, yes. But he only managed to cut me in the arm. I cannot hold a sword right now, but he will never do so again.” He grinned. “They call me Krindis. I will not stop you from looting these men, if that is your destiny in life. But you have no right to call Vutier here a fool if you do so. As a knight, I serve the people rather than my lord and do not lie. Not even to treacherous beings such as yourself. And I speak the truth if I claim Vutier was the name I gave my son, before he was taken by an enemy soldier in a raid long ago. Vutier looked at the knight, who seemed more honest than his father had ever been to him and far more honorable.

“Perhaps you would recognize this half amulet? I see you still carry its other half.”

Vutier looked down and held his amulet in his hand. The head and belly of a dragon. He saw the knight holding a similar amulet, with a tail, rear and a piece of its wings that seemed distorted. “I recognize it. Yes, something from long ago. But how do I know you have not lied to me as Herad has? Besides, it did not have wings.”

Krindis smiled, knowing his son was testing his knowledge of the object. “It had wings, but a part of it broke off when your mother bathed you when you were younger.”

Karben looked skeptically to his friend. Was he seriously thinking of leaving with this stranger? “That is quite enough. You should leave now, knight, I have heard enough of your…”

Vutier interrupted: “No, he is my father, I’m absolutely sure of it. Somehow, I knew it when he said my name.”

Josten could not believe what he was hearing. “You will leave us for him?”

Vutier smiled. “I’ve never been here, Josten. You should know that by now. I never agreed to Karben’s looting plans and always seem to disagree with him. However, if you wish, you can come with me. Have a life away from poverty and theft.”

“No, I will not betray my land.” Jerrik spoke loudly, as if he was speaking to an army of men.

“Nor will I.” Alkar, even louder continued. “You will not convince Josten or Karben to follow this man into a trap. Clearly he disapproves of our business.” Karben picked up one of the shorter swords on the hill. Josten gave a spear to Alkar and took two of the short swords. Jerrik, who had gone back for shields, gave them to his friends.

“Father? What will we do now?” Krindis sighed and picked up two daggers. “I see no way to avoid a fight. I will make my stand here. Get yourself a weapon.” Vutier instinctively reached for the sword his father dropped earlier. Its blood wasn’t yet dry.

“Now die, you worthless knights. Pay for the blood of my father”, Karben yelled. The four ran at Krindis. Krindis backed out, took one step to his right, turned and stabbed Josten in his neck.

Jerrik was next to die. He had seen the dagger in Josten’s body and assumed Krindis was now unarmed. He did not see the other dagger because his own shield hid the weapon from view. He charged, and stabbed his sword forward, missing the knight who quickly stabbed him twice.

With Jerrik and Josten dead, Alkar and Karben threw a net over the knight. It was no more than a common fishing net, but Kindris was trapped underneath. Vutier, who saw his father move swiftly in his armor, rushed to his aid. Swinging the sword as he had seen one of the knights do before.

He hit the inside of Alkar’s shield, and quickly slashed the sword across the chest. Only Karben was left. Though Vutier fought the best he could, he was destined to lose. Finally, Karben gained the upper hand and moved in for the kill.

“You see your death. Look at it again because it is the last you will see.” Karben smiled at first, then looked surprised and gasped for breath. A long dagger had pierced his chest between the shoulders.

“Indeed it is the last thing you will see,” said Krindis.

“Father! You have stabbed him in the back. I thought knights considered that to be a cowardly.” The tall man looked at his son.

“No, my son. Saving those you love is more important than honor. Remember that as long as you live.”


I still remember

Section: Stories

Written by Sun's-Day (stargate525)

Kasa-Mei
By Sun’s-Day

I was a pretty handsome Argonian in my youth if I do say so myself. Sure I wasn’t the most strapping youth in town, (though working at my father’s shop would later take care of that problem), but I was pretty fine looking nonetheless. I would chase after girls, same as any other teenager, but the tail and the fact that I was only three years old made the difficulty rather high.
I had always known about Kasa-Mei, after all, she was Flamescales sister. But I began to see her in a whole new light shortly after my fourth birthday. I guess that’s when my instincts took over and my reason made way for it. The next time I saw her, I managed to get away from Flamescales and ask Kasa-Mei out. As I look back on it, I am thoroughly amazed that she accepted. Either way, we agreed to meet at sunset on a hill in the forest, from the small divots on the north side, you could overlook the river and see the town. Quite a beautiful place, and the favorite spot for any teenaged couples hoping for an illicit get-together.
We met on the hill, both of us had snuck out of our houses for this, and I was not going to waste any time. We quickly chose a divot we both liked, and we both settled down to watch the sun set over the town. If any elven eyes would have looked toward the hill that night, they would have seen Kasa-Mei and I on the hill, she cradled over my legs, tails wrapped around each other.
We both basked in the presence of each other, the golden light of the setting sun reflecting marvelously against her green skin, sleek, warm, and toned from work in the fields. It was not until well after the sun had set, and the many stars came out to light us both in a silver sheen, that she spoke.
“The stars are beautiful tonight.” She murmured, nuzzling close to my chest.
“Not as pretty as you are though.” I replied as I threw a blanket that I had brought over us.
She looked at me, not a passing glance, no; this was different. I got lost in her eyes, two dark blue orbs, so trusting and innocent, the two great moons reflected in their smoothness. “That is so sweet...” I could feel her tail unwind from mine and snake its way over to my hip. “Nobody has ever said that to me before...” that tail of hers was sending a tingle as it journeyed up my chest, underneath my shirt.
“I-I-I,” I stuttered. But she wasn’t listening. Her tail had apparently reached its final destination, absentmindedly stroking my neck, flooding my mind with the pleasantness of that sensation. She wrapped her arms around me, and we kissed, long and hard...

We went to that hill at least once a week together after that until Flamescales and I left. She said that she would wait for me to return. I wonder if she is there now, waiting for me, looking out from the hill, our hill. But until I return, My memories will have to keep me company in this lone world.

Section: Stories

Written by Serene (Minque)

Serene in Cyrodiil

By Minque

Chapter 1 Cyrodiil

Part 1

The day that changed my life forever, was indeed meant to change it…..but not in the way it did……..

I was standing in front of the big mirror in my dressing-room, merely appreciating the sight….I probably would have a good time at the grand feast my parents were holding for me, to celebrate my 16th birthday. That day was today and I was waiting for my mother to come and help me with my hair. She wasn’t eager to let Ranya, my dunmer maid, perform this delicate task, knowing that the devoted girl would listen too closely to my suggestions of how my long, auburn hair should be arranged.

The festivities also had another purpose- a lot of young, promising legionnaires were invited, all eager to marry the daughter of the great General in the Imperial Legion, Rufus Vantinius, my beloved father. So finding a suitable husband for me was one of today’s missions for my parents.

I slowly turned around, watching my exquisite skirt whirl around the waist; it was a lovely creation in dark gold-beige and amethyst-blue, embroidered with pearls around the lining. With that I wore a tight semi-transparent blouse in beige which revealed a lot more of me than my mother would be satisfied with. But since I was old enough to be the object of the “marriage-open-market” why not tease the hunters a bit?

I knew my mother would want me to put on the beautiful robe which she inherited from her mother, and which now was given to me. In fact it was a great piece of handicraft; my grandmother made it for her wedding….ages ago, from thick heavy wool, in a dark red color with thick gray wolf-fur on the hood and lining. My grandmother, Reidun Ingjaldsdottír, was born and raised in Falcreath in the province of Skyrim, being originally of Nordic heritage, and that’s where the fur came from. My grandfather got her as a reward for saving her father’s life in a fight there.

At first Reidun resented her master and “owner,” Larrius Macrinius, captain in the Legion. But afterwards they settled down in Falcreath, so Reidun in fact not was driven from her native lands, she started to like him and soon even love him. Their marriage was a great celebration with a huge mass of food and drink, and Reidun had made the famous robe just for the occasion to protect her both from the everlasting coldness of Skyrim and also from the lustful eyes of the drunken male wedding guests.

Shortly after their marriage they set off for The Imperial City, where Larrius rapidly advanced in his career with the Legion. My mother, Larissa, and her twin-brother, Larrius II, were born short after my grandfather became General.

“Serene! Are you out of your mind? Just standing there dreaming and admiring yourself! We are short of time as it is, and you are far from being presentable!”

My mother’s sharp voice abruptly awakened me from my daydreams, and I sighed and sat down on the little pallet in front of the mirror. Mother Larissa started to brush my hair with a ferocity coming from her nervousness at not having full control of the situation (as she usually had!)

I sat calmly and stared right into the mirror, watched my mother’s face and appearance, and noticed that I certainly hadn’t gotten my looks from her….She was a short sturdy woman, round-faced, with dark blonde hair in a fancy arrangement, her brown eyes peering sternly at me…..BROWN EYES!!

I jumped to my feet when I discovered the fact that my mother’s eyes were brown, a fact I hadn’t given one thought about before…It couldn’t be!!! It was impossible- mine were dark blue with a touch of amethyst-violet, like my father’s. Well, his were more bright blue, but …..I had just learned about genetics at the Lyceum for better-off Imperial young women, and one thing was made crystal-clear, there’s only 50% chance that an offspring from one brown-eyed and one blue-eyed parent can get blue eyes…..then add the fact that I didn’t resemble my mother at all; I was tall, thin and my face was slim and delicate with pointed cheek-bones….There was something really fishy going on……..

“How come I have blue eyes when yours are brown?” I screamed as I stood before my mother, trembling with a strange terror. I so wanted her to ease me and explain that I really WAS one of that 50% that could get blue eyes. My heart sank when I saw her reaction to my outrage..

Larissa Vantinius went pale and sat down heavily on my bed, her hands covering her face, tears running down her cheeks.

“Oh, Renie, darling,” she sobbed, “I was hoping you’d never find out!”

“Find out what?” My voice was sharp and I was shaking in earnest by now, tears burning behind my eye-lids as I felt the ground beneath my feet fade away.

My mother wiped her face and composed herself, straightened her back and started telling me who I really was

”Serene, you might as well be told the truth now, there’ll be no better opportunity….”

“It was a chilly morning, 16 years ago, 27 First Seed.” Larissa started. “I couldn’t sleep so I went down to the grand living room to drink a glass of cyrodiilic brandy, you know I usually do that, don’t you?”

I nodded and she continued – “Then I thought I’d go outside for a while to get a breath of fresh air. When I opened the front door I almost stumbled over a worn, open chest that was right in front of me on the staircase.” Larissa’s eyes filled with tears again and she was silent…. I began to feel a chill down my back, and sweat was beading on my brow and under my arms, as I forced my mother to continue her gruesome story.

“When I looked down I saw a little baby-girl lying in the chest, all naked with just an old dirty piece of cloth wrapped around her legs. The baby looked dead and there was a note pinned to the cloth.”

I consider myself be an intelligent girl with a lot of imagination, so by now I was aware what my mother was getting at! This indeed was a nightmare; I couldn’t hold back anymore, a flood of tears ran down my face, and I cried out my rage and fear, whilst my mother gently massaged my shoulders

“Yes Renie, that baby-girl was you! The note on the cloth said: ‘You have to look after her for I cannot. She belongs to this house and I have named her Serene, she was born 6 days ago’….and that was it! No more information….So what could I do?” Larissa continued, “I took you inside and tried to warm you up, then you opened your wonderful amethyst-blue eyes and just looked at me with a serenity that amazed me…..No wonder your biological mother named you the way she did!”

“But then again, a 6-day-old baby needs breast-feeding, and where could I find someone who just had a baby?”

“You certainly cried out your urge for some nourishment,” Larissa smiled. “Then I remembered that one of the kitchen-maids recently had a baby, but I didn’t remember actually seeing the child. I went to the servants’ house and asked around. By now most of the staff were awake and very curious about the noise from the main building.”

“Oh Mistress Larissa, a baby-girl! Two or three of the young kitchen-maids were hanging around me and tried to calm you down, ‘She’s hungry I bet,’ Aantje, one of the more clever maids stated, ‘why Marthona just lost her son, maybe she can help, she’s crying over her spilled milk….’”

“ I hesitated at first,” Larissa sighed, “Marthona indeed was one of our most valuable servants; she was a magician and healer, BUT she also was an Altmer! And you Renie, were not, you were definitely of cyrodiilic heritage. I wasn’t so keen on letting a woman of another race feed you- one never knows how that can end up!”

“But there was no choice, either Marthona was to feed you or you would just die!”

By now I was listening to my mother’s story with a cold empty feeling in my stomach; I didn’t cry anymore, but my nose was running and my blouse was soaked with sweat and I certainly wasn’t in the mood for a birthday celebration anymore….. Or for dating some high-bred would-be Cyrodill Legionnaire.

But then again, I realized that I always had been interested in plants and herbs and what can be made from them; I also remembered that I always had a good hand with injured animals……..and last but not least, I always had and still have very warm feelings towards Marthona. Maybe some Altmer-magic went through the breast-tissue-barrier and into the milk I drank……?

“Did you ever learn who left me on the stairs?” I asked solemnly.

“No I didn’t…..but coincidentally, your grandmother, that’s on your father’s side, lost a parlor-maid at that time. That’s odd but I wouldn’t assume that this girl is, or was your real mother.”

My father the General entered the room, his face red with anger- well, of course; the guests had arrived and none of his family had come down to welcome all the mighty officers and their wives and children

“WHAT are you doing up here?” he shouted. “SERENE! Just look at you, there will be NO marriage-proposals for you, if you don’t straighten yourself up…And for the sake of Zenithar, take off that ghastly blouse! It’s all wet and you show so much of yourself that you can as well come down naked!…Besides…You SMELL!!”

“Rufus dear,” my mother said in a low voice, “she had to be told the truth about her uncertain roots”…..she bowed her head down and waited for the thunderstorm to break out!

Then I instinctively knew my father was having a heart-attack; his face went bluish-red, his eyes were on fire and he gasped desperately for his breath.

“RUFUS!” My mother screamed as her husband fell down on the thick red carpet, “Rufus! Talk to me! HELP! Serene, call for a healer, call for anything!!!”

I did nothing of the sort; an ice-cold cloud came over me and I just knelt at my father’s side and put my hands gently on his chest. I could feel his heart beating far to irregularly and his lungs struggling for air.

As I closed my eyes and concentrated on the desperate heart, I could feel the clot that hindered the blood from flowing in one of the coronary arteries….I trembled, this I’d never done before, at least not on a human being, and certainly not on one so close to me… I felt waves of energy floating from me to him; it was exhausting, sweat was running down my back, from my armpits and between my breasts…..I was forcing the clot to dissolve to let the blood-stream free again, it was slowly getting softer. Suddenly my fingers felt a tremble deep inside his chest …….

“Rufus!” Larissa whispered, “Oh Renie, he’s coming back to us,” she sobbed quietly and bent over him, covering his face with light kisses.

I rose and looked at his face; it was its normal dark-reddish again, the color of too much cyrodiilic Brandy and too much crab-meat-stew with fried ash- yam…..and no exercise whatsoever, unless you count the few steps to “Semirama´s Hanging Gardens,” the legionnaires’ playground-of the-year. Well, in fact, it’s a decent restaurant mostly, but when invaded by legionnaires off-duty it becomes Oblivion’s kitchen, too much booze and fatty food…

My mother and most of the guests now were occupied by helping Father to his bedroom, so I decided that it was time for me to stand on my own feet. I tore off my soaked, smelly clothes, went into the wash room and poured a bucket of water over myself, and immediately I felt better- amazing what a little hygiene does !!

I found some common skirts and blouses in Ranya´s closet, and left a note telling her that she could take whatever she wanted in my closet, then packed a leather satchel with one set of her clothing, and put on the other. The last thing I did was to pack the gorgeous red robe and off I went…..without looking back.

I now had paid for the care that was given to me by saving my father’s life, at least that was what I chose to think as I was walking through the streets of The Imperial City, hoping none of the patrolling legionnaires should stop me and ask what General Vantinius´s little Renie was doing alone walking the streets in the middle of the night.

I was extremely tired and wanted more than ever to lie down for a bit…..but that kind of behavior was not allowed in the City, not even in parks, on benches! There are stories about people being arrested for sleeping in parks, or even picking flowers there…..

Coming out from the City into the beautiful Nibenay Valley I felt at ease for the first time since morning. I knew the valley like my own pocket. Marthona went there every day to collect medical herbs and plants and practice different magic skills and I followed her, although my parents (or whatever I’ll call them from now on) did not approve. So I had to sneak out every time…..which made me extremely skilled in sneaking, an ability that might be called the “Rise and Fall of Serene Vantinius.”

As I slowly walked along the Nibenay River I thought about how this day had forever changed my life. I’d never go back to Vantinius Manor; I didn’t belong there anymore, not being the legitimate daughter of Rufus and Larissa. I also wondered why I never had any brothers and sisters…..Why would an Imperial General settle for only one heir? And that heir being a GIRL? Something was very wrong here and I couldn’t figure out what it was. I then noticed a flickering light to my left. My first thought was that my father’s men had found me, because I was sure they were sent out looking for me. No way would General Vantinius cope with the humiliation of a run-away daughter, even if that daughter was not of his own blood-line.

I quickly hid myself behind a gigantic cork-bulb plant growing beside the winding path. Not a sound could be heard, but the light was still there. I sneaked slowly towards it and then it was all clear… It was a lit-up window in a small shack and the flickering was just the trees waving in the chilly breeze….. I also by then knew what house it must be; I had found the Dunmer-settlement that was known to be somewhere in the Valley. Very few people actually knew about this little “village,” but as Ranya and I had become friends, she had told me about it. The Dunmer that inhabited this settlement were working in The City as underpaid semi-slaves, doing all the dirty work that the native Cyrodiilians were too high-up to do. I remembered that I actually had been here, once or twice, together with Ranya, when I was a little girl, naturally in secret; my father would never allow me to mix with, as he used to say, “Minor races.”

When I entered the settlement I looked for the shack where Ranya´s family lived; at least they had met me and hopefully wouldn’t try to chase me away. As with all Dunmer there were a lot of people living in the same small building, so when I entered there were seven pairs of reddish eyes glaring at me with suspicion. I removed the hood of my robe to reveal my face.

“Serene!” Tamara, Ranya´s elder sister, flung herself up from her seat near the fire. “What in the name of Almalexia are you doing here? What’s happened to you? You look awful!”

“Thank you,” I replied with a twisted grin and felt the tears rising in my eyes, “now I know I’m with friends”

Tamara embraced me and held me tight to her chest while I cried my eyes out. When I calmed down a bit I thought of how wonderfully friendly these people were, considering they had not seen me for quite some years. I dried my face and sat down by the fire. It was early morning; the family had just started their breakfast and I was treated with what food and drink they had; hot Hackle-lo-tea, freshly made bread and some boiled ash-yam. Sitting there, warm and satisfied, I began to tell what happened to me last night. I watched the faces of the people around me- there was Tamara and four more of Ranya´s sisters, and their mother, all six with the beautiful red hair that obviously ran in the family, and another elderly woman who I didn’t recognize.

I spent the day in the hatch, resting, recovering from the events of yesterday. In the evening we all assembled by the fireplace, drinking strong tasty comberry-wine that made me very drunk and very sleepy….

When I woke up the following morning I had very vague memories from last night; I must have fallen asleep sitting by the fire. Now I was lying on a bedroll with a somewhat dirty blanket wrapped around me. The smell of Hackle-lo-tea brought me to my senses. Liana, one of Ranya´s younger sisters, brought me a cup and sat down beside me, watching me sadly. She told me that there had been some soldiers sneaking around the settlement during the night. “They were looking for you, Serene,” she said quietly and turned her face away from me. I nearly fainted when I heard this and cold sweat ran down my back and my mouth went completely dry. The thought of staying at the settlement for a couple of days, which was my original plan, was not an option anymore. I had to leave as soon as possible, so I gathered my things together, leaving the red bridal-robe behind as a thank-you for the hospitality shown to me.

Just as I was ready to exit the shack I heard terrible screaming from outside and with a crash the door was flung open and three bodies were cast inside. It was Tamara, her mother, and Kira, the youngest of the sisters. All three were badly injured, and covered with blood. I opened my mouth to ask what was going on when four imperial soldiers in heavy armor broke through the door, swords unsheathed. A distinct smell of cyrodiilic brandy filled the room and I instinctively dragged Liana to me and tried to shield her with my body

“So, there you are, Mistress Serene,” one of the soldiers took a step in my direction, with his hand stretched out to grab me. “The filthy bastards thought they’d get a neat ransom for kidnapping you, huh, but no way, they’re going to pay for this…..in blood!”

I then was grateful for my ability to sneak because as the drunken soldier was speaking I managed to get hold of the steel dagger that we used for cutting the bread last night.

“Stay away from me,” I shouted, pointing the dagger at the soldier’s belly. ”Just leave me alone!”

The soldier hesitated for a moment, then turned to his companions, laughing, “See boys, there we go……going to have some fun with that one huh?”

I tried to keep my hand steady, but I was shaking vigorously, sweat running down my back as I slowly moved sideways, to see what had happened to my Dunmer friends.

The soldiers argued among themselves about what they were going to do next; apparently they had different opinions, and were terribly drunk….

I kneeled by the three wounded Dunmer women and saw that Tamara and her mother were not breathing anymore; their throats were cut from side to side. Kira, on the other hand, seemed not to have been injured until I saw the blood emerging from between her legs. She had been severely molested, and she was only 7 years old. In unthinking rage I threw myself on to the nearest soldier and buried the dagger deep in his neck. With a roar he slowly sank to the floor with me still clinging to his back.

Then sheer hell broke loose. I luckily lost consciousness- maybe that saved me from going totally insane. The next thing I remember was pain, the most terrible pain I ever encountered. I was lying in a carriage on a dirty blanket that smelled of unspeakable things. The carriage was tossing and turning and I turned my head aside and vomited. With every movement of the carriage, the pain made me wish I could die, or at least pass out. I could feel that some of my ribs were broken; every breath caused the ends to dig into my lungs, and a deep cut in my left arm made it useless; but worst of all, my body below the waist was on fire, abused and tormented…..I could imagine what they’d done to me. Just before I finally passed out again, I wondered what had happened to my Dunmer friends and why nobody tried to save us…. And then, I happened to see the face of one of my tormentors, and that filled me with sheer horror…..I couldn’t believe it was him…

“Uncle Varus!” The words that came from my wounded lips were a bare whisper, but he looked at me with loathing and hatred from the back of his horse, and I knew I’d made a most powerful enemy.


The next time I opened my eyes I encountered darkness. I found myself lying on a bed-like thing on a filthy mattress. I didn’t see anything at first but when my eyes got used to the weak light I noticed that I had to be in a cell. Damp stony walls, the worn bed I was lying on and the compulsory bucket in the corner. The smell was …well, interesting.

I tried carefully to move, first my head from side to side, then my arms. The left arm was still hurting me and the sleeve of my shirt was soaked with blood. I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate all energy to the wound. By doing that I also got my mind off the dull pain in the lower part of my body. It was hard this time; I was totally worn out by the last hour’s events. Then I felt the arm getting warm, and I noticed the bleeding had stopped. Now I just would need some marshmerrow and wick wheat to close the cut and heal it…..Very possible that would be in my current situation! In the meantime I unwrapped the belt from my waist- it was made of a broad piece of cloth so I could easily tear off a strip and tie it tight on my arm.

The broken ribs would heal easier, I just had to lie still and try to focus on the ribs as I slept; oh how grateful I was to Marthona who taught me of all these healing skills! She used to say that I had the “gift”…and also claimed that there must be a drop of Elfish blood in me somehow…..

Well I wouldn’t know about that anyway, but thinking of my origin made the tears run again and I didn’t want to cry anymore, wouldn’t give the legionnaires the pleasure of seeing me broken.

Then the door was flung open and a young boy entered the cell with a tray in his hands.
“Some food for you mistress Serene” he said and looked away from me. Well I must look really awful then, if my guards didn’t even dare to put eyes on me. The food was gruesome- some watery soup with something indefinable floating around in it, and a piece of bread, shaggy with green mould. My hunger, though, was greater than my distaste for the food, so I ate it all.

Why the boy had called me “Mistress”…..maybe my father had arrived; it should be common knowledge by now that I was imprisoned. Oh what a dishonor to him having an illegitimate daughter who also had committed murder…

I fell asleep…..concentrating on my broken ribs…

The next morning I felt a lot stronger. When trying to take a deep breath I didn’t feel the broken ribs dig into my lungs anymore…..so my healing skills were functioning quite well! I did wish I had my alchemy- gear and my collection of herbs and plants with me…because I realized that I had to do something about the other bleeding. It had slowed, but not stopped and my trousers and the mattress were soaked with blood.

Breakfast was as delicious as last night, only this time it wasn’t brought to me by a young shy legionnaire but by my Uncle Varus!!

The time has come to tell you about my Uncle Varus. Rufus and Varus Vantinius were brought up in the Imperial City by their parents, Julianos and Antonia, to honorably serve the Emperor and the Imperial Legion. Both boys were ambitious and became skilled soldiers. But when it came to social matters, Rufus was the most successful, for he was attractive to women, strong, honest, intelligent, considerate and most of all he had the looks! He could converse with anyone about anything, he read books, took an interest in music, theatre, and all cultural events going on in the City. And so he found Larissa and got married, purchased a stately mansion and continued a full social life. His personal courage and good works made him highly respected in the Legion as well as among the citizens. He was even running for councilor’s election this year.

Varus, on the other hand, was not at all intellectual, took no interests in any cultural events, and did not read books…he was an arrogant and highly skilled warrior, that’s all. Women were attracted to him at first, for he was also rather handsome, but the relationships didn’t ever last. Underneath the good looks lurked a cruel and jealous spirit. Therefore he envied his brother Rufus for having achieved a home, a wife and…..a child; me!
The rumors said that he used to beat the women when they didn’t do exactly as he said, or if he was just in the mood for beating somebody.

I believed that rumor as I looked up in my Uncle’s face when he came into my cell that chilly morning.

He stared at me with cold blue eyes and an expression of loathing on his face. Then he snapped his fingers and an elderly woman entered. My eyes widened…it was a Dunmer woman…why on earth would the Legion have Dunmer working for them?

“See to it that this…this person will be presentable for the trial this afternoon,” he ordered the woman.

She nodded and approached me. Even if she was affected by the state I was in, she didn’t show it at all. She had brought sload-soap, fresh water, and some fragrant herbs and plants. I’ve said before…a little hygiene does wonders for me. I was neatly washed, my wounds were treated with medical herbs, and, the best of all, my bleeding was arrested. She dressed me in a clean shirt and skirt and added a brown woolen robe that made me feel warm and fairly comfortable considering the situation. Through it all, Uncle Varus stared at me coldly and with hatred.

When I was finished he handed a bottle to the Dunmer woman and growled,

“Give her this to drink.”

His voice was harsh and sounded evil. I hesitated at first; usually I don’t drink potions I don’t know the effects of, but this one smelled rather good and I was thirsty….

After swallowing the unknown potion I first experienced a warm nice feeling in my throat and the taste was also very nice…..but then!! My tongue seemed to grow and stuck to my palate; I couldn’t move it…and could not utter one word!!
When I looked at the Dunmer I saw she was crying…so I now understood I was enchanted with a Silence spell, I wouldn’t be able to defend or even speak for myself at the trial…..
What a terrible set-up! When I looked at Uncle Varus, I saw an evil grin on his face and I knew I was doomed……..

I was left alone in my cell again, sitting on the bench, just waiting….staring at the little window with iron-bars without really seeing. There was no doubt I was to be sentenced to death, that being the usual punishment for murder, and in my case it was even worse….I had ended the life of an officer in The Imperial Legion. My thoughts were with those Dunmeri women in the settlement who died for trying to help me out. My despair was endless, but I couldn’t cry anymore, there were simply no more tears left.

"The events of the last days had been so stunning, so far outside my experience, that I was simply numb. Although I knew that a death sentence was almost certain, I could not even find the energy to be afraid. In three short days, I had lost my family, my freedom, and my innocence. I had killed a man- felt his warm blood on my hands. And I had been right to kill him, no matter what Imperial law said."

Then all of a sudden I felt the air tighten around me; there was a strange chill, obvious but not unpleasant. I heard a humming sound; it seemed the cell-walls were fading away; I was weightless free-floating in the void, when this soft female voice spoke.
“Serene, fear not, you are chosen. You shall be prepared for higher purposes, I shall watch over you.

The voice was merely a whisper in the air but the words infused strength and confidence in my heart. I closed my eyes and let the eerie atmosphere just sweep through me……

The door opened with a loud bang, and I once again faced my Uncle Varus, but this time I felt no fear. I gazed sternly right into his eyes, and he turned away. A faint feeling of triumph stiffened my spine. He couldn’t look me in the eyes….

Uncle Varus was accompanied by two imperial guards who held on to my arms rather harshly as they escorted me to the court-room. I still was under that Silence-spell and could not protest. I once more closed my eyes as we were heading down the narrow corridor, and then a name came into my mind….. “Azura”, the Dunmeri goddess of dusk and dawn, Azura….

The court room was filled with officers in The Legion, and a jury consisting of twelve honorable citizens sat along the left side of the room. Their faces were stern and merciless, and my heart sank; I could not possibly go free, not even with protection from some obscure Dunmeri goddess.

As I looked around I caught sight of my father, Rufus, sitting in the audience, his face totally emptied of all feelings. I cried inside for him; he had lost his only child twice, first when I ran away from home the day of my sixteenth birthday and then once more when I took the imperial officer’s life in the Dunmer settlement the day before yesterday.

The trial began. I did not hear much, for my mind was occupied trying to recapitulate as much as I could from those sixteen years I’d been on this earth. I noticed that there were two parchment rolls lying on the desk in front of the Judge, one with a white ribbon tied around it and one with a black. A thin trickle of sweat ran down my back as I understood that there could only be two ways, life or death, white and black. The jury went out for some last deliberation. After a short break the court assembled again and the jury’s representative read the verdict;

“GUILTY of murder of Crassius Varro, officer in The Imperial Legion …..

The world went black… I must have passed out for a minute or two, and then I abruptly was awake, because suddenly there was a riot in the court room, a Legionnaire in full Imperial Templar Armour rushed toward the Judge. He had a parchment roll in his hand…..a roll with a red ribbon tied around it. The Legionnaire was speaking rapidly in low tones to the Judge, and I overheard some occasional words…..”jail”…….”The Emperor”……”his orders”.
After delivering the roll, the Legionnaire stepped aside and the Judge untied the red ribbon.

“Serene Vantinius, you have been declared GUILTY of murder of Crassius Varro, officer in the Legion of The Imperial City. You will be deprived of your last name; Vantinius, because you do not belong to that family anymore….”

At that moment I looked right into my father’s eyes, but he turned away and my soul died a little bit………

”Also you are to be put in the City jail, for no less than twenty, and no more than fifty years. Court dismissed”

There was silence in the court room as the sentence was passed. Then I felt my tongue was loosened and I cried in despair;

“Father! Don’t abandon me!”

But Rufus Vantinius turned his back on me and went out of the Imperial court room together with his brother Varus.

I was taken back to my cell to gather my few belongings, because now I was to be put in the Women’s Ward of the Imperial Prison of Cyrodiil.

I did not get a cell of my own- there were three more women sitting on their beds as I arrived. The cell looked much like the former one except somewhat bigger. The beds were stacked two by two, and I got the upper one on the left side of the cell. My three room-mates looked first at each other, then at me;

“Nah, what’s ya here for?” One of them addressed me.

She was of Nordic heritage, tall, broad-shouldered, with long braids of golden hair. Her eyes were dark-blue, peering but nevertheless friendly. I told her briefly what happened to me, just omitted the most disgusting details. She told me her name was Sonya and she was born and raised in Skyrim, in a place named Falcreath. She was sentenced for slaying her father….in self-defense that was, because he had done unmentionable things to her. I shrugged; the conversation reminded me far too much of the events I’d been through.

The two other women did not say much, just told their names, Leila, a thin fragile red-haired Breton-girl of 15 years; and Almina, a stout, lethargic Cyrodiilic woman of 40. Leila, I soon found out, was sentenced to death by incineration, for witchcraft and was just waiting for the sentence to be carried out. Her deed was that she supposedly had put Black-Heart’s Disease on a Temple-servant. I did not believe for one moment that she really had committed that crime. Diseases, at least the common ones, according to my thorough studies in The Lyceum undoubtedly were acquired through contagion from germs originated from animals or dead bodies. I was very sad to hear her story and I hoped that I could find a way of saving her. Almina, on the other hand, was sentenced to do time for theft. She had stolen an exquisite robe from a trade house in The City.

After I’d heard the stories from my room-mates I lay down on my bed, and let my thoughts wander …..

I was floating again...in that strange void, everything was dense, the chill surrounded me, and there it was! The voice which this time was familiar to me; I welcomed it, though I felt a strange sense of anxiety.

“Serene of Cyrodiil, you shall not fear, for I will be watching you. Study, increase your skills. You are the hope of an entire nation. You will be the savior of many…….”

I opened my eyes, and sat up in my bed, still shivering from that strange dream. It was a dream…or was it? Sweat was running down my back and I was simply terrified despite the voice telling me not to be.

“´ad a nightmare lassie?” Sonya didn’t even look at me, she just turned around and fell asleep again. The other two neither moved nor uttered one word.

I sat with my arms around my knees and tried to figure out why Azura kept coming to me in my dreams. She wasn’t even one of my gods. Back home Ranya often told me about the Dunmeri gods and what they stood for. Azura was the goddess of dusk and dawn. What did she want from me? I felt dizzy all of a sudden and lay down again. The thought of being some savior did not appeal to me; all I wanted now was to do my time in prison, maybe be released a little bit earlier because of good behavior. ……..

During the next two weeks I had the opportunity so to say, to experience what an imperial prison was like. The women’s ward was situated in the ground story of the building. Therefore the barred windows were high up on the walls, just below the roof. They were rather small and did not let much of the outside light in. Walls of raw granite made the cell damp and there was a distinct smell of dirt and mold. As it was the ground level the cold oozed right up through the stone floor, making us spend most of our time in the cell on our so- called beds. They were simple pallets made of some kind of wood and, as I said before, standing on top of each other two by two. On each bed was a lumpy mattress, apparently filled with moldy straw, which smelled awful. With that we had one blanket each, a thin, worn blanket which did not help very much at night against the raw chill.

In one of the corners there was a bucket, to serve as a toilet. I did not visit it until the end of my second day in prison; I resented the stench very badly but at the end I didn’t have any choice anymore, I had to use it!

Each morning a guard came in with a second bucket with almost clean water, cold of course, and a piece of hard grayish soap; we had to share that between us, so we took turns in who was to be the first in line to wash herself. Towels were non-existent; we used our blankets. My strong sense of hygiene made me suffer severely the first week from this inability to keep myself clean, but after that I gave up and in fact didn’t even notice the thick odor of human grime that was consistent throughout the cell.

Sonya, Leila and myself tried as well as we could to wash ourselves and keep the cell tidy; it gave us something to do and kept our thoughts busy. I admired Leila’s calm, and the fact that she was nice, friendly and even laughed rather often…..despite her death warrant she was in good mood. I was nearly constantly thinking of how she could be saved- it struck me as a crying shame that a lovely girl like Leila should be deprived of her life, for a crime she undoubtedly did NOT commit.

The food was not as bad as one could imagine, drab , but we got rather big portions. For breakfast there were kwama-eggs, beaten and fried, with some peculiar gray stew with chunks of meat in it. I didn’t ask what kind of meat it was because I thought I would prefer not knowing. At noon we got fairly the same, sometimes there was some bread to go with it, or boiled saltrice. In the evening we just got bread and cheese , in fact that was the best meal.. The overall drink was water……on Sundays we could get some comberry-juice, that was if Margoth was the warder…..Margoth was a bosmer, and had worked at the prison for ages. She was afraid of no one, and had the compassion to sometimes cheer up the miserable lives of the imprisoned women.

I got on very well with my room-mates. I told Sonya of my Nordic grandmother and we found out that the families were somewhat related. But then again it was no wonder, Falcreath isn’t that big. I repressed the fact that I was not the real granddaughter of a nordic lady named Reidun of Falcreath……

As I’ve said Leila was a nice cheerful girl and very easy to be with. She ate very little and often treated us with leftovers from her plate. Sonya helped herself to it and so did Almina, but me, I just couldn’t …..my grief for the fate of Leila made me physically sick.

Almina puzzled me even then at this early stage, and considering what happened in a few days , I still can’t explain why she did what she did and why she did it at that particular moment. She hardly ever spoke with us, just sat there on her bed, glaring out into the air with a stubborn grumpy look in her broad face. Hygiene didn’t bother her at all, she never asked to be the first to wash herself. In fact I don’t remember her washing at all…

its strange how you get used to certain routines and find them quite endurable at a time like that. We never spoke about our final punishment, never mentioned the fact that at least two of us were supposed to be executed in a couple of weeks or months; the time-schedule of executions was not for us to know about.

On the night between Middas and Turdas the second week of my stay in the Imperial Prison I had my next encounter with my dream-God Azura…..

This time I was surrounded with a red mist, swirling around me, covering me in a strange chill, yet not unpleasant. Azura’s voice came through the mist, loud and clear this time;

“Serene, Serene of Cyrodiil, be prepared! Have no fear, I will be with you……You will hold in your hands the fate of an innocent, have confidence ……all will be revealed in time.”

Then Azura disappeared and I woke up, drenched in sweat and badly shivering. I swept the dirty blanket tight around me and just sat on my bed for a while, thinking I was slowly going insane. None of my room mates were awake so I finally lay down again and soon fell into a dreamless sleep.

The next day the memory of my strange dream was almost gone and we continued our tedious time in prison. On Loredas evening we got some overcooked crab-meat for supper together with a bottle of comberry-wine, served by Margoth, naturally….At the time, I did not understand that this “special” meal was an ill omen- a sign of death to come, although not the death that was intended…

We ate our meal in silence. Almina helped herself to the crab-meat , but even more energetically to the wine…..I found this a bit odd, not the fact that the imperial woman ate and drank heavily, that was common knowledge, but the fact we got wine, now that was odd! We never had that before at all.

I just tasted the wine, and did not eat very much either; I had this uneasy feeling that something was very wrong, the little food I had just lay like a lump in my stomach and I struggled to hold back the urge to vomit. So the guard came back for our dirty dishes…..When he turned his back on us to exit the cell I felt a paralyzing fear, and at the same moment Almina rushed towards him and hit the back of his head with a bottle……the bottle we had just emptied a while ago. At the blow the bottle broke, and its knife-sharp ends dug deeply in the soft flesh of the young imperial guard, who slowly sank to the floor, severely bleeding from the deep cut. Almina ran incredibly fast down the corridor outside our cell, while Leila let out a terrifying scream that would certainly be a call-out for every guard within the prison. A quick glimpse of a faint movement from the wounded man caught my eye and then I took action; I slapped Leila’s face to get her out of the catatonic state she was in and then grabbed both her hands and put them directly on the gaping wound of the guard.

“Hold tight”, I hissed and held my hands over hers while I concentrated on the bleeding wound. Leila was immediately quiet and just stared at me with horror all written on her face, yet still she kept her hands, guided by mine, holding tight to the back of the guard’s head. His blood flowed freely over our hands; but soon enough I sensed it diminish. I closed my eyes and concentrated to merge my healing energy through Leila’s hands into the deep cut. My entire body shivered, drenched in cold sweat. From far away I heard the footsteps from several guards approaching….Then I finally was aware of the wound slowly closing, the heavy blood-flow stopping. Leila opened her mouth as to say something, and I cautioned her,

“Shhhh, hold tight and concentrate on the wound.”

I removed my hands from Leila’s and fell trembling to the side, panting heavily as tears started running down my face. During my training, Marthona had told me that there was a price to be paid for a major healing; for the first time, I understood what she had meant. I was more exhausted than I had ever been in my life.

“WASS´UP” three guards, fully armored, stood in the doorway, staring angrily at the strange scene in front of them; one imperial guard lying on his belly, a young Breton girl whose blood-stained hands held his head where the deep cut was slowly closing itself up, and one imperial girl sitting against the wall, crying. Leila’s face was remote, totally emptied of feelings, just calm and silent. I watched her through a mist of tears and knew that I most certainly had triggered the healing-powers that dwelled deep inside her.

“She saved this man’s life,” I sobbed, “he was dying!” I cried fiercely now, the last minutes had been too much for me, I had simply “crossed the border.”

“Aye, look ere Curio, e´s cumin´te his senses.” One of the guards bowed over the wounded one, who moved his head from one side to the other.

I just leaned against the wall and watched from a distance as the three guards helped their comrade to his feet. His uniform and armor were blood-stained but there was no cut in the back of his head any more; it was healed. The guards looked warily at Leila and me, and Sonya, who had been stunned with fear during this breakout, now cleared her throat and addressed the guards;

“Nah, see, yer mate would´ave been a stiffie if the lassie ´ere ´adn´t put them ´ands on´is ´ead.” It was obvious Sonya had grasped the situation …..

The guard named Curio turned to Leila and asked for her name and her sentence.

“Aye, Breton, you apparently saved young Telemachos´ life, and that shall not be unnoticed.”

With these words the prison-guards left our cell.

When we were alone Leila burst into tears, and I put my arms around her and we sat like that for a while. Sonya stared at me as if I was some kind of Cyrodiilic witch…

“Ye shud ´ave seen yerself, Serene,” she said, and shook her head, “them luk in yer eyes….creepy t´was….creepy, all tremblin´an´shakin´….sweatin´all over…….Wha´ are ye reely?”

I looked back at her and explained about my newly discovered healing-powers. Then we overheard some shouting and yelling from the corridor…..

“Almina!” I had completely forgotten about her, whose actions directly triggered this chain of events. A premonition came to me, telling that Almina´s life was over, then a terrible scream…… abruptly cut off…..and it was over.

We did not sleep very well that night, as Leila experienced the healing over and over again in her dreams, and so yelled and cried in her sleep. Sonya merely sat on her bed trying to figure out if I was a witch or just an ordinary lunatic or perhaps a mage.

As for myself, I had another date with Azura……

“Serene! Justice has been shaped,…..A life for a life…..Your path has been established, do not fear, for I shall be watching you. A release will come...”

And a release came, though not mine, for in the afternoon two guards came to us and told us about the death of Almina; it was young Telemachos and Curio, and they addressed us with great courtesy, which did not surprise me- men tend to respect women with exceptional powers. Especially when one of those women has saved a life.

“Killed during attempted escape,” they said.

“Leila of Jehanna; you shall follow me; General Vantinius wishes to see you.” Curio’s words tore my soul to pieces, and I crouched in the corner of my bed, buried my face in the pillows and let the tears come. I would never get over the loss of my family; just hearing them being mentioned caused me to break down completely.

Leila leaned over me and kissed my wet cheeks, “ I owe you my life, Serene. If I ever can do anything to repay you, let me know!”

Then she was gone…….I didn’t think I would ever meet her again, but oddly enough I did……but that’s another story.

Telemachos was one kind of a guard….he was kind and compassionate, as I found out on that gruesome Sondas afternoon in The Imperial Prison.

“Serene, there now, drink this and you will feel a lot better.”

I turned around and found a mug filled with hot comberry wine handed to me. Telemachos’ brown eyes looked at me almost tenderly. He handed me a piece of cloth to wipe my nose and dry my face with. As I took the cloth from his hand I noticed he had a badly treated wound on his thumb; it was watery and green pus oozed out from it. The bandage was dirty and did not even cover the wound properly. I asked him how he got it and he said it was a horse-bite.

Obviously Telemachos would run the risk of losing his thumb due to acute infection if the wound was not treated and quickly.

I took his hand and gently removed the bandage; the smell that now emanated from the poor man’s hand made Sonya rushed to the bucket and got rid of her lunch.

First I did not even feel it, but after examining Telemachos thumb with my fingers I noticed a rise in temperature in my hands, a tickling sensation in my fingertips…..The pus dried into small flakes and the red inflamed flesh took a healthier pinkish color, as I held his hand.

I looked straight into his eyes and then saw there, that he now knew who really had saved his life the day before….

Telemachos never revealed that it was I who saved his life and not Leila; that I do give him credit for. He seemed somewhat fond of me and tried to make my life in prison a little more endurable than it would have been otherwise.

All in all I spent 7 years in the Imperial Prison, but when I look back I don’t regard that time as completely wasted. Due to my proven healing-skills I was allowed more freedom than most of the other prisoners; I was allowed in the apothecary to mix ingredients of different kinds for potions that were commonly used in prison; also I was allowed to go out to collect the necessary plants and herbs, naturally under close supervision, but still I was able to get out in the fresh air now and then, which I really appreciated. But the fact remained……I was not free, and that made me think about what freedom really means and why it’s considered a punishment not to be free. For me it was the issue of very strict routines, and no personal space, always having to live with another person present, no opportunity of splendid solitude, to read a book or just sit down and daydream; having to be awakened every morning at the same time and eat breakfast together with a lot of more or less strangers with different eating-habits, that disturbed me most.

Sharing quarters can be very annoying, especially when you are not used to it. The sounds at night in a prison-cell with three or four women are sometimes unbearable……That I think was my real punishment, together with the obvious fact that I was not free.

I shall try to describe what a day in prison is like:

06.00AM Reveille, that is a guard walking down the corridor while he very loudly bangs at every cell-door shouting,

“ Wake up there ya´ (here he uses a word that is inappropriate), it’s mornin´ …..”

So we crawl out of our beds, fighting to be the first in line at the washing-bucket, if there is any water left from the day before, and if that water still is usable….

Then breakfast, normally some tasteless mire, as I’ve already told you about, but sometimes we get some kwama-eggs or a piece of bread. There’s no talking allowed during breakfast, “let the food silence your mouth,” as my grandmother used to say. Right after breakfast we tend to our daily tasks. No breaks, except for lunch, we just keep working; but that is also a good thing, keeps the mind busy. After supper they put the lights out and we are supposed to go to sleep.

So the days passed year after year….

Telemachos often volunteered to supervise my plant-collection-odysseys; maybe because he just wanted the opportunity to get out of the dull gray prison …or maybe because he had grown fond of me personally. When we were on these expeditions, he trained me in the use of different weapons, such as long- and short-bladed swords. The reason he showed this confidence in letting me use a weapon was our secret, but naturally he knew about what had happened to me and why I was sentenced to prison. He also knew my Uncle Varus, who was now his commanding officer, but who also had some tryst with his elder sister. He never told me much about this but I got the sense it was not at all pleasant

He used to tell me that I might need to be able to defend myself when I get out of prison, so he arranged a dummy consisting of a “doll” made from empty sacks, on which I was supposed to practice my blows and thrusts.

I was a good student; I quickly learned how to use the blades, and oddly enough I was better with the long-blade, which is not common among women. I was not as strong as a man but I was tall and because of my rather long arms I had a considerable reach and so I could easily keep the enemy at a distance when fighting. We had practice “fights” Telemachos and I, and after a couple of months intensive training I finally succeeded in beating him in one of those fights.

It was a warm sunny afternoon, in the middle of Sun’s Height; I had finished with the day’s collecting of marshmerrow and trama roots, and Telemachos suggested we should try a “fight.” He’d brought two beautiful steel katanas with him and wanted to see how my skills had improved.

At first I didn’t do very well; Telemachos successfully avoided my attacks …..but as the fight went on, my greater reach proved itself an advantage, and I slowly forced him backwards until he hit an upright boulder…..then I found myself pointing the knife-sharp edge of my sword at his throat. Telemachos stood absolutely still, looking right into my eyes, knowing that one single movement could send him straight on to his ancestors. I was panting heavily, drenched in sweat, totally aware of the sudden opportunity to escape that had presented itself.

I put down my sword with a sigh, the tension of the moment vanished and I smiled at Telemachos and asked him to recognize my victory. Some things are just impossible; I couldn’t kill Telemachos. I was not a murderess, although I did take a man’s life once, and was therefore sent to prison in the first place. But I would never believe that it had been murder- I was protecting myself and others and would do so again, if necessary. But this time it would have been cold-blooded murder, and that was something I was not capable of.

After some 5 years in prison, my healing-skills came to be of use again, when an epidemic of swamp-fever broke out in the men’s ward. In two weeks, fifteen of the prisoners were infected and the guards were terrified that it would spread throughout the prison. I worked the whole time in the apothecary with the ordinary physician, preparing healing-potions. The terrible thing was that if the potion was not distributed within the first two days after the outbreak of the disease, it had no effect at all. So when I came upon the first prisoner who was too far gone with infection I thought I’d try something else.

The disease affected the lungs mainly; they filled with fluid and the patient was slowly suffocated. The cause was a kind of germ that developed in the swamps of Cyrodiil, and sometimes, when the conditions were right, became very aggressive and so attacked humans.

I put my hands on the chest of the patient, who was in a very poor shape, delirious and with a bad cough. I closed my eyes and concentrated…..Almost immediately I felt the heat in my hands as the energy built; the unpleasant bubbling in the man’s lungs slowly diminished, as did the feverish heat that emanated from his whole body. I shivered, sweat running down my back, as his fever seemed to go right through me. I had to let go……and so I did, falling to the side, panting with exhaustion. But I knew I’d succeeded; the man would survive.

Then the real struggle began, as we, the physician and I, tried to cure as many as possible with potions. In the end, there were a couple of men that I had to heal “my way.”

After these events I was regarded as “official” healer and did get some more benefits, such as being allowed to visit the prison-library, a privilege that pleased me greatly. I always loved books and being able to spend quite some time in a library, regardless of its size and content, was a pleasure. I read all books in that library……literally, and thus increased my skills in strategic planning, alchemy, how to repair weapons and different war-strategies.

Sonya had been transferred to a labor-camp some months before; apparently her mother had untied her tongue and reported her husband to the authorities for abuse and there was evidence that Sonya had acted in pure self-defense and so her death-sentence was withdrawn. That pleased me because I had been rather fond of that harsh Nordic girl.

In the end of my seventh year in prison I had an encounter with Azura again, something I had not had since the day I saved Telemachos’ life through Leila. But this time it was different; this time she came to my dreams in person, not only as a voice……

I saw a tall, slender woman dressed in bluish white, a face hard and yet delicate, eyes burning, standing beside my bed in an aura of coldness, her smooth voice speaking words of wisdom, words of fate:

“Serene of Cyrodiil, you have passed the first trial that was laid upon you; there will be a change of scenery, for good and for ill. You will encounter further trials, and you will be the hope of an entire population. You will be a savior, but fear not; I shall guide you.”

Shivering, I drew the blanket tighter around me and fell asleep again. I was abruptly awakened by a hand shaking my shoulder rather harshly.

“Wake up, and be quiet. Hurry up, lass, it’s time to leave.”

The hoarse whisper went through my sleepy mind and I was dragged off my bed, a hooded cloak was cast over me and I was taken outside into the dark quiet street. I saw a wooden carriage in front of the prison-gates and started to ask what this was all about.

“Shhhh, girl, don’t speak, just come along, we have a long way to go.”

I was pushed into the dark carriage and off we went, through the empty streets until the smell of fish and salt caught my nose and I realized we must be at the harbor. The carriage stopped and I was taken out. Two figures, totally covered in black cloaks, grabbed me by the arms and led me on to the pier, where a low ship was lying alongside. I was hustled up on the gang-plank and onto the ship. It was all dark and I heard my escort whisper some orders. Another cloaked figure appeared from the hold and turned towards me. He looked at me, muttered something I couldn’t understand, and I fell into darkness…..


Here ends chapter 1

Section: Stories

Written by Arden Faugher (Masayasu)

Anomalous Valediction
Author: Arden Faugher

Journal entry:

3E 415, 26 First Seed: Flower Day.

Today is Flower Day. I am standing in a grassy milieu gazing back at the deific glow of the Ilessen Hills. The dull hue of the Eltheric Ocean before me is highlighted by a radiant sky. I feel compelled to write today as I have been reminiscing of my earlier years. Today of all days revives the wonders of childhood; playing conquest, exploring the hills, getting into mischief. As families are in the midst of today’s festivities, I too have fallen victim to its geniality.

Though, things have changed much since then. With responsibility has come a great weight of the heart. I suppose it is a trade one makes unwillingly for adulthood. This thought recalls a turning-point for a dear friend I once had, Uther of Meir Thorvale.

It was about the year 3E 389 when I was a youth of these parts. I had only few companions, one of which was a strange fellow by the name of Uther. I often felt sorry for him as he did not develop at the same pace the rest of us did, though at times, I admired his ignorance. His behavior was somewhat eccentric with a mirthful semblance that would often lead him into a predicament. After one such event, his life would never be the same.

It was during the month of Sun Dusk as I recall for the snow had just begun to collect on the hills, and the merchants had already begun appending fur to their garments. On a crisp morning, I arose early to a series of thuds, thumps, and poundings of the floor. As my eyelids receded, a thin dark figure came into focus. When the early light grazed his tunic, I saw it was Uther, wheezing and perspiring. Curious, I surveyed him on his behavior. After a moment of regaining composure; a strange phenomenon was related to me.

In his words, “I was out last night after curfew. I realize the possible consequences, but I couldn’t help but feel a bit mischievous. You see, at early black, I was in view of a carriage riding unto Meryls (the Inn). A magnificent presentation it was, and out from it came a girl, one or two years our elder. She donned an unusual dress, uncommonly for wayfaring. A tall dark man led her out of the carriage, a Redgaurd perhaps, but she was fair as a nord, but with the delicate features of the elves. I felt compelled to gaze upon her once more.”

Upon hearing his words I was a bit stunned, as he was never one to show interest in the affairs of a lady. I retained my thoughts and listened further. “Well, last night, I ventured to the Inn to see her gentle features once more. I climbed up the wooden grooves to her window, and peered through the edge-steamed glass. No one was present. Curious as I was, I opened the window from outside and climbed in. Upon entering, I heard a group of footsteps leading to the door. To evade discovery, I quickly took harbor below the bedstead. As they entered the room, I listened.”

“My lady (in a deep voice), Daggerfall is about twelve days from here. We should arrive on Turdas, the day of Hel Anseilak. There your husband-to-be is waiting.”

“Thank you, Altilius”, she replied in a soft, sweet voice.

“You are most welcome. If nothing else is required, I will retire for the evening, Miss Aelta.”

“Please do, thank you.”

”Then, the door slowly shut, leaving me under the bed with the divine beauty above.” Uther’s cheeks changed to red for a moment. “All of a sudden, I heard the angel weeping. Perhaps marriage was not her intention I thought. I felt quite sorry for her, and wished that there was something that I could do. I then realized my position, and that I wouldn’t be able to part until she fell asleep.”

“After some time, there was no sound to be heard but the breathing of one deep in slumber. At that moment I decided I had better leave while the chance was nigh. Just as I was leaving essentially, I overheard a whisper from a fissure in the floor boards. It was very slight, though I could just make out the words. It was the voice from before, Altilius the redgaurd.”

“Yes, yes, it will be fine. She is fast asleep. I dropped some moon sugar in her tea, so don’t worry. She will not be disturbed. At twilight we will wrap her in this shroud and place the body in this trunk. Another carriage will be waiting between Meir Darguard and Eagle Brook. We will rendezvous exchanging packages, and then proceed to Camlorn. From there we will have enough gold to buy transit back to Hammerfel.”

“But sir, won’t her husband-to-be come looking for us?”

“Heh, there never was a one. The letters were counterfeit. Now, we leave at once.”

“Yes sir!”

“I was perplexed as to how to save her. Realizing that I was nearly out of time, I quickly took my fathers ring from my pocket, and placed it on Miss Aelta’s hand. Then I recited the incantation. She turned invisible at once. I carefully pulled her from the bed and as I heard the foot steps to the door, I pushed her below and climbed back out of the window without being seen.”

“Are you a thief? Where did you get an invisibility ring? Is that how you slithered into Amirie’s Tavern without witness?”

“How else could I have purloined that bottle of Cyrodillic brandy from the breakfront? The ring was a gift to my father while being in the service of the empire. After he passed away, I kept it as a memento.”

“You astonish me without end. So, what happened after that?”

“Oh, yes, well, a moment later the three Redgaurds came out of the inn in frenzy. I was fretful about the girl, but didn’t want to expose my intentions, so I waited a bit longer until the malefactors had ventured to search. I quickly scaled back up the wall and through the window. I checked under the bed and to my surprise, the body was not where I had placed it. I then realized that she may be wandering about while still invisible. The spell only lasts for several minutes. I knew that I would have to find her before they did.”

“As I was running out of time, I came up with a temporary solution. I climbed into her bed and concealed myself under the sheets. After awhile of waiting, the men came in to find a body with a similar size and physique where it belonged. I then overheard a sigh relief, and then felt my self being lifted and placed into a large wooden chest. After an unsettling ride, I could hear the sound of horses from the carriage, and my self being set down.”

“I was truly frightened, but the thought of her safe in the village reassured me of my action. We rode for quite a long time. I had to think of a way to get free, but the trunk was locked from the outside, and I had no way to open it. Just I heard the lock begin to rattle. The lid had opened, but there was no savior there. I peeked out, and the two men from before were sleeping. I believe Altilius was driving the cart. Then, I heard a whisper”

“Be still sir. You are almost free. Carefully step out from the chest. When I say to, be ready to jump.” “I carefully stepped out making sure to close and lock it, not to raise suspicion. Then, at that moment, I and the phantom leaped from the carriage into the road. In the fall, I thought I saw a ring fly into the grass. When I looked around, there lying down was my paragon. I lifted her up, and we quickly withdrew to the dense cedars. There she explained what happened, as I was still in bewilderment.”

“Dear sir, my name is Euelita Aelta. I have come a long way from Cyrodill to meet my future husband. I appreciate your bravery to the highest degree. Without your help, I would never have escaped.”

“How did you come to save me, my lady? I over heard them saying you were drugged to sleep.”

“I was not. I only pretended. I knew that this was all a farce, including my marriage. I discovered it when we rode through Hammerfel. We stopped to enlist the betrayer’s help. I could tell that they were brutes. When I slept, or so they thought, I overheard their plans.”

“My poor lady, I am sorry for your tribulation. So, I have to ask, when I came out from the bed, you were not really sleeping?”

“No. When the men came in to find my body missing, I quietly slipped out from the door. I watched as you climbed back up through the window. When they came out with the chest in hand, I knew that you might be involved. I thought that my savior might need saving himself.”

“Astonishing!”

“So, from there, we have made our way along the road back to town. I thought that I must come to see you right away. I thought it over, and have vowed to protect and care for her. I will now take her back to Cyrodill where I hopefully will make her my wife. This is perhaps the last time we will be meeting. Take care, my dear friend.”

A day later, news came from a merchant on the road from Daggerfall, that a group of redgaurds had been slaughtered on the way to Eagle Brook. Nothing was stolen. Though, the merchant noted that a box with no contents lay next to the cart. He mentioned that if anyone new the whereabouts of the cargo, to let the authorities know right away.

As the sun is now receding to its origin, so I too will recede my ink and quill back to my satchel.

End.

Section: Stories

Written by Unknown (WillyBubba)

Tales of a Cursed Town

Bane of Lupus

A small group of Nords once migrated from Skyrim, into the Northeastern area of Cyrodiil. These were warriors, hoping to carve a settlement into the uncertainty of the deep, dark unknown. At the time of their movement the region was even less civilized than it is now, and wolves were once a plague to the area. Not knowing this, the warriors picked a nice clearing near a pond to set up camp. They began construction, hoping to have a nice town set up by the time their wives and children arrived.

They had expected to have problems with wild predators, and they therefore sent the well-armed warriors ahead of the rest, but they could not have predicted the horrors that would arrive only a few months after they had settled down. This is where the sad tale of Itar the Gentle begins.

The sun was still stretching its rays across the early morning sky, but Itar had been up for an hour already. In his makeshift hut he had a simple hammock, which didn’t provide the sleep he was accustomed to getting on a bed, and a small sack to keep his few belongings in. Conditions were rather dismal, but it made no difference to Itar, as he was doing what he loved, and had even picked up a new hobby.

On the expedition’s quest to find a suitable place for a settlement they ran into many problems. Some Daedra and their summoners had attacked them early on. In the battle a few died, including the only mage the Nords had brought along. He had been responsible for providing potions and enchantments when needed, and he was now dead. However, Itar had learned a few things from his grandfather, and he now became the expedition’s mage, as he was the most experienced with alchemy, and enchanting especially.

Now he spent every waking hour wandering in the woods, gathering ingredients for potions, and using his family’s ancestral axe, Wolf’s Bane, to gather the souls of whatever animals he came across. That is what he had planned on doing today. He through a few potions of healing and restore fatigue into his sack, grabbed his axe, and set out.

In a short time he reached a small clearing with a pond in the distance. Before he could move closer, to investigate the pond, he heard snarling in the bushes, and a wolf lunged at him. He had Wolf’s Bane ready and swung it quickly, cleaving the wolf’s front legs from its body. It fell to the ground in a bloody pile, still snarling like a mad animal. Regaining his composure, Itar trapped its soul and continued on to the pond. Upon closer inspection he could see someone near the shore of the pond, and started to approach, Wolf’s Bane at the ready. When he got closer he realized that it was a half-naked and wet elf woman. He cleared his throat.

“What? Oh, dear, that’s a mighty axe you have there, for felling those poor trees I suppose.” Said the startled Bosmer as she quickly pulled on a shirt.

“Oh no. Just to protect me on my adventures. This area is quite dangerous, don’t you have a guide or something? Seems a beautiful lady like yourself could get into a bit of trouble.”

“I don’t need arms to protect myself. The beautiful body that your prying eyes were trying to see is rather capable when it comes to defense.”

“And capable when it comes to other things as well?”

“Watch yourself Nord, or you’ll see just how capable, and not the in a way you’d like.”

Itar chuckled and asked her where she stayed.

“I’ve made my home in these wild lands for many years now. I suggest you move away from them if you value your life.”

“Afraid I can’t do that. You see my expedition has finally found a suitable place to settle down. We’re building a village close to here.”

“It has been a long time since I’ve had the company of others, even if they are Nords. I’d like to stay with you awhile, and the knowledge I have of the wild beasts around here will be more than enough to pay for my board.”

“Very well, if you are ready, I will show you back to my village.”

Upon reaching the village the Bosmer lady seemed fascinated with the wooden structures under construction. The Nord workmen were equally enthralled with her lithe figure. Itar quickly reminded them who had found her however. She was different from the stereotypical, cannibalistic, tree-loving Bosmer he had heard of. She refused to hurt any living plant, but she would eat food he prepared and insisted that his hut be expanded enough to accommodate her. Itar had no wife that would come in a few months, when the village was complete, and felt the Bosmer was his best chance to get one.

By the time the village was complete and the wives and children had arrived, Itar and his Bosmer wife, Eraldil, had had a child. The young boy looked like a Bosmer, but it was obvious to all that his Nordic blood ran strong, and he would be a large, strong lad.

Itar thought it befitting, given the name of his axe, and enchanted Wolf’s Bane with the soul of the wolf he had killed before meeting Eraldil at the pond. Soon after enchanting the axe he had a horrible nightmare.
In this nightmare Itar was wandering in the woods when a wolf lunged at him. He cleaved the wolf in two. Upon looking at the dead body, he was horrified to find that it was actually his own son. Hero took this as a sign that if he continued to use Wolf’s Bane he would kill his own son with it. From then on he stowed it away, waiting for his son to come of age, at which time he would hand the axe down to him.

Many years down the road, Itar had long since forgotten the dream, and all of his other troubles. Today, his son would become a man.

“Lupus, son, I wish to continue with you a tradition that my grandfather started with my father. This is the family axe, Wolf’s Bane. Now, I wish for you to have it.”

“Father, it is such a magnificent weapon!”

“As a man I expect you to find your own wife soon, start a family, and for that you will need your own home. So, go out and fell some trees, gather your friends and start construction.”

“Yes father!”

Ever since he got the weapon Lupus had been having horrible nightmares. A wolf would come and tell him to kill his father. Every time he would deny the wolf, but every time it got harder to do so. Once, he found himself awake in the middle of the night, standing over his father’s bed, Wolf’s Bane in hand. Horrified, he ran back to his home and threw the axe to a corner.

Why was he having such dreams? What was this wolf, and why did it want his father dead? Worse yet, how could Lupus get it to stop, before he carried out the wolf’s evil wishes? In a cold sweat, he finally found a few hours of sleep.

As the weeks passed however, he had more and more nights like this. He also awoke at times to find that he had killed wild animals, and though Wolf’s Bane was always nearby, he hadn’t used it. Instead, his hands were bloody, and the taste of raw meat filled his mouth. Eventually, these things would happen during the day as well. While gathering lumber in the woods he would black out for hours at a time, and wake up over the corpse of an animal. This occurred for a few weeks, before he finally decided to see his father about it. He got ready early one morning, and grabbing Wolf’s Bane, set out for his father, only to black out before he reached the door.

Itar heard screams nearby. Female screams, a Bosmer female to be exact. He rushed to their source, his new axe in hand. He quickly reached the pond that his wife so loved, and found her standing waist deep in water with a hungry wolf, standing on two legs, just feet from her.

“Come here you evil beast, I’ve got the cure for your curse right here!” Yelled Itar, just as he remembered that his new axe wasn’t silver or enchanted.

The werewolf lunged at Itar, throwing the axe from his hands, and sending Itar flying into some nearby bushes. Upon landing, Itar saw that his son’s axe was lying nearby.

“honoured user! What have you done to my son you evil beast? I’ll make you pay!”

The werewolf lunged at Itar, and Itar brought his old axe down, cleaving it clean in two. Itar rushed to his wife, giving her a large kiss and hugging her tight in his arms.

“Dearest love, are you okay? Please tell me that evil beast didn’t hurt you.”

Eraldil only sobbed out a deep cry, pointing hysterically at the werewolf’s body. With great horror Itar saw that his son lay in two bloody piles, where the dead werewolf had been.

Section: Stories

Written by Unknown (stargazey)

The Altmer

He got off the silt strider in Ald-Ruhn and quickly made his way over to the Ald-Skar Inn and got a room. He could not believe his stupidity; he knew the Morag Tong would be after him in a matter of days, so he needed to move quickly. He left his room and went to the nearest clothier and bought the most common clothes he could find. He then went next door and bought some arrows, a short sword, a bow, a helm that covered his face and some repair tongs. As he ran back to the inn he looked everywhere to make sure that nobody was following him. When he arrived back at the inn he dashed into his room, closed the door, and pushed the chest in front of it. He cursed his stupidity and his arrogance. He asked himself why he had done it, but couldn’t find a reason. He needed to stop thinking about the past and start thinking about the future.
He put on the clothes and the helm, shoved the short sword into its sheath and put the bow on his back. He could not stay in any location too long, so he left the inn and debated whether to take the guild guide or the silt strider. There were fewer witnesses if he went by Silt Strider but going by guild guide was quicker. If anything, he needed to move quickly, so he went to the Mage’s Guild and transported to Balmora. He had a friend he could stay with and knew that he could get everything he needed from the South Wall. He went over to Nine-Toes house and knocked on the door. When Nine-Toes answered the first thing he said was, “What has happened, Isendel?”
He walked in to the house, and sat down on the bed and nursed his head in his hands. “What has happened, Isendel?”
“I killed a man”
Nine-Toes was so relieved that he nearly laughed “Is that all, old friend? All you must do is go over to see Phane Rialle at the South Wall and this whole matter will go away.”
“It wasn’t just any man, he was a….Morag Tong assassin”
Nine-Toes was silent for a moment and when he spoke it was in a lowered voice “Was this an accident?”
“No, no it wasn’t, I meant to kill him, he was a disgrace to Mephala and a dishonorable assassin.”
“Even so, good friend, you can not kill members of the brotherhood. You know the penalty is death.”
At this point, Isendel stood up “What should I do? I know the Morag Tong will hunt me and eventually slay me. I can think of no way out, you know they will show me no mercy.” Nine-Toes nodded and paced around his small house, thinking about his friend’s predicament. “The first thing we must do is disguise you. For that we will need to see my friends Meldor, and Bivale Teneran.”
Walking over to Nine-Toes, Isendel said "I put my faith in you, old friend."

They first went over to Meldor the armorer, athe closest armorer and, to Isendel, a most skilled one. Nine-Toes had recommended that they go to Meldor because Nine-Toes had helped him out of a fight with some Cammona Tong thugs. As they made their way over to the armorer, Isendel kept an eye out, always thinking an assassin was going to jump from a rooftop or spring out of an alleyway. Nine-Toes had recommended they travel at night, right before the shop was to close.
As they crossed the Odai River, an arrow flew past Isendel’s head and nearly missed Nine-Toes. Nine-Toes pushed Isendel to the ground, pulled out his sword and began to sprint in the opposite direction. Isendel slowly crawled toward the other side of the river and ran towards the nearest alleyway, where he drew his bow and entered into the fight. The minute he had emerged from the alleyway an arrow hit him in the arm, sending him back in pain. He fled back into the alleyway, leaned against the wall, and laid in wait for any other assailants. He waited for a few moments and then heard a sound that shivered his blood. Nine-Toes had screamed in pain, a thump, and then, a few moments later, a splash. Isendel knew that Nine-Toes had either been hurt or killed, but he also knew that if he remerged he would be killed.
He sprinted towards the other end of the alley and hurtled towards the door of the Dunmer Temple. He felt the arrows and throwing stars fly past him, but he knew he needed to keep running. When he was at the front door of the Temple he knocked as hard as he could with his wounded arm and when the door opened he nearly fell in. The priest that answered the door was one that Isendel had talked to before in Balmora, Telis Salvani. “Isendel, what is the matter? What happened to your arm?”
“……block…..door…..assassins…..after….me”
Telis pulled Isendel into the Temple and laid him down on the bed closest to the door. He put some corkbulb and wickwheat on Isendel’s wound and sat down on the chair next to the bed. “Tell me what has happened.”

The pain in Nine-Toes’ arm, leg, and chest was blinding. He had woken up in the water and quickly brought his head up. His years of training with the blades and his water breathing ability were the only things that had preserved him for those hours he had been underwater. He had swum to the nearest beach and looked at down at his clothes. Through the water he could still see the blood stains from scratches all over his body. He climbed up and walked to Moonmooth Fort where he healed and repaired his weapons. He slept in the wilderness and returned to Balmora early the next day. He knew he couldn’t tell the guards, as Morag Tong assassinations were sanctioned by the Empire. He went back to his house and locked the door. He noticed that some of his things had been moved and he saw muddy footprints all over the floor. The assassins had been here, but he didn’t know if they’d be back.

Isendel had slept fitfully during the night, but Telis had given him a potion; it tasted like guar hide, but it made the throbbing pain in his right arm go away nonetheless. He had taken his armor and weapons and was on his way out, but Telis insisted that he stay and study for a few days. He had said that the Morag Tong would face quite a fight if they tried to storm the Temple. Isendel wasn’t even a member of the Temple and thus was surprised by their generosity to an outlander. They meditated, studied, and trained for most of the day and they agreed that Isendel would set out at midnight with some powerful scrolls, restore health potions and invisibility potions. Isendel was torn about whether or not to stop at Nine-Toes house and after much deliberation decided he owed him an apology but didn’t want to endanger him further. He decided to write a note and leave it under Nine-Toes door.
He set out at midnight as agreed and headed to Vivec, where he could get lost in the great city. He knew getting that close to the Morag Tong headquarters was dangerous, but he could risk it. He took the guild guide to Vivec, and as he walked out the door of the Mages Guild he quaffed an Invisibility potion, disappearing into the crowd.

Eno Hlaalu was pacing throughout his office intently when he was interrupted by Talos Dral running into the room, his dagger drawn and dripping with blood. “He is in Vivec. We ambushed him and his companion on the Odai River in Balmora. We hit Isendel with an arrow and grievously wounded the companion, an Argonian.”
Eno was troubled by this news “You failed to kill him?” Talos nodded, “This is most disappointing, Talos.” walking over to Talos, Eno lowered his voice, “You will find him in Vivec, and kill him and anyone with him. You will also take our two best thralls.”
Talos, taken aback by this, lowered his voice “Yes, Grandmaster.”
As Eno turned away from Talos and went to get something from his desk, Talos wanted nothing more than to plunge his tanto into the back of Hlaalu’s neck, but he controlled the urge. When Eno turned around he had a beautiful, glistening daedric dagger in his hands. “Use this to kill him. It is called the Blade of Vengeance and it is used to make traitors experience immense pain before they die.”
Talos took the blade in his hand and looked at its magnificence, its jagged edges, and its short, sharp blade. This blade was legendary; it had been used in some of the most important executions. Hlaalu Councilor Dram Bero, Baladas Demnevanni, and Telvanni Councilor Therana had all fallen to its might. As Talos held the blade he felt power, power of which he’d never felt the like. “Thank you Grandmaster. His execution will be swift and honorable.” The thralls were waiting in the foyer of the guild, both dressed in chitin armor and wielding silver daggers enchanted with a poison spell. As soon as they were in the basement of the Arena, Talos pulled his dagger out of his sheath and killed both of the thralls in two quick stabs. He brought the bodies into a small room and made it look like a murder suicide. He put the old blade in one of the thralls’ hands and put the Blade of Vengeance into his sheath.
Talos was a tall, thin, dunmer with a scar above his left eye. This scar held bitter memories from his childhood. When Talos was a young man, his father lashed out and hit his mother. Talos picked up his father’s dagger and plunged into his father’s back. When his father spun around, he had a glass in his hand. He swung it at Talos’s head and blinded his son in one eye, leaving him with a scar. His father had been in the Morag Tong and was a greatly honored assassin, but nobody could blame Talos for what he had done.
When Talos emerged from the basement of the Arena, it was a clear and breezy day. He first took a gondola to the Foreign Quarter where he would by some plain clothes and repair his armor and weapons. The merchants he dealt with knew his profession; they did not ask him any questions dealing with him quickly and efficiently. The Morag Tong’s spies had reported seeing Isendel leaving the Mage’s Guild in the Foreign Quarter hours ago and had since been following him. He met up with one of the spies, Vera Lovarious, at the Black Shalk Cornerclub, a convenient location for both of them. Vera was a tall, beautiful, and deadly Imperial. Her favored method of execution was to slowly stalk her mark and then pounce, striking quickly. She was sitting at the farthest table in the back of the bar. wore glass boots and netch leather cuirass, and Talos could see she had a Daedric tanto at her waist.
He walked over to her table, after buying a jug of Sujamma, and sat down and asked her, “What have you heard?”
Her reply was low and cool “I saw him walking towards the Temple Canton, but he could’ve been going to St. Olms or St. Delyn.”
“How was he armed?”
“He was wearing Netch Leather and was carried a silver shortsword”
He thought for a moment, and then asked “Any companions?”
“No, but we believe he is going to meet someone.”
Talos drained the last drops of Sujamma from his jug and then stood up “I’ll see you around, Vera.”
She stayed seated and said “Sooner rather then later.” She smiled and took a swig of her flin. He walked out of the bar and set out for the Temple.

Isendel was very worried. He had asked Telis if he knew anyone that he could stay with in Vivec. He had said “See my friend, Eris Telas. He’s in High Fane in the Temple Canton of Vivec. I will send word of your arrival.” Isendel looked everywhere in High Fane for Eris, but was unable to find him. He had waited outside of High Fane for hours. He had asked the Ordinators if they had seen Eris, but they weren’t very responsive. He had gone into the Library of Vivec and had waited until nightfall. When he emerged from High Fane he saw the many Ordinators huddled around what seemed to be a body. Isendel went over to one of the Ordinators and asked the name of the dead man. “Eris Telas” said an Ordinator. Isendel took a step back, stunned for a moment, his face as white as a sheet. They knew that Eris was linked to Isendel and now Eris was lying in a pool of blood in Vivec. Isendel didn’t know what to do. His first instinct was to run, to run like hell, perhaps return to Summerset Isle. But Isendel knew that he could never escape this. He had to stay here and fight. He walked past the crowd that was steadily growing around Eris’ body and walked to the gondolier and said one word; “Arena.”

Nine-Toes sat on his bed, reading Isendel's note and deep in thought, when there was a knock on the door. Nine-Toes picked up the ebony shortsword that he kept under his pillow and walked to the door. When he opened the door, all he saw was a dwarven crossbow pointed at his face. Before he even had a chance to swing his sword he felt the bolt peirce his temple and then all was black.

Talos had been watching Isendel from atop the St. Olms Canton all night. He enjoyed seeing Isendel squirm as he discovered the priest’s body. Talos had taken a quick trip to Balmora to finish off Nine-Toes, the Argonian with which Isendel had been seen. He had taken the body and stuffed it in a crate in the basement. He then set off for the Temple Canton and killed the priest. He had dragged the body to right in front of High Fane, making it impossible to miss. He felt no remorse for killing these innocents, as they obstructed his termination of Isendel. He saw Isendel take the gondola and knew that his trap had worked. He jumped off his perch and sprinted back to the Arena to intercept Isendel as he got off the boat.

Isendel got off the boat and drew his sword. As he was walking toward the entrance of the Arena waistworks, he felt someone behind him.
He immediately moved out of the line of fire and turned to see someone all too familiar to him standing behind him, Talos, a Morag Tong assassin, for who Isendel felt the utmost loathing for. “So Talos, you’re the best the Morag Tong could do?”
Talos laughed a coarse, throaty laugh “Well, Isendel, it’s been a long time. We’ll see who is the better assassin soon enough.”
During this banter, Isendel readied his specially enchanted throwing stars in his pocket. The moment Talos was done speaking, Isendel threw one right at Talos’ sword hand, simultaneously casting a paralysis spell on Talos. Isendel then pulled his sword out of sheath and pressed it up against Talos’ throat “Well, Talos, It seems I hold your fate in my hands.”
Talos was sweating and the spell was starting to wear off. “Should I kill you? Or should I slash you with my sword and leave you to die?” The spell had worn off, but Talos didn’t dare move. “I will show you the same honor you would show me.” Isendel took the sword away from Talos’ throat and raised it to finish him off. In an instant Talos lay in a crumpled heap at Isendel's feet. Isendel wiped the blood of his sword, took the Dagger of Vengeance out of Talos’ sheath, and proceeded to the Arena waistworks.


Isendel had killed Foryin Feltah, a much respected and revered assassin. He had killed him because Mephala had come to him in a dream and given him the instruction. He had killed Foryin swiftly and honorably, as the Morag Tong code insisted. He had tried to tell Eno Hlaalu that Foryin was executing slavers and becoming a dangerous vigilante, but Eno simply would not listen. Rather than let this disgrace live, Isendel had taken matters into his own hands, stabbing Foryin as he stepped into his house. He had left the body as if a suicide had been committed, but Isendel knew it was in vain. When Isendel slipped into the Morag Tong Headquarters he immediately drank a potion of invisibility and quickly moved to the Grandmaster’s room. When the potion had worn off, Isendel was standing in front of Eno with his dagger drawn.
“So, Isendel. You have evaded the assassins and come to face the master?”
Isendel tightened his grip on the sword and spoke. “You know that what Foryin did was unjust and disgraceful to everything we stand for.”
Eno laughed and said “I support the anti-slavery movement, I wasn’t about to issue a writ for the assassination for someone who was killing those filthy racists.”
Isendal was astonished by this, “You cannot bring your politics into this, Eno. I support the anti-slavery motion also, but Foryin was acting against the law of the Morag Tong. I could not let that stand.”
“And what would you gain by my death? You have already been expelled for the murder of one member, If you murder the Grandmaster you would have a permanent death writ out against you.”
“It’s about Justice, Eno.” At this point Eno had drawn out the Black Hand’s Dagger and was ready to fight. Isendel swung his dagger as hard as he could at Eno’s midsection but it was blocked by Eno’s dagger. They proceeded to fight and parry until Eno had hit Isendel's arm, causing him to drop his dagger.
As Isendel stood there bleeding, Eno prepared to strike, taking his time to perfectly align his thrust. “So, Isendel, it looks as though your quest ends here. You’ve run out options and there is no one to assist you.”
Isendel said not a word as he resigned himself to his fate. He was going to die a traitor’s death and no one would grieve for him. At that moment he felt the dagger pierce his chest and he felt the breath slowly leave his body, as he fell to the ground the whole world went black.

Eno stood over Isendel's body. Even though Isendel had been a traitor, Eno felt no happiness or relief. He picked the body up, put it on the bed, and sat down at the chair at his desk. He felt a kind of loss with the death of Isendel, it had been a game of cat and mouse and now that the mouse was dead, the excitement was gone. The Argonian, Nine-Toes, the two thralls (Eno was unsure of their fate), the priest, and Talos had all died for the sake of Isendel's death. Eno felt sad about this, but he could not bring these people back. He would order Isendel's body thrown into the Sea of Ghosts, with no ceremony.

Section: Stories

Written by Unknown (stargazey)

Berne’s Blood


Sadrith Mora

Raxle sat at the bar of Dirty Muriel’s drinking his flin and watching Muriel flit back and forth serving drinks to various patrons. It was very early in the day but the bar was bustling with business. As always, there were a few drunks looking to fight, but they usually wondered outside and passed out. Raxle was waiting for his friend Aurane; They were scheduled to set out for Ald Sotha that night. They were going to recover an artifact left there by Raxle’s ancestor, Terious. Terious had been a fearsome Imperial Vampire and had headed House Telvanni for many years. During his travels he had collected many rare artifacts, but one stood out among them. The item was called Berne’s Blood, a staff that had supposedly been used by Raxle Berne, the head of the Berne Clan of Vampires. Terious had stolen this staff from the Berne vampires and had fled as far as Ald Sotha when he was surrounded by fifteen vampires. As they all descended upon him, an aspect of Molag Bal, the Daedric Prince of Vampires, killed everyone in the room in one moment. Raxle believed that Molag Bal had left it for him to find and after thoroughly discussing the matter with Aurane, had decided they should go and see if they could recover the staff from the ruins of Ald-Sotha. Raxle waited in the bar for a few more minutes and then went to stand outside. It was a beautiful day in Vvardenfell and those were few and far between. He paced around outside the bar for a few more moments, but he saw a flash of light next to the Imperial Cult Shrine and knew that Aurane had finally arrived. Divine Intervention was the only way Aurane traveled. He always had an Amulet of Divine Intervention, a spell of Divine Intervention and fifteen scrolls of Divine Intervention. Some called him neurotic, but in the twenty years that Raxle had known Aurane, he had never once gotten in above his head. Aurane walked down the pathway to meet Raxle in his usual extravagantly enchanted shirt, pants, and shoes. Raxle had told him to tone down his flamboyant wardrobe, but Aurane said the enchantments helped him fight, so Raxle had backed down. “All hail Glowy, lord of the Bretons” Aurane laughed his deep laugh and said “Someday you’ll thank me, Raxle”. They then set out for the docks and the rest of their trip.

When they arrived in Vivec’s dock it was nine in the morning and the sun shone bright upon the water. They walked past the great city and stopped and gazed at the beauty of the Foreign Quarter in the freshly risen sun. They started their walk over to Ald Sotha, the wind at their back. Raxle was dressed in glass and ebony armor and was carrying an enchanted Daedric Dai-Katana he had nicknamed Godsbane. Aurane was armed with a dwarven crossbow, a Glass Jinxblade and a Daedric Dagger. During the short walk to Ald-Sotha, Raxle felt that someone was watching them, but every time he glanced over his shoulder there was nothing he could see. When they saw the startling beauty of Ald-Sotha in the distance, they knew that it would be fraught with Daedric beasts waiting to attack them. The first thing they encountered was a Nord named Rolf the Seal, he was apparently an adventurer who was grievously wounded after a fight inside Ald-Sotha. Aurane walked up to him and gave him a restore health potion and asked him what had attacked him.
When Rolf spoke it was in a barely audible whisper “Vampires, tons of them. They’re fighting with Ordinators, spells and swords. I just went in there to loot the place.”
Aurane then asked him “How do you feel?”
Rolf laughed and said “Beside the stinging pain in my arm? Well, now that you mention it, I feel kind of queasy.”
Aurane pulled his Daedric Dagger out and slit Rolf’s throat before anyone could react. Raxle, taken aback, yelled “What in the hell did you do that for?”
Aurane cleaned his blade, returned it to it’s sheath, and then said “He was infected with Porphyric Hemophilia, and by the look of it, he was in the final stages before becoming a Vampire.”
Raxle was stunned “How do you know?”
“My father was a very powerful healer and treated my adventurers and mages. Whenever he saw someone feeling like this he’d ask how they felt. They always felt queasy. He’d tell them this then give them the option of leaving and trying to treat it or letting him kill them. They always let him kill them; it put them out of their suffering.”
For a moment, Raxle was shocked by his friend’s brutality, but then realized that he had been right to kill Rolf. When they got to the door of the shrine Raxle turned to Aurane and asked if she was ready. Aurane gulped and nodded. They opened the door and were met by four vampires, all wielding glistening, enchanted ebony shortswords.
Aurane grinned, “Two and Two”.
Raxle sprinted at two of the vampires with Godsbane swinging wildly, while Aurane cast paralyze on his two and then went to work with his Daedric Dagger. Raxle struck the first Vampire twice in the stomach and hit the second one twice in the face, they both crumpled in a heap at his feet. Raxle put his sword back in his sheath and said to Aurane “Did you get hit?” Aurane shook his head no.
They proceeded down the stairs to the door to of the shrine, where they readied their weapons, drank their restore health potions, and readied themselves for what was sure to be some of the worst combat they had ever faced.
Raxle turned to Aurane and said “I’ll go in first, slashing with Godsbane, and you bring up the rear, shooting spells.” Aurane just nodded, apparently at a loss for words.
Aurane pushed open the door to the shrine and let his friend run through with his sword waving. Aurane began shooting spells of fireball, frostball, and paralysis over Raxle’s shoulder. Inside the shrine there were thirty people. Twelve Ordinators with enchanted Indoril Armor and Eighteen Vampires all wielding and wearing Ebony. Aurane’s paralysis spells hit two vampires and four ordinators, but the fireballs hit everyone inside except Raxle.
Raxle ran into the fray with his sword pointed straight out, ready to hit anything that got in his way. An Ordinator turned to Raxle and said “What are you doing here? This is a temple excursion for the elimination of these Vampire scum.”
Raxle laughed and just said “I’m here for the loot”. The Ordinator turned away from Raxle and hit a Vampire square across the face with his ebony mace. Raxle swung Godsbane and quickly took down one vampire and wounded another. He heard a blood curdling yell and quickly turned to his left, only to see two vampires being struck down by Aurane’s fireballs. Aurane then pulled out his crossbow and rained bolts down upon the crowd. Raxle was taking down Ordinators and Vampires alike, leaving no one alive. He pulled his sword out of the chest of a Vampire and looked over his shoulder to see a Vampire standing over Aurane’s body holding Berne’s Blood in one hand and Aurane’s crossbow in the other. He was wearing a full suit of Daedric Armor and a disgusting, blood stained smile upon his face. The Ordinators continued to battle with the few remaining Vampires, but Raxle saw what he had come for. He walked over to the Vampire and said “What you have is mine.”
“Come and get it, mortal.” the Vampire laughed. Raxle swung Godsbane with all his strength and hit the Vampire in his midsection. The Vampire feel to his knees and was gasping for breath, be he still managed to utter his last words “You will join me.” Raxle knelt down and picked up Berne’s Blood from the Vampire’s corpse. Raxle had gotten the artifact, but he had also gotten something else. He had become a Vampire.

Section: Stories

Written by Re-Lan (Argonians rule)

Tribal wars Volume: 1
By Re-Lan


In the middle of black marsh lived two warring argonian tribes. They were called the Murkwater tribe and the Swamp Root tribe. Their chieftains were Ral-Jar of the murkwater and Run-Ke of the Swamp Root. Their war had been going on as long as they could remember. They were also equally matched in strength. Each tribe had about 500 warriors in it.

One day Run-Ke took his tribe and attacked the murkwater village. He killed many of their tribe. Ral-Jar and one hundred of his toughest escaped. Run-Ke's troops rejoiced at having finally destroyed their enemy. They celebrated all night at the ruins of the village. Ral-Jar equipped each soldier with a bow and waited till the enemy warriors stopped celebrating and went to sleep. Then his men began shooting the sleeping warriors. They fired volley after volley, and killed most of Run-Ke's men while they slept. But the scream of one argonian woke the rest and seeing the enemy just beyond the ruins Run-Ke attacked. The Murkwater warriors were still using bows and were cut to pieces by Run-Ke's spear warriors.

After a vicious battle only Run-Ke and Ral-Jar were left alive. They battled with their sword's for 3 days until Run-Ke finally fell. Ral-Jarsaw the corpses surrounding him and knew that He was the last left alive. Ral-Jar went into despair then and pulled a knife from his belt he cut his wrists and as he lay dying Ral-Jar knew then that war solves nothing and The battle meant nothing as they all had died.

Note From Re-Lan: I was journeying Black Marsh when I discovered this battle scene, and found Ral-Jar when he cut his wrists. As the minutes until his doom slipped away he told me the story. He said as his dying wish that I put it in writing so that others will read it and perhaps not be compelled to go to war. I have granted my part of his wish and hope that the reader can grant theirs by never taking up arms against another.

Section: Stories

Written by Thi'netel (Corryn)

Last Mission of the Bal Molagmer - Part 1 Author – Thi’netel

Clouds moved across the pale moon once again. The guard at the gate, hearing a noise off to his left, turned quickly. Behind him a shadow slipped past the torch light, quickly dissolving into the gloom of the night.

Shien moved swiftly to the next wall looming over her head and paused to listen. On the other side creatures were nosing around. She climbed up nimbly and peered over briefly before ducking back down. “Oh great, I wasn’t expecting dogs.” She slid down quietly and crawled. The dogs’ ears perked up but did not turn. She waited still until they moved on and she inched forward again. Several times they returned, causing agonizingly slow progress, but finally she managed to move past their patrol.

Finally to the castle she looked up at the towering structure. “Heh, they sure build them big in Cyrodiil. Now let’s see, where did I put that parchment?” After some rummaging through her supplies she pulled out a scroll and kneeled, looking over her assignment again, hurriedly.

Bal Molagmer
For Member, Shien Triseal

In the City of Cyrodiil, of the providence of Cyrodiil. In the
manor of Hlaalu the representative of the providence of
Morrowind.

The mark is two items this time Shien. I know that is
irregular, but as you realize these are desperate times. The
first is the Twin Stone. It is a magical gem that has a unique
unlocking charm that can open any slave’s bracer. This one
grab could do more good than almost anything else we have
ever done, not to mention that with so many newly freed allies
we may be able to save the guild. The second and possibly
more important is the gloves of the Bal Molagmer and it is
imperative they be recovered. They represent all that we
stand for and are a symbol for the guild itself. Even should
all else be lost they will inspire future generations to rebuild
and use their gifts to help instead of only for greed. If the
gloves are not brought back then we truly will lose. Both
were taken from Thiska after he tried to acquire the stone
the first time.

Remember you must memorize this message and destroy it
before you leave the guild. And for once would you
please listen to me on this Shien. Take care child.

-Fris


Shien chuckled softly, “Good old Fris. The guild has been his whole world for years now, and even as it falls down around us, he still insists we follow code.”

Her faint laughter faded to grim silence as she remembered her last few moments in the guild. The mad scrabble to escape as Camonna Tong poured in through the entrance. She grabbed her gear with her last assignment before slipping out one of the many hidden exits. “I hope the others got out okay.” she sighed bitterly.

Suddenly she stood with renewed spirit. “I’m not going to let you down Fris.” She promised as she began studying the castle wall. Picking out every chink and niche in the wall she plotted a path and began to climb. Stopping at the first window she glanced in quickly. Many people dressed in expensive looking clothing were arguing over financial matters.

“No good,” she said glancing up, “Better try the next one.” As she began to climb again the window above her opened. Shien pulled herself as close as she could to the wall and froze. A snippet of a conversation came drifting out of the window “…and no ma’am I just finished the masters laundry and dinner won’t…” only to be followed by soapy water that sloshed through drenching Shien before the window closed once more.

“The glamorous life of a thief,” she muttered crossly and resumed her long climb. Arms burning from the effort, she lifted herself onto the roof. She moved toward the door and began to study it with a well-practiced eye. “Hmm, good lock…looks like it was made in High Rock... made of steel with ebony tracing...let’s see…ah this one” she said feeling more cheerful. Locks always had been her favorite. “A few quick turns with a back pick, insert an Altmeri probe, and turn slightly left and…. got it.”

She eased the door open and peered inside. Dark. Shien slipped inside quickly and shut the door smiling. “Let the games begin.”

Section: Stories

Written by Unknown (niceguy5)

The Black Everest: Part I

Lessons Of Life

“Before you fight, find out what you're fighting for.”

This was a common thing said around the temple. The monks lived by this. "When I was a child I always had a feeling that I was suppose to be fighting for something, but what was I fighting for?" This quote has driven my life, to find a purpose
_____________________________________________________________

My back was against the wall, and it was the biggest mistake of my life. Gangsarr boxed me in, western style but when you pin someone to the wall all you want to do (in order to win) is beat the living hell out of ‘em. But I didn’t blame him. There were no rules in this fight. I tried to keep my guard up but I was getting weary. Left right left right.
My arms were numb now from the hits. I felt pain all over my body; it was as if I was being attacked by a pack of wolves on all sides. I was. I thought I was going to die, to be honest. Beat up to death in this arena…by my best friend too. What a great way to die. There was nothing to do at this point. I threw my
body at him; another stupid mistake. We rolled on the ground. “Ahhhh!” I heard a popping noise. It was Gangsarr. He had dislocated his left arm.

We looked at each other, deep in the eyes. I expected to see a monster, a beast that had ripped out of my friend’s insides and taken control of him. Possessed him. But when I saw his eyes… oh, his soft, cool eyes, I knew he was still there and he was scared. The crowd was cheering; the arena was filled with noise. The monks were off their feet and cheering for us. I smiled. I had to make my final hit count; it had to be the killing blow. I saw Gangsarr’s stance, it was the Cycle of Blood; an old Redguard fighting style. Both my arms came up (symmetrically) to where I could see them, in front of my chest.

I took a deep breath and slowly opened both palms. I took a defensive position. The ancient Rain-of-Sand fighting styles of Elsweyr. Before a battle, Nords yell their best battle cry; they are famous for it. And so was Gangsarr. I was scared as hell and the arena was quiet. “Ahhhhargghh!!!” He was charging at me. My palms were still open. He was running so fast. My feet dug into the wet ground. Here he comes… And then, and then I wasn’t sure what happened next, it was all a blur.

But I found myself looking up into the terrace; the sky was so beautiful. “Dane…” It was Gangsarr’s soft low voice but it sounded so weak so…lost. “Yes?” “You fight like hell brother”. I smiled. All of the long years we shared together in this temple, I never realized we were brothers. From the blood and the sweat to the punches and kicks and from the broken bones and bruises we exchanged. We became brothers. The giant Nord and the skinny Breton. Perfect. I could hear a raucous going about in the stands. The monks were leaving the arena. “Bravo, bravo” Master Zhul knelt before us. “A very good match indeed” He smiled. His face was filled with energy and excitement. I felt so defeated so exhausted Gangsarr felt the same way too I bet. “Master, I –“He placed a finger on his wrinkled lips ‘Ssshhhh” he whispered. I couldn’t see what he was doing but I felt an aura inside and around my body. It was healing me, easing the pain. Did I hit him? Did I hit him? It didn’t matter anymore; it was over. A draw.