After submitting Adept's Descent, I decided to write a prequel to the story, and took more care in writing it. I feel that Descent was too rushed, and I didn't really like it in the end. Now that I actually have time to write, I am going to continue the story of Astien, many years before the events of Descent. And so it begins...

Adept's Prelude: Part One

Chapter One
Bruma, 3E411

The candle flickered as he carefully turned the page of the book. After a few moments, he closed the book and stood up. As he placed the book back on the shelf, the words on the spine of the book glinted in the candlelight: Necromancy Unveiled. The entire book protested against the use of necromancy, and offered several reasons why it was banned in the Mages Guild. However, the book had intrigued him; necromantic magic was very powerful, yet very dangerous.

To the Mages of Bruma, he was nothing but a petty apprentice. They all looked down on him as a fool, and all knew that he could hardly ever cast a spell correctly. One day he would show them. One day, all who lived on Nirn would know his name: Astien. His name would be whispered in fear; all would kneel for mercy before him...one day.

It would be difficult to find any books on necromancy that weren't insulting and protesting against it. Until he found something--or someone--that could teach him the powerful magic of necromancy, he would have to hone his skills as a spell-caster. He decided that tomorrow he would head to the Mages Guild and see if he could find any books or tomes that could help him to improve upon his casting skill. At the moment, he was exhausted from the activities and errands of the day. He blew out the candle and collapsed onto the bed, falling into sleep almost immediately.


The morning began early for Astien. He woke up just as the first light of dawn began to shine over Bruma, and quickly dressed to go to the Mages Guild.

Astien shivered in the cold as he began the short walk to the Guild. As he went onwards, he waved to and greeted the other inhabitants of Bruma; apparently he was not the only one up early today after all. He ignored the pleading beggar asking him for a coin as he finally arrived at the door of the Bruma Mages Guild. He opened the door and walked in, swiftly closing the door behind him.

The warmth of the building comforted him greatly. A female Dark Elf clad in fancy clothing walked up to him and greeted him kindly.

"Is there something specific you are looking for?" she asked, smiling.

"I'm just looking for some general spellbooks," replied Astien. The elf nodded and beckoned for him to follow her down a hallway and into a library.

"Take a look around," she said. "I'm sure you'll find what you need." The Dark Elf left him alone in the library, surrounded by hundreds of books.

Astien didn't know where to begin. He browsed the selections, picking out a few and reading the first few pages. Once he had all the books he needed, he stacked them on top of each other and carried them to the desk. He stumbled and nearly dropped them as he struggled to bring them to the Dark Elf so he could pay for them and leave.

The elf smiled and told him that he would need one hundred and five septims to pay for the books. Astien's face turned pale and he dug around in his pockets for the money. He pulled out a small handful of septims, but the elf shook her head sadly. It wasn't enough. Astien groaned inwardly. Just as he was about to pick one book out of the stack, a strangely dressed individual shoved him aside with his elbow and made for the door. It was a High Elf clad in black robes and with a wooden staff on his back. He hastily rushed up to the door and tore it open. A dark book engraved with symbols fell out of his cloak and onto the ground with a loud thud as he raced outside and out of sight. The young Imperial wizard who had been chasing him gasped when he saw the book, and staggered backwards.

"Who was that?" asked Astien, shocked by the event he had just witnessed.

"Another one of those damn necromancers," muttered the Imperial. "Just stay away from the book! It could be cursed!" The Imperial pointed an accusing finger at the dark book and took another step backwards.

The Dark Elf could barely speak. Astien finally understood; the book was a necromancer's grimoire, a powerful book of dark magic and knowledge. It was also the exact book he needed.

He forsook the petty Mages Guild spellbooks in favor of the grimoire, and bent down to pick it up. The Imperial yelled out as if he had been struck by lightning.

"Don't touch it!" he shouted. Astien ignored him and picked up the book in his hands. The Dark Elf crashed backwards to the floor, and the Imperial screamed for help. Astien took one of the Mages spellbooks and flung it at the panicking Imperial, knocking him unconscious. The Dark Elf could not find her voice, so Astien left her alone and ran through the door and out into Bruma.

The cold breeze blew into Astien's face, but he ran faster than ever, trying to get back home before any of the Mages could stop him. Once inside his house, he shut the door and locked it securely. Astien sat on his bed, fatigued, and lay the grimoire on his desk.

At last... he thought. I can begin my studies...

heh - so his actual fall began with the fall of a book? I like that.

Not so happy about necromantic Khajiit - strange though it may seem I've never heard of one - have you?

Come to think of it, I haven't...
Maybe I'll change it to something else more...necromantic? Hehe...

Okay...changed a bit: the necromancer is now a High Elf, and the woman who greets Astien when he walks in is a Dark Elf.

Chapter II will be out later today, hopefully...stay tuned...

Feel much better about that. Reason is that I think that the Khajiit have a very different slant on things and somehow I recon, whatever it is, necromancy aint it.

Chapter Two
Bruma, 3E411

Four days passed since the incident at the Mages Guild.

Astien closed the grimoire and placed it on his shelf right next to Necromancy Unveiled. How ironic.

He still had yet to master the powers of necromancy, but he had also been perfecting his skill in general spellcasting. However, the grimoire that had dropped from the High Elf’s cloak would take a while for him to fully understand.

It was eight o’clock, and Astien was so exhausted, he was already getting ready to sleep. Suddenly, a knock came at the door.

Astien sighed and strode over to the door. “Who’s there?” he shouted.

“It’s me, Selvia,” replied the visitor. Selvia! That was his cousin. They had both grown up in High Rock together. His thoughts drifted to High Rock, his homeland. Astien suddenly shook himself from his reverie and opened the door.

Selvia walked in, with a stern look on her pretty face.

“Hello, Selvia,” said Astien nervously. “What brings you here?” Selvia lived very close, yet they hardly saw each other since they were both almost always busy.

“I joined the Mages Guild a few days ago,” she said, “and found out that you were seen there, taking a necromancer’s lost grimoire.”

“I…who told you that?”

“Is this true?” Selvia asked angrily.

“Well…”

“You are practicing necromancy, aren’t you?” exclaimed Selvia. “Don’t you understand what will happen to you? You’ll only descend into evil, and eventually be killed by some adventurer looking for extra gold to fill his pocket. Tampering with dark magic is not something you should be doing, Astien. Why do you think it was banned by the Mages Guild?”

“I don’t care if it’s banned or not,” muttered Astien. “And what I’m doing is none of your business.”

Selvia was taken aback. “You don’t understand! I’m worried about you!”

“If you truly care about me, then leave me alone!” shouted Astien.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“Get out of my house!”

Selvia glared at him. “So you’re going to dedicate your life to horrible experiments like…” Selvia shuddered, “like Mannimarco?”

“Yes,” Astien said coldly, “and you’re my first example.” Astien took her by surprise with a blast of lightning, knocking her off her feet. She jumped up and attempted to run to the door, but a volley of flames was enough to stop her. She rose to her feet and grabbed a nearby painting, one of High Rock, and smashed it upon Astien’s head, still struggling to escape. Astien grabbed her by the arm and flung her to the ground. She staggered up again, and threw another painting at him, but Astien swiftly dodged it.

“What are you doing?” wailed Selvia, bleeding and bruised. She backed up further to get away from this mad necromancer, but tripped over a wooden chest and crashed to the floor, unconscious.

For a moment, Astien observed her still body, wondering what he had done. He had experienced a rush of hatred, and a longing to kill all living things that stood nearby. Astien solemnly wondered if this was only the beginning of his descent into necromancy, but he brushed the thought away: he needed to dispose of her body. He dragged her across the floor and out into the cold night in Bruma. Luckily, there were no witnesses to see him dragging Selvia’s comatose body behind his house and leaving it there.

I can’t stay here any longer… he thought. Selvia might inform the guards of my necromantic studies. Perhaps the Mages Guild will come for me…I will have to leave Bruma.

Astien gravely began the walk to the stables. Half of him felt remorse for mercilessly assaulting her, while the other half viewed it as justified. He tried to block the thought from his mind. The only thing he needed to worry about at the moment was escaping from Bruma.

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I threw this together rather quickly, so let me know what you think!

Working on next part...release tonight or tomorrow :)
Sorry about it taking so long...if anybody is really reading this anyway! :D

If I wasn't reading this I would not post in the thread. But make sure you take the time to polish a bit before you post A leasurely Sunday morning read will be quite acceptable

155 views = hint

Chapter Three
Bruma, 3E411

Astien rushed into the stables, glancing around to make sure that there was nobody nearby. A stable boy stood nearby, but he seemed distracted by a pair of Imperials fighting in the midst of the dark streets. Astien quickly jumped onto the back of a paint horse and quickly spurred it through the stable gates and onward, away from Bruma. They galloped past two suspicious guards, but Astien paid no attention.

Soon, they were well away from Bruma. Astien knew that he could not return--at least, not for a long time. Word would spread of his evil doings and practices, and his life would be constantly in danger. He put the thoughts out of his mind as they went on down the road. Astien had absolutely no idea where he was going.

Just as the sun was about to rise and greet the new day, he came across a strange shrine. With the aid of the coming light, he could see a group of people kneeling before a strange, stone figure. It towered many feet above him as he brought the horse to a stop and dismounted, intrigued by the mysterious statue. The paint horse began to wander away as Astien left it, but he didn’t care. He was mesmerized by the shrine, and the strange beings surrounding it.

A Dark Elf read from an ancient tome, and Astien was ignored as the other shrine-worshippers listened carefully. Astien realized that the statue standing before him was the statue of the Daedric prince of darkness, Namira. His mouth hung open for a second, then closed.

Suddenly, the Dark Elf slammed the tome shut and gave Astien a curious look. The elf was intrigued by this mysterious, cloaked stranger. Astien felt uncomfortable under the old Dark Elf’s stern gaze, and so he began to offer a greeting.

“Well,” Astien said, “hello. My name is…” he suddenly stopped. He wondered if it was wise to mention his true name. “My name is…” he continued, “Irbran.” He had blurted out the name of one of his distant uncles.

The Dark Elf nodded and replied, “I see. Well then, Irbran, why have you ventured forth to the shrine of Namira?”

Astien told him that he had been wandering through the forests and had stumbled across the shrine. The Dark Elf slowly nodded once more. “You are welcome here. Come, join us in worship of the great Namira!”

Astien sighed with relief. Perhaps this was where he could stay, and continue his study of necromancy. He felt around in his cloak for the grimoire that he had brought along with him. It was still there. He sat on a pew of rotting wood and listened to the Dark Elf reading from his tome.

For now, this was his sanctuary.

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I've had hardly any time to write lately, so I hope that this chapter
receives good feedback!

Chapter Four will be soon...hopefully...

Uh oh. Don't let Meridia catch him! You know how those Daedra gals love to talk...

Ooh, an interesting story at that. I shall continue to read!!!
if something else pops up..... lol?

poor guy, he is lost in a world of necromancy.... kind of a funny thought I have to say but, a sad one at that!

Expect an update in 3 days at the most

Chapter Four
Namira’s Shrine, 3E411

Months passed as Astien remained within the sanctuary of Namira’s Shrine. He joined in worship of the Daedric god, and when they weren’t in prayer or reading from the ancient tomes, he would continue to study the dark magic of necromancy. He didn’t care what Selvia thought, or what the Mages Guild thought, or what anybody damn thought for that matter--he was going to study the grimoire, and harness its powers for his own use.

He was nearing the end of the book, but had yet to practice any of the rituals or spells that it taught. If he attempted to practice it here, the worshippers might exile him--and then what would he do?

One day, on a quiet evening of the Last Seed, the eight month in the Tamriellian calendar, Astien sat studying the book and thinking of somewhere where he could quietly perform the spells he thought he knew. Suddenly, a hoarse shout sounded from the east. The thudding of hooves grew nearer—intruders! Astien thought. A large man, who would tower nearly two feet over Astien if they stood side by side, rode into the clearing on a swift black horse.

“Attack!” shouted the man, evidently a bandit or mercenary. They obviously intended to kill them all.

Three other men rode up next to the leader and dismounted abruptly. They drew their swords, maces, and bows and wasted no time in spilling the blood of the worshippers. Astien watched, horrorstruck, as the Dark Elf who had so kindly accepted him was struck down by an iron arrow. Blood poured from the wound in his chest, and gathered in a red pool below the elf, who collapsed into it a second later.

Limbs were severed from their owners, and blood flowed like a river at the shrine, soaking the ground and the pews, and even the idol of Namira itself. Astien shrank back in the shadows, praying that he was spared from the horrible fate his companions had suffered. But who was he praying to? Did he really believe that Namira would save him?

All of a sudden, the mercenaries put away their weapons. The leader spat on the ground.

“Take their belongings and let’s go,” he muttered coldly. He mounted his black horse and waited for his subordinates to gather the ‘treasures’ of the shrine. He saw them pilfer the tomes they had read from so many times, he saw them snatch away candles, and then they went through the pockets of the dead worshippers and took their possessions as well. One of them even tried to take one of the pews, but the leader just looked at him and shook his head.

After all had been taken from the shrine, and Astien left forgotten in the shadows, the bandits rode off through the forests, leaving him alone.

Astien wondered if Namira had truly saved him. Or perhaps it was luck.

Or perhaps it was something else.
The Nine Divines?

Astien screwed up his face. The Nine Divines. He was a necromancer. He had forsaken the Nine Divines, and had no regrets.

But where would he practice? And how? Where could he possibly find a place where he could practice the dark magic that he had spent so long studying?

He eyes scanned the gory scene at the shrine, and a smile spread across his face.

Nice!
I was kind of hoping he would take out some spells and kill them all!
But, that is ok.

Update later tonight...and I mean it!

Chapter Five
Namira’s Shrine, 3E411

The scene of absolute chaos that had unfolded before his eyes had been like a gift from an unseen deity…watching him, knowing…

He now had a chance to practice the black spells of reanimation, the root of necromancy, the heart of the art itself. The disfigured, blood-soaked corpses of his once-friends became Astien’s experiments.

He first practiced the ritual of recro silenti—recreation of the dead. Having little in the way of strength, Astien struggled to lift the body of the Dark Elf whose blood coated his clothes like a second skin. Finally managing to carry the elf, he stumbled over to an altar formerly used for Daedric rituals, and laid him upon it. Panting, he caught his breath as he turned the worn (and in some places ripped) pages of the necromancer’s grimoire. Soon enough he arrived at the page he had been seeking, and began to collect the materials that the book demanded.

He gathered all of the required herbs from the shrine’s supplies; the bandits hadn’t thought that a bunch of flowers and plants were really worth anything, but some were worth quite a lot indeed.

Once prepared, he stood before the Dark Elf’s corpse, book in hand, and breathed deeply. Then his eyes flickered down to the pages, and for a moment his face was contorted with…regret? But in an instant, the look was gone, and his mouth formed the forbidden words of evil darkness.

A passage of time, an eon to Astien, went by as the ritual continued. As his mouth snapped shut after the last word was recited, his heartbeat rapidly increased as he watched the elf’s corpse intently.

For a few moments, all was silent. Then the elf’s eyes very slowly opened and its mouth opened in a silent scream, an inaudible plead for something that Astien didn’t understand. And suddenly, the revived Dark Elf was standing on the ground, in front of Astien. Its glazed eyes stared past him, and it mouthed words that Astien did not know. It took a step towards him, and Astien took a step away. It progressed further, all the while mouthing the words that he could not hear. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead, dripping down his face. What the hell was going on? Then a piercing, bloodcurdling howl erupted in the clearing, sending Astien wincing to the ground in pain. Was it the undead creature that he had created? He covered his ears, but to no avail. That was when he realized that the howling was inside him. He yelled in agony, clutching at his face, wondering what by the Daedric gods is going on?

Astien forced himself to look back at the monster he had formed, and it suddenly began to tear at its own flesh, a torturous form of suicide, and Astien knew that he had not held it under his control as well as he was supposed to. The howling went on, and so did the creature’s ripping of its own flesh. Astien roared with agony, confusion, and repentance, and lashed out at the nearest thing that could be killed. He dismembered several of the creature’s limbs as he blasted it with a bolt of lighting. The charred torso of the elf lay silent on the ground, the howling dissipating, the clearing growing silent.

Then it was all gone. Astien kneeled in the dirt and nearly wept. There was no word that could possibly describe what he felt.

But he knew there was no going back. He was now a necromancer, a wizard of shadows, a cheater of death.